Torrid Nights by Lindsay McKenna Page B

active volcano situated about ten miles south of the mountain.”
    “Accessibility by truck?”
    “Excellent.” She rolled her eyes. “For once we didn’t have to worry about our trucks sinking to their axles in mud. I’ve used the lava rock as a base for the road.”
    Brock’s features relaxed perceptibly and he seemed to be enjoying the exchange. “How soon can it be used?”
    “In another week. I cut it close, but it’ll be ready.”
    He leaned back, stretching like a lazy cat. “You could have been fired for pulling that stunt.”
    Mackenna grinned. “I still can. So, do I lose my head now or later?”
    He got up, returning the smile grudgingly. “I had my doubts until just now. You’re still in the ballpark, if that’s what you want to know.” He picked up the calculator and clipboard, walking slowly to where she sat. He looked down at her. “I still haven’t figured out your game,” he murmured huskily.
    Mackenna lifted her chin, gravely meeting his eyes. “I don’t play games. Would you feel more comfortable if I did?”
    He grinned. “A hell of a lot more comfortable. At least I’d know what to expect. Come on, let’s get to bed. We’re both bushed.”
    Brock’s bedroom was next door to her own. In the hall he paused briefly. “You scored a lot of points tonight, Mackenna,” he whispered. “Good night.”
    Mackenna warmed beneath his praise. “I’m sure that by tomorrow I’ll be in the doghouse again,” she returned, smiling. “Good night.”
    Mackenna was surprised at how quickly she was recovering from her short bout with malaria. Had it been due to Brock’s acerbic prodding? She smiled to herself, unafraid to admit that he had such an influence on her. Even Sully had commented on the glow of liveliness in her eyes.
    She grabbed her white hard hat, taking the steps down to the foyer. The morning was fresh, the pink tint of sunrise washing across the copra plantation. Brock was already in the truck, waiting for her. Mackenna glanced up at him as she walked to the passenger side.
    “Good morning,” she greeted, climbing in.
    Brock gave her a sour look…his usual. “Let’s wait to see what the day brings before we assign a good or bad to it, shall we?”
    Mackenna laughed freely. “How can you say it isn’t a lovely morning?” She gestured to the intense pink that was slowly turning paler as the sun nudged above the horizon. “Look at that! Isn’t that the loveliest color you’ve ever seen?”
    He barely gave the glowing sunrise a glance. “You are a romantic, Mackenna.”
    She settled back, enjoying the lush scenery as Brock drove slowly out of the driveway. A satisfied smile crept to her lips. “Yes, and I’ll never change.” She sighed, pleased that she had noticed the beauty of their surroundings even if Brock Hampton was blind to such things. How many glorious sunrises had she missed, preoccupied with her own depression? “God,” she whispered, “it feels good to be alive!”
    Brock’s glance was critical. “You look like a contented cat,” he growled.
    Mackenna leaned against the door, resting her arm along the back of the seat. “Oh, no,” she said, laughing as the image of Brock as pacing tiger sprang to mind. “You’re the cat.”
    One dark eyebrow lifted. Brock’s normally taut mouth softened as he digested this impulsive disclosure. “A cat? Why?” he asked, his voice husky.
    Mackenna felt the flush rising to her cheeks. She gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “Just my overactive imagination,” she murmured.
    Brock smiled grudgingly back. “You look very fetching when you blush, Mackenna. I’m having a terrible time remembering you’re a woman past thirty and a hardened professional engineer. Somehow you’ve sidestepped the aging process.”
    Mackenna sighed contentedly as the issue of her comment was dropped. True, she thought. Every day spent with Brock made her feel freer, more childlike. It was as if she had awakened from the grips of a