Deity by Theresa Danley Page B

He rebuked his eyes for
lingering. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the opposite sex. His admonition
was a residue reaction to fraternizing suspicions back at the university—suspicions
that nearly cost him his tenure. Although the accusations were proven false,
the conclusion came long after he’d already fallen into the habit of checking
his every move around his students—checking every word, every glance, every
motion—an inner paranoia nurtured to prevent rumor validation.
    Peet
didn’t fraternize with his students, but as a man it was often difficult not to
notice them. The clothes they wore were designed to accentuate, not cover,
their sexuality. Even now, after Peet had been cleared of the fraternizing
accusations, some of his students seemed determined to test him. His classroom
was daily baited with lures. Even in the field, he couldn’t get away from
low-cut blouses that fell open as a young lady bent over her work.
    Despite
the youth exposed all around him, their posturing was in vain. Peet wasn’t
about to lose his job over them. As a result, he’d come to appreciate the
conservative students - the girls who put less effort into drawing a man’s eye
and more into concentrating on their work, allowing Peet and his male
counterparts to comfortably do the same. Fortunately, Lori was that modest
type. Perhaps that was why he found it so easy to work with her. Perhaps that
was why he couldn’t take his eyes off of her now. There was an irresistible
familiarity working with Lori again.
    There
was an unexpected temptation working with her like this.
    The
wetsuit hugged Lori’s tight figure which had never before been so exposed, and
Chac Bacab’s hands were all over, checking tubes and buoyancy harnesses,
battery packs and air supply. Lori was compliant, carefully listening to his
instructions, even as he took her hand to double check the diving light
strapped to her wrist.
    Peet
finally turned away.
    “We’re
all set,” Chac announced. “Let’s go.”
    Sporting
his own wetsuit and burdened with gear, Chac started for the trees just beyond
his Land Rover.
    “We’re
not going to the ocean?” Peet called after him.
    “We
won’t be splashing around that Scuba Blue,” Chac called over his shoulder. “Not
today.”
    Peet
heard him chuckle as he ducked into the trees. That’s when a pair of fins
slapped him squarely in the chest. He looked down to find a dispirited cloud in
Lori’s eyes.
    “I
believe these are yours, Dr. Peet.”
    * * * *
    Chac
looked good in a wetsuit. Lori already knew he had a husky build to him, but
what could have been interpreted as age-related thickness was now revealed as
sinewy muscle, and plenty of it. She couldn’t help but wonder where he’d developed
such an athletic frame. After all, he didn’t strike her as the type that spent
hours in the gym.
    If
there was anything that could distract her from the masculinity trekking the
footpath ahead, it was the rainforest that quickly devoured them. The trees
were alive with the relentless cries of birds. There were hundreds of them,
maybe thousands. The canopy was infested with them, their fervent noise
striving to drown the occasional wail of a monkey.
    Sweat
quickly dampened Lori’s brow and trickled between her breasts. She missed the
light, airiness of her cargo pants which had been traded for the tight confines
of the wetsuit, a suit clearly unsuitable for hiking through the captured,
muggy air of a Mexican rainforest. To make matters worse, the vegetation hummed
with swarms of insects.
    Thankfully,
a hundred yards into the forest they came upon a small cenote, its cool, shaded
waters welcoming them twenty feet below.
    “This
is a popular swimming hole with the locals,” Chac explained.
    “Dr.
Webb found his fresco down there?” Lori asked, swatting at a cloud of mosquitoes.
    “Not exactly. But that’s where we
start. Underground channels connect this cenote to at least five other cenotes
before draining