Fever Read online

  But if Sara was completely honest, she had to admit she had an intellectual curiosity about Zak Chambers. People who didn’t like to talk, especially about themselves, intrigued her. Such a woman surely had a lover, or perhaps several, tucked away in various parts of the world. And she had Rikki. It never hurt to look and admire a totally unattainable specimen like her new escort. Rikki would probably even approve.

  Sara let her gaze travel up Zak’s torso to her thick, kissable lips. They were slightly parted, revealing a tiny gap between sparkling white front teeth. Her closely trimmed ebony hair curled tightly to her scalp. If it were long, Sara imagined, it would fall to her shoulders in wavy ringlets. The drawn features of Zak’s face were more relaxed than earlier, and dark fatigue circles marred the skin under her eyes. Sara wanted to brush away the signs of stress and weariness that clung to Zak’s body but quickly squelched her caretaking impulse. This woman neither wanted nor needed anything she had to offer. Remember that and you’ll be fine.

  Why did the reserved and inaccessible types who had no interest in her always intrigue Sara? And how did she end up with women more pretentious than grounded, clingier than independent, and more unfaithful than loyal? A slight quiver coursed through her body and settled in her groin as she stared at Zak.

  “Have you finished?” Zak asked, without opening her eyes.

  “Finished?” Sara warmed with embarrassment.

  “Staring at me.” Stirring in her seat, Zak propped her elbow on the chair arm and rested her chin in her palm. Her steel blue gaze bored into Sara and she felt exposed.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “Obviously.”

  Zak smiled, something she had seldom done since they met. Her whole face seemed to glow with innocence and expectation. Sara wished she would smile more often. Just as quickly the friendly expression vanished.

  “Was I out long?”

  “You hardly slept at all, a bit restless. A lot on your mind?” Sara struggled to retrieve her inappropriate thoughts and disobedient eyes.

  “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

  Sara didn’t ignore an opportunity when it dropped in her lap. Besides, she probably wouldn’t get many of those where Zak Chambers was concerned. “And that would be what exactly, your occupation, I mean?” Zak’s initial scathing appraisal caused Sara’s insides to recoil. But the look softened as she seemed to evaluate Sara for motive.

  “Let’s just call it security.”

  She wanted to ask for clarification but knew the subject was closed. “Would you like that cup of coffee now?” She rose and turned toward the small galley at the back of the plane. “Let me guess, black, right?”

  Zak nodded, the corners of her luscious mouth curling slightly. “May I give you a rundown on the trip plans so you can make whatever changes you’d like?”

  “Sure.” Sara busied herself pouring coffee.

  “When we arrive in Mombasa, I’ll be gathering more supplies, checking on our flight, and arranging for transport and building supplies once we arrive in Talek. You’ll have time to do some sightseeing or shopping or whatever you do.”

  Sara stood in front of Zak with two cups of coffee and glared at her. “Shopping or whatever I do?Do you have any idea how prejudicial and sexist that sounds?” Her temper flared in spite of the surprised look on Zak’s face. “Someone in your position should be more sensitive to those types of comments. Do you dislike all wealthy people? Or just redheaded ones?”

  Zak raised her arms in surrender but Sara was high on her soapbox. “Or is there something else about my appearance that you don’t like, because you don’t know me well enough to make such a judgmental statement.”

  As the startled look on Zak’s face transformed to its customary mask of detachment, Sara realized she’d stepped on a nerve, or at least stumbled over it. She opened her mouth to apologize when suddenly the plane struck turbulence and pitched. So did she. The two cups of coffee she was holding flew out of her hands and onto Zak’s lap.

  Sara lunged forward on her knees, trying to grab hold of something, and seized the closest things—Zak’s compact breasts. When she came to rest, they were so close she felt Zak’s hot breath on her face. She licked her dry lips as though preparing for a kiss and startled at the thought. Sara struggled to regain her balance and release her grip, but the plane was climbing and the g-forces held her firmly in place. She cursed and blessed the laws of nature that caused this unanticipated turn of events.

  Just as suddenly as it had lurched forward, the plane leveled out and she was thrown backward against the bulkhead. Her entire body hummed with a current she attributed to the abrupt change in altitude.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did I burn you?”

  Zak nodded, then shook her head in response, but something in her demeanor had changed. Sara stared into Zak’s eyes as their stormy gunmetal melted into liquid fire. Her stoic visage momentarily evaporated into a look of sexual hunger tinged with fear, the expression so intense that Sara blinked. When she opened her eyes again, the barriers were back in place. But for a second she’d seen something Zak Chambers clearly didn’t want to show her.

  “I hope you’ve got another ninja suit in your bag.”

  “You need to arrange for another guide as soon as possible, Ms. Ambrosini.”

  Chapter Three

  Zak hurried to the safety and seclusion of the restroom to change, praying that the elevated temperature of her body would regulate. As she shed her soiled clothing, she scrutinized her naked breasts, fully expecting to see Sara’s handprints branded there. Even though it was unintentional, that touch anchored Sara to more than Zak’s flesh. The jolt that surged through her physical body was surprising and entirely too pleasant. But her touch aroused more than Zak was prepared to give, an unwelcome flicker of desire. The unresolved feelings she buried after her last assignment must be bleeding over. That was the only rational explanation. Not even Gwen had evoked such a strong response so quickly. But that had been a work situation.

  Recognizing the absurdity of her last thought, Zak splashed cold water on her face. Sara Ambrosini was also business, at least for the moment. This arrangement wouldn’t work for either of them. She seemed to do nothing but irritate the overemotional redhead, and Sara’s openness and interminable curiosity taxed her.

  Unlike Rikki, who was easy to handle, Sara posed a potential challenge. Zak was familiar with the frontal assaults of women like Rikki, with their sexual innuendos and teasing come-hither tactics. Emotions were not part of the equation and their curiosity ended in the bedroom. Zak dealt with women like this every day. Their bodies and desires, like hers, were superficial and without substance. She had wearied of the quest for physical pleasure and the uninspiring bodies and personalities that often failed to provide it.

  But women like Sara Ambrosini didn’t employ such blatant strategies. Her approach was unassuming, designed to lure potential partners with nurturing and sensitivity. Emotions were the agents of choice, clearing a straight, honest path to the heart. Curiosity was an endearing distraction to procure information and secure position. And unlike the cardboard cutouts Zak was accustomed to, Sara’s physical form was created solely to tempt and seduce. She had curves where Zak’s own body was straight and unflattering. She was soft against Zak’s unyielding muscles. Her body was pure substance and, like the emotions Zak had seen in her eyes, full of dangerous potential.

  She was familiar with such tactics in the context of her work and handled them with ease. But having a woman like Sara show emotional interest in her, even if it was only in her mind, terrified Zak. The Company hadn’t provided the tools or the expertise to dodge such an unfamiliar and formidable opponent. Her last assignment had been evidence of that.

  The long-term exposure to Gwen and their “relationship” had chipped away at the walls of Zak’s resistance and left her weak. Now was the worst possible time to be sucked into another emotional maelstrom. She’d never reacted this way to someon
e she’d just met. Physical exhaustion during past long-term assignments had caused hallucinations. Maybe this time the symptom was physical. Whatever was happening between her and Sara, for whatever reason—fatigue, fear, or a simple personality clash—had to end now. In order to provide protection in Africa, even temporarily, she needed to be on top of her game. There were too many other inherent distractions. If Sara didn’t arrange for the switch, she’d handle it herself.

  Having made the decision, Zak tucked the tail of her fresh T-shirt into her cargo pants. When the soft jersey fabric rubbed against her chest, a vision of Sara’s hands covering her breasts produced a moan she couldn’t contain. She closed her legs to block the sudden shock of arousal and rested her forehead against the cool reflective wall of the lavatory. Zak lost track of time as she redirected the energy that had pooled between her legs to a more functional part of her body. When she felt comfortable enough to walk, she opened the door and returned to her seat without making eye contact with her client.

  Sara was on the telephone in the back of the plane again, probably with Rikki, from the lovey-dovey sound of her voice. Reclining against the headrest, Zak decided to at least pretend to sleep. The flight would last several more hours, during which she hoped to rest, not be distracted, and avoid another confrontation.

  “Okay, darling, love you, too.”

  Sara’s farewell reverberated through the hull more audibly than the rest of her conversation. The small enclosure was eerily quiet for several minutes until Zak recognized hard punching into the phone key pad as Sara placed another call. She wasn’t ready for what came next, even though she’d asked for it.

  “Randall? Yes, we’re airborne. I need a replacement guide as soon as possible. Never mind the details. Suffice it to say that it’s not going to work.” Her voice had an edge of sadness and her tone was more resigned than triumphant.

  Apparently the other party wanted to discuss her instructions further. “For God’s sake, not you too. Just get it done,” she asked wearily, then ended the call and dialed again.

  Sara’s request jabbed at Zak’s sense of duty and pride. She’d never asked to be removed from an assignment and never been replaced on one. It was like tanking the mission. She knew it was going to happen, had to happen, but the reality struck her as a failure, like she was personally deficient. She couldn’t handle her feelings about this situation, about this woman enough to finish the job.

  Sara’s next conversation was entirely different. Her tone changed from strained and professional to solicitous and friendly as she shared personal stories with someone who was obviously a close friend. Zak just wanted solitude. As she sank into the haze of near sleep, Sara’s voice took on a melodic quality. Her soothing whispers and soft laughter were almost relaxing, like a book on tape. Zak’s eyelids grew heavy as the merry chatter continued in the background of her consciousness and she drifted off.

  Sometime later a loud rumble outside the plane returned Zak to alert. The small jet bucked and wavered in the thunderstorm. She opened her eyes and Sara was sitting next to her, clinging white-knuckled to the seat, gaze terrified.

  “Don’t like thunderstorms, ’specially when I’m inside ’em trapped in a ’lum-i-num tube. There’s somethin’ not healthy ’bout that.” Sara’s complexion blanched, the freckles across the bridge of her nose standing out like pebbles.

  “They’re actually pretty safe, these aluminum tubes.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Ms. Ninja-Not-’fraid-of-Nuthin’.” She put her hand to her mouth and giggled. “Sorry, I meant muffin. I mean nothin’. I guess several shots of vo’ka weren’t such a good idea after all. Seemed like a good thing at the time.”

  Zak couldn’t conceal a smile. Few people acknowledged their fear so readily. “Just relax. The storm will pass shortly.”

  “You ’lax. I’m tensed. Talk to me or somethin’.” Sara poked a serious face and stabbed an accusatory index finger at her. “Oh! I forgot. You don’t talk.”

  “Why don’t you talk?”

  “Now you’ve done it. Opened up that Ambrosini gas bag of gab. I’ll talk your gorgeous little ears off.”

  She released her grip on the seat, slid out of her suit jacket, and slung it over her head. Settling back, she wiggled a hand through the crook of Zak’s elbow and locked their arms on top of the armrests. The gesture was so natural and innocent that Zak almost placed her other hand on top of the joining. That realization flickered through her like a cold chill and her muscles recoiled.

  “I forgot. I’m not s’pposed to touch you either.” She started to move away.

  “That’s all right, just talk.” Zak figured the least she could do was distract Sara enough to get her through the turbulence. But the tight cream-colored shell that stretched across Sara’s chest disturbed her intended focus. Nice breasts were a particular fetish of hers, but these were spectacular. Sara’s breasts beneath the sheer fabric were brimming cups with peek-a-boo mounds at the top, an added bonus for sucking. Zak’s blood warmed at the thought and she automatically licked her lips.

  “Are you ogling my tits?” The earthy brown of Sara’s irises flickered with tiny slivers of green and liquid heat.

  “No,” Zak lied.

  “Sure you were. Ever’body does. Seems to be my only redeemin’ quality.” She snuggled into Zak’s side, wedging her breast between them. “You like me. Don’t want to, but you can’t help it. It’s in your eyes.”

  Even inebriated, Sara pinned her with a gaze so intense that Zak had to look away. Maybe there was some truth to Sara’s statement. She was certainly charming, attractive, and intelligent. But such thoughts did nothing but muddy the otherwise crystal-clear waters of Zak’s professional life. No acknowledgment was best.

  “Now where wuz I? Oh, I wuz talkin’. I’m an only child. Couldn’t tell, could ya? I’m so well behaved. My parents, God rest their souls, were great. I-talian. But very un-Italian in one way. They ab-horred violence. Not very Mafiosi, huh? They were like hippie flower children twenty years after the fact.

  “We always had lots of family ’round, on every holiday, every special occasion. Hell. At every meal. It was almost sacri-legious to eat alone. And we shared everything. One of the cousins got a zit, all the family and half the neighborhood knew about it. When I came out, we had a big community meetin’, complete with food and drinks, to discuss it. I had to listen ad nau’seam while they disqualified every girl they knew as a potential partner for me.”

  The plane dipped suddenly and a flash of lighting pierced the blackness outside the windows. Sara yelled, grabbing her stomach with one hand and digging her nails into Zak’s arm with the other. “Oh, shit.”

  “It’s fine. Keep talking.” Zak patted the digging hand and the nails withdrew.

  “I hate this crap. Anyway, my parents made their money in oil—olive and crude. The olive-oil business was my great-great grandfather’s in Italy. But Dad wanted to diversify, so he got into crude when the market was down. That was a smart move. When I was growing up, it was the thing to educate your children in Europe. I spent a lot of time in different cultures, volunteering in the communities and learning the languages.”

  The more Sara talked about her family and their lives together, the more sober she became, as if the memories were too important to utter irreverently.

  “My dad died of a stroke five years ago. He’d arranged for my mother and me to be cared for, so we converted everything else into philanthropic ventures. I know that prob’ly sounds lame to you, but it really means something to me—what I do.”

  But Sara’s words lacked conviction and her eyes told a different story. What could possibly be missing from this woman’s life? It was perfect, by contemporary standards: power, position, all the benefits of wealth, and a more-than-willing woman. Sara seemed sad and lost in a way that Zak couldn’t understand until it occurred to her that they were alike. She was running away to Africa to reexamine her life too. Both of them had some sort of connection m
issing in their lives. It pleased and worried her that she and Sara shared something so essential. Then she realized Sara was looking at her, waiting for a response to her last comment.

  “A person should care about what they do. It helps define them.”

  Sara stared at her as though she’d made a unique, profound statement worthy of deep consideration. “You’re exactly right.”

  “Ladies, we’ll be arriving in Mombasa in ten minutes. Prepare for landing.”

  “You got me through the storm. I didn’t even realize it was over. Thank you.” Releasing her death grip on Zak’s arm, Sara cupped her face and quickly kissed her on the lips.

  Zak was so stunned she had no time to withdraw from the touch or the kiss. Both connected with her skin like water on parched sand. She wanted to freeze the moment their lips joined and drink in the softness of Sara’s mouth. It was a simple gesture of thanks but so spontaneous and genuine that it registered deep inside Zak. She seldom received affection that wasn’t carefully calculated for effect.

  Sara withdrew her hands, bringing them to her lips as though burned. “I’m so sorry. I—”