You spent good money to see the Great Wall, she reminded herself. You can do this. You can! Just take a deep breath. Lots of deep breaths. Then put one foot in front of the other and climb up there, damn it!
But the unreasoning fear had such a hold on her she couldn’t move. Not even to escape by struggling through the crowd to the gondolas that had brought her and the rest of her tour group this far.
Then from above her head she heard a warm, deep voice speaking English. “Just breathe,” the man said gently as he herded her away from the crowd and against the stone railing. “Breathe deeply.”
When he said that, she realized somehow she was no longer being pushed, bumped or elbowed. Her rescuer had used his body to create a tiny space for her in the crowd, and she closed her eyes in thankfulness. Yes, her back was pressed against an ungiving stone wall that had been built millennia ago, but at least she wasn’t hemmed in by people. And the man wasn’t squashed up against her, either—some distance separated them, as if he knew she couldn’t bear to be touched at this moment.
She opened her eyes and stared at a broad chest wearing a light, khaki-colored jacket. And on the jacket she spotted a familiar badge, exactly like the one she was wearing but with his name on it instead of hers—he was one of her tour group. “Oh, thank God.”
He must have heard her fervent whisper because a laugh rumbled out of him. But she knew instinctively he wasn’t laughing at her. At least, he wasn’t laughing at her fear. He was laughing because she’d amused him somehow.
Her eyes focused on the name written on his badge. Niall Johnson. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” she managed, now that she could breathe again. Then her gaze moved up. And up. And up. Until she reached his face and she blinked. Holy cow! she thought. How was it she hadn’t noticed him before? Because beneath the shaggy light brown hair was a face that was indubitably memorable, with nearly classical features. And his eyes... His eyes were such a deep, dark brown she could almost see herself reflected in their depths.
“Niall,” he said now. “Just call me Niall. And you’re...” He peered down at her nametag. “Savannah Whitman. May I call you Savannah?”
“Oh yes. Please do.” Then her tongue tied itself into knots and she couldn’t think of a single thing to add. Which was nothing new where the opposite sex was concerned.
In all modesty, Savannah knew she was a brilliant engineer. Top in her field of missile guidance, navigation and control, with three patents before she’d reached the midpoint of her thirties. She could talk for hours without notes when it came to such esoteric subjects as time to go, field of view and line of sight. She could teach classes on those subjects, too, and had. She could write complex algorithms that maybe a thousand people in the world could easily decipher. She’d been so valuable to the US government and her previous employer they’d practically begged her not to resign, even playing the “you owe a duty to your country” card.
But when it came to men in a social situation—especially handsome men like Niall Johnson—words escaped her. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her hands shook. And she felt as if she were standing there naked. Defenseless.
But then something remarkable happened. Niall smiled down at her. And his eyes held such understanding Savannah knew she had nothing to fear where he was concerned. His eyes lingered on her mouth and she knew he was attracted to her. Maybe not as attracted to her as she was to him—he was an assault on her senses, so tall and solidly male he practically oozed testosterone—but apparently he felt she could hold her own with him. Unusual and refreshing. So refreshing she believed it for some reason she couldn’t fathom.
He was a total stranger, and yet she felt as if she knew him. As if she could be comfortable with him, the way she was with the next-door-neighbor boys she’d grown up with in Vail, Arizona. Boys who had become men, but not men she looked at as men. And they saw her as a friend and colleague, not as a woman.
But that wasn’t how Niall Johnson was looking at her. The warm interest in his dark eyes was as tangible as a caress. Savannah shivered slightly under his steady gaze, her nipples tightening. As if...as if...
“I don’t know about you, but I really want to climb to the top,” Niall said, indicating what he meant by a motion of his thumb. “Now that you’ve caught your breath, how about we do it together?”
She loved how he made it sound as if her panic attack earlier was nothing more than shortness of breath due to exertion. His eyes told her he understood the true cause, but they also conveyed a rock-solid belief she could conquer her fear and conquer the wall at the same time. And that belief made her willing to risk it.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you lead the way? Then you can set the pace...whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ll be right behind you, making sure no one bumps into you. How’s that?”
No one would dare jostle him, she acknowledged silently. She didn’t know how he knew her fear wasn’t so much of people, and not even of those behind her, but rather of people coming up behind her unseen. People touching her when she wasn’t expecting it. Feeling trapped. But somehow, he seemed to know.
“You don’t mind?” She hated the hesitant tone in her voice, but she had to ask. It was patently obvious he could get to the top much faster alone than accompanying her, even though she desperately wanted to go up there with him keeping the crowd at bay.
His smile grew, and Savannah’s abdomen quivered under the blatant male interest in his dark eyes. She’d never had a man look at her as if she was Little Red Riding Hood and he was the Big Bad Wolf waiting to gobble her up. And she was shocked to realize this was another item on her bucket list, one she hadn’t realized was there until this instant. Just once in my life I want a man to—
She cut that thought off before she could put it into words...even though they were only in her head. But for the first time in her thirty-six years of always being practical and playing it safe, she let go of her hold on reality and snatched at the fantasy that miraculously appeared to be within her grasp. This whole tour and cruise was a dream come true. Why couldn’t Niall Johnson be part of it?
She wasn’t crazy enough to believe in love at first sight. And she wasn’t having rosy visions of happily-ever-after. But no man had ever, ever made her body meltingly aware of every breath he drew the way Niall Johnson did. And she decided then and there that if he planned to seduce her into his bed, she was totally on board with that idea.
* * *
It’s almost too easy, Niall thought as he stood behind Savannah, protecting her from the crowd while she gazed in rapt wonder at the view from the top of the wall. Like shooting a stationary target.
“Where’s your camera?” he asked abruptly, wanting to distract himself from thoughts that were making him uncomfortable...but shouldn’t. She was his assignment. He needed to remember that.
“Oh.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking...” Her right hand fumbled in the pocket of her padded vest and pulled out a camera. He noted the make and model effortlessly—noticing things, logging them into his brain for future reference, was second nature to him. He couldn’t not be aware of everything around him...including the expression on Savannah’s face that she had no idea conveyed how absolutely vulnerable she was to his brand of charm. Charm he had no business using on an innocent victim.
Whoa! Where did that thought come from? he berated himself. Dr. Savannah Whitman could very well be a traitor. And if she was, she deserved every bad thing he might do to her, up to and including taking her out.
