Forbidden. Ellen James

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СКАЧАТЬ Dana started to wish she hadn’t blurted this out, after all. It was rather a pathetic story–proposing to a man and having him turn you down. It didn’t make her sound particularly on top of things, and Nick was contemplating her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

      Yet breaking off with Alan was one of the best things Dana had ever done. It was proof that she knew how to start a new life…a better life. She was proud of herself for that, but she didn’t know how to explain it to Nick Petrie. Maybe, where Nick was concerned, it would be better not to explain. Everything she said only seemed to make him more skeptical about her.

      She tried to be businesslike. “I think I’ve had enough of a break. We ought to get back to work–and I want to return to the village as soon as possible to check on Jarrett.”

      Now Nick’s expression became inscrutable. “Jarrett again,” he commented. “You keep mentioning him.”

      “I have to admit he’s foremost on my mind. After what happened to him yesterday, it seems we have to be aware of danger.”

      “There are dangers on this island, all right,” Nick said quietly. His tone of voice seemed ominous to her, and she gave him a quick glance.

      “What do you mean?”

      “For one thing, Ms. Morgan…you’re sitting under a coconut palm. A stiff breeze and the hazards should be obvious.”

      Dana glanced up and saw the cluster of coconuts dangling fifty feet above her head. Nick Petrie’s unexpected sense of humor manifested itself at the most exasperating times. She scrambled to her feet and stalked away from the palm.

      “Dammit, I wonder if you take the attack on Jarrett seriously at all.”

      He rose to stand beside her, his face suddenly grim. “I take it very seriously, Dana. Until we know what happened, I want you to be careful. Stay aware of what’s going on around you.”

      “Yes…of course I will.” But it was another type of awareness that concerned her at the moment. Much to her dismay, she was feeling it again–that connection to Nick. All her senses seemed attuned to him. She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest under the sweat-dampened cloth of his shirt and suddenly she knew that she had to get away from him. She didn’t understand why he affected her this way. She didn’t want to understand.

      And then it happened. Nick raised his hand and touched her cheek. His fingers were very warm, his skin roughened from digging in the earth. And so his touch was warm and rough and gentle all at once. But there was nothing gentle about her reaction. Heat rippled through her, a heat that had nothing to do with the tropical weather.

      Nick’s gaze held hers–intense, uncompromising. And she knew of a surety that he, too, felt what she did: an attraction that was sexual and yet something more, as if they’d met in some other lifetime and only now had stumbled across each other’s path again.

      Dana felt afraid in a way she’d never known before. She pulled away from Nick and hurried to find work to do–any work.

      There were dangers on this island, indeed. The greatest danger of all was Nick Petrie.

      * * *

      SEVERAL DAYS LATER someone stole Nick’s machete. Nick went through the tools one more time, just to make sure. But he already knew it wasn’t there: his machete, the only one he used. He always brought it back to the hut, along with the other tools. This project operated on such a meager budget that he couldn’t afford to lose anything, no matter how basic. And there was something else to consider. After the unexplained attack on Jarrett, any unusual incident had to be noted and investigated.

      Nick straightened up, trying to stifle his irritation. A few minutes earlier, he’d questioned the others. Everyone, including Dana, said they hadn’t seen the machete.

      Nick felt something tighten in his gut, just thinking about Dana Morgan. She’d now been on the island almost two weeks, and she’d proven herself to be a hard, efficient worker. Maybe she’d never been on a dig before, but she was a quick learner. He couldn’t fault her there. No…what really bothered him was the way her presence permeated the damn place. No woman had ever had quite this effect on him, not even his ex-wife. It was an aberration. Lord, they always said alcohol killed your brain cells. Maybe that had happened to him, after too many years of drinking. He’d killed off any sense he had, and now he spent his time daydreaming about his soil scientist.

      There was another possible explanation. He hadn’t had sex in so long, no wonder he was overreacting to Dana. She was beautiful and innocently sensual enough to disturb all his concentration. He couldn’t figure out why she seemed untouched in some basic way. She’d made it clear that she’d had at least one lover–the guy who hadn’t been swayed by her marriage proposal. Therefore she wasn’t inexperienced….

      He had to stop speculating about Dana, sexually or otherwise. He had enough problems as it was. Then it occurred to Nick. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex and been sober at the same time. For all he knew, he couldn’t even function without alcohol in his bloodstream. That was a joke, all right. Not a humorous one, but he almost laughed.

      Daniel poked his head into the hut just then. “I’ve looked everywhere, Señor Petrie. No machete.”

      “Figures. Thanks for checking, anyway, Daniel. Have a seat.” Nick tossed the kid a can of pineapple juice and popped one open for himself. He settled down behind his rickety field desk, while Daniel appropriated one of the camp stools and they shared several moments of companionable silence. Daniel was only thirteen, but already he’d learned the art of keeping his mouth shut. As far as Nick was concerned, it was a skill more people needed to master.

      Nick studied the boy. Daniel claimed to live in the village, although he was always vague about his family’s identity. Nick suspected the kid was on his own. He was too darn skinny, for one thing. And every day he wore the same clothes: a rumpled plaid shirt with two buttons missing, a pair of threadbare shorts and sandals with frayed straps.

      Nick tore open a bag of potato chips and offered some to Daniel. The kid shook his head. Maybe he’d drink some juice now and then with Nick, but he seemed to make it a point of honor to decline food. Evidently being too skinny was part of his independence.

      “I had breakfast before I came,” he said.

      “What did your mom fix for you?” Nick asked casually. “Or maybe your dad does the cooking.”

      Daniel looked wary. “I had plátanos fritos–fried plantains. They were pretty good.”

      The kid was smart, all right. He didn’t overexplain, didn’t invent elaborate stories about a family–stories that might be too easily detected as falsifications. Instead he offered as little information as possible, stubbornly and persistently protecting his own privacy.

      Nick tried another tactic. “You do good work around here, Daniel. I could use you more often, if you have the time.”

      The boy’s expression grew more wary still. “I’m busy, Señor Petrie. I come here as often as I can.” Now Daniel made it clear he was the one who required silence, swigging his pineapple juice with concentration.

      Nick drained his own juice and aimed the empty can at the wastebasket across from him. He tried to respect Daniel’s pride and independence, sensing an affinity with the kid. Hell, Nick understood the need for privacy better than СКАЧАТЬ