Tempestuous Eden Read online

  Blair found that his behavior toward her that first night was to set the pattern for the following days. Though she did catch sight of him as they both moved around the complex on their assigned duties, they didn’t have a chance to speak at all, except during dinner. From the little she observed of him at work, she did have to admit that whatever his reason for joining their crew, he did it wholeheartedly. The unloading of the vehicles usually took two workers the majority of the week to complete. Craig Taylor was managing nicely by himself in what would be the same amount of time, or less.

  On those nights when she did speak to him at dinner, or at the fireside afterward, he certainly wasn’t standoffish, yet Blair sensed nothing more in his feelings toward her than friendly interest. He certainly showed her no more attention than he showed to any other member of the crew. He had yet to make good on his promise to explain why he joined the crew. But she decided not to pursue it. Inexplicably drawn to this man, Blair was still aware of some instinctual suspicion or even fear that his disturbing presence aroused in her. He was right in every way; yet, she did not trust him.

  On Friday afternoon he had stripped off his shirt, and in passing him Blair had surprisingly shared her father’s impression—the man should have been a prize fighter.

  Perhaps not. He was excessively tall, six-three or six-four, if her estimation was correct, but not quite heavy enough for a fighter. His muscles, rippling golden beneath a merciless sun, were not massive or unwieldy, but rather tight coils of sleek, enduring iron. His abdomen was as tight as a drum. His shoulders were broad, but narrowed to his waistline like a triangle. His chest was thickly tangled with tawny hair that burnished and glistened in the rays of the sun, and when he glanced at her to give her a quick smile, she caught sight of his yellow eyes again. She smiled in return, but her unease tingled her flesh. The smile softened features that could best be described as severe, rugged, and craggy, but those features, coupled with the compelling eyes and startlingly powerful physique, suddenly gave her the impression that she was facing a lion, supreme in his own might, lord of his territory. He moved with assured, controlled tension, yet she felt he contained a leashed force that could explode upon the unwary at any time, and God help that unfortunate prey. A lion, stalking his victims playfully until the pounce.

  “Stop ogling, Blair,” someone whispered in her ear. “It’s rather impolite …”

  Blair spun around guiltily at the tap on her shoulder. Kate was staring at her with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t ogling,” Blair protested dryly. “I was wondering what the hell he’s doing here.”

  “Okay,” Kate laughed. “You wonder, I’ll ogle!”

  “Seriously Kate—”

  “Oh, Blair, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Blair raised speculative brows in an arch of wisdom. “What about a Trojan horse? He just doesn’t look as if he belongs here.”

  Kate laughed ruefully and gave her friend a wry assessment. “And you do?” Devoid of makeup, her dark flame hair in a knot, her slender figure covered in well-worn jeans and a plain brown work shirt, Blair was still strikingly lovely and still exuded an air of breeding and regal poise.

  “Oh, brother!” Blair murmured in defeat. She couldn’t really explain her feelings to herself; it would be impossible to get them through to Kate. She waved briefly as she headed toward the med tent. “See you later. I have a whole pack of trusting little souls awaiting my tender touch with a needle.”

  Kate sniffed, calling, “Lucky you. I’m on lice squad.”

  Laughing, Blair hurried back. She had been staring—ogling, wondering, speculating, whatever!—longer than she had meant to. The tent was filled with scared little faces, all watching her with wide brown soulful eyes that proclaimed her the wolf and they the lambs for slaughter.

  She paused for a second at the tent flap, filled with anger and steeling herself for the task. It was the children who were always hurt, she thought. Generals waged self-righteous campaigns, shouting the valiant triumph of victory. The children lost their homes, their parents, their limbs. Sometimes they lost their lives.

  Blair didn’t give a damn what set of guerrillas claimed power. She lived in the political arena all her life and learned the sad truth that the best man didn’t necessarily win, nor even the most powerful.

  It was the most eloquent speaker who usually took the prize.

  Not that there weren’t good men in that arena. Her father, personal bias aside, was one of the finest men alive. He had served with and under many fine statesmen.

  But character and principle weren’t always enough to keep the wheels of political machinery running smoothly. Those in power, even when possessed of high principles, had to look at the whole, and they often had to turn their backs on suffering.

  They couldn’t allow themselves to take a good look at the things she had seen.

  Blair gave herself a little shake. Philosophizing was getting nothing done. She lined her charges up and spoke soothingly to the children as she prepared inoculations, making a game of the shots. After a quick swipe with a cottonball soaked in alcohol on each little arm she drew a happy face, swabbing in eyes and a mouth with sunny yellow marks, which were actually a disinfectant.

  The nose, she explained, was the lightning quick and expert injection she gave. Each child left the tent not quite sure of what had happened, but much closer to laughter than tears.

  She was unaware as she worked that a pair of leonine eyes peered into the tent at one point, observing.

  Dr. Hardy, however, did come upon Craig. “Quite an amazing woman, our Blair, don’t you think?” he inquired of the newcomer. He smiled with what he thought was sound perception. “But watch out for her, Taylor. I think God made redheads with fire in their hair to warn of the fire within.”

  Craig laughed at the dire warning. “I’ll watch out, Doc.” His expression sobered and he continued with a tone of apology the doctor couldn’t understand. “She is amazing. Really good at what she does. Not one of those kids has let out a squeal.”

  “I taught her everything she knows,” the doctor said proudly, his furred lips then twisting in a sheepish grin. “Not that teaching was much effort. She picked it all up within two weeks—including the language. Which isn’t surprising—” The doctor clamped his jaw shut. It wasn’t surprising that this woman had such a high intelligence quotient and a facility with languages—not when you knew who her father was. But that was confidential information, and he had almost baldly handed it over to this stranger.

  He sighed with relief when it appeared that Craig Taylor wasn’t going to press him. He stroked his beard and reached for the tent flap. “Guess I’d better get back to work,” he said absently. “How’s the unloading going?”

  “Done.”

  “Done?” Tom shook his head as if a magician had just waved a wand. “Damn, Taylor, I’m sure going to like having you around.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  It appeared that the sandy-haired giant winced, and Tom frowned in a moment of perplexity. Then he shrugged. This was not the type of man who needed to be patted on the back. Actually, few who stuck it out in the corps did.

  The man with the piercing yellow eyes slipped a serene smile back into his features. “Looks like they’re struggling with that fire over there.” He pointed to the clearing where Kate, his wife, Dolly, and young Harry Canton were indeed having problems starting the dinner fire beneath the huge black kettle which would furnish a nourishing stew that night. “I guess I’d better run over and lend a hand.” With a rueful wave he strode toward the gathering.

  Dr. Hardy went on into the tent, still shaking his grizzled head. Blair was drawing her last happy face on a little brown arm. “Annnnnnnd … pop! There goes his nose!” she said in barely accented Spanish, grinning cheerfully. The youngster looked from Blair to his arm, confused as to whether he had been hurt or not. It had been so quick. He laughed at the smiling señora.

  “All done,” Blair told him
. “Go on now, there will be dinner at the big pot soon.” As the child scampered out of the tent with a broad smile, Blair turned tiredly to the doctor. “That’s the lot of them. Anything else on the roster for me?”

  “Nope.” Dr. Hardy shook his head with a pleased grin. “Our new man put us way ahead of schedule.”

  Blair rose from her seat on the cot and stretched with a slight frown. “What do you think of him?” she asked.

  “I think I’m in love,” Dr. Hardy replied quickly with a rare quirk of humor. “They’ve finally sent me a man.”

  “But why?” Blair mused, tapping her chin reflectively with a forefinger.

  “I don’t really care,” he said bluntly. “He’s here, and he’s a goddamned work horse.” Patting Blair’s back, he added, “Be careful not to chase him away with your questions, huh? I’ve seen that devious gleam in those eyes, and you’re up to no good. Give the guy a break; he might be looking for a little privacy just like you are. I don’t let anyone give you the third degree; now, don’t you do it to him.”

  Her emerald eyes could appear very innocent when she wished. “I’m not going to chase away Hercules on you! He’s already offered to tell me why he was here.”

  “Well, then you’ll have your answer.”

  Still not satisfied, Blair murmured, “Why me?”

  The doctor chuckled as he began to clear up various medical paraphernalia. “If you don’t know the answer to that one, young lady, we have had you in the brush too long.”

  “You think he’s attracted to me?” Blair frowned.

  “I know he’s attracted to you, and”—with a friendly gesture he tugged on the neat knot of her hair—“so do you. And I think you’re attracted to him, otherwise you’d leave the poor fellow alone.”

  “He is attractive,” Blair allowed, taking no offense. “But don’t you see—he’s too attractive.”

  “Maybe that’s because you see too few strong healthy men your own age,” he suggested, scowling as he realized he had a stone in his boot.

  Blair shook her head with renewed exasperation and grasped his elbow to steady him as he pulled off his boot to remove the offending pebble. “I wasn’t born in the wilderness, Tom. This guy isn’t like other men. Not even like attractive other men. And I’m not saying that to pretend I don’t find him … arresting …”

  “Sexy,” the doctor interjected, refitting his boot.

  “All right, I’ll grant you the semantics.” Blair gave in with a slight twinge of pink reaching her cheeks. “But he’s more than sexy. He’s confident, powerful. A man like that knows where he’s going in life. This type of life could offer him no challenge.” The doctor wasn’t replying, and Blair finally grew frustrated trying to get her point across. There really weren’t words to describe what she felt. It wasn’t that she believed Craig Taylor incapable of giving. In fact, she believed he would give generously of his time, strength, and talent. But this just wasn’t what she thought would be his choice for an outlet.

  “Oh, never mind,” she sighed, releasing his arm as he regained his own balance. “I’m heading for the stream.”

  “Have a nice bath.” He waved her on, his mind already moving on to other subjects, if she had really ever had his attention in the first place.

  In her small private tent she collected her soap and a towel and rummaged through her clothing. The good doctor was right about one thing—she was extremely attracted to Craig, and she wasn’t sure whether she liked the feeling or not. In a way it was wonderfully exciting; it seemed like forever since her senses had been touched in the least by a man. It was also nerve-racking. She had made a sound point herself, which her friend had totally ignored. Craig Taylor was no ordinary man. In a field of thousands, he alone would stand out, exuding power, exuding vibrancy, exuding quick and perceptive intelligence with topaz eyes.

  Blair realized a little ruefully that she was rummaging through her clothing so thoroughly because she was determined to find her most attractive “brush” outfit. Craig was a wild stimulation that she couldn’t deny, and she was automatically responding as a female.

  Merely sound tactics, she assured herself. If she was entering a battle of wiles with this man, the better her tactics and ammunition, the better her chances of emerging the victor. She wasn’t a politician’s daughter for nothing.

  Her hands suddenly went clammy and she sank to her sheet-covered cot. Her marriage—which she had entered into with the natural enthusiasm of any young bride—had gone from happiness to tragic misery so fast that it had taken up to now, and the presence of Craig Taylor, for Blair to realize that she had never been this affected by a man before. She had socialized a bit after Ray’s death, and indifferently accepted good-night kisses, but had never been stirred as she had by the sound of Craig’s voice and the sight of his lean body and magnetic eyes. She had never even been so stirred by Ray Teile….

  He was just a man, she told herself sternly.

  He wasn’t just a man.

  But stirred or not, she wasn’t a naive innocent herself. She was an experienced widow. She wasn’t sure why she was going to battle with Craig, but she was. They were skirting each other carefully now; the depths of their diplomatic war would have to surface later.

  Impatient with herself, she stood purposefully and grabbed soap, towel, and clothing—the best she had with her, a tailored blue cotton shirt and her least worn out pair of jeans—and hurried out of her tent across the compound.

  Kate was still busy ladling out food. Unable to resist, Blair caught her friend’s eye. “I’ll be waiting for you at the stream!”

  Kate rewarded her with a good-humored grimace.

  The sound of the water was soothing, as was the wild and colorful beauty of the foliage and the small jagged cliffs that bordered the stream. Blair could almost feel the water against her skin as she approached the embankment—and stopped short.

  Someone had reached the stream ahead of her.

  A pile of dirty clothing lay in a neatly bundled ball beneath the outstretched arm of a sturdy oak. Upon the branch rested a clean pair of blue jeans and a tan cotton shirt similar to her own.

  Craig.

  She didn’t see him in the water, but she knew it was he without even recognizing the dirty clothing. Her senses sent out an alarm that warned her it was he. Slight shivers began to play havoc, rising from the base of her spine to spread to every limb. Her mind was working entirely on its own, imagining his golden torso emerging from the water in glistening masculinity, his hips, as sturdy and trim as the oak.

  Oh, Lord! she chastised herself, backing away from the stream with self-annoyance. She had been in the brush too long.

  No, it wasn’t that. He was unique.

  And it wasn’t her imagination anymore. His sandy head, darkened by the water, emerged, his hawk-rugged features, then the broad, matted torso gleaming bronze from the shimmering stream just as she had imagined.

  Yellow, impaling eyes caught hers. A slow grin crept into sensuously full lips. “Coming in?” he called.

  Blair shook her head, but she ceased backing away. If he had already seen her, she wasn’t going to run like an adolescent.

  “When you come out, Mr. Taylor, I’ll go in,” she called. “I guess we forgot to tell you the protocol. Ladies get first dibs on bathing facilities.”

  “Sorry,” he shouted in return, staying in the water respectably to his waistline. Still, the thick brush of sandy hair that covered his chest thinned as it approached his navel, and continued, presumably extending in a narrow line until it thickened again in parts concealed by the water. Blair found with irritation that she was having difficulty maintaining eye level contact—hers wanted to follow that enticingly suggestive line of damp, coarse curls. He walked closer to the shore and for a second Blair feared he would walk boldly out.

  But he didn’t. He had simply come close enough for them to carry on an audible conversation without shouting at each other over the bubbling of the stream and the roar o
f the cascade.

  “I couldn’t find anything else to do,” he explained, folding his arms over his chest as an engaging smile curled his lips. “I wandered around until I found this place, then ran back for my clean clothes.”

  Blair smiled, dimly aware that the danger in his eyes was only masked by his boyish grin. “That’s all right,” she told him, “you don’t need to apologize. We should have told you.”

  He cocked his head suddenly and laughed. “I think you may eventually be glad I accidentally broke protocol. I made another discovery that I’ll bet you haven’t yet.”

  “Oh?” His eyes, Blair realized, were not, of course, really yellow at all. They were hazel—lime green with golden brown stars shooting from the irises like crystal in a marble. “What’s your discovery?”

  “Un-unh.” He shook his head ruefully. “My discovery can’t be explained. You have to see it for yourself, and since you don’t want to join me …” He lifted his hands with a parody of sad regret.

  “That’s a hell of a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Blair said, smiling dryly,

  “I’m crushed!”

  “The hell you are.” Nothing, she was sure, would ever crush him.

  He raised both brows and shrugged. “One day,” he promised lightly, “I will show you my glorious secret and you’ll regret that scorning distrust. But for the moment”—his brows rose even higher and he inclined his head toward his clothing—“why don’t you turn around so that I don’t insult your virtue further.”

  Blair took a few steps past the tree and turned, nonchalantly crossing her arms over her chest. She was trembling and praying her demeanor would keep him from noticing. There had been times after Ray’s death when she had considered escaping to anywhere with anyone, just to convince herself that she was still normal, capable of a feminine passion that could bring pleasure.

  But wisdom had tempered that frivolity. She would never prove anything, and possibly harm herself further, by attempting an affair without emotion or true desire.