Free Hard to Handle by Diana Palmer Page B

why couldn’t she stop offering herself? She hated having him know just how vulnerable she was. How could she have done something so stupid? She flushed beet red. Yes, she was vulnerable, but not Hunter. Mr. Native American was steel right through.
    “Let me get up, please,” she said, her voice trembling.
    Pure bravado, and he knew it. He could have her, right here, and she’d give herself with total abandon. But he knew, too, that once would never be enough. He’d have her and then he’d die to have her again. The fever would never be satisfied.
    He let go of her wrists and got to his feet, turning away to keep his vulnerability from her as he stared up at the mountains with apparent unconcern. God, that had been close! He wondered if he could ever forget the way he’d seen her, the sound of her soft voice begging for his kiss, the petal softness of her seeking lips on his mouth…!
    Jenny shivered with reaction, barely able to breathe. She got up and her eyes went helplessly to his back. Well, he’d made his lack of interest clear enough. Maybe her body would eventually give up, she thought with hysterical humor. Despite her beauty, he simply did not want her. It was the most humiliating lesson of her life.
    She looked away, gathering her savaged pride. “I’m supposed to be working,” she said in a thready whisper.
    “The sun’s getting high,” he said without looking at her. “Get your samples and then we’ll find something to eat.”
    She felt totally drained. She picked up her hat with a shaken sigh and retrieved the backpack with her tools. She didn’t even remember dropping it, she’d been so hungry for the touch of him.
    His dark face gave nothing away as he glanced once at her and turned away. “Where do you want to look? And for what?” he asked curtly. “Gold? Is that why this operation is so secretive?”
    She glanced up at him, twisting her contour map in her hands. “I know what you must be thinking,” she said. She could still taste him on her mouth and it made her giddy. “Gold and Indians don’t mix. White man’s greed for it has cost the Native Americans most of their land.”
    “There was a flurry here a year or two ago when someone found a very small vein of gold,” he said. “There were amateur prospectors everywhere, upsetting the habitat, invading private property, some of them even came on the reservation to dig without bothering to ask permission. The Bureau of Indian Affairs takes a very negative view of that kind of thing, and so does the tribal government.”
    “I don’t doubt it. But gold isn’t what I’m after right now. I’m looking for a quartz vein, actually.”
    “Quartz?” He glared at her. “Quartz is a worthless mineral.”
    “Perhaps, but it can lead to something that isn’t. I’m looking for molybdenite ore.”
    He frowned. “What?”
    “Molybdenum is a silver-white metallic chemical element, one of the more valuable alloying agents. It’s used to strengthen steel,which makes it of strategic worth. Like oil, it’s a rather boom-or-bust substance, because its value fluctuates according to demand. Back in 1982, weak market conditions led to the closure of most primary molybdenum mines. Now there’s a new use for it, so it’s back in demand again. The United States produces sixty-two percent of all the world’s moly, and that’s why we’ve got competition for new discoveries.”
    “So you’re looking for molybdenum,” he murmured, trying to follow the technical explanation.
    “I’m looking for its source ore, molybdenite, a sulfide mineral. It looks very much like graphite, but its specific gravity and perfect cleavage differentiate it from that. It’s found primarily in acid igneous rocks such as granite in contact metamorphic deposits, and in high-temperature quartz veins. That’s why I’m looking for quartz veins.” She smiled at his confusion. “Don’t look so irritated, Mr. Hunter. I couldn’t fieldstrip an Uzi or set up