Wild Encounter (6 page)

“I’ve got her,” he barked into it, not taking his roiling eyes from hers. “I’m bringing her in.”

Clare dropped her lashes. It was unreasonable to feel the sudden stab of betrayal—of course he was taking her back, she needed him to—but she felt it keenly. It reminded her they were enemies.

“From this moment on, every single step you take could be your last,” he growled as his hand closed around her wrist like a spring trap. “Bad enough fucking up their plan, but now you’ve fucked with their egos. Give them a chance and they will use you and then kill you, and not necessarily in that order. Understood?”

His gaze blazed down into hers, begging comprehension. She looked away.

He shook his head and guided her along the track, back toward the compound. “Come on.”

How long had they taken to come down the track two days ago? Maybe ten minutes in the bakkie? Way too long to risk following it on foot unless she knew the poachers were far, far away. She definitely needed a vehicle.

Which was the point of this whole exercise.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the bakkie rumbled down the track behind them, pulling up on their left. Baldy shot her a filthy look as he killed the engine, opened the driver’s side door wide, and jumped out. Beside her, Alpha tensed, but that didn’t prepare Clare for the explosion of pain as Baldy’s fist connected with the side of her head.

Hard.

She dropped like a stone, senses reeling, her face screaming, aching, and throbbing all at once. Alpha leapt between them and dragged Baldy off her. Without a backward glance, without a word, the vicious bastard shook free and kept walking.

Clare didn’t move, her eyes wide and stinging. Alpha’s lips moved as he crouched next to her, but she couldn’t hear past the painful buzzing in her ears. It wasn’t the punch. She’d had worse knocks from cattle she’d treated. Something else had distracted her before the violent strike, something she’d glimpsed on the passenger seat of the vehicle. Something that kept her mute and numb as Alpha pulled her to her feet and led her back toward her makeshift prison.

She would not cry. Not in front of them. Not if it killed her.

But she knew what she’d seen, wrecked and dirty, tossed on the front seat of the bakkie.

A pile of red WildLyfe tracking collars.

Oh, God
. Her dogs were dead.

Chapter Four

“Clare…” Simon started, as soon as they were back in the holding room.

“Get out!”
Destroyed
. Just like her eyes.

“Clare, please—”

“No! Out. Do
not
speak to me.” Her arms banded across her chest.

He didn’t speak but stepped farther into the room, closing the door gently behind him. Then he waited.

“Why?” The accusation came out more choked than spoken.

He sighed. He’d done the math. There was only one thing that would have distressed her to this degree. And he didn’t think it was the shock of being hit. “I can’t tell you, Clare.”

She glowered at him from the bed. “When?”

“The first day. While you were washing.”

That nearly broke her, but she recovered and clenched her jaw hard. “Where?”

“Far from here, near a waterhole.”

Her body stiffened. “That was a nice touch.”

Simon took a step back from the sarcasm blistering her words. “It seemed like a good idea.”

Her laugh was raw with fury. “To a pile of dead dogs?”

He sucked back a curse. “You think they’re
dead
? No! We released them.”

She swayed, sagging in relief, but then the shaking started. He itched to move toward her but the tightness in her voice kept him stationary.

“What? Why?” Her sharp mind raced through the ramifications. And he saw the moment the realization hit her. If they hadn’t wanted the dogs, then what did they want?

He searched for a response that wouldn’t blow his cover. There was no good answer. “It was a waste of bullets. The dogs were…superfluous.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Bullets might have been kinder.” She opened them and stabbed him with a glare. “Do you have any idea what will happen to those animals if there’s already a pack in the area?”

He shook his head. She still just didn’t get it. “Clare, like it or not, everything changed—
permanently
—the moment your convoy was intercepted—”

“Hijacked!”

He didn’t argue. “Whatever. From that moment on, there weren’t many paths leading to a happy ending for those dogs.”

Or for you
.

She looked mutinous.

“It’s something.” He emphasized the words by looming over her, frustration turning to anger because his hands were tied. “I’m trying to help you, for God’s sake!”

If she only knew how fast he’d had to talk to stop Mbuutu from taking out his rage on those damned dogs. He’d felt like an idiot stumbling his way to the excuse they’d finally accepted. Wasted bullets. The truth was…he didn’t want to see the animals harmed any more than she did. Aside from the fact that once the killing started, there was no telling where it would stop. To these men, Clare was worth even less than the dogs.

Her back straightened. “I don’t need your damn help.”

He snorted. She really wasn’t living the same reality as the rest of them. “Yeah, Clare, you do. I gave you my word I’d do everything I can to keep you safe, but so far, you’ve done nothing but make things harder for me.”

And more dangerous for herself.

He’d thought nothing could touch him these days. He’d trained himself to manage his fear, always. But back there in the bush, he’d had to struggle to keep from panicking until he’d seen her crashing, loud as a rhino, through the scrub. He’d followed her unseen for a short while, and then had to take her down hard when he got a glimpse of Mbuutu coming toward her. He knew what would have happened if the giant African found her first. A vision of her— broken, gutted, and bleeding out into the parched earth was branded into his brain.

At least she had the grace to look slightly abashed, but it didn’t last long. Her voice rose, incredulous. “You expect me to be
grateful
?”

He wanted to deny it, to walk out, not to give a flying fuck. But he couldn’t. “Yes, damn it. Do you know how hard I’m working to keep you alive?”

She glared at him, caution warring with a glimmer of hope. Wanting to trust him but yet…not. “Why?” she demanded. “Why do you even care?”

He struggled for an answer that resembled the truth. And just couldn’t find one.

They regarded each other, measuring the tension between them—the bad and the good. A tingle started to grow low in his belly. He squashed it.

“Get up. I want you to fight me,” he growled.

“What?”

“Fight me,” he repeated. “I’m going to teach you self-defense.”

She gaped at him. “I’ll only use it to escape.”

“Not a chance.” No one was giving her a second chance at that. “Besides. I’m teaching you defense, not offense. In case you need it.” In case something—or someone—happened to him and he wasn’t there to—

He assumed a combat stance and hauled her to her feet.

“Come on,” he snapped. “Now fight me.”

Fast
. Before he lost his inner battle…and gave her a lesson of a very different sort.

…

Clare yanked her arm free, sick and tired of being manhandled by Neanderthals, heart-sore enough about the dogs and confused enough about what was really going on to feel the volcano of pent-up anger bubbling to the surface. If he wanted a fight…

She shoved him.

If they weren’t here for the dogs then there must have been something else in the transporter. Something hidden in it. Drugs or diamonds or…something. Maybe she and the dogs were just in the way.

He picked her up and dumped her upside down on the protesting bed. She instantly moved to get up, the surprise triggering a rush of indignation. She lunged. He batted her away like a flying ant attracted to the flickering light in her room.

Unless
she
was the target all along?

But if that was true then why the hell would he be teaching her self-defense?

“If someone grabs you around your upper body, just drop to the floor. Slide right through their grip.” He pulled her to her feet, dragged her arms up over her head to demonstrate the move.

Okay, so he was serious
. “But then I’m on the ground,” she pointed out. Conveniently positioned for murder. Or worse.

He grabbed her again and she went limp as instructed, raised her arms and slid right through to the floor at his feet.
Huh
. More effective than she could have imagined.

“Good. Now either roll onto your back so you can defend yourself kicking your legs, or punch out a fist on your way down to hit my groin. Whatever you can manage.”

God, it felt so good to be fighting back! She jockeyed around him like a featherweight boxer. Super-super-featherweight. They stood and tried the move again. He caught her. She jabbed. Her fist nearly connected with his groin.

He cracked a smile, just out of reach. “Trust you to go for the crotch straight up.”

She caught herself grinning back, and stumbled to a halt, caught in the glow of the first genuine smile she’d seen from him. It warmed her somewhere deep inside.

He shot out for her again, seeing her distraction, but this time she evaded him.

“Excellent.”

Her breath got heavier. His gaze grew more focused. A light sheen of sweat broke out on his brow and kept pulling her focus.

It was just sweat. It wasn’t sexy.

Even if it was.

She crouched into a more defensive position and gave him a flash of her tank-top cleavage to break
his
concentration.
Whatever you’ve got, girl, use it
… Turned out boobs worked pretty well. She jumped free of him and circled around for another attempt.

Twenty minutes passed as Alpha—her captor—taught her the simplest maneuvers that might well save her life. Ironic that her kidnapper should be teaching her survival techniques. She wondered what the men outside must have made of all the thumping and grunting.

They’d probably be delighted he was getting a run for his money as he punished her.

“Okay, freeform,” he panted, the workout hurting even him.

Clare sucked in breath. “What’s that?”

“Just do whatever you can, no particular sequence. No rules. Whatever gains you the advantage. My job is to stop you.”

She circled round, chest heaving, thinking fast. He watched her intently, not moving an inch. Then, without warning, he snatched her toward him. He’d be expecting a counter-measure so, instead, she moved closer into his arms, effectively loosening his hold.

But instead of dropping, she stretched up and smacked her lips to his surprised mouth.

The distraction worked perfectly and she pressed her advantage, kneeing him neatly in the groin, breaking from his grip, and dashing around the room in a victory lap. Her triumph was short-lived. Either her knee had missed its mark or he had steel-capped balls, because he barely paused before lunging after her.

“The problem with surprise tactics,” he said, backing her into a corner and twisting one arm behind her effortlessly in a way that had her crumpling toward all that sweaty heat, “is they only work once. And they can be modified to use against you.”

He closed the gap, grabbed both her wrists, and dragged them overhead, pushing her against the wall. Before she could protest, his mouth found hers. He stood hard against her so her pinioned wrists were immobilized and she could not kick out. And he kissed her. Hard. The only part of her free to offer defense was her mouth. So she bit him.

His body jerked, but the metallic taste of blood only inflamed him. He deepened the kiss. Her own blood rushed from her head, making it spin, thundering for parts of her farther south. She stopped fighting and his hold on her softened. He let one arm drop so she could push away…if she wanted.

She didn’t want. She leaned into him instead, kissing him back, a half-moan wanting its voice. It was stupid and crazy and weak—and she’d never needed anything so badly in her life. Kissing him, having the control, was as heady as any narcotic. A thrill raced through her body.

He tastes like he smells
. Dangerously good. Her hands reached up and tangled in his hair, the movement causing her breasts to lift toward him. His hand found the small of her back and splayed across it while the other inched across her midriff to her ribs. She surfaced from the fog of desire long enough to notice how he paused there and didn’t automatically fill his hand with her breast. He ran his knuckle lightly along its full underside instead.

Gentleness from him was almost her undoing.

“Clare…” He groaned into her mouth and her breath came thick and fast, causing a foggy light-headedness. He held her while she ran her hands over parts of him she didn’t know she’d been dying to feel. His chest. The swell of his biceps, the muscles of his back. How could one man feel so good? Such a wrong man.

He reached around and threaded his fingers through hers in a simple, intimate hold, and pulled her hands around behind her. It was a gentle restraint which didn’t break their body contact right away.

“Clare, stop…” His voice was thick as he leaned over her. “This isn’t right.”

Blood coursed through her, making it hard to hear, or understand. She leaned toward him.

“No.” He reluctantly stepped back from her, still holding her hands, while the spell lifted. She focused on his face and knew hers must surely mirror his expression of desire and astonishment. And regret. “We can’t, Clare. This isn’t right. It isn’t real.”

“Why not?” she breathed. It felt real enough. About as alive as she’d ever felt.

“It’s… You’re frightened and alone and relying on me. You’re desperate—”

The blood in her veins congealed. She’d had that same word thrown at her before, five years ago. “I am
not
desperate.”

His smile was strained. “You’re counting on me to get you out of here.”

Sanity prevailed, dangerously late but better than not at all. She stumbled away from him. Was this what happened when khaki fever met Stockholm syndrome? This pulsing, burning, hungry need to be naked with someone completely, utterly, and appallingly wrong in every possible way?

She was alone, frightened and powerless. He was charismatic, capable, and in control. And there was no ignoring the massive dose of sexual chemistry between them. He was a hot-blooded man who had made no secret of the fact he found her attractive, and she’d thrown herself at him. The thought of a little roll in the veldt grass with her to pass the time didn’t make him a monster, just human.

She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth as if it could wipe away her indiscretion. And her mortification.

“Call that one-to-zero in my favor?” she murmured as he moved toward the door.

As comebacks went, it would have been much more effective if her voice hadn’t wobbled.

He didn’t answer. But he turned at the door and took her in for one long moment before pressing it closed and clicking the lock in place.