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  She had a strong competitive streak in her nature. She liked to win, whether it was at cards or beating someone to a good parking spot. She liked most team sports and absolutely loved football. Seducing her was just a game to Ben, so that was the way she would play it too: to win.

  She had woefully underestimated him at their first meeting, but now she had his measure and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  They were in a dicey situation; they needed to keep their wits about them and their eyes wide open rather than waste time on the Adam and Eve stuff. Of course, as he had pointed out, they were safe enough on the trip in. It would be on the trip out that they would be in danger. Still, she didn’t intend to let Ben distract her.

  Night crashed down with stunning abruptness. One moment it was twilight, the next it wasn’t. The impenetrable jungle seemed to press harder against the boats where they were pulled up to the riverbank. The level of noise began to build, complete with shrieks and howls, coughs and rumbles, until she wondered how any of them would get any sleep.

  Battery-operated lanterns were turned on. Each boat carried an alcohol stove, and a quick, simple meal was supplied. Vicente did the cooking on their boat, throwing together rice, fish, and seasonings to make a dish that wouldn’t win any awards, but was edible. It would fill their bellies and give them energy; nothing else was required of their food, certainly not good taste or an elegant presentation.

  Afterward, the tin plates were quickly cleaned and stored, and hammocks efficiently hung, taking up most of the deck space. “This one is yours,” Ben said to Jillian, indicating the hammock closest to his. They were virtually side by side, close enough to hold hands if either of them was so inclined. Jillian wasn’t.

  She expertly maneuvered herself into the swaying hammock and arranged a swath of mosquito netting over her. Even though she had to admit the night was wonderfully free of the pests, she didn’t want to take the chance that there might be a stray bug out there just waiting to jump on her. The mosquito netting was her own form of a security blanket.

  Ben settled into his own hammock. “Bet you think you’re safe, don’t you?” he whispered a moment later. “Ever done it in a hammock?”

  “Of course,” she said, and was vastly pleased with the precise blend of unconcern and boredom that she had managed. Let him wonder about that! He hadn’t specified which “it” he was talking about, so she felt free to apply her own interpretation. She had definitely slept in a hammock before.

  The immediate blasé response brought a scowl to Ben’s face as he relaxed with the slight swaying of the hammock. What did she mean, “of course”? Did more go on during her archaeological expeditions than he’d imagined? It made sense; people were together for long periods of time, so it would be human nature for their gonads to act up. He was sympathetic to the condition; his own libido wasn’t the best-behaved in the world.

  But the thought of Jillian swaying in a hammock with some bare-assed, bony-kneed archaeologist humping her wasn’t pleasant. In fact, he didn’t like it worth a damn. His scowl deepened, and a strange kind of anger flared deep in his belly. The incredulous thought surfaced that he was feeling jealous, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. That was ridiculous. He’d never been jealous of a woman before in his life, and he sure wasn’t jealous of Jillian Sherwood. She wasn’t even his type. Her main attraction was that she was the only woman available—that and the almost irresistible urge he had to show her that he could have her anytime he wanted. All he had to do was turn up the heat.

  He reached out and nudged her hammock. “Where?”

  “Where what?” she murmured, rousing up from a light doze.

  “Where did you do it in a hammock?”

  “Oh. On the balcony of my condo.” Knowing that he couldn’t see her in the dark, Jillian allowed herself a triumphant smirk. It was true; she did have a hammock on her balcony, and she had, on occasion, napped out there.

  He lay in his own hammock and simmered as his image of a bony-kneed archaeologist was transformed into a vision of a trendy West Coast type with sun-bleached hair, whose clothes bore all the right labels. On the balcony. In public! Jesus Christ, even he had never done it in public. He couldn’t believe his initial impression of her had been so far off base; he knew women, read them easily, but Jillian kept disconcerting him. That night in her hotel room, when he had kissed her, he had sensed her arousal but she had refused to open her mouth to him and return the kiss. Such self-control baffled him. Why would anyone want to resist pleasure?

  The night wasn’t clear, but there was a faint hint of light, just enough to keep the darkness from being complete, as it was under the canopy. He couldn’t make out her features even though her hammock was only a few inches from his, but she was lying in the limp stillness that meant sleep. Damn it, how could she tell him about screwing in a hammock on her balcony and then just drop off to sleep? How in hell was he supposed to get to sleep now?

  He couldn’t stop thinking about that hammock, but somewhere along the way his imagination did away with the trendy West Coast type and substituted himself. He had touched her at various times, held her against him, so he knew how firm and sleekly muscled she was; he could easily visualize that neat, tight body naked, perky breasts high and nipples tightly drawn with excitement as he moved in and out of her.

  His erection pushed painfully against his pants. In the darkness he scowled at her sleeping form and reached down to adjust himself to a more comfortable position.

  He lay awake for a long time, scowling and shifting uncomfortably. Another storm built up in the distance and he listened to the rumble of thunder for a while, waiting to see if they would need to move to shelter, but the storm drifted by at a distance. Once he heard a faint scratching against the side of the boat; both he and Pepe got up, and he shone a flashlight over the railing. A startled turtle promptly disappeared underwater again. The nightly serenade hummed on undisturbed.

  Ben settled into his hammock again. The interruption had served to take his mind off Jillian. He yawned and finally went to sleep.

  The howler monkeys made certain that no one slept past dawn. At the first screech, Jillian bolted up from her hammock, swiping away the cocoon of mosquito netting as she whirled to face the attack she was sure was coming. Next to her, Ben grunted and cursed but showed no alarm as he swung his feet to the deck.

  After her initial response she quickly realized what the uproar was; she had read about the howlers, but hadn’t realized their dawn ritual to establish territory was so loud. The howls quickly spread until the monkeys sounded like thousands of people screaming at once. She was embarrassed by her fright, though a quick glance at the other boat, moored next to them, showed that both Rick and Kates had also started to their feet. From their expressions, she could tell that they still didn’t know what was going on.

  “Scared you, huh?” Ben asked, yawning as he rubbed his hand over his face.

  There wasn’t any point in trying to lie about it. “1 nearly jumped out of my skin,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t believe anyone could get used to it, but all of you acted as if it were nothing more than an alarm clock going off.”

  “That’s basically what it is. How did you sleep?”

  “Better than I’d thought I would. I must have been tired.” Or maybe she’d felt safe sleeping beside him. Now, there was a ridiculous thought.

  He stretched like a sleepy tiger, then draped a heavy arm across her shoulders and turned her to face the east. “Look,” he said, his early morning voice deeper and slower than usual.

  She caught her breath. The sun was a huge, gleaming ball hanging in a pearly sky with the trees silhouetted in stark black against it. The river was as smooth as dark glass, a ribbon of serenity curling through the teeming jungle. A few misty clouds seemed caught on the treetops, as if they were the last remnants of steam formed in the creation of the world. That was what it felt like, the beginning of time, caught here on this river where nature s