Heart of Fire Read online

  “Keep an eye out for snakes,” Ben called.

  “Thanks for the warning,” she muttered. “I will.”

  “The fer-de-lance likes to lie on the ground among fallen leaves and wait for its food to come tripping along.”

  Damn him. She stopped and gave the ground an extra-sharp perusal, then went back to hacking. She knew about snakes and had automatically looked before she began, but he had made her uneasy enough to look again. Not that that was a bad thing, she was forced to admit. She would rather suffer a little uneasiness than a snakebite. Though they carried antivenin, a bite from a fer-de-lance could mean a painful death, and the bushmaster was even deadlier.

  When they had made a sufficient clearing, they quickly set up the camp with the tents in a circle around the campfire. Rick and Kates unfolded their lightweight chairs and sat down, their faces and posture telling of their utter exhaustion. Ben didn’t prod them to help, as they were clearly beyond it.

  Pepe began the meal, and everyone gathered around. Conversation was sketchy, as they were all tired from the exertion of the first day. As soon as they had eaten, Jillian once more retired to her tent. She had shown Ben on a map the location of the next landmark, and he had said it would take at least three days to reach it. Until then, she had no other calculations to make or recheck. All she had to do was rest, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

  After securing the zipper with tape, she undressed and used moist disposable towels to clean up as best she could, paying special attention to her feet. A blister or fungal infection could make life miserable. She dusted her feet and boots with antifungal powder each morning, but every little irritation had to be treated immediately, before it became a major problem. Clean socks were as necessary as food. Thank God her boots were old and well broken in.

  Feeling better, she pulled on clean underwear and, with a deep sigh, stretched out on the sleep pad.

  “Jillian.”

  It was Ben. She sighed again, but this time not in relief. “What?”

  “You need a rubdown.” She heard him tugging at the zipper. “The damn zipper is stuck.”

  “No, it isn’t. I have it jammed from in here.”

  “Well, unjam it.”

  “I’m okay. Forget about the rubdown.”

  “Open the zipper.” His voice was quiet, but again there was that unmistakable tone of command.

  She scowled in his direction, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I’d rather be sore tomorrow than deal with your so-called rubdown,” she said bluntly. “I’d have to be an idiot to let you in here.”

  Ben sighed. “No funny business, I promise. No wandering hands.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I gave you my word.”

  That wasn’t much reason, but she found herself hesitating. A rubdown would be heaven; she was so sore now that every movement hurt. Tomorrow would be torture if she didn’t do something about the muscle strain. Why should she endure pain when she didn’t have to? Common sense was sometimes uncomfortable. If she denied herself the rubdown she could feel virtuous and long-suffering, but “suffering” was the key word. Being entirely practical, however, she couldn’t find any sense in refusing.

  “Well, all right,” she muttered. “But if you make even one wrong move, I’ll brain you with something.” Wincing as she moved, she sat up and peeled the tape back, then slid the zipper down.

  “You mean you brought your purse?” Ben crawled into the tent, making it suddenly seem child-size. He brought one of the lanterns and a bottle of liniment with him. One eyebrow climbed as he studied the strip of tape, and he grinned.

  “It works,” she pointed out.

  “So it does. Okay, down on your stomach.”

  She obeyed, though stiffly. “I’m all right, really. I expected to be sore.”

  “No point in having pain when I can relieve at least part of it. By the way, I like the outfit.”

  She hadn’t blushed in years, but suddenly she felt her face heating up. More was covered than would have been if she’d been wearing a bathing suit, but the fact that her panties and shirt were underwear made the moment far more intimate. Trust Ben to mention that. Trust him to be incapable of refraining from making suggestive remarks. She pressed her hot face into the pad, thinking that if she could have moved fast enough she would have belted him one just on general principle.

  The pungent scent of liniment burned her nose when he opened the bottle. He poured a liberal amount into his palm and began massaging it into her legs. He started at her ankles and worked upward, rolling and prodding the tight muscles. She moaned with delight when he kneaded her calf muscles, then caught her breath on a sharp inhalation of pain when he moved up to her thighs.

  “Easy,” he murmured soothingly. “Relax and let me work the soreness out.”

  His touch was slow and lingering, for all the power in his fingers. She had been wary, expecting his hands to wander where they shouldn’t have, but they didn’t, and after a while the pleasure of the massage was so great that she couldn’t resist its drugging spell any longer. Slowly the tension drained out of her with each long stroke of his hands. She heard herself making little sounds in her throat, and tried to stop, because it sounded lewd.

  “Roll over,” he said, and she did.

  He massaged the fronts of her thighs, rubbing in the liniment, easing the soreness. “I knew you’d be in good shape,” he commented. “Nice, strong legs. I was beginning to think your brother and his cohort weren’t going to make it, though. They crawled into their tents right after you did. They wouldn’t even have taken off their boots if I hadn’t made them.”

  “They don’t know anything about what they’re doing,” she said drowsily.

  “That’s an understatement. Okay, on your stomach again so I can do your back. Pull your shirt off.”

  She was sleepy, but not that sleepy. She opened her eyes and glared at him.

  “I can’t rub in the liniment if you don’t,” he pointed out. “Look, I’m not going to jump your bones tonight. I like my women a bit more lively than you are right now. Your shoulders and back are sore, and if I don’t rub them down tonight they’ll feel even worse tomorrow. You know it, so don’t argue.”

  She didn’t trust him an inch, but he had behaved so far, and the massage felt like heaven. After giving him a warning look she turned onto her stomach again, then wriggled her tank top off.

  She heard him chuckle, but he kept any comments to himself. He poured a small amount of liniment on her back, then settled himself into position astride her buttocks. She closed her eyes, berating herself. She should have known.

  But all he did was lean forward and begin a strong massage that almost brought her off the pad, especially when his fingers dug into her sore shoulders. She groaned aloud at the exquisite pain.

  He worked on each muscle, forcing them into relaxation. She felt herself going limp and was helpless to stop it. Along with the soreness he rubbed out every bit of strength. He prodded until he found every sore spot, then lingered until the last vestige of tension was gone. He was good at this. Oh, was he good. He didn’t hesitate to use the strength necessary to do a thorough job.

  She would almost have believed sympathy and a desire to help were his only motives, if it hadn’t been for the swelling hardness she could feel against her buttocks. Every time he leaned forward, his erection pressed against her. But he didn’t do anything else that she could object to, and he had done such a good job of relaxing her that she was incapable of responding, either in welcome or in rejection. All she could do was lie there, drifting in and out of a doze, and wishing those powerful hands could stay on the job for another hour or so. It was pure heaven. . . .

  Ben looked down at her, and his lips moved into a strained, rueful smile. She was asleep. He was astride her firm, deliciously rounded, barely covered ass; he had been rubbing his penis against that ass for half an hour, he was so hard that he was shaking with the ne