Mexican Nights (8 page)

A subtle change came over his face as his burning gaze settled on her soft mouth. "No." A trace of a smile touched his lips as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You're not a mechanical doll, Terri. You're all warm flesh and blood." His gaze wandered slowly over her flushed face, down her neck, and over the soft skin exposed by the low neck of her shirt.

She sat frozen as one brown hand strayed from her arm to trace the curve of her cheek, to explore the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat, to move slowly, dangerously, toward the firm fullness of her breast, to find what it sought and close over it, sending a jolting shock through her. Weakly, she tried to pull away, but he held her with one hand, while his other hand tilted her chin, forcing melting blue eyes to meet smoldering brown ones.

While his eyes held her mesmerized, his hand continued its daring exploration, learning the contours of her body, memorizing every secret line. His caressing fingers slid into the low neck of her shirt, stroking, tantalizing, until a soft moan escaped her. Her body was aglow with the pleasure of his touch.

With a low, husky cry, he crushed her softness against his hardness, his mouth claiming hers with such fierce intensity that there was momentary pain as her lips were bruised against her teeth. But then the kiss softened as his lips explored her mouth—probing, tasting, his tongue making sensuous contact with hers. She felt as if her body was losing its form, flowing into his, her feeble resistance draining away. She closed her eyes, and her arms went around his neck, her mouth returning his slow, yearning kiss. She was lost; in that moment, as their lips clung, he could have done with her as he willed.

His lips left hers to find the sensitive skin at her neck, and she smothered a sob of despair at her own weakness. There was no hiding the fact that her body was responding to his lips and, hands with a wild clamoring for more.

"So you are not interested in what I have to offer,"

Derek whispered with a breathlessness that told her he was deeply affected by their kiss. Then, with a motion that left her feeling oddly bereft, he drew away from her. "If I didn't have a previous engagement, I would show you just how interested you are. I would teach you what real passion is, Terri." Putting her firmly aside, he started the motor and, with squealing tires, pulled onto the highway.

His withdrawal made her feel abruptly cold and desolate.
He
had a previous engagement! Passion by appointment! How grossly calculating and crass! Had he felt anything at all? Or was he only proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had power over her if he chose to use it? And she had fallen into the trap with a vengeance! Oh, how could she have been so spineless and weak?

Seeing him from the corner of her eye—broad shoulders, muscular arms glistening with perspiration in spite of the car's air conditioning, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, dark brows lowered broodingly—Terri knew that she had never before met a man with such physical presence, a masculinity that was so basic as to be almost animal. No matter how many times she denied it—to herself and to him—she was far too susceptible to his magnetism. She closed her eyes and chewed her bottom lip despairingly, sinking helplessly against the car seat. Shattered by what had happened, she did not trust herself to speak during the remainder of the drive to the hotel.

How could she cope with someone who used his male attractions so ruthlessly? And love had nothing to do with it. She didn't even like him and yet, from the first day, he had aroused desires that no other man had ever touched in her.

Lost in her tangled thoughts, she wasn't aware that they had reached the hotel entrance until the doorman opened her door. Derek tossed him the keys. "I'll be going out again later," he said.

Still feeling dazed, Terri climbed out and walked toward the lobby. Derek caught up with her and took her arm. "Quite a day we've had, eh, Terri?" he queried softly.

Her blush of confusion brought a half-smile to his lips.

Pulling her arm from his grasp, she hurried ahead of him toward the line of elevators, gratified that there was a clutch of people among whom she could hide herself. She sensed somehow that Derek had dropped behind in the lobby. Unable to stop herself, she glanced over her shoulder.

Through the crowd waiting for the elevator, she saw a beautiful, aristocratic face surrounded by a cloud of smooth, shining black hair. A clinging knit dress revealed rich, voluptuous curves that drew every male eye in the lobby. Dark eyes dazzled as the vision of feminine loveliness stepped forward with a smile.

"Darling, I've been waiting for ages!" The voice was low and sultry. And the man who caught her in his arms, lifting her off her feet, was Derek Storm.

Did Derek Storm
try
to be high-handed and cruel, Terri wondered, or was it done without thinking? Was his ego so huge that he didn't even notice when he was hurting the women who came in contact with him? But how many of those women were stupid enough to stay around for more?

Why was
she
still here? Terri flopped down on her bed, knowing she had to think about her situation whether she wanted to or not. How had she allowed herself to be put on the defensive with him? What had come over her in the car when his touch and his kiss had, for that short intense period of time, been the only realities in her world? Why had she felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach when he dumped her in the lobby and ran into Margarite Lopez's arms?

She strove for objectivity. Being alone in a foreign country, where she did not speak the language, was enough to make a woman susceptible to the first attractive man who came along—especially if she admired his work and wanted to keep the assignment as his photographer.

When the assignment was completed, everything would look different. Derek Storm would be just another conceited writer, she would have added a considerable feather to her professional cap, and new and exciting assignments would be awaiting her attention. Whatever Derek Storm thought he could accomplish during the next three weeks,
she
would use them to further her career. Only an idiot would throw away a chance like this, and that was why she was still here.

When there was time off, she would spend it with the attentive Jack Ledbetter. Jack. Terri flopped over on her back and stretched lazily. Now there was a man who would know how to treat a woman—gently and deferentially and lovingly. Oh, yes, she had recognized that admiring gleam in his blue eyes when he looked at her. Yet she was certain Jack would never force his attentions on a woman, unlike someone else she could name.

She closed her eyes and had begun to relax when the telephone rang. Terri reached for the receiver and brought it to her ear.

"I'm sorry our afternoon outing had to be canceled." Jack sounded tired, too.

"Never mind. Your boss dragged me all the way to Teotihuacán, so I wasn't left twiddling my thumbs."

"Then you're not mad?" He sounded relieved.

"Of course not, silly. I know when the oracle speaks you have to obey." Her tone was sympathetic.

"Then how about going out tonight? I met someone today who told me about a terrific guitarist who's playing at one of the hotels."

Terri closed her eyes, wishing only to crawl under the covers of her bed and go to sleep. "Will Mike be going with us?"

"He has other plans." There was a suggestive note in the words. Was he hinting that he'd told Mike to make other plans?

Terri brushed the question aside. It might be fun to do the town with Jack. "Give me an hour to get ready."

"Fine." He sounded cheerful, no longer tired. "I'll pick you up at eight thirty."

"All right. See you then."

As Terri ran her bathwater, she experienced a moment of uncertainty. What had Derek meant when he called Jack a ladies' man? She wasn't up to fighting off another octopus tonight.

Oh, she was making too much of the remark. Derek probably couldn't stand the idea that any woman might prefer Jack to him. It was sour grapes, that's all. If things got sticky, she could manage to keep Jack at arm's length. He was too considerate to get ugly about something like that.

She added bubble bath, undressed, and stretched out in the warm water. Sighing contentedly, she tried to picture the blond, handsome Jack as a chivalrous knight, kissing her hand, holding her on the dance floor as if he thought she were fragile china, depositing her back at her room with a chaste kiss.

But another face kept intruding rudely into her daydream. A dark, stern face with thick brows that could lower and come together in fierce disapproval— deep, liquid-brown eyes that could caress or send out fiery darts. Terri moved sensuously in the warm bath, feeling Derek's hands moving over her again, and her lips burned with remembered kisses. She closed her eyes and smiled softly at the lovely glow that had come into her body at the memory. A wickedly enticing image flashed into her mind—an image of Derek sharing the bubble bath with her. She almost wished he were there, their bodies touching, his hands doing what they could do so well.

No, she didn't wish that! She sat up suddenly, grabbing the bar of soap, and began to scrub her neck and arms vigorously. She was going out with Jack— sweet, gentlemanly Jack. They would have a lovely time together. She tried to picture Jack sharing her bubble bath, but somehow she could not even begin to imagine it. And why should she? Jack was a good friend. That's what she needed right now—not an arrogant barbarian who put women on a level only slightly higher than a well-trained dog.

She dressed in a soft blue silk dress with a flared skirt and prim Peter Pan collar with the top button undone to show the single strand of pearls that matched the pearl studs she wore in her ears. Jack arrived, in a suit the same color as her dress, and looked her over approvingly. With a warm smile, he said, "Look at us. We match."

"It's a good omen," Terri said brightly. "We like the same colors, so we probably have a lot of other things in common as well."

"Hmm, right," he said with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow.

Since it was only a few blocks away, they decided to walk to the hotel where a well-known Mexican guitarist was performing nightly. Jack had made reservations and the waiter led them to a table near the raised platform where the floor show would be performed.

"In addition to the guitarist, who's the real attraction," Jack told her when they were seated, "there's supposed to be a pretty good female vocalist, too." The waiter hovered nearby until Jack asked Terri, "What would you like to drink?"

"I've always wanted to try tequila."

When their order arrived, Jack raised his glass to hers and said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "To Mexican nights." Terri responded with a smile.

She looked about her at the gay, laughing couples at surrounding tables. It was her first real night out in Mexico City and she resolved to make it an unforgettable experience.

After that things ran together for Terri. Smoky bars with tinny music playing; weaving arm in arm with Jack through crowded streets; laughing at Jack's funny stories—and hadn't she danced with a fat Mexican man in one of those hole-in-the-wall places where they had stopped for a drink?