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  Maybe she’d aim at his head, she thought with pleasure. Granted, his head was probably the hardest part of him, but if the rock was big enough it might make a dent and get his attention. Aloud she said sweetly, “What a good idea! Now I won’t worry so much about finding it the first time.”

  He had learned that the saccharine tone in her voice meant she was thinking up something particularly nasty to say or do to him, and he threw a wary glance over his shoulder. Her expression definitely was not sweet. She looked as if she was contemplating dismemberment—his—and reveling in anticipation. Damn it, he’d never met a woman like her before. She was strong and confident and levelheaded, certainly not qualities he’d ever been particularly attracted to; he’d always looked more for a good sense of humor, a lack of inhibitions, and big hooters. Jillian definitely didn’t qualify for the last two, though she did have a subtle, slightly warped sense of humor that kept him on his toes. He couldn’t intimidate her, couldn’t embarrass her, couldn’t seduce her. He was beginning to wonder if there was anything he could do to her.

  For over two weeks he had seldom allowed her to get more than ten feet away from him, and she had been out of his sight only during calls of nature and when she had zipped herself into her tent the past three nights. Even during the calls of nature, he had made a point of being close by, and keeping a lookout for Dutra at the same time. Such enforced close contact with any other woman would have driven him crazy with boredom by now; Jillian was driving him crazy, all right, but not with boredom.

  The truth was, he felt alarmed and annoyed that she wasn’t right beside him during the nights so he could keep an eye on her. What if Dutra tried to get into her tent? Sure, Kates had evidently gotten it through the bastard’s head that he had to be on his best behavior on the trip inland, but that didn’t mean Ben trusted him for a minute. Jillian had her little trick with the tape to jam the zipper on the tent flap, and she had her pistol, but what if Dutra simply sliced his way into the tent? Would Jillian hear him and wake up in time? She had shown herself to be more than capable; in fact, she had been one step ahead of him most of the time, and that was aggravating as hell. But he still worried and fretted, because if he didn’t have her soon he was going to either explode or turn into a babbling idiot.

  When he had her safely back in Manaus, he was going to lock himself in a hotel room with her and not come out until he had another guide job, which might be a month or more. A whole month of making love . . . He indulged in some very graphic fantasies for a moment; then his eyes narrowed as he realized that another job would mean leaving her behind, and she probably wouldn’t be there when he got back. No, independent Ms. Sherwood would hop a flight back to the States, or she’d be haring off to dig up some old bones somewhere.

  He halted in his tracks and turned around to glare at her. Behind her, the entire column lurched to a halt, but he didn’t spare them a look. “You’ll damn well stay where I put you,” he snapped, and turned back around to slash viciously at a vine.

  “You’ve lost it, Lewis,” she muttered as she started after him again. “The heat has gotten to you.”

  “It’s not the heat,” came his return mutter. “It’s a critical buildup of sperm.”

  She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Oh, I see. Your brain has become clogged.”

  “Something’s clogged, all right, but it isn’t my brain.”

  He sounded so irritable that she wanted to pat him on the head and say, “There, there,” but she didn’t think he would appreciate the gesture. Instead she asked, “If celibacy is so difficult, how did you manage on your other expeditions?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder again, the intense blue of his eyes flashing in the green-tinted dimness. “Usually it isn’t.”

  “Isn’t what?”

  “Difficult.”

  “So what’s different about this trip?”

  “You.”

  “Keeping you reminded, huh?”

  “Something like that.” He was muttering again.

  She fell silent, but she was smiling. So he was feeling frustrated, was he? Good. It was no less than he deserved.

  He stopped again, suddenly motionless, and she skidded to a halt to keep from knocking into him. Behind her, everyone else also stopped, and something about his alert stillness made them abruptly wary. Slowly Ben unslung the shotgun.

  He whispered something to Pepe in the Tukano language, and the wiry little Indian whispered a reply.

  “Back up,” Ben murmured to her. “Very carefully. Don’t make a sound.”

  Easier said than done, but under the silent urging of Pepe and Eulogio they were all retracing their steps, carefully placing their feet to avoid twigs, using their hands to keep limbs from swishing, inching backward with far more caution than they had used while advancing.

  Ben stopped again. Jillian tried to see past him, but his broad back blocked most of the view. He made a slight motion with his hand that told her to freeze.

  Then she saw it, her eyes suddenly picking out the details from the forest surrounding it. Fierce eyes, golden and predatory, locked on Ben who was at the head of the column. A magnificent golden coat, dotted with black rosettes and blending almost perfectly with the dappled foliage. A thick tail with the tip twitching as if with a life of its own.

  The jaguar crouched in wait, powerful muscles bunched. Jillian’s muscles were so tight that she could barely breathe. She wanted to look away from the big cat, feeling as if it were mesmerizing her, but she didn’t dare break eye contact in case it charged.

  The humidity seemed to increase now that they weren’t moving, and the intense smells of the jungle crowded in on them, with another scent added: the acrid smell of a big cat. Sweat trickled down her temples and stung her eyes. They stood motionless for so long that the birds in the area, which had initially taken alarm, began to sing again. Tiny brilliant hummingbirds darted close by, and a giant butterfly with six-inch iridescent blue wings fluttered over the barrel of the shotgun, even briefly alighting before continuing its leisurely flight through the jungle. Monkeys high overhead were barking at one another as they normally did. Lizards went about their business of snaring ants and termites, tongues flicking out with hypnotic regularity.

  And they stood there, pinned by the big cat’s unblinking yellow gaze.

  If the jaguar charged, Ben would have to kill it. If anyone behind her made a reckless movement, that might trigger an attack. She began praying that, for once, Rick would control his impatience.

  Then suddenly the monkeys began screaming in alarm, making her glance upward, and there was a great scramble aloft; unseen tree limbs high above began swaying with the commotion, making the dangling lianas dance and tremble. Ben still didn’t move. She heard a deep, rough cough, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted in primal warning. When she looked back, the jaguar was gone.

  They stood there for what seemed like an hour, and probably was. Behind her, either Rick or Kates made an impatient sound that was quickly silenced by a warning gesture from Eulogio. Finally Ben motioned for Pepe to move up beside him; the litter was carefully set down, and Pepe edged around Jillian. He and Ben slipped forward and returned ten minutes later walking normally, though their eyes were still warily searching every bush and tree. “Jaguar,” Ben said succinctly.

  “Oh, hell.” It was Rick, his disgust plain in his voice. “You mean we stood here for an hour because you saw a damn cat? Why didn’t you just shoot it?”

  “I would have if it had attacked. It didn’t. No point in killing it.” Not to mention there were strict laws against killing the big predators. He didn’t figure that would matter to Sherwood, so he continued, “I don’t want to fire any shots if we don’t have to; not only are there tribes in here who sort of worship the jaguar and wouldn’t take kindly to us killing one of them, but I don’t want to pinpoint our location for anyone.”

  Those two reasons apparently made sense to Rick, and he dropped the subje