Without a Trace by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

typical tourist device. After handing over his camera, he circled Gillian’s waist. She went stiff as a board. “Smile, honey.”
    He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her call him an unflattering name under her breath.
    As they started back down, Trace maneuvered so that Gillian’s bag was between them. Looking down from the pyramid, he’d seen three men come onto the site together, then separate.
    “Stay close.”
    Gillian set her teeth and obeyed, though at the moment she would have liked nothing better than to put as much distance as possible between them. It must have been too much sun, she decided, that had made her go so soft and light-headed. It certainly hadn’t had anything to do with genuine emotion. Sunstroke, she told herself. Add that to the fact that she had always been highly sensitive to atmosphere, and it made a plausible answer to why she had nearly kissed him, had wanted to kiss him, had felt as if she were meant to kiss him.
    “This isn’t the best time to be daydreaming.” Swinging an arm around her shoulders, Trace drew her tight against his body and steered her under an arch into the Nun’s Quadrangle.
    The position pleased him. The grand plaza was flanked on all four sides by structures that were really a series of interior rooms and doors. It left them enough in the open, while providing cover if cover proved necessary. If he had a choice, he wanted to deal with their friends one at a time.
    “You’re supposed to be appreciating the detail work on the stones.”
    Gillian swallowed a little ball of fear. “The carved arches and facades are classic Mayan architecture. The Puuc construction is recognizable in the finely cut stone.”
    “Very good,” Trace murmured. He saw one of the men slip into the quadrangle. Just one, he thought. So they had, as he’d hoped, spread out to find her. Turning, he pressed her against a column and ran his hands down her body.
    “What are you—?”
    “I’m making a lewd suggestion,” he said softly as he leaned close to her ear. “Understand?”
    “Yes.” It was the signal for her to act, but she found herself frozen. His body was hard and hot and, for reasons she didn’t want to dissect, made her feel safe.
    “A very lewd suggestion, Gillian,” Trace repeated. “It has something to do with you and me naked in a twenty-five-gallon tub of whipped cream.”
    “That’s not lewd, that’s pathetic.” But she sucked in a deep breath. “You filthy-minded swine.” Putting her heart into it, Gillian swung back and brought her palm hard—a bit harder than necessary—across his face. She shoved him away and made a production of smoothing her hair. “Just because I agreed to an afternoon’s drive doesn’t mean I intend to spend the night playing your revolting games.”
    Eyes narrowed, Trace ran a hand over his cheek. She packed a punch, but they’d discuss that later. “That’s fine, sweetheart. Now why don’t you find your own way back to Mérida? I’ve got better things to do than to waste my time on some skinny broad with no imagination.” Swinging around, he left her alone. He passed the man who stood three yards away, ostensibly studying an arch.
    Gillian had to bite her tongue to keep herself from calling Trace back. He’d asked her if she had guts, and now she was forced to admit she didn’t have as many as she’d hoped. Her hands trembled as she cupped her elbows. It didn’t take long.
    “Are you all right, miss?”
    This was it. She had no trouble recognizing the voice from her brother’s tape. Gillian turned around, hoping her overbright eyes and unsteady voice would be taken as indignation. “Yes, thank you.”
    He was dark and not much taller than herself, with olive skin and a surprisingly kind face. She forced herself to smile. “I’m afraid my companion wasn’t as interested in Mayan architecture as he pretended.”
    “Perhaps I could offer you a ride back.”
    “No, that’s kind of you, but—” She broke