there of course was the problem. A good-paying appointment wasn’t enough for Arlon. He wanted it all.
Her gray eyes went opaque, making the dark rim around the irises stand out. Kurt wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have poured her that last drink. But she brightened up as their food appeared on a large wooden platter for them to share. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” she said as she grabbed a piece of flat bread before starting in on the barbecued meat. “Ooh, this is hot. Watch your fingers.”
“The tips of my fingers are like asbestos. That’s what years of climbing mountains does for you.” He still felt the heat, though, as he grabbed a few strips from the huge pile of meat, and for a few minutes all they did was chew and moan about how good it tasted.
“Mmm, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t remember the last time food tasted so great. I must take some of these spices home with me. Think I can buy them in the market?”
“I should imagine so. They sell almost everything else there.” As he spoke he watched her reach for another round of bread and begin filling it with more lamb. The way she ate was very sensual, without a hint of prissiness. She’d chomp down with her white teeth, laughing with sheer enjoyment as the sauce hit her chin. He was amazed how disappointed he felt when she pulled a handkerchief out of the reaches of some pocket to clean her face and hands. She’d only to say the word and he would have licked them clean.
Just the thought of it made him grow hard, and he was glad the table sheltered his problem. Bad enough her knowing that wiggling her butt against him turned him on, without letting her in on the secret of the effect watching her eat had on him.
Time to change the subject and save his hide. “You didn’t finish your story. Tell me what Bill did to create a gulf between you and Atlanta besides being an old man. I mean, you’re what, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and I’m past thirty-four. So far this conversation hasn’t done wonders for my ego.”
“Okay.” She put her roll of bread and meat on the edge of the half-empty wooden platter. “Short and sweet this time. Bill took her away clear across the country and I never spoke to her again.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes at him. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gulped down all that food. This seems to be turning into a guilt trip. I was a little witch back then, stubborn as they come. After that, everything I did was the opposite of Atlanta. No ballet lessons for me—I rode horses, played basketball. In short, I became a tomboy. My father went ballistic. I didn’t care. He wasn’t turning me into the perfect little daughter so he could marry me off to a rich old man.”
Chelsea sniffed, looked at her small stained handkerchief and rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. “I needn’t have worried. No way did I fit the criteria for a good upper-crust wife…but that’s another story.”
Kurt searched his pocket, then handed her a handkerchief. “Here, take this—it’s clean.” He eyed her warm black sweater. It might be a slightly chunky knit, but that didn’t exclude elegant from its description. “And don’t worry, the tomboy image didn’t take.”
“But it did. I still spend a lot of time at the gym. I’m strong. Want to feel my muscles?” She held out her arm.
Nuh-uh—hands off, boy. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
He wanted to feel a lot more than her muscles, and if he started there he might not stop. From his memory of her pulled against his length there was absolutely nothing hard about her, just soft warmth that fitted against him perfectly.
No point in heading in that direction, though. Even if the unheard-of happened and the attraction did turn out to be mutual, the accident would always come between them. The memory of a tragedy whose edges were as sharp and jagged as the mountain it happened on would be equally difficult terrain to get over. From what he could tell, both of them were carrying a heap of guilt. Not a good thing to have in common.
“Well, for your information, I’m quite the basketball star. We make up a couple of teams from the embassy and play at least once a month—clinging to our roots, don’t you know.”
“The embassy?” Why was he just hearing this?
“Yes.” She looked quite proud. “I’m a translator at the American embassy in Paris. I like to keep busy.”
If ever he needed another reason not to take her up Everest, this was it. She might act as if she were alone in the world now that Atlanta had gone, but he’d met a few of those embassy types and he was certain she’d have more people watching her back than she realized.
Time to bail out. He made a show of looking at his watch, surprised to see that in Chelsea’s company time had actually spun away from him much faster than he’d guessed. “It’s getting late. I ought to walk you back to your hotel.”
Her eyebrows rose and her accent became snotty. “There’s no need. I can take care of myself. You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. You might have noticed this isn’t the most salubrious neighborhood. Why do you think I greeted you with a knife? I’ve been robbed twice, and foiled another attempt before it got started.”
“In that case I accept your company.” Chelsea proceeded to shrug into her lilac anorak, sliding the zip up to her neck. It didn’t make any difference that her curves were covered by a jacket cut in a similar fashion to his; he still couldn’t see her as a tomboy. No, Chelsea was all red-blooded woman. And the pity of it was, after tonight he would never see her again.
In this quarter of town the street lighting was practically nonexistent, but he wasn’t taking her back up to his room to fetch a flashlight. It was too dangerous. Just the thought of being alone in his eagle’s nest with Chelsea gave him a testosterone high.
His luck was in. A three-quarter moon rode in a cloudless sky and was enough to light their way back to her hotel.
“Here, better take my arm. These cobblestones are rough underfoot,” he said, discovering—by letting her come close—masochistic tendencies that had never surfaced before. But then, he’d never claimed to be all wise. If he had been, he would have sent her packing before he decided to feed her. However, after he dropped her at the hotel he never had to see her again.
“Kurt, I’m not ready to give up on this yet. I’m certain that given the chance I can persuade you I’m not a liability. When can I see you again?”
No one was more surprised than Kurt when he heard himself say, “How about lunch tomorrow?”
Chapter 3
Shank’s mare was the main mode of transport in Namche Bazaar, and for once Kurt was glad of it. Walking gave him time to phrase the exact wording of the refusal he meant to hand Chelsea once he reached her hotel. He would hang tough. She wasn’t about to catch him oversexed or underprepared, not this time.
The trouble was he liked her. More than liked—wanted.
Chelsea was something beyond his experience. He couldn’t remember meeting another woman quite so…damn it…intriguing.
Only look at the way they’d met. Their rude introduction hadn’t sent her into screaming fits of hysteria.
He felt a stirring in his groin as he indulged in a wry, one-sided twist of a smile at the memory of those few minutes.
