Tempestuous Eden Read Online Free Page B

Taylor was managing nicely by himself in what would be the same amount of time, or less.
    On those nights when she did speak to him at dinner, or at the fireside afterward, he certainly wasn’t standoffish, yet Blair sensed nothing more in his feelings toward her than friendly interest. He certainly showed her no more attention than he showed to any other member of the crew. He had yet to make good on his promise to explain why he joined the crew. But she decided not to pursue it. Inexplicably drawn to this man, Blair was still aware of some instinctual suspicion or even fear that his disturbing presence aroused in her. He was right in every way; yet, she did not trust him.
    On Friday afternoon he had stripped off his shirt, and in passing him Blair had surprisingly shared her father’s impression—the man should have been a prize fighter.
    Perhaps not. He was excessively tall, six-three or six-four, if her estimation was correct, but not quite heavy enough for a fighter. His muscles, rippling golden beneath a merciless sun, were not massive or unwieldy, but rather tight coils of sleek, enduring iron. His abdomen was as tight as a drum. His shoulders were broad, but narrowed to his waistline like a triangle. His chest was thickly tangled with tawny hair that burnished and glistened in the rays of the sun, and when he glanced at her to give her a quick smile, she caught sight of his yellow eyes again. She smiled in return, but her unease tingled her flesh. The smile softened features that could best be described as severe, rugged, and craggy, but those features, coupled with the compelling eyes and startlingly powerful physique, suddenly gave her the impression that she was facing a lion, supreme in his own might, lord of his territory. He moved with assured, controlled tension, yet she felt he contained a leashed force that could explode upon the unwary at any time, and God help that unfortunate prey. A lion, stalking his victims playfully until the pounce.
    “Stop ogling, Blair,” someone whispered in her ear. “It’s rather impolite …”
    Blair spun around guiltily at the tap on her shoulder. Kate was staring at her with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t ogling,” Blair protested dryly. “I was wondering what the hell he’s doing here.”
    “Okay,” Kate laughed. “You wonder, I’ll ogle!”
    “Seriously Kate—”
    “Oh, Blair, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
    Blair raised speculative brows in an arch of wisdom. “What about a Trojan horse? He just doesn’t look as if he belongs here.”
    Kate laughed ruefully and gave her friend a wry assessment. “And you do?” Devoid of makeup, her dark flame hair in a knot, her slender figure covered in well-worn jeans and a plain brown work shirt, Blair was still strikingly lovely and still exuded an air of breeding and regal poise.
    “Oh, brother!” Blair murmured in defeat. She couldn’t really explain her feelings to herself; it would be impossible to get them through to Kate. She waved briefly as she headed toward the med tent. “See you later. I have a whole pack of trusting little souls awaiting my tender touch with a needle.”
    Kate sniffed, calling, “Lucky you. I’m on lice squad.”
    Laughing, Blair hurried back. She had been staring—ogling, wondering, speculating, whatever!—longer than she had meant to. The tent was filled with scared little faces, all watching her with wide brown soulful eyes that proclaimed her the wolf and they the lambs for slaughter.
    She paused for a second at the tent flap, filled with anger and steeling herself for the task. It was the children who were always hurt, she thought. Generals waged self-righteous campaigns, shouting the valiant triumph of victory. The children lost their homes, their parents, their limbs. Sometimes they lost their lives.
    Blair didn’t give a damn what set of guerrillas claimed power. She lived in the political arena all her life and learned the sad truth that the best man