Page 59 of Hunter

“Because it’s the most intimate thing two people can do together,” she said, moistening her dry lips with her tongue. “It can be an expression of strong feelings—of love and commitment. Or it can be done as casually as scratching an itch. Men who don’t value its deeper meaning generally make it sound cheap and dirty.”

He took in the explanation, then spoke in a rush of words. “I don’t know enough about making love to do it right.”

His cheeks were bright, his eyes averted.

She inhaled slowly, knowing that few men would have the guts to make that confession. They always thought they were great lovers, even when they were duds. “You’re worried about that?”

He gave a small, jerky nod.

“You’re already good at it. Can’t you tell I like the things you do?” she said softly.

“We have not done much.” As he looked down, his gaze found the front of her shirt.

Her nipples had hardened while they talked. It seemed he didn’t need to touch her to heighten her response.

“I can see the centers of your breasts—standing out against the fabric,” he said thickly.

His slow, husky sigh of frustration almost undid her. The temptation to press his hand against her aching breasts was almost unbearable.

When she didn’t move, he dropped his hands to his sides. “I should not have asked you about . . . making love. We do not have much time left now for the computer files,” he said, his voice thick.

She closed her eyes for a moment and bent to press her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I keep letting my priorities get twisted up. I keep wishing we could be alone together, like two people who have nothing more pressing to do than get to know each other better.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “If it were daylight, I could take you to the place in the woods where the stream makes a little waterfall. There are young spruce trees to make it private, and flat rocks where we could sit and talk—or do anything we wanted.”

“You’ve thought about taking me there?”

“Yes. I found it once, when I was doing survival training. If you sit very still, you can see deer come down to the stream to drink.”

“I’d like to go there with you.”

“Sometime,” he said in wistful voice.

“Sometime,” she echoed.

“But not now.”

She nodded, turned back to the computer, forcing her mind to business. “I want to ask you a question about these files.”

“What?”

“Most of the men’s duty assignments are listed on their personnel records. Dr. Kolb works at the medical center. Beckton and Winslow are at the training facility. McCourt is at the administration building. And there’s a summary of their duties. But the only thing it says about Dr. Swinton is that he works in Building 22. It also mentions that the building is off-limits to everyone but the research staff.”

“And?” Hunter asked carefully.

She had learned how to read him, and she knew he wanted to drop the subject.

“Maybe that’s where Swinton keeps his records. Maybe I can figure out a way to check it out. “Do you know where I can find that building?”

His gaze turned inward. It was several seconds before he answered, “Yes. But I don’t think you should go there.”

The way he said it made her even surer that he knew something about the place, something he didn’t want to discuss. And she preferred not to press him. Instead, she said, “I’d appreciate it if you could draw me a map.”

He gave her a long look, then picked up pencil and paper and began to work rapidly.

Building 22 was an annex to the research facility. When he handed her the paper, she saw his face was pale. All at once, she felt a sudden stab of guilt. He had been in the hospital this afternoon, and now she had kept him up half the night.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You should be in bed—not up working half the night. I can finish with the files on my own.”

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