close she felt she could touch it. Despite the delays and problems, the petty arguments of the others, she felt wonderful.
She was in Africa! A stone’s throw from the Congo, and even if she never saw her first Pygmy, this was already the adventure of her life. She closed her eyes and inhaled pure excitement.
She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching on the sandy path, and when a hand touched her shoulder, Dana jumped, startled. “Don’t be afraid,” a voice told her, in a tone so soft and low that it heightened her fear rather than dispelling it. She started to move away, toward the hotel, and then she recognized him.
The vague shadowy figure in the moonlight was Alex. “I decided to skip the coffee,” he told her. “My cognac is excellent. French. A hundred years old and saved for special guests.” He handed her a glass.
“Thanks.” For an instant his long fingers curled around hers. He was so near that she could smell the scent of his tangy after-shave and hear the even flow of his breathing. There was something dark and compelling about him that made her nervous even as it attracted her. She didn’t know how to behave around him, and she certainly had no idea what he would do next.
She took a step away from him and raised the glass to her lips. A warm glow began in the pit of her stomach and spread upward, but she couldn’t relax. Not when Alex was still too damn close to her, not when her heart refused to slow down.
She wanted him to move away. The blatant sexuality that emanated from him made her uncomfortable. He seemed so damned sure of himself, as if she was his for the asking, as if she’d arranged a romantic rendezvous in the garden especially for him. To cover her nervousness, she took another sip from her glass.
“Like it?” His voice was as smooth and rich as the cognac, and she was afraid that it could have the same power over her.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. But now—” She handed Alex the glass and attempted to step around him.
Holding her with his his eyes, he let both glasses slip from his grasp and drop onto the sandy path. She looked down at them, startled. Then he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her close. “You’re not running away from me, are you, Dana?” The strength that she’d feared in his voice had become a power of intimacy—and danger.
“No, of course not,” she lied. “I just want to get away from, I mean get out of, the night air. It’s...” Her voice trailed off and she realized she didn’t want to get away at all, not when she saw Alex so clearly in the moonlight, his lips parted in a smile to reveal even white teeth that gleamed against his tanned skin. Hungry light glowed deep in his green eyes. Dana shivered, and she didn’t know why. Was it excitement—or fear?
He still held her, easily now, with one hand lingering on her waist, the other at the small of her back. The warmth from his body reached out and caressed her. She felt an urge to touch his face, run her fingers across his cheek and chin. But she willed her hands to stay at her sides. Alex Jourdan was trouble.
He looked at her with a knowing, intimate smile as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for you, Dana.” His breath was warm against her face.
“What do you mean by waiting?” Her voice sounded breathy, surprised, not like her at all. And her heart—why couldn’t she control its erratic pounding?
“Waiting for a long-legged blonde to come into my life. Now you’re here, and I’m glad.”
He slid his hand from her waist upward along her back, beneath the fabric of her blouse. His touch was sensual, practiced, erotic. And her skin tingled wherever he touched her.
Alarm bells went off inside Dana’s head even while her body responded. Alex Jourdan was handsome and exciting, and there was a part of her that wanted to know him, that desired to be swept away by his dark, romantic power.
But the other side of her was more careful, even wary. He was a man with a disreputable past, a womanizer and, according to the gossip, a probable cheat if not a possible crook. He was certainly a stranger, not someone to be alone with in the dark night.
Dana struggled to get her voice under control. “I didn’t come here for a romantic fling.” Even as she made the statement, she realized how uptight and foolish she sounded.
To make her seem even more ridiculous, he repeated the words. “A romantic fling?” His voice was amused. “I never suggested that, Professor. But since you mention it, just why did you come to Porte Ivoire?”
To find you. The thought blazed across her mind even while she fought to keep from saying it aloud. The intensity of it frightened her. And when his eyes met hers in a long look, she was held by what she saw there. Recognition. Acceptance. Desire. For an instant in the moonlight his face was serious, almost brooding, and she was overcome again by an irresistible urge to touch his face, draw his mouth down on hers.
Instead, she took a deep breath and shoved against his chest with both hands. “Let me go, Alex. If you don’t I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he teased. “You don’t seem like a violent woman.”
“I’m not,” she snapped. “But I might become one. Now let me go.”
He took one step backward, shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed at her, a sardonic smile playing around his lips. He appeared more amused than perturbed by her reaction. “You have even more fire than I imagined, Dana Baldwin. I like that. Cool on the outside, hot and—”
Dana turned and walked away with his words echoing in her head. Her legs were shaky, and her hands were damp with perspiration. Dammit, she was doing just what he’d said. She was running. Fleeing from him and herself. She was confused by her reaction to Alex and the emotions he unleashed. She hadn’t handled the situation well at all, and she vowed to be more in charge next time they met. Or to stay away from him. That was the best way, she decided as she hurried up the steps, across the veranda—and straight into Louis Bertrand.
Chapter Two
“Chérie, slow down. You will hurt yourself.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, drawing in the night air in huge gulps. “I’m a little...” She struggled for words.
“Agitée?” He looked over her shoulder toward the shadowy form in the garden. “Alex. I should have known. You must forgive him. He does not stop to think. For Alex, to make love is as natural as to breathe.”
“Make love? No, he just made a pass, he didn’t—”
Louis chuckled softly. “In French ‘make love’ can be no more than to touch or even suggest. It is all lovemaking in our language. And when a beautiful woman appears...”
“I think there’s a compliment there somewhere,” she managed, “but he’s so damned arrogant—”
“On this we agree.” Louis took her arm. “Shall we walk by the river and cool off? There’s a delightful breeze, and I assure you I’m quite sober now. And unlike my rude friend, I shall make no passes.”
Dana hesitated, but Louis held her firmly by the elbow and kept the conversation going. “You see, the problem with Alex is that he is only one half French. His mother was American, and he spent many years in the States. This is not to say anything negative about your country,” he added graciously, “but over there he lost something of the French savoir faire women so much admire.”
“He’s lacking something. You’re right about that,” Dana muttered. “Manners, to begin with.”
“Indeed,” Louis replied. “He does not have an abundance of manners. Also, he can be quite ruthless when he has to be. But enough talk of Alex. He is only an innkeeper in an outpost far from civilization. Instead, let us speak of the Pygmies, which we both find so fascinating.”
“I thought perhaps you had lost interest in the subject.”
“And