Free Path of the Jaguar by Vickie Britton, Loretta Jackson Page B

breast. Lennea's entire body stiffened as she came slowly to her senses. A vision of Wesley flashed through her mind. What on earth was she doing?
    Sensations of pleasure now battled with sheer panic. Shocked at her own feelings of need and desire, she struggled to remove herself from the source of danger. Joseph, sensing her withdrawal, let her go. He watched her now, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as if he, too, were slowly emerging from some sweet dream, abruptly ended.
    Lips still burning from his kisses, she stood watching him. Inside, she sensed a dark fire smoldered, but his voice was filled with compassion. "Lennea, what's wrong?"
    Lennea straightened up and did not look away from him. She believed that Joseph was sincere in his attraction for her. She must be just as honest in her response. "I'm in love with someone else."
    Lennea half-expected him to answer sharply, with anger, or at least with agitation. The strange, almost mirthful light in his eyes both surprised and annoyed her. "A woman in love is fascinating," he said. Lazily, almost mockingly, his gaze roved over her, coming to rest upon her lips, still moist and slightly swollen from his kisses. "That's probably why I'm so drawn to you."
    Lennea looked away from him. He was an enigma to her, disturbing in every way. Had he actually felt what she had imagined him to feel or was this just some game he often played? "Thank you for the tour," She spoke coldly. "But I have to go."
    "Why are you going into Merida?" Joseph demanded, following after her as she started down the path. His voice was slightly mocking, as if tinged with jealousy. "An errand for the professor?"
    "It has nothing to do with him!" Lennea felt the blood rush to her head. So, she thought, she hadn't kept her love for Wesley concealed from him. Everyone, including Wesley himself, must know exactly how she felt.
    Joseph's tight grip on her arm stopped her. She looked to where he gestured off the path toward an unrestored ruin. A stele, the stone image of a Maya priest, deep and ornately chiseled, lay crumbled and broken. A tangle of undergrowth kept it tightly imprisoned.
    She was aware of his black eyes watching her. "When idols fall, they really fall, don't they?"
    Her eyes rose sharply to meet his. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
    "Just what it states." He attempted a rueful smile. " All those degrees of yours, and none in common sense?"
    Lennea flushed, whirled away, and started down the path again.
    "Wait!" When she didn't, Joseph moved swiftly until he was once again by her side. "I'm sorry. I only wanted to warn you." He seemed so earnest, so compelling. Lennea slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up until they were once again walking together.
    "Some gods are made of clay," he persisted.
    "I don't need your warnings."
    "Very well." He seemed willing to let the subject drop.
    The worst of the rain was passing. The broad-leafed trees surrounding them now dripped moisture and dampness hung thick in the air. Her clothes and hair were soaked but the feeling was not unpleasant. They walked side by side in silence until the silence, too, became companionable.
    "You are still missing something in your approach to the Mayas," he spoke at last.
    "Another warning?" Joseph's remark, though not flattering, this time did not offend her. Curiosity made her ask, "Just what is it that you think I'm missing?"
    Lennea watched his steps slow, keeping perfect pace with her own. He spoke only one word, "Appreciation."
    "You're right," she admitted readily. "The ruins are unique, fascinating. But I find them sinister—almost repelling."
    "That's because you have no feeling for the Maya culture."
    "So how do I acquire an appreciation I don't really feel?"
    "Maybe I can help you. He stood for a moment, deep in thought. "Can you visualize your favorite work of art?" She nodded.
    "What did you see?"
    "A painting, a beautiful painting," Lennea replied.
    "An object of beauty. True art worships