Forbidden. Ellen James
didn’t need to know about those. Nick went on. “Robert’s a volunteer of sorts, Pat just got her Ph.D. in anthropology, Jarrett’s the resident ethnographer and I’m the…resident pain in the ass.”
Dana gave a sagacious nod. “That much I believe. But there’s no one else?”
“That’s it.”
“I knew the dig was understaffed, but still…” She kept her musings to herself as evening darkened into night. Across the street, the lights of the gazebo glittered over the plaza. And from the windows of the café, light spilled over Dana, turning her hair a deep burnished gold.
“Ms. Morgan–” Nick began.
“You may as well call me Dana.”
He gazed at her. Someone had started to thrum a guitar in the plaza, the melody carrying plaintively. The warm island breeze was sultry, stirring strands of hair against Dana’s cheek. Nick had a sudden urge to touch her cheek himself, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know this woman…and he didn’t want her to know him. What would she say if she learned how he’d messed up his life? She’d probably get up and walk away. She wouldn’t sit here gazing back at him, her lips parted slightly, as if he’d caught her off guard….
He couldn’t act on this raw attraction he felt, that was for sure. He had to work with Dana Morgan for as long as she remained on the island, not fantasize about her.
She dropped her gaze from his, impatiently pushing the hair away from her face. “Anyway,” she said, “you can’t shut me out of this thing. I want to know who attacked Jarrett–and why.”
“If you’re so concerned about Jarrett, go nurse the guy or something. I’m sure he’d be delighted.”
She didn’t budge. She remained seated stubbornly right where she was. The bored waiter, finally realizing that he had another patron, appeared with a menu for Dana. She opened it and perused it with great concentration.
“I’m famished,” she announced. “This sounds good…ceviche.“ She probably had no idea it meant marinated fish.
“That wouldn’t be wise,” Nick said. “Especially after your…uh, indisposition today.”
Even in the hazy light, he could tell her face was turning red. “What happened this morning–it was just an aberration. My stomach’s usually as–as solid as a rock.”
“Except when you’re contemplating an adventure,” he reminded her. “That’s what you told me, anyway.”
She slapped her menu shut. “Everyone has…peculiarities.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He had his own peculiarities, for that matter. He called to the waiter and ordered a more reasonable meal for Dana–tortillas and rice. She looked put out, although she didn’t object. He knew it wasn’t any business of his what she ate, but he didn’t want her to be sick again.
Eventually Dana’s food came. “It looks delicious,” she said. “Aren’t you having anything to eat?”
“No.” Breaking bread with her would be going too far. He was accustomed to solitary meals, and he didn’t intend Dana Morgan to get any ideas otherwise.
She seemed to have exhausted all conversation and Nick didn’t help her any. He tried concentrating on the activity in the plaza, but it wasn’t easy. Even when he wasn’t looking at Dana, the uncomfortable awareness of her remained. She was like some beautiful painting he wanted to study again and again, seeking nuances he hadn’t noticed before. His gaze strayed to her. She looked young to him, young and clear-eyed and confident. She ate with good appetite, regardless of everything that had happened today. Nick tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed food with that type of zest. He tried to remember the last time he’d enjoyed anything with zest. It had been a long while ago…too long ago.
The combination of his silence and scrutiny finally seemed to discourage Dana. She pushed her empty plate aside, slapping some money on the table to pay for her meal–as if to advise Nick she considered herself his equal and didn’t expect any favors.
“Good night…Nick.” She stood and glanced at him one more time. She’d used his name defiantly, emphasizing once again that she considered herself his equal. Then she turned and strode away.
He’d succeeded in running her off, after all. She moved with that graceful posture of hers, and Nick suspected her mother had made her walk around with a book on her head. Dana Morgan seemed like the type of woman who would have adoring parents somewhere, beaming over her accomplishments. She’d probably even grown up in a house with a white picket fence and some happy mutt of a dog.
She turned the corner toward the hotel, and he could no longer see her. Feeling vaguely dissatisfied, he ordered another Coke. He just hoped Dana didn’t last long on the island. For his own peace of mind, he hoped he could make her leave.
CHAPTER THREE
L ATE NEXT MORNING, Dana sat cross-legged under the shade of a palm, drinking another lukewarm orange soda. If there was one thing she’d learned so far, it was that the tropical heat of Isla Calamar produced an endless thirst in her. It made her long to go find the beach and jump into the waters of the Caribbean. However, Dana’s busy schedule with Dr. Petrie allowed no time for frivolous activities such as swimming. It was surprising that he had permitted her even this short break. She’d spent the entire morning with him at the excavation site, learning her duties. Robert and Pat were off together, making preparations to open a new site. Apparently young Daniel had business elsewhere today, and none of the other islanders had appeared–which left Dana alone with Nick. Not the most comfortable of situations.
Jarrett, meanwhile, was recovering well, but the kindly old village doctor had advised complete bed rest for the next few days. Dana had taken it upon herself to make sure the doctor’s orders were strictly observed. Ignoring Jarrett’s protests, she’d left him under the charge of the hotelkeeper. From the beginning, the hotelkeeper had seemed to enjoy allying herself with Dana. In spite of the language barrier, they were both women, after all, out to convince Jarrett they knew what was best for him.
Nick, however, had followed his own agenda. Dana seriously doubted anyone could tell him what to do. He had spent the night camped out at the dig, lying in wait should the attacker return. Nothing untoward had happened, and Nick had come back to the village to announce that work would proceed as usual. He’d seemed determined to have the excavations progress–no matter what.
And so he had made sure that Dana was very busy all morning. They’d thoroughly gone over the charts of stratum analysis she’d be updating in minute detail, as well as other complex field notes that would be her responsibility. Nick had also introduced her to the actual tools she’d be using. Screens, brushes, plumb lines, rods, trowels, shovels–and yes, her bare hands. Archaeology was definitely a hands-on experience.
All in all, it had been a most instructive morning–but a tense one, too. Dana couldn’t seem to relax around Dr. Nicholas Petrie. His presence was simply too…forceful. At the moment, for instance, he sat across from Dana, frowning over the rim of his own orange soda, lost in thoughts she couldn’t even begin to imagine. She felt edgy in his proximity, yet her gaze kept straying to him, tracing the bold, hard lines of his face. Dana didn’t understand her confusing reactions to Nick. She far preferred more straightforward feelings. Usually, either she liked someone or she didn’t, and that was that. But with Nick Petrie, the words like and dislike were much too tame. After all, Dana couldn’t very well say that she merely disliked the uneasiness that Nick caused her, or that she liked his unquestionable virility. More potent words were needed….
Dana shifted uneasily at the direction of her thoughts, and this seemed to prompt Nick from his own musings. He gave her a disparaging look.
“Why the hell didn’t anyone