Torrid Nights Read Online Free Page B

personality. “Okay, a truce,” she agreed. “You’ve ruined my supper once, and I won’t allow you to do it again.”
    “Fair enough.”
    She settled on the couch, leaning against the pillow and tucking her legs beneath her. He sat down opposite her with the heavy ornamental teak coffee table between them.
    Mackenna chewed slowly. The cheese had a sharp, tasty edge. She ate it hungrily and then nibbled at the fruit. Brock was still sorting through the papers, and his inattention gave her a chance to study him further. His dark hair had a reddish sheen and several strands that refused to stay in place dipped across his forehead. As though reading her thoughts, he pushed them back with one deft movement.
    Mackenna sighed. She liked his hands. His long fingers and calloused palms looked as though they were used to shaping and molding things. Vividly, she recalled his touch and the electrical tingle it had roused beneath her flesh. He was a man used to working hard for what he wanted. And getting it. His face was drawn, and she detected slight smudges of darkness beneath his eyes. How long had he been without sleep? “Do you sleep?” she asked.
    Brock looked up. “What?”
    “You look tired,” she noted.
    “No worse than you.”
    “Thanks. I think.”
    He managed a twist of a smile. “All the women of my acquaintance pamper themselves. They treat their skin with twelve hours of sleep, expensive beauty preparations and cosmetics that cost an arm and a leg. How come your skin looks so fresh and alive out in this godforsaken jungle, without any of that?”
    She felt like a cat that had been stroked by its owner. It was a backhanded compliment but, from what she could judge, it was sincere. “I think it’s the humidity, if you want the truth. They say it’s good for the skin.”
    “Well,” he said, leaning back and crossing his legs, “whatever the reason, you have a youthful glow. You don’t look much older than twenty.”
    Mackenna laughed, slightly embarrassed by his awkward attempt at flattery. “If you’ve looked at my personnel file, you know that’s not true.”
    “I like your freckles.”
    Her lips parted, and her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Now I know you’re full of blarney, Mr. Hampton.”
    “Call me Brock,” he said tersely, losing some of his initial friendliness.
    Mackenna sat back, swallowing her surprise. She measured him with her eyes. Why was he being so pleasant? Suddenly it hit her. He had her file, and the tragedy of Ryan’s death was dutifully recorded in it. He’s feeling bad about his earlier remarks, she thought. Or was it pity? The thought angered her. She didn’t need his pity. She would rather take it on the chin.
    “Why are you being so friendly all of a sudden?” she demanded.
    “I’m trying to treat you like a woman,” he returned lightly.
    “Treat me as an equal. You have no idea of me as a woman and I doubt very seriously that you ever will. And let’s leave it that way. I’m a supervisor on a project. A statistic to you.”
    He glanced at her quickly. “Really? Since when did you start trying to read minds, Ms. Scott? Because you’re terrible at it. And you’re wrong as hell about how I treat the people on my payroll. They’re more than just statistics to me, notations on some computer printout sheet.”
    The tension crackled between them. Mackenna knew she was at fault for prodding him out of his apparent good humor. “So I’m still on your payroll?” she said, smiling.
    “So far,” he returned with a partial smile. Suddenly, his face grew serious. “I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Scott. Since you seem to cherish honesty so much. Dressed in that very provocative nightgown and given your natural beauty, you look like a rose. You seem less hostile when you’re not in jeans, boots and a hard hat. Maybe it’s me. I’m not used to dealing with women in positions of authority. I don’t find it easy to deal with you because you don’t behave like