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It seemed completely logical to her, but it set him off again. He sat with his shoulders hunched and shaking, holding his head between his hands and laughing until tears streamed down his face. After he had stopped, he brushed his own teeth, but he kept making little choking noises that told Jane he was still finding the situation extremely funny. She was lighthearted, happy that she had made him laugh.
She felt her blouse and found it stiff, but dry. “You can have your shirt back,” she told him, turning her back to take it off. “Thanks for the loan.”
“Is yours dry?”
“Completely.” She pulled his shirt off and dropped it on her backpack, and hurriedly began to put her blouse on. She had one arm in a sleeve when he swore violently. She jumped, startled, and looked over her shoulder at him.
His face was grim as he strode rapidly over to her. His expression had been bright with laughter only a moment before, but now he looked like a thundercloud. “What happened to your arm?” he snapped, catching her elbow and holding her bruised arm out for his inspection. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d hurt yourself?”
Jane tried to grab the blouse and hold it over her bare breasts with her free arm, feeling horribly vulnerable and exposed. She had been trying for a nonchalant manner while changing, but her fragile poise was shattered by his closeness and his utter disregard for her modesty. Her cheeks reddened, and in self-defense she looked down at her badly bruised arm.
“Stop being so modest,” he growled irritably when she fumbled with the blouse. “I told you, I’ve already seen you without any clothes.” That was embarrassingly true, but it didn’t help. She stood very still, her face burning, while he gently examined her arm.
“That’s a hell of a bruise, honey. How does your arm feel?”
“It hurts, but I can use it,” she said stiffly.
“How did it happen?”
“In a variety of ways,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a bright manner. “This bruise right here is where you hit me on the arm after sneaking into my bedroom and scaring me half to death. The big, multicolored one is from falling down that bluff yesterday morning. This little interesting welt is where a limb swung back and caught me—”
“Okay, I get the idea.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry I bruised you, but I didn’t know who you were. I’d say we were more than even on that score, anyway, after that kick you gave me.”
Jane’s dark chocolate eyes widened with remorse. “I didn’t mean to, not really. It was just a reflex. I’d done it before I thought. Are you okay? I mean, I didn’t do any permanent damage, did I?”
A small, unwilling grin tugged at his lips as he remembered the torment of arousal he’d been enduring on her account. “No, everything’s in working order,” he assured her. His gaze dropped to where she clutched her blouse to her chest, and his clear amber eyes darkened to a color like melted gold. “Couldn’t you tell that when we were standing in the stream kissing?”
Jane looked down automatically, then jerked her gaze back up in consternation when she realized where she was looking. “Oh,” she said blankly.
Grant slowly shook his head, staring at her. She was a constant paradox, an unpredictable blend of innocence and contrariness, of surprising prudery and amazing boldness. In no way was she what he’d expected. He was beginning to enjoy every moment he spent with her, but acknowledging that made him wary. It was his responsibility to get her out of Costa Rica, but he would compromise his own effectiveness if he allowed himself to become involved with her. Worrying over her could cloud his judgment. But, damn, how much could a man stand? He wanted her, and the wanting increased with every moment. In some curious way he felt lighter, happier. She certainly kept him on his toes! He was either laughing at her or contemplating beating her, but he was never bored or impatient in her company. Funny, but he couldn’t remember ever laughing with a woman before. Laughter, especially during the past few years, had been in short supply in his life.
A chattering monkey caught his attention, and he looked up. The spots of sunlight darting through the shifting layers of trees reminded him that they were losing traveling time. “Get your blouse on,” he said tersely, swinging away from her to sling his backpack on. He buckled it into place, then swung her pack onto his right shoulder. The rifle was slung over his left shoulder. By that time, Jane had jerked her blouse on and buttoned it up. Rather than stuffing it in her pants, she tied the tails in a knot at her waist as she had with Grant’s shirt. He was already starting off through the jungle.
“Grant! Wait!” she called to his back, hurrying after him.
“You’ll have to stay with me,” he said unfeelingly, not slackening his pace.
Well, did he think she couldn’t? Jane fumed, panting along in his path. She’d show him! And he could darn well act macho and carry both packs if he wanted; she wasn’t going to offer to help! But he wasn’t acting macho, she realized, and that deflated some of her indignation. He actually was that strong and indefatigable.
Compared to the harrowing day before, the hours passed quietly, without sight of another human being. She followed right on his heels, never complaining about the punishing pace he set, though the heat and humidity were even worse than the day before, if that were possible. There wasn’t any hint of a breeze under the thick, smothering canopy. The air was still and heavy, steamy with an almost palpable thickness. She perspired freely, soaking her clothes and making her long for a real bath. That dousing in the stream the day before had felt refreshing, but didn’t really qualify as bathing. Her nose wrinkled. She probably smelled like a goat.
Well, so what, she told herself. If she did, then so did he. In the jungle it was probably required to sweat.
They stopped about midmorning for a break, and Jane tiredly accepted the canteen from him. “Do you have any salt tablets?” she asked. “I think I need one.”
“You don’t need salt, honey, you need water. Drink up.”
She drank, then passed the canteen back to him. “It’s nearly empty. Let’s pour the Perrier into it and chuck the empty bottles.”
He nodded, and they were able to discard three bottles. As he got ready to start out again, Jane asked, “Why are you in such a hurry? Do you think we’re being followed?”
“Not followed,” he said tersely. “But they’re looking for us, and the slower we move, the better chance they have of finding us.”
“In this?” Jane joked, waving her hand to indicate the enclosing forest. It was difficult
to see ten feet in any direction.
“We can’t stay in here forever. Don’t underrate Turego; he can mobilize a small army to search for us. The minute we show our faces, he’ll know it.”
