He seemed to be encased in molten bronze spun into polished satin ingeniously accentuated by dark silk. His proportions were a masterpiece of balance and harmony, a study in strength and grandeur. She'd never thought a man of such height and muscular bulk and definition could display such grace, such finesse, such poise. How could such a staggeringly physical manifestation combine such power and poetry of motion? And that was when he was half-buried under the backpack and tethered with the sled's harness. And that was only his body.
His face was a testimony to divine taste, hewn beauty in planes and slashes of perfection. In the dimness, his eyes had dominated her focus, but now, as she saw his face from every possible angle, she found something new to appreciate with every self-possessed move of his head. Between the intelligence stamped on the width of a leonine forehead, the distinct cut of razor-sharp cheekbones, the command in the jut of a sculpted jaw and nose and the humor and passion molding sense-scrambling lips, she couldn't form an opinion on a favorite feature. Not when so many other things vied for her favor. The eyebrows, the lashes, the neck, even the ears.
And then there was the hair.
Since dawn's first silvery fingers had touched it, she'd become fascinated with it. But it had taken full exposure to the desert's merciless sun to highlight its wonders.
The color seemed to have been painted from a palette of every earth color in creation, forged from resilient gloss and blended with trapped solar energy. As he walked ahead, the undulating silk seemed an extension of his beauty and virility, transmitting the same power and purpose. Every few minutes, when he turned to check on her, the mass seemed to beckon to her numb fingers to come revel in its pleasures for themselves.
Just then he turned to her again, and that curtain of luxury swished around, catching the nine-o'clock sun, leaving her gulping down her heart. And that was before he gave her that look, that amalgam of encouragement, solicitude and challenge that injected willpower into her veins and pumped it to her limbs. And she realized something.
This was what the Prince of Darkness should look like. To seduce without trying, to enslave into eternity, to induce all sorts of unrepentant sins. To have a woman believe her soul was a trivial accessory.
And she must be starting to hallucinate from exhaustion.
Maybe she should call another time-out before she collapsed.
Problem was, she was exhausted, but nowhere near collapse. Which meant all those thoughts were originating from an unwarped mind.
She tore her eyes away from his hypnotic movements, tried to document the subtle yet rich changes every mile brought to the awesome desert terrain. This place might be a trekker's nightmare, but it was any geologist's, artist's, or nature-lover's dream.
There was so much to delight in as the landscape shifted from magnificent sand dunes to endless gravel-covered plains to sinuous dry lakebeds and stream channels and back again to dunes. The sky, too, transformed from a fathomless ink canopy studded with faraway infernos to a stratus-painted, multicolored canvas to a blazing azure void as the sun rose and incinerated all in its path.
As the heat and glare intensified, she felt so thankful for the sunglasses he'd had on board-the one undamaged pair that he'd insisted she have-and the cool cotton cloth he'd fashioned into a head cover for her.
At 10:00 a.m. sharp, he stopped.
Though all she wanted was to sit down and never rise again, when he turned to her she rasped, "I can go on."
He shook his head and took off his harness and bag. "No use going farther only to exhaust you so you'll need longer to rest. Or worse, be unable to go on altogether."
"You're the one with the gunshot wound. And I'm used to being on my feet for days on end in my work."
He only took her bag, his smile adamant. "You've gone through the equivalent of four of your grueling days in the last twelve hours." Before she could protest again he overrode her. "But since it's against your principles to be catered to, you can help me set up the tent."
She nodded reluctantly. She was dying to rest, but she wanted to get this trek over with more.
He handed her the tent. Then she found out why he'd offered it to her. Because he knew there was nothing for her to really do. Once she unfolded the thing, it sprang into existence with very little adjustment.
After gathering supplies for the next hours, he led her inside and she was even more impressed. It was big enough to accommodate ten people, and he could stand erect inside it. The sand-colored fabric was tough and cool, the floor's insulation total, the openings sealed once zipped and the ventilation ingenious.
But it was still hot. Too hot. And most of the heat was being generated by her smoldering hunk of a companion.
She looked up from gulping water and found him staring down at her with eyes that flared and subsided like fanned coals.
"Take off your clothes."
She jerked at his dark murmur, a geyser of heat shooting from her recesses to flood her skin.
His eyes left hers, traveled down, as if looking for the origin of the flush that rose to take over her neck and face.
And that was before he added in a will-numbing whisper, "All of them."
She stared at him, at a loss for the first time since she'd seen him. This was the last thing she … she …
Then his lips twitched, one corner twisting up devilishly, belying the seriousness in his voice when he elaborated, "If you don't, you'll sweat liters we can't replace."
Oh. Of course. She bit her lower lip, nodded, dispersing the ridiculous alarm and temptation that had slammed into her.
Problem was, in a usual "all of them" clothes-removal scenario she would have kept her underwear on, which would have amounted to a conservative bikini. But with only a man's undershirt over her now undone corsets, she'd be down to her boxer shorts. And she didn't know what mortified her more. That he'd see her topless, or that he'd see how ridiculous she looked in them.
Oh, right. And that was grounds for risking dehydration?
She nodded, exhaled a tremulous breath. "Any hope you'll turn your back?"
He gave her a mock-innocent look. "Why?"
Then he began to take off what little clothes he had left. He started with yanking off his boots, then straightening to undo the fastening of his pants. Her eyes were glued to his every move, her tongue darting to moisten suddenly desiccated lips. It was only when she realized her eyes were sliding lower with her mouth open as she anticipated the big revelation that she felt fury spurt to douse her mortification and abort her daze.
She met the master-tormentor's gaze defiantly, then started to undress herself. If he thought she'd swoon at the sight of his endowments, that she'd turn around for modesty or try to shield her nudity with virginly arms, he could think again!
As she prepared to yank off the short-sleeved undershirt, Harres stretched and manipulated something at the ceiling. A heavy cloth partition snapped down between them.
She froze, staring at the opaque surface inches from her eyes, until his amused drawl from the other side roused her.
"I did say 'quarters,' plural."
And she cried, "You … you … weasel!"
"Now we move from the farm to the animal kingdom at-large."
The mixture of relief and chagrin choked her as she threw off the rest of her clothes to the sound of his teasing chuckles and tackled her thin matttress as if it were him.
But if she'd thought she'd toss and turn with him inches from her with only flimsy fabric between them, she was mistaken. She felt nothing from the moment she became horizontal, to the moment she came to. To his caresses.
She blinked up in confusion. He was kneeling beside her, running his hands gently over her hair and face and arms.
For a long moment she could only think what a wonderful way this was to wake up.
Then the wonder factor rose exponentially when he smiled down at her. "I called. And called. I even poked you through the partition, to no avail."
She blinked again, looked down, found herself covered in a light cotton blanket. But since he was the one who'd covered her, he must have seen everything. Still, he had covered her so that he wouldn't infringe on her. She struggled with the urge to throw her arms around him and bring him down to her, thank him for being so thoughtful. And more.
Instead, she croaked, "What time is it?"
"Sunset."
She jackknifed up in alarm. "But we were supposed to move out two hours ago!"
"You needed to rest. Now we'll move faster." Before she could reprimand him for not sticking to their schedule on account of her alleged delicacy, he ruffled her hair and winked. "Hop to it, my dewy doc."
She huffed as her heart fired against her ribs. He was suddenly treating her like his kid sister. And it still turned her insides into a mushy mess.