Free Night of the Condor by Sara Craven Page B

proximity.
    She sighed, consciously relaxing, grateful that no one was expecting her to walk anywhere else, and she could be still at last.
    Her eyes were already closing, her mind drifting into the agreeable half-world which separates sleep from waking, when she was suddenly, startlingly aware of disturbance—upheaval.
    She shot upright, nearly cracking her head on the ridge pole, gasping, 'What the hell…'
    Rourke said, 'I see you've taken over. The sleeping-bag, however, is mine, and I'd like it back.'
    Her mind reeled as she stared at him in disbelief. 'What do you mean?'
    'I mean I need my sleep too.' He reached past her and dragged forward the roll of blankets she had got from Maria. 'Yours, I think. Or couldn't you even be bothered to look for them?'
    Her throat felt tight. She croaked, 'But you—I thought you were going to sleep outside—by the fire…'
    He gave a derisive laugh. 'Then think again. Now, move over.'
    For a breathless moment she thought he was going to lay hands on her, and she wriggled away, panic lending her agility in the cramped surroundings, clutching the roll of blankets defensively against her.
    Rourke was unbuttoning his shirt, she realised, dry-mouthed, stripping it off. 'You—you can't…'
    'Why not?' The topaz eyes comprehensively surveyed her state of undress. 'You have.' He unbuckled his belt, and Leigh shrank back further, biting her lip savagely. 'But don't worry.' His voice reached her softly, goadingly. 'I'm not going any further—unless, of course, you insist. Now, are you going to sleep on those blankets, or continue to use them as a barricade?'
    She realised with chagrin that she had actually closed her eyes. She opened them now to glare at him, trying to ignore the shock to her senses evoked by all that bare, tanned skin. The dark briefs which were his only covering made only the slightest concession to modesty, she realised, with a tingle of apprehension.
    She said, 'I'll sleep on them, if I can have the tent to myself.'
    'Not a chance.' He was propped up on one elbow, watching her. 'Only a moment ago you were asking if there was anything I needed. It could be I've thought of something.'
    There was no need—no need at all to feel so bloody agitated, Leigh told herself. He was just trying to turn the tables on her again, that was all. And the fact that his eyes were all over her didn't matter in the slightest. Her underwear was cotton and perfectly decent, and he had seen her in it before, for heaven's sake. In fact, he had seen her in far less, but that was the last thing she needed to remember.
    She tried to sound dignified but nonchalant. 'Don't you think this joke's gone far enough, Doctor Martinez?'
    'A short while back, it was Rourke,' he said pleasantly. 'Or did you forget?'
    'No,' she said huskily. 'I think it's you that's forgotten—just who I am, and who you are. Don't you feel you're rather exceeding your instructions?'
    'I wasn't aware I'd received any,' he said. 'Unless that's how you regard the come-on you were giving me in the firelight just now.'
    She gasped. 'I was doing nothing of the sort…'
    'That's a lie, and we both know it,' he said unarguably. He held out a hand. 'Now stop being coy,
querida
, and put down those blankets, and come here to me. I want to remind myself how delicious you taste.'
    Leigh was burning up with humiliation, her little victory reduced to ashes.
    She steadied her voice with a tremendous effort. 'May we drop this pretence, please? My father may have told you to chase me out of Peru by any means you chose, but I hardly think he meant you to go to these lengths, Doctor Martinez. Now, if you'll take your sleeping-bag, and leave me in peace, I promise I won't tell him about this.' She paused, swallowing. 'I—I realise, of course, that I'm partly to blame— because I—teased you, and I'm sorry.'
    'I'm sure you are,' he said mockingly. 'Didn't anyone ever warn you,
amada
, never to dangle a meal in front of a hungry man, especially