Her Passionate Need Read online

  No buts! In the life he'd chosen, commitment was too dangerous. Besides, it had taken him the better part of a year to get near where his best friend had been murdered. Finding Aaron's murderer was the only thing that mattered. He'd do whatever it took to make good on his vow to exact vengeance.

  And if it meant taking advantage of John Briggs's widow, using her, so be it.

  On the tail of that forceful reminder of what today and as many tomorrows as it took was about, he returned to his study of the woman. He'd fully expected to hate her because of who her husband had been, but even when he dug around for the emotion, it refused to surface. . .in part because his cock had decided to get involved.

  Through his binoculars, he watched Ana place her boots on the corral's lower railing and pull herself up so her breasts now rested on the top rail and she could reach out to scratch between a mule's ears. Uninterested in ear scratching techniques, he focused on the small ass sticking out in his direction. The jeans had something to do with her butt cheeks' firm appearance, but there was only so much fabric could contain and sculpture. The rest came from nature.

  Her legs were so close together that he couldn't easily work his hand between her thighs, but that didn't stop him from fantasizing about the attempt. She'd be warm in there, warm and soft and as willing as any living, breathing widow. Maybe he'd slide his fingers between her thighs and simply keep them there. Trapped by her flesh, he'd warm himself off her…at least he would until his imagination got the best of him and he'd feel compelled to aim his exploration in a northerly direction. Of course, to do that justice, he'd first have to get rid of the jeans.

  Interesting possibilities there. He'd come up behind her, place his hands around her small waist and pull her down off the fencing and back against him. She'd look over her shoulder at him, then, laughing, lean her head against his shoulder, the long expanse of her throat an invitation to nibbling and nips. Instead of taking her up on her invitation, he'd unfasten the snug button at her waist and tug down the zipper, the sound loud in contrast to the silence between them. Familiar in the way of jeans, he knew that wouldn't be the end of the project; in order to get the tight garment off her, he'd have to count on a little co-operation, some well-planned wiggling on her part. He supposed he could whisper sweet nothings in her ear…or at least he could if he knew what the hell sweet nothings were.

  Get it off, doll. I want to fuck you, didn't strike quite the right tone.

  All right, so not that approach. What then? He'd begin by placing his hands over her hipbones, capturing the jeans' waistband between thumb and forefinger and pushing down, twisting the fabric from side to side at the same time. With her butt still against his cock, she'd do a little bump and grind, making it easier for him to get the damn denim over those deliciously flaring hips. It would take a little work because neither of them would want to break that ass to cock contact, but they'd find a way, and eventually he'd lean over and drag the well-worn garment down her thighs. Laughing, she'd shake her ass until her jeans bunched around her ankles and then…

  And then she'd laughingly point out that she was still wearing boots and how the hell was she going to get undressed until she did something about that?

  Besides, just because the woman had a tight ass didn't mean she wanted him anywhere near it.

  The mule must have gotten enough of ear scratching because it turned and wandered away. A few seconds later, Ana jumped down off the railing. He noticed that her breasts jiggled, and that there was enough to them to do a decent job. She started walking toward the barn, then stopped and cocked her head. Slowly she turned in his direction so he had his first look at her face.

  She was younger than he thought she'd be, probably not yet thirty if he didn't miss his guess. That surprised him and all but undermined his determination to force the truth behind Aaron's murder out of her. What had John Briggs done, taken a child-bride?

  She'd caught her long hair in a single, thick braid that ran down the middle of her back, somehow adding to her air of vulnerability. >From what he could tell, she wasn't wearing makeup. What truly caught and held his attention were her eyes. They reminded him of deer eyes, big and soft…soft when he had no room for that in his life.

  Sex was good. Hell, he couldn't imagine life without it.

  But beyond that…he didn't need whatever the hell he was feeling. Her knowledge, yes. What he could wrestle out of her about her husband and those who'd been part of his world, yes. Nothing else, damn it!

  As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated. He didn't have to look at the readout to know who was calling.

  "Yeah?"

  "Are you there yet?" his supervisor asked in response to his growl.

  "I'm there."

  "Is she with you?"

  "I haven't yet made my presence known," Devin explained to Ralph as Ana continued to stare in his direction. Although he continued to crouch close to the ground and she couldn't possibly hear him, he kept his voice low.

  "Why not?"

  "Because, despite your and other bureaucrats' assertion that playing into her need for money is the only way I'll have a chance at milking her for information, I wanted to try to get a handle on her."

  Ralph didn't immediately reply, not that Devin cared. Finally, "All right. this is your call; I won't stand in your way."

  "You're damn right, you won't. No one will."

  "Look," Ralph said. "I understand your frustration at the lack of progress in the investigation and having had to wait so long to personally delve into your friend's murder, but don't take it out on me."

  "You know how I feel about the so-called investigation. Shit, did anyone really try to find his killer?"

  "You've seen—"

  "Yeah, I've seen the file, such as it is. Aaron's body was found on the trail to Woodruff Mountain so that's where they looked. Not Crystal Creek like I insisted. As for why it took me months to—I did what I had to, finished what I'd committed to in Alaska. But I'm here now. Why didn't you tell me Briggs's widow was so young?"

  "That makes a difference?"

  "Yeah, it does." He didn't add that Aaron's murder had hit him as nothing ever had. He'd tried not to think about that while making plans to work his way into Ana Briggs's life using an approach that would stand the best chance of getting her to confide in him about her late husband's business dealings and the people who were part of those dealings. Instead of trying to put himself in the place of a grief-struck widow, he'd convinced himself that Ana Briggs would be a warhorse, hard and independent, impenetrable like the environment. Instead, she was…what?

  Well, he'd have to change his plans a bit, shift focus. Take advantage of her recent widowhood and lonely nights during the time they'd be alone in the wilderness.

  "Look," Ralph said. "I didn't mention her age or looks—she's one hundred percent woman, isn't she—didn't bring that up because I figured you knew."

  "How the hell would I know that? This is the first time I've been to the Siskiyous since…since I was a kid." Ten years old and trapped in a nightmare.

  "So there was a breakdown in communications." Ralph didn't sound at all concerned. "I'm sure you'll be able to adapt. Hell, you can do more than that. Seduce the broad. Maybe once she's been satisfied, she'll tell you everything you want to know. And if that doesn't work, torture her in ways...well, I don't have to spell that out, do I?"

  No, he didn't.

  * * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Devin had driven up in front of Ana's place, parked and gotten out, and was walking into the dimly-lit barn she'd gone into. He'd dismissed Ralph's suggestion because, despite his earlier fantasy, the truth was, he couldn't deal with the idea of having sex with someone who might be connected, however remotely, with his best friend's murder. Hating her and everything she stood for, yes. Fucking her, no! However, as the aroma of hay and animals surrounded him, he felt himself being pulled into her world. He could have called out to her, but he'd convinced himself that she was expecting him wh
en the truth was, he wanted to see her close up and relaxed before their official relationship began.

  The barn had recently been cleaned; either that or animals were seldom in here. The aroma was that of hay and straw all right, along with something else he now recognized as leather. Much as these aromas told him about her life, he wanted them gone so he could tell what she herself smelled like. What for? Her personal scent has nothing to do with anything.

  Shut up! Just shut the hell up.

  He heard a soft brushing sound toward the rear and, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, he headed in that direction. He noted a small stall piled with hay that had been pressed flat in two places as if animals had lain there.

  Animals or humans, his overactive imagination suggested. He'd never had sex in a barn and although logic told him that dried grasses were too scratchy for a comfortable roll in the proverbial hay, it was a logical progression in his unwanted but insistent fantasy about ridding her of those molded-on jeans.

  Apples. She smelled of apples.

  Almost as soon as the thought registered, he realized that a large bucket filled with the fruit was responsible for that conclusion. Just the same, it fit his initial perception of her. There'd be no expensive perfume for this country woman, no collection of fancy and fanciful bottles in her bedroom. If it wasn't apples, it would be roses or lilac, maybe lavender.

  He could see her now, rake in hand as she spread a pile of sawdust with long, sure movements. There were several saddles on posts behind her and to her right a small window that cast soft light over her features. She was smaller than he'd expected, barely coming up to his shoulders. Damn. Damn.

  He didn't need her to be beautiful!

  "Mrs. Briggs," he said. His voice sounded louder, harsher than he'd anticipated. "I'm here."

  She whirled, her rake instantly becoming a weapon. She crouched slightly and those too-big eyes of hers got even larger. She didn't make a sound.

  "What's your problem?" It was easier for him to stay with the rough tone. "I thought you'd be expecting me."

  "I was." Her voice shook a little. "But not for you to sneak up behind me." She lowered the rake and cocked her head the way he'd seen her do through the binoculars earlier. "Did you just get here?"

  "Just drove up." It wasn't a complete lie.

  "Oh." She drew out the word and frowned. "I felt…"

  "What?"

  "Nothing." Her frown faded but didn't disappear, and was that a look of skepticism?

  His awareness of their isolation and the cramped quarters increased; maybe, he pondered, because she was thinking about the same thing. As far as he could tell, there was just the one door. For her to reach it, she'd have to go through him. And if he didn't want her to, she had to know he'd have no problem keeping her here...or doing what he wanted with her.

  Hell. He wanted her naked and accessible, sweat-slickened with her muscled legs wrapped around his hips and his cock buried deep inside her. Shit! His erection was returning. If she noticed…hoping to keep that from happening, he turned from the window light and grunted impatiently.

  "So you're here, are you?" she said, her eyes unrelenting on his. "Why don't we get going then?"

  Without another word, she headed for the door, careful to walk in a wide arc around him. He didn't hurry to follow but took the opportunity to study the swish and sway of her ass, the rhythmic tightening of her thigh muscles. Her hips had a tantalizing flare that fairly screamed to be touched, and his hands burned, reminding him of his earlier fantasy about shoving them between her legs. Having fabric between his fingers and her cunt intrigued him and set his mind to the best way to get rid of the hindrance.

  If he clamped his hands around her waist and tossed her face first into the hay, he could take her that way. She'd struggle under him, not an out-and-out fight of course, because surely he wouldn't be the only one feeling the heat, but she'd put up just enough resistance to make things interesting.

  Like they weren't already. Interesting and too damn complicated.

  Chapter 4

  Devin Rourke, who didn't look like any journalist or reporter she'd ever seen—not that she'd seen many—had brought along more stuff than she felt comfortable with. Oh, she understood the camera cases—at least she guessed there were cameras inside the leather bags—but he also had two powerful looking binoculars and two pairs of hiking boots when, considering that they'd spend most of their time on horseback, seemed like overkill. Most of his belongings were in leather or canvas containers, making it impossible for her to determine what was in them. What caused her the most concern was the rifle he'd fastened to his horse's saddle and the handgun at his waist. He hadn't said a word about bringing along weapons—and he handled them confidently, competently.

  "We're in the wilderness," he'd said when she'd asked him about them. "A person can't be too careful."

  "Of what?" she'd countered. "There are no grizzlies out there and Bigfoot has gone south for the summer."

  He hadn't laughed at her attempt at a joke. Neither had he offered further explanation. She'd dealt with enough tenderfoots that their apprehension about being far from civilization no longer surprised her, but Devin didn't handle himself like a city slicker.

  Truth was, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her mind off the way he handled his body inside those revealing jeans and molded on flannel shirt. Although he'd been non-committal when she asked how much experience he had with horses, he rode with the easy familiarity of someone who knew how to keep his body from tiring out. He showed no hesitancy around the animals and demonstrated no reluctance about striking off into the wilderness.

  For the first five miles, they traveled on a well-trod path, but he didn't appear to mind letting her take the lead. He'd assumed responsibility for one of the pack mules which the majority of her clients didn't, and she was grateful for that. Also, he hadn't questioned her about the supplies she'd assumed responsibility for. Usually when she took people out for the first time, they wanted to know what she had in the way of tents and sleeping bags, what they'd be eating, whether she'd brought along enough water, that kind of thing. But he'd left all that up to her. She appreciated his confidence in her, and yet a little conversation might have helped her get a handle on what kind of man he was—other than the obvious, that is. No two ways about it, sex all but oozed from his pores; at least that's the way it felt to her.

  She didn't like having him behind her, not just because it made her uncomfortable knowing he had an unrestricted view of her rear end, but this way she couldn't keep an eye on him.

  Why, when she'd come face to face with him in the barn, had she had the uneasy feeling that he wasn't looking at her for the first time? She tried to convince herself that she'd simply felt exposed and off-balance because she knew so little about her latest client, but darn it, she had sensed someone's eyes on her while she was at the corral. If, as she suspected, he'd been out there somewhere, studying her, what the hell for? If he turned out to be a dirty old man. . .

  Nope, there was nothing old about him, and she'd be damned if she told him she'd been entertaining fantasies about his coming on to her. She wasn't sure how she'd respond, but the fact that she didn't have a can of mace with her wasn't particularly bothersome. The idea of kneeing him where it'd most get his attention if he tried to jump her, well, truth was, maybe she wouldn't try to stop him after all.

  You're that horny? What next? Taking a picture if a pervert exposes himself?

  Devin isn't a pervert.

  How do you know?

  I do, all right! I do.

  "What happens to your place when you're gone?" Devin asked, breaking a long silence and putting an end to the argument she was having with herself.

  "What do you mean?" She turned in the saddle to look back at him. Darn his grey eyes! They were intense, too much like a cougar's. Was he a predator?

  "I couldn't help noticing." He drew out the words as if trying to make them sound casual. "
You're there alone, right? And you left a lot of stock behind. Who takes care of them?"

  "I hire a couple of my neighbors," she said, hoping he wouldn't point out that given her ranch's remote location, 'neighbor' was a relative term. "Teenage boys whose parents' spread is larger than mine. They'll come after school and spend the night there."

  "That's handy. Do you do this a lot, take people into the Siskiyous?"

  He could simply be making conversation; she had to stop second-guessing his every word—and feeling his tone of voice in the pit of her stomach.

  "Frequently, in the summer."

  "It never bothers you?"

  They were in a meadow now. He took advantage of the wide, flat terrain to pull alongside. They rode only a few feet apart, his strong leg a lot closer than she wanted…or maybe not close enough.

  "Does what bother me?" she finally thought to ask.

  "If something happens, 911 is a long way away."

  He didn't look like a man who was afraid of anything. In truth, if she'd ever been around a more male representative of the sex, she couldn't remember. Of course her reaction could have something to do with her months of sleeping alone and the way she'd acknowledged and dealt with her sexuality last night.

  "Yes, it is," she admitted. "I guess we'll just have to be careful."

  He'd been watching her in that intense, predator way of his, but now he looked all around him, his gaze lingering at the haze of mountains ahead of them. He didn't shudder or hold his breath, but she sensed his disquiet just the same.

  "What is it?" she asked. "Something's bothering you."

  "What makes you say that?"

  Suddenly angry, she urged her horse a few steps ahead, then pulled the mare around, blocking his way.

  "Don't play games," she warned. "You're right. Safety can't be taken for granted out there." She indicated the beckoning wilderness. "If you're worried about something…or you know something you haven't told me about, you need to be honest and up-front. If you aren't, and I find out, that's the end of it."