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In the ruins of an ancient Mayan city, Caban Itzá, a modern-day couple, Lydia Spinner and Alex Caracol, find themselves reliving the tragic history of two ancient Mayan Lovers, Jaguar Lord and Lady White Fire.
"With words as lush as the rainforest, as heady
as the orchids, Alice Gaines weaves a moonlit spell which lures you deep into a sensual
world of ancient Mayans and modern explorers, of love beyond time and danger beyond
imaging." Moon of the Jaguar tells an exciting
story about two people who are on several different kinds of quests. Ostensibly it is the
quest for information about the Maya that brings them to the jungle, but to solve all of
the mysteries and problems they confront, they must also learn more about themselves and
each other, learning to trust in new ways. Moon of the Jaguar
captured my interest right from the start and carried me along with the story, keeping me
reading well into the night, until I reached its very satisfying conclusion.
With her platinum hair and fair skin, the woman might have been a pillar of light as she moved among the plants in Claire Wahrlich's greenhouse. She stopped and reached out to touch a white, star-shaped flower, and her sleeve fell back revealing the length and grace of her arm. Alex took a silent step into the shadow of a large tree fern. He'd let her know he was there, but not yet. First, he had to have a few minutes to watch her, natural and unguarded. Somehow, he had known she would come here. And he had known exactly how she would look, that she would shimmer in the semi-darkness and float down the path between the benches. What he hadn't imagined was that she would hum the Schubert piece in a deep, rich voice. But now that he heard her, the sound fit perfectly. She dropped her arm to her side and turned. Those pale blue eyes focussed in his direction, and she seemed to look straight through him. His breath caught in his throat, and abruptly her humming stopped. Had she seen him? He held perfectly still, willing his heart to stop pounding. After a moment, she resumed her journey but not her tune. The only sound now was water dripping in the distance. Seeing her for the second time hit him nearly as hard as his first glimpse of her ghostly beauty. In the music room he had initially missed her, she stood so quietly in the corner. But then she had turned toward him, and he had seen the glow of her eyes and the fullness of her lips. When she smiled, her radiance had stolen his breath. He knew that the pull between them, the invisible undertow, had gone both ways. Her nervous little laugh and wide eyes had told him more than she could guess. And the vulnerability he had read in her face moved him in a way that more conventional female beauty never could. Only years of practiced self-control had kept him from rising from the piano bench, taking her in his arms, and tasting her magic right then and there, within full view of Pamela and half of his colleagues. He hadn't felt this way about a woman since his hot-blooded teen years. L. E. Spinner, astronomer, author of Ancient Peoples, Ancient Skies--he hadn't even known that the person who had written that fascinating book was a woman. How could he have guessed that she would turn out to be an enchantress capable of scathing wit and blushing, lip-biting innocence? Now, here she was, haunting the greenhouse, outshining the exotic flowers around her. He stepped from his hiding place and cleared his throat. She turned, and her fingers flew to her mouth, her impossible eyes widening. "Don't be frightened," he said. "I'm not," she whispered. He stood and watched her for another moment. "You're sure?" "I'm not afraid of you," she repeated more loudly. "Good," he answered. She dropped her hand. "What are you doing here?" "Looking at flowers." She continued to eye him warily. "In the dark?" "You didn't turn on the light, either," he pointed out, trying to make himself sound reasonable over the beating of his heart. "I like dim light," she said. "So do I," he replied. "I can see better." "Like a cat?" He took a few steps toward her, and she backed up an equal distance. "I thought you weren't frightened," he said. She lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. He moved a bit closer, and she stood her ground. "That's better," he murmured. Alex studied the defiance in her face and realized it was a sham. Without meaning to, he had maneuvered her into a difficult position, indeed. She either had to accept his approach or admit she was afraid, and he suspected Lydia Spinner didn't freely confess her fears. It was unscrupulous to take advantage of the situation. But Alex never bothered much with scruples. He approached her, one slow step at a time. She tensed, as though readying herself for flight, but, except for the tiniest shiver, she didn't move. He stopped a few feet from her and lifted his hand to her jaw. "What are you..." she breathed. "Shhhhh," he answered. When his fingers reached her skin, she flinched. "Shhhhh," he repeated. She looked up into his face, and her lips parted just the thickness of a flower petal. He let his touch wander from her chin over her throat to the pulse at its base. She looked so cool, like alabaster, but the reality of her was a warm, almost hot softness. And her heart hammered wildly, as his own did. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "No, I'm not." He had to laugh at that. Then he put both thumbs under her chin and tipped her face further up. "You're either blind or you don't own a mirror." "Professor..." she started. "Alex," he corrected. "Alex," she repeated. He moved his hands to her shoulders and lowered his face halfway toward hers. She ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them in invitation and telling him that the frantic beating of her heart didn't arise solely out of fear. She wanted the kiss, too. He closed his eyes and took her mouth. She stiffened briefly, then the tension left her. Her lips softened and moved in concert with his. He responded, tasting, savoring, demanding more. When her mouth opened under his, he slipped his tongue into her warmth. She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat, and he was lost. The kiss went on and on, an ancient dance of mouths and heartbeats and sighs. It took Alex to uncharted territory--into dark, tribal memories of how man and woman unite to create one hungry beast. He surrendered to the tide of feeling she aroused in him, pulling her length firmly against him. When even that wasn't enough, he lifted his lips from hers and traced the line of her jaw with his tongue. Then he dipped below her chin and nipped at her tender skin. Her head fell back, exposing the length of her neck. He held her tight, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, listening to her ragged breathing. He bent to nuzzle the pulse point just above her collar bone and laid a path of kisses to her ear. Once there, he took the soft lobe between his teeth. She moaned something, so quietly he wasn't sure it was speech. "Lydia," he groaned directly into her ear, his own voice heavy with desire. She trembled in response. "Stop," she whispered. He twined his fingers into her hair and held on. Then he claimed her mouth again. She yielded briefly, giving him her sweetness, but then her hands moved to his chest, and she struggled against him. "Don't pull away from me," he begged. I need you. "This is insane," she gasped. "Let me go." He dropped his arms to his sides, and she stepped back, rubbing her fingers slowly over her lower lip. "What am I doing?" she said. Alex reached his hand to stroke her hair, but she pulled out of his reach. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "You're here with another woman." How could he tell her that Pamela didn't matter? He couldn't, of course, not without sounding like a cad. So he stood, staring at the flush that covered her throat and cheeks and aching to touch her again. "How can you do this to me?" she demanded. "Do what?" "Make me flirt with you, make me let you kiss me?" She took a breath. "Make me kiss you back?" "I haven't made you do anything," he said. She glared up at him, her eyes flashing. "Maybe you expect me to swoon and just fall into your arms." "I don't expect anything." But was that strictly true? In fact, Alex had expected something, everything. But why? He'd only met this woman a few moments ago. "Well, I won't give in to you," she added, her voice rising. "I have no intention of joining the long list of your conquests." "I don't make conquests," he said. "Oh, why am I arguing with you?" she grumbled. She tossed her head, and the silk of her hair floated around her shoulders. "I'm leaving for Mexico tomorrow, and that's the end of that." She turned on her heel and left the greenhouse, letting the door slam closed behind her. He stared into the space where she had stood. Yes, she was going to Mexico tomorrow, with Claire and Jim and the anthropologist--what was his name? The four of them would spend weeks in the wild, beautiful forests of Yucatan. Damn it, he wanted to go with them. But he couldn't. He was exhausted and more than a little frayed around the edges, and after what had happened on his last trip, he had sworn that he'd confine his research to data his students brought back from digs. He couldn't go into the jungle again. Still... His mind wandered back to how Lydia Spinner's warm contralto had filled the air around him. He hesitated and then made his decision. Yes. Oprah and Geraldo would have to find themselves another guest. |
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