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He lay back onto the rough grasses and quickly forgot the scratching discomfort when her small, hard nipples brushed against his chest.

He touched every bump and ridge on her backbone and reminded himself how fragile she was. Her weight on top of him seemed little heavier than his shirt had been.

She wiggled her hips and elicited his groan. He dropped kisses along her sharp jaw-line and down her neck. Lifting her slightly, he reached her collarbone with his lips. She threw back her head to give him access.

Her heart’s pounding vibrated against his lips as he slowly approached his objective. The flesh forming her breasts was firm, her skin smooth and, finally, her nipple, the hard nubs sending jolts of hot lust through him. He ran his tongue over one and then the other. All his personal intentions to take it slow and easy faded. He sucked one luscious nipple into his mouth.

She gasped and froze, but only for a moment. Her fingers returned to his hair and held him at his glorious task.

He wanted her beneath him so much. He needed to press his painful erection against her and having her on top was not enough. Rolling over, he laid her on top of his discarded shirt.

He continued to lavish attention on her breasts.

She was so tiny, he eased his weight on top of her slowly and gently pushed her legs apart with his own. Her thighs clamped tight against him with her eagerness. The glory of his cock rubbing against her sweet entrance, even with their clothing between them, led him dangerously close to the edge.

He needed them both out of their pants, now. Pain suddenly shot through his scalp. She yanked his hair again. Lifting his head, she obviously wanted his lips on her again, he looked into her eyes.

But in her eyes was darkness, not of lust and desire, but of wild … terror. Her body was rigid and unmoving beneath him. The tight grip of her fingers eased in his hair, but then one of her fists caught him square on his ear. He tumbled sideways off of her, more from shock than force.

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Shaking his foggy head, he sat up to face her. But she already scooted away from him on her butt. She crossed her arms protectively over her bare chest.

The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the bubbling of the hot spring. She stared at him with wide eyes while his sluggish thoughts tried to piece together what had happened. Things had been going so well if faster than he’d expected. An apology hovered on his lips, but he held it back. Better to say nothing than say the wrong thing.

The wild look drained from her face and left behind a stark sadness. For a moment she looked like she might cry, but that fierce pride of hers held it back.

“I’m

sorry.”

She’d said it first this time. Was their relationship to be a series of apologies? He wanted to know what had happened, but his mind was still too muddled and centered between his thighs to ask an intelligent question.

He picked up his shirt and stood up, wincing as his pants squeezed his stubborn erection.

After tugging on his shirt, he strapped on his gun belt. “I’m going to the stream and take a bath.”

They needed to talk, but he couldn’t right now. Not when his damned randy body could only think of throwing himself on top of her again.

* * * *

Cara took a deep shuddering breath after Brady disappeared over the edge. He hadn’t looked angry, only confused and uncomfortable.

She pulled her shirt back on and soothed it over her shivering body. Her legs trembled when she stood. Walking to their supplies, she knelt and began taking out things they needed for a meal. Next she shook out their blankets, using the mundane tasks to keep her mind off her failure to be a whole woman. The fatigue of being up all night slammed into her defenseless emotions. If there were any tears left in her body, she would cry.

Why had she thought she could to it? What had made her believe she could be with a man like a normal woman? A hot spurt of anger at Brady heated the chilled, empty hole inside her. He’d made her believe such a ridiculous notion. But her anger died as quickly as it’d come.

It wasn’t his fault at all. The failure, the disappointment were all hers. She was too damaged.

Without real interest, she worked free the knots in Brady’s extra shirt that held the stolen food. He’d had no choice but to throw it all together. Oats, nuts, dried berries and other things were mixed into a mish mash. She pulled the cooking shell from the pack and began sorting oat kernels and tossing them into it.

The mindless work only insured her thoughts would wander back to the aborted lovemaking. Things had been going fine. Her nipples rose to hard points against her blouse as her body remembered the hot touch of his tongue on them. His lean sculpted torso was everything beautiful in a man. His hands had been gentle and he had touched her in places so innocently but somehow erotic. Then he’d rolled them over so he was on top of her.

Even now her breath hitched at that remembered terror. His weight, though so much less than a Savage, had held her helpless beneath him. His legs had spread hers apart and left her vulnerable to his attack. He’d pressed his penis obscenely … but it hadn’t been so horrible and scary when she’d been on top pressing on him. It was the helplessness of being under him that panicked her. She would never be able to make love with him. Never.

* * * *

Brady took his time. He set his gun and knife aside and then stripped down to nakedness.

The stream flowed down from the mountain side in a skinny water fall no wider than his waist.

The feel of snow and ice was still in it. Exactly what he needed. There was no spot in the stream ONE GOOD WOMAN SUSAN KELLEY 53

large enough for him to even sit in so he stood in a level spot and splashed freezing handfuls of water over his body.

His feet were numb by the time he finished scrubbing his hair. He stepped out onto the sandy bank and washed his clothing. Soon they might have to think of hunting fur-bearing animals and making clothing of skins like the Savages.

And that thought brought him full circle to the reason for his icy, lonely bath. Cara.

Things had been going so well, great even. A few hot kisses, the taste of her skin, the texture of her nipples beneath his tongue, and he forgot his intentions to go slowly. And then he’d frightened her. He’d jumped on top of her like a … like a damned Savage. He was lucky he’d only received a punch in the jaw for his disgusting behavior. How could he make amends?

He’d never faced such a situation. Had he ever been rejected by a woman? Only Cara.

Had he ever scared a woman with his attentions? Only Cara. Had he ever had to apologize to a woman for such a horrific misstep? Only Cara. All his previous dealings with women, even when he was much younger than his current twenty-nine years, had been smooth easy relations.

He’d always been the one controlling the pace, defining the depth of involvement and deciding when to end it. Not that his career lent itself to building lasting relationships. And he hadn’t cared. Until Cara.

Walking further down stream, he found a patch of sunlight. He spread his clothing upon it and sat on another rock. The stone didn’t feel warm on his bare skin, but damp pants would feel even worse.

He looked around at the trees and brush. There was no store where he could buy her a trinket for an apology, no sweet shop where he might buy her a chocolate or sugar-laden treat.

He had only himself to offer.

No clever plan came to him and after an hour, he got dressed. His pants were still wet in spots but his shirt was dry and warm from the sun. His gun belt didn’t offer its usual comfort against his hip. He had no weapon for what he must face. How could he earn her trust again?

* * * *

She dropped a few dried berries into the simmering oats. If only she had some honey to add, it would make a special treat to sooth Brady’s anger.

He had to be furious. She’d touched him, kissed him, half undressed him and allowed him to do the same to her, and then flung him away and hit him.

“Cara,” he called softly in warning as he climbed up to their camp.

His hair stuck up in its usual, impossible mess. Some finger-sized pieces on the top pointed straight into the sky. The sun shone against it so it gleamed almost blue with its deep blackness. His blue eyes regarded her warily and a small dark bruise darkened his jaw.

“I started a fire and a meal.” She gestured toward it. Her face heated with a strange combination of embarrassment and remembered passion.

He took a few steps toward her and then stopped. “The water was cold but the bath felt good.”

“You did your clothing also?” She cringed at their inane conversation.

He ran his hands down his thighs. “Still a little damp.”

Her gaze followed his hands. His thighs were lean but she knew how strong they were.

“I think I’ll do the same while the oats cook.” She ducked past him, taking care not to touch him and slid down the bank. She gave him no chance to say anything. How could she ever make it up to him?

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Brady stirred the oats. Again. Cara had yet to return and the previous night without sleep was catching up to him. Added to the demands on his body and mind since they’d gone over the falls, he was exhausted. Yet the need to press on with their search for an escape weighed on him.

He rested against a rock near the fire. It had taken him the good part of an hour to fix their sleeping area. He’d cleared an area of any little stones or clumps of grass that might poke through their blankets. Then he’d used his knife to cut some thin pine branches from one of the slender saplings sharing their ledge. They were both so tired they could probably sleep on top of a thorn bush, but it was the only thing he could think of to do for her.

The day was well past its midpoint before he heard her returning. He went to the edge of the shelf and offered his hand to her. She hesitated for an uncomfortable moment before reaching up and taking it. He could have easily hauled her up, but he let her pick her way with only a little assistance from his muscle.

His stomach clenched and something even lower tightened as he looked at her. Her hair hung loose and wet down her back, but even wet, the sun picked up the gold gleaming in it. It fell short of brushing her hips, but the beauty of it freed stunned him. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her though he knew he should.

“What’s

wrong?”

Her sharp question woke him from his fascination but his wits weren’t quick enough to lie. “I’ve never seen you with your hair loose. It’s incredible.”

Her face darkened but she didn’t seem angry. She looked kind of sad. “Thank you.”

She ate off their only plate and he ate directly from the shell. The oats were plain even with the bits of fruit to flavor it, but it was a feast compared to their recent diet. They didn’t speak while they dined and shared the cup of water. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and distracted him. He hadn’t willpower enough to avoid watching it. Their hunger made quick work of the meal and there was little to clean up.

Cara started to speak, but a large yawn interrupted her. He smiled, but then an irrepressible yawn took him also. They smiled at each other.

“I think we need to sleep,” he said.

Her expression sobered and a familiar haunted look took her eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

He should have known she would be too brave to let it go. They sat down near the smoldering fire and faced each other. Some idiot part of him spoke first. “I’m sorry, Cara.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Why? I jumped on top of you like a …. ” He deserved to get punched again for almost saying it, but she shook her head and looked down at her booted feet.

“I panicked, Brady. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. It’s not your fault.”

He cautiously picked up her hand. “It was my fault. I hurried you. You’re so lovely and perfect, and I’ve been fighting to keep my hands off you since we first met. We were going too fast.”

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She didn’t look up at him. “I can’t do it. It’s like an insanity inside my head. It’s stuck there. Forever.”

“We can try again. Go slower.”

“No! I can’t do it.” Her hand went cold in his.

He dared not push her, but the hell if it was over. “Let’s get some sleep.”

She sighed her appreciation when she lay back on their soft bed. The sun shone warmly on them though it would soon dip behind the mountains and throw long afternoon shadows on them.

By unspoken agreement, they lay on their sides and faced each other. He reclaimed her hand. It was warm again, her fear gone. Her eyes drifted closed, and her breathing deepened to that of sleep quickly. Though she didn’t believe it, she did trust him. His original plan for a slow seduction would work. All he needed was time and patience to make her his.

* * * *

Cara woke in the dark. Something warm and heavy lay across her back and curled around her waist. Her nose staved off the first twinge of panic. Brady.

His shoulder cushioned her head, and her right leg was thrown over his thigh. Her right arm curled across his chest and her fingers curled in his shirt. It was his arm across her back and holding her close. As some point in her sleep, she’d sought him out and taken refuge from the chill, night air.

His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear, and his chest rose and fell with slow deep breaths. Two years ago she would have never thought such a being existed. Brady Gellot was a good man.