Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

missing in places. The
Contessa
, it seemed, had been just about everywhere in the basin, and she’d been there many times over.
    Travis paused for a deep drink from his mug, so she took the opportunity to glance at MacRieve from under a lock of her hair.
    He looked suspicious and aggressive, so different from the man she’d first known. He was harder now, darker.
Because of me
. Her lips were still tender from his harsh, demanding kiss—a constant reminder of what he planned to do with her this evening.
    He’s going to try to have sex with me.
Realization fully hit her.
This very night.
    How was she supposed to sit through this meeting, knowing what would befall her when they returned? She was on edge and knew he could sense her tension—because she could sense his as well.
    And what would
she
do when he tried to? Earlier, as she’d removed her clothes, the look in his eyes had been delighted, as if he were unwrapping the best gift he could possibly conceive of.
    Surprisingly, she’d responded, finding it…
erotic
to strip at his command. Maybe she was a closet submissive—who’d needed to dominate every opponent over a thousand years. All except for MacRieve?
Am I delirious?
    “We’re heading south toward the very end of the Amazon proper,” Travis continued, “then turning offon the San Miguel tributary to some of the most remote parts of the basin. We’ll motor all night until the river gets tight.” Another swig for the thirsty captain. “Since we’re going deeper into virgin territory, this trip lent itself to several different disciplines. Everybody here’s in different fields, so there’s no direct competition.”
    He made a negligent hand motion toward the young woman beside him. “This is my cook.”
    Of middling height, with soulful hazel eyes, the female looked to be all of nineteen. “Hi, I’m Izabel Carlotta Ambos,” she said with a confident wave. Izabel was comely, though she wore a shapeless shirt and baggy cargo pants, cinched tight with a belt. “I’ll be preparing your meals. My
bife a cavalo
is
deliciosa
, and if you keep the kitchen stocked with fish, I’ll keep fresh feasts on the table.”
    MacRieve perked up at that.
    “Some of you have met my twin, Charlie. He’s the deckhand.” Same Brazilian accent as her brother, same hazel eyes.
    Izabel smiled at her, and Lucia gave a pained smile in return. Oh, no, not the
we’re the only two females on a ship of males
bonding bit. She had no need for additional “pals.” Especially not short-term
human
ones.
    Besides, there was something off about her that Lucia couldn’t put her finger on. Perhaps Izabel had Lorean in her, somewhere far back in her family line. Or maybe she was completely human, but with a curse hanging over her.
Something
was amiss.
    “Yeah, that’s right,” the captain said. “Chuck is my right-hand man. You’ll meet him later.” Anotherdraw from his mug. “Chuck and Izabel are new to the
Contessa
—so this trip is the last one of a long trial period. Drop me a dime if they screw up.” The captain seemed to have a cosmic inability to call Charlie anything but Chuck. “Now, some of you are already acquainted, but it’s customary on this ship to do a round of intros. Tell us who you are, what you study, and why you’re here.”
    The pale man said, “I guess I’ll start”—his accent was east coast, upper crust—“I’m Benjamin Rossiter, an M.D. and professor of chemoecology at Cornell. I’ll be looking for uncataloged plants in the hope of discovering pharmaceutical uses.” Though his manner was relaxed, he had dark circles under his blue eyes and sweat had beaded above his upper lip. “We’ve only identified one percent of the medicinal plants in the basin, yet that one percent accounts for
twenty-five
percent of all our pharmaceuticals. The potential is nearly inconceivable.” He held up a palm, casting them a half grin. “And I’ll stop myself there, so I don’t make your eyes glaze over.”
The guy looks moneyed. So what’s he doing on a tub like this?
    The darkly handsome man spoke next. “I’m Marcos Damiãno, head of the department of social anthropology at the University of São Paulo.”
    If Lucia had suspected Izabel had some connection to the Lore, she was certain Damiãno did.
    “My specialization is indigenous shamanism, and I’m here to search for uncontacted tribes.”
    MacRieve still had his arms crossed over his chest.“If they’re uncontacted, do