Her Passionate Need Page 4

  "You'd leave me up there?"

  He might have been taunting her, but she didn't think so.

  "You're armed," she said. "Why?"

  He sat astride his gelding, his body looking like an extension of the animal, the stiff breeze tossing his dark hair about, the sun forcing him to close his eyes to slits. Although the saddle spread his legs wide apart, the saddle horn kept her from seeing his crotch and the tantalizing mound under his jeans, but that didn't detract from his maleness. If anything, the promise felt more exciting than reality might be. Because the afternoon was warm, he'd unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt, exposing his tanned, hair-dusted chest.

  Damn him for being so alive! So different from the man she'd married and buried and wasn't sure she'd ever truly mourned.

  "I used to be a foreign correspondent," he said. "I've been in war zones."

  That stopped her for a moment. Foreign correspondent? In a pig's eye! "This isn't a war zone. It's miles and miles of nothing except deer and elk, bear, a few cougars."

  "Maybe."

  "What is this about?" To hell with calm, cool, and collected. "If you're keeping something from me…"

  "You need my money, don't you?"

  She stared at him, hating him and fascinated at the same time. She felt both trapped and challenged. Alive in a way she hadn't known possible.

  "What have you gotten me into?" she asked.

  She thought he'd say "nothing", which would leave her to decide whether to call him on it or not. Instead, he shook his head.

  "That's what I need to decide," he said. "Whether gotten is part of this."

  She waited for him to explain further; instead, he shrugged. "We'll talk about it tonight," he said.

  "And if I'm not willing to wait?"

  "You don't have a choice."

  * * * * *

  By the time the setting sun stopped them, Ana had grown weary of being angry at Devin and had resigned herself to waiting for him to open up. Not only that, the question of how she'd handle being with him after dark kept getting in the way.

  They could talk.

  The Siskiyou Forest was a lot more than just mountains and the trees that covered them. Managed by the federal government in the form of the Forest Service, the question of the best way to manage the vast, nearly inaccessible wilderness had long been under debate. Last summer's far-reaching lightning-caused fire had left a lot of standing dead trees that loggers wanted to harvest. A number of environmental groups were opposed to that, maintaining that the natural process shouldn't be disrupted. Maybe Devin was being bribed by one side or the other, and his real agenda was to selectively photograph the burned area as part of piece skewed to champion the cause of whoever was paying him; he hadn't wanted to tip his hand with her until she could no longer easily tell someone what he was up to.

  Then again, maybe all this armed secrecy was about unresolved questions such as whether certain areas should be set aside for endangered species like wolverines and spotted owls or…and this made her chuckle…whether wolves should be allowed to return. In truth, she loved the idea of hearing wolf howls echo through the wilderness. So if he intended to write a pro article, she'd be happy to help him in whatever way she could.

  Trying to second-guess Devin had given her a headache and now, with daylight rapidly fading, she needed to focus on finding a place to spend the night and setting up their tents…not too close to each other.

  But not too far away either, the teasing voice she'd gotten used to interjected.

  I didn't say that, did I? she retorted. Do you think he snores?

  I had no intention of letting him sleep.

  She vetoed Devin's suggestion for a campsite because it was only a few feet from a well-trod deer trail and chose one that placed a rocky outcropping between them and the prevailing wind. In addition, a nearby clearing provided a place for the animals to feed.

  "That's what makes you the expert," Devin acknowledged as they dismounted. "Taking everything into account. What do you want me to do?"

  Tell me how I'm going to get through the night without thinking about you sleeping nearby.

  "Our tents practically set themselves up," she managed to tell him. "You can do that while I tend to the horses and mules."

  "And then we get to eat?"

  She couldn't help laughing at that. "Yes, we get to eat."

  To her relief, he placed decent but not excessive distance between their lightweight pup tents and was already setting up their camp stove by the time she'd unsaddled and hobbled the livestock. The sunset was spectacular with deep red tones of endless variety. Knowing it wouldn't last long, she stopped and stared at ancient pines silhouetted against the vivid background.

  "That's why I do this," she whispered. "Because the view can't be any better anywhere else."

  He came to stand beside her, so close that she sensed his greater heat in contrast to the rapidly cooling air. Quickly, her skin became sensitive.

  "So long," he whispered. He wasn't looking at her; in fact she couldn't tell what he was focused on.

  "What's so long?" she asked, distracted from her skin by his terse, dark tone.

  "Since I've been here. I didn't know…"

  "You've been here before?"

  "As a child."

  What's going on inside you? Whatever it is, it has you tied in knots. "What didn't you know?" she prompted. She felt in tune with her surroundings and deeply appreciative of the timeless, primitive, earthy setting. In contrast, Devin seemed edgy.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Yes, it does," she retorted. "Something's bothering you. We need to be able to rely on each other, but I can't…not until I understand why you're upset."

  "I'm not upset."

  "Don't play word games! You started to say something about not knowing something. What is it?"

  He stared at her for a long time; she could sense him turning the question over in his mind, probably deciding whether to answer, whether to be honest with her. She couldn't do anything except wait him out, awareness of his unbelievably male body coloring everything.

  "Whether I'd be able to do this," he whispered.

  "Do what?"

  He sighed, the sound ragged. "Shit." He shook his head. "Shit."

  Thinking to snag his attention, she stepped closer. "What?" she demanded.

  "The past."

  "Yours?"

  "Yeah."

  Another step, so close that she felt the tension radiating from him. "Tell me."

  "You don't—"

  "Tell me!"

  He blinked. "When I was ten, I went hunting here with my grandfather."

  "Here? In the Siskiyou?"

  He nodded.

  "What happened?"

  "I got lost," he whispered. "For two days and nights."

  A ten year old boy alone in the vast nothing for two horribly endless, dark nights and two long, frightening days.

  Not weighing the wisdom of what she was doing, she took his hand and stepped even closer, looked up into his face. The dying sun had taken over his flesh tones, and she found dark reds and oranges in his eyes.

  I'm sorry, she could have told him, but what good would that have done? "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked instead.

  "Not now."

  Not now because you're squeezing my hand in return and you're so close I swear I can hear your heart?

  "All right," she managed, not strong and confident the way she wanted it to come out, but soft and tentative…a woman aware of a man. "I, ah, it isn't easy for anyone to talk about what we're afraid of."

  "What are you afraid of, Ana?" he asked, his breath soft on her temples.

  You. Me. "Not…not a wilderness night," she told him out loud, because that was the only thing that didn't terrify her at this moment.

  "Then you're one up on me." He chuckled, but it sounded forced.

  "My…my husband was afraid of dying." Why was she telling him this? "I wanted him to talk about it, but he
wouldn't."

  "He knew he was dying?"

  "Oh, yes. His cancer…it was so aggressive. Nothing they tried could stop it."

  "And he was scared."

  "Of course," she admitted, surprised that Devin knew that much about her husband. "I thought it would help if we could talk about it, but…"

  Maybe he couldn't."

  Is that what you're telling me you'll never be able to talk about what that frightened ten year old boy had to endure?

  "No," she agreed. "I don't think he could." They were still holding hands, and her awareness of him was growing, deepening, running through her like hot lava. "After awhile I gave up trying. I knew…I knew what he was like. If he considered something a forbidden subject, he threw up a wall."

  "What about you?" he asked in that low, intimate way of his…at least it felt intimate to her although maybe their isolation from the rest of the world made her feel this way. "Did you have anyone to talk to?"

  "I was…I was…" No. She couldn't go on looking at him because if she did, he'd see her vulnerability. She needed to pull free, place night air between them, try to think, stop feeling so much. "I was awfully busy."

  He placed his free hand on her shoulder and held her there. Made her even more aware of him although that seemed impossible. "Busy taking care of him?"

  "That and the ranch. Trying to keep it going. You…you don't want to hear…"

  "Yes, I do."

  Yes, I do. She felt naked before his words, stripped down to nothing except emotion and nerve endings. She couldn't be sliding her arm around his waist, could she? That wasn't her leaning into him, feeling her incredibly sensitive breasts brush his chest; it couldn't be.

  And yet it was, and she couldn't begin to think about leaving his side.

  "I haven't been married," he was saying. "So I don't understand that part of what you went through, but like everyone else, I've lost someone I love." His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, there was a harshness to his tone that had been missing a moment ago. "I think I can relate—listen if that's what you need."

  What she needed was for someone, not him, to explain why she felt the way she did. It was as if she'd both lost touch with her body and was learning things about it she'd never expected. She felt hot and electric, almost as if she'd inadvertently taken hold of an electrified fence. But instead of jerking away, she wanted to fasten her hands around the thin wire and feel that dangerous energy flow through her.

  "You were going to tell me…" she stammered.

  He released her hand, but before she could react to the loss, he cupped his hand under her chin and lifted her head. She saw his own head descending toward her, then everything blurred, and she felt his mouth on hers. Not asking herself what the hell she was doing, she locked her arms around his waist for support and rose on tiptoe, not for a heartbeat losing contact with him. Desperate to experience whatever was happening to her, she closed her eyes.

  Her mind emptied out, then filled with sensation. Kissing her husband had been nice, comforting. This was neither. Instead, she felt confined by her clothes because she needed flesh against flesh, his penis inside her, his mouth on her breasts, throat, belly, the unbelievably aware area between her legs.

  Letting go of her chin, he draped his hands over her shoulders, heating and holding her in place at the same time. She lost even more of herself. It was as if she was melting into him, and he was taking over, filling her with everything male about him.

  Filling her?

  Her, spreading her legs and lifting her hips and pulling him down to her, into her, through her?

  Did she want that?

  Yes! Yes!

  Now his hands were running down her back, resting briefly at her waist, cupping her hips and leveraging her against him.

  She felt his penis, hard and huge, proud. A man's penis? How long, how long since she'd had one inside her?

  Wild to put an end to her lonely isolation, she tilted her pelvis toward him, spreading her legs at the same time. She hated the prison of denim against her flesh, keeping her from feeling, really feeling him. In a dim way she knew it was better like this, safer and maybe even sane, but that didn't stop the silent cry from clawing at her throat.

  Wild. An animal in heat! A lifetime spent near animals had shown her how naturally they accepted their sexuality, but everything from horses to deer mated to procreate, not because filling her pussy with his cock was the only way she could keep from losing her freaking mind!

  He cupped his hands over her butt cheeks and held her so hard against him she worried that her pelvis bone would damage his cock, but if it was painful, he'd pull away wouldn't he, not seal them together, not lean over her and force her to arch her back. Feeling herself lose balance, she locked her arms around his neck. Now they were joined from shoulders to crotch.

  She tried to focus on his eyes, but his face was so close that everything had become a blur. Fine. She wouldn't have to confront what she was doing—at least not now.

  And yet, and yet it had been so long since she'd been kissed. Held. Caressed. Told she meant something to a man. And even in the aftermath of sex with John, she'd wanted and needed more than she'd gotten.

  Could this man, this near-stranger with the trauma of his childhood clinging to him tonight, show her what that more was? Was he capable of fucking her brains out?

  Somewhere between shock and laughter, she tried to kiss him, initiate instead of the way it had been between them the first time. Instead of taking advantage of her parted lips, he turned his head to the side and denied her.

  Anger and embarrassment nearly killed the fire in her belly and groin and caused her to dig her nails into the back of his neck.

  Cursing low in his throat, Devin pushed her away, spinning her to the side at the same time. She thought she'd fall; instead, her back collided with a tree. Before she could push off it, Devin closed in on her and held her in place by pressing his pelvis and cock against her. She tried to shove him away, but he grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands over her head. She felt rough bark grind into the back of her hands, smelled him. Felt him.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

  "I—don't know."

  Chapter 5

  I don't know.

  She could have easily hated or feared him if he hadn't said that. If he'd groped at her like some hormone-raging teenager, she'd have kneed him where he'd feel it the most and taken off with the animals, leaving him to cool his heels and other places on his anatomy while he found his way back to civilization. Or at least she'd have tried.

  Only, it wasn't that easy because the man was obviously dealing with—dealing with. . .

  To hell with what was happening to him emotionally. He'd gotten her all hot and bothered when she'd had scant experience dealing with the condition. She needed to jump into the nearest lake or stream until things cooled down considerably. At least she'd have given it a shot if he hadn't yanked her hands over her head and shown no sign of letting go.

  "Look," she tried. "This hasn't started out very well. Certainly not the way I thought…we need to have a professional relationship." Even as she said the words, she felt her body soften and heat all over again. Her opening was wet and lubricated, ready for him.

  "Shut up," he said softly.

  All right. I really didn't have anything to say anyway.

  But before she could tell him that, she became aware of a slackening in the pressure on her wrists. She knew better than try to free herself, but he was no longer hurting her. At the same time, he gave no indication that he was ready to give her back her freedom. She wanted to look up at him and take advantage of what light remained to get some idea of what he was thinking, but she was afraid. Whether she was afraid of him or herself she couldn't, wouldn't say.

  Strangely, she felt perfectly content doing what she was, being who she was, and learning about him. Only, content didn't exactly explain her condition, and he'd have to be dead and buried not to know that. Alive
. Yes, alive got at the truth.

  Without so much as a by your leave, he used his knee to push her legs apart. When he had her where he wanted her, open to him, he lifted his leg and pressed his knee up tight against her crotch. The moment he did, she settled down around him, drawing her legs together so her inner thighs now felt fused with his leg. Although she didn't understand how he could continue to stand on one leg, he didn't seem at all bothered by that, but maybe he was distracted.

  Didn't matter. Only feeling her passage continue to flood and wondering at the woman she'd become, did.

  "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" he asked.

  "What. . .has?"

  "Since you've had sex."

  Damn him! She didn't need the reminder! "I've—it's none of your business."

  "That's where you're wrong." Once again, he pushed his knee up against her, stealing her breath and senses. Then he abruptly lowered his leg and balanced his weight on both legs.

  Now that he was no longer forcing all of her attention on that one part of her anatomy, she should be able to start thinking again, shouldn't she? Tell him to knock it the hell off, that she was still in mourning and not interested in—

  What was that sensation? Good grief, her—her pussy had become hungry; there was no other way to explain it. Only one thing would feed that hunger—his penis buried as far and deep inside her as it would go. A grip! Get a grip.

  "Let me go," she commanded when she found her voice. She flexed her wrist to try to give emphasis to her words.

  "Break free if you don't like it."

  She did; damn it, she did like it, and he had to know it. Otherwise, he wouldn't be manhandling her like this. Her whole married life had been about equality and so much consideration for each other's space that she nearly gagged on the memory. Just once she wanted a man in charge. Taking, not asking. Doing what he wanted with her. Maybe that way she'd learn what her body was capable of.

  "Why are you doing this?" she asked. It was now too dark to make out anything except his silhouette. Strangely, that empowered her.