Night Of The Condor

‘Are we, Miss Frazier?’ he asked softly. ‘I think I might need some convincing of that.’

‘Well, the night is young.’ Leigh rose to her feet. ‘So—shall we go up and eat?’

Her face was serene as she led the way to the lift, but at the same time she was aware of a distinct frisson of uneasiness. Rourke Martinez, she thought, was still proving a formidable opponent, although she thought she might be ahead on points—just.

She shook herself. She couldn’t start losing her nerve now. He was a man, and capable of being manipulated like any other. And she had been adept at that kind of manipulation since her cradle.

There was no reason, no reason at all to think that this time she might have met her match.

CHAPTER THREE (#u352737c3-41fd-51c3-ba58-c70fe53b1974)

THE dinner, at least, was everything Leigh could have asked for. She had ordered one of the house specialities, chicken cooked with peppers and hot spices. Rourke Martinez ate with unconcealed appreciation, but Leigh was too much on edge to do more than toy gracefully with whatever was set in front of her. She let her companion make the conversational running too, while she tried to marshal her thoughts, and decide on the best line of attack.

She had to concede that he was interesting to listen to. He touched lightly on such diverse topics as the ancient Inca civilisation, down to the current political situation. And he seemed, she realised, to be on nodding terms, or better, with any number of highly placed people in the government and the arts, although there was no element of name-dropping in what he told her. She was getting a glimpse of a very different world from her own, and under any other circumstances she would have revelled in it. As it was …

She studied him covertly under her lashes, wondering about him. The ambiguity of his name puzzled her, for one thing, but she was also intrigued in other ways, in spite of herself. She found herself wondering if he was married, and if so where his wife was. If he was single, he didn’t look like a man who would readily accept a celibate existence. There was a definite element of sensuality in the curved lower lip of his forceful mouth.

He was peeling some fruit, and as Leigh watched the deft movements of his lean, long-fingered hands, an inexplicable shiver ran through her. She was almost glad when the waiter who had been serving them returned to clear the table and bring coffee.

She wondered if Rourke Martinez had been watching her watching him, and hurried into speech. ‘Were you born in Peru, Doctor Martinez?’

He shook his head. ‘I was born in your own country, while my father was in political exile there. And I was named for my mother’s family. She happens to be Irish,’ he added. ‘Both my parents now live in the States.’ A note of amusement entered his voice. ‘What else would you like to know?’

Any number of heated replies suggested themselves, but she quelled them, dismissing the hovering waiter before she poured the coffee. He, she recalled, took his black.

The smile she sent him when they were alone was charming, but slightly self-deprecating. ‘I apologise for my curiosity, but I suppose it’s only natural under the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances are those?’ he enquired, accepting his cup from her.

‘Well——’ She permitted herself a little wistful sigh. ‘We have been rather thrown together, after all. And I am a long way from home—and in a very foreign country. And I do seem rather dependent on your goodwill.’

‘Desperate straits indeed,’ he commented coolly. ‘Perhaps you should have enquired more closely into my background before inviting me up here.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not necessary.’ It was agony having to keep her tone sweet and reasonable when she felt like up-ending the coffee-pot over his head. ‘I know you must think that I’m—an interloper, and a nuisance, but I had to come here. You must see that.’

‘I can see that you are here, certainly.’ He drank some coffee. ‘The matter in dispute is how long you should remain.’

Bastard, she thought. She summoned a sad little smile. ‘Perhaps you’re right, however. Maybe I didn’t think the thing through clearly enough before I started. But I tend to be a creature of impulse.’

‘How fortunate for you,’ he drawled. ‘That’s a luxury most of us can’t afford.’

‘I suppose not. But I’ve had time to consider now, and I can see that you have a point.’ Leigh looked at him through her lashes. ‘I—I’m trying to apologise, Doctor Martinez.’ She set down her cup. ‘Won’t you meet me halfway?’

There was a startled expression in the topaz eyes as they narrowed, but all he said was, ‘If that’s what you want.’

It would do for starters, she thought, concealing her jubilation. Before he knew what was happening, he would be eating out of her hand.

She smiled at him. ‘That’s exactly what I want.’ She paused. ‘Now that we understand each other a little better, shall we be slightly less formal? My name is Leigh.’

‘It was on the message that arrived at the camp,’ he said rather drily.

She poured him some more coffee. ‘Ah, yes, the camp. Won’t you tell me all about Atayahuanco, and your work there? It obviously means a great deal to you.’

‘It would take much longer than the time I have available to even begin to describe what we’re trying to achieve there,’ he said quietly. ‘And yes, it does mean a great deal to me, which is why I don’t readily accept passengers on the project. We haven’t the time or the resources to cope. Everyone has to pull his weight.’

‘I’m sure they do.’ With you and your whip standing over them, she added silently. ‘Are there no women on the project at all?’

‘We have a female nurse, June Muirhead on the camp. And Consuelo Estebán is one of our pottery experts. Did your—fiancé never mention them?’

‘No.’ Leigh looked down at the table. ‘He was more concerned, I think, with other elements.’

‘I can guess.’ His tone was dry. He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘The atmosphere, the cold at night, the food, the insects, the sanitation … Need I go on?’

‘No,’ she admitted, sighing. ‘But you mustn’t blame him altogether. It was—wrong of my family to involve the project in our personal—differences. Please believe it wasn’t my idea.’

‘Nor Gilchrist’s either, I should imagine.’ His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Were we perhaps expected to make a man of him?’

She flushed. ‘That’s unfair! It isn’t his fault if he wasn’t much use on the project. He was out of his depth from the start.’

‘In more ways than one.’

Now what did he mean by that? she wondered. But at least he wasn’t sounding quite so unsympathetic and dismissive as he had the previous day, apart from that last crack about Evan.

And then she realised with utter dismay that he was looking at his watch.

‘Well, thank you for a delightful interlude,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be reminded of the pleasures of civilisation occasionally.’

‘You can’t be going already,’ she protested. ‘Why, it’s still quite early!’

‘So is the start I have to make tomorrow.’

My God, she thought, and I’ve been fawning round him, and feeding him …

She put a hand on his. ‘Oh, Rourke, please don’t go yet. I hate being on my own. I’ve felt so isolated, so lonely ever since I got here. You can’t imagine what it’s like.’

‘It’s a long way to come to discover you don’t like travelling alone,’ he said drily, but he made no further move to leave, to her relief.

‘No one should have to be alone, when there’s no need.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Oh, Rourke, can you guess what I’ve been through this past year, with nothing but letters for company? It’s such a long time to be separated from someone you love.’ She let her lip tremble slightly. ‘But you wouldn’t understand. You probably find it quite easy to be totally self-sufficient.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he said slowly, after a pause. ‘I have the same needs as any other human being.’

‘Then you must know how I feel tonight. I’ve been lonely long enough, and you’re the only person who can help. I don’t want to have to wait any longer. Don’t close your mind to me again. I’m desperate. Say you’ll do what I want—please …’

‘It will be my pleasure.’ He rose to his feet, and lifted the intervening table and its remaining contents out of the way as if it had been a featherweight. Then he reached down and took Leigh’s hand, pulling her out of her chair. Off-balance, she half fell against him, seeing the dark face swim before her startled gaze, the topaz eyes alight with mockery, and something altogether less easy to define.

Then she was in his arms, swept quite literally off her feet, imprisoned against his body, and she was being carried—into the bedroom, her dazed brain realised.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ The words emerged in a hoarse croak of disbelief.