Wild Encounter (8 page)

Bile burned deep in his sternum.

“Shhh.” The silent wracks broke his heart. “You’re okay now. You’re okay…”

He gathered her closer to him, half-dragging her across his lap, gently rocking.

He closed his eyes and buried his nose in the thick mane of her hair. It was just another form of contact, one more thing to give her a shred of comfort, but he monitored her closely in case she thought he might be picking up where Corby left off.

She didn’t, and the show of trust burned in his soul.

Am I really any different?

He had forced himself on her just yesterday, practically mauling her into submission. Was the line between that and this terror really all that wide? Maybe she’d acquiesced to him, then, as some kind of strategy?

You’re my best chance of survival…

He’d grown careless and forgotten how some predators make up in raw persistence what they lack in finesse. His mistake—and today Clare paid the price.

“I’m so sorry…” He rocked her again. “He’s gone, Clare. They’re all gone.”

She went very still. “Gone?”

“And if they come back, they won’t find you here.”

She breathed in, long and slow, and looked up at him. “Because this is where you kill me?”

The unconcerned flatness in her voice twisted in his gut. He tightened his hold. “No.”

It was always going to be ‘no.’

Her nostrils flared. “Will saving me put you in any danger?”

He’d never lied to her. Withheld the truth, yes, but he’d never lied. “Yes.”

She pushed up into a seated position, re-fixed her cargos and lifted her chin. “Then I’m not going to let you.”

He smiled down at her. “Good luck with that.”

She thumped him on the arm, hard. “Don’t patronize me. I don’t want your help. I’ll get myself out of this—”

“Yes. Because you’ve been doing a bang-up job so far.”

She wobbled to her feet, her arms returning to her protective hug around her battered torso then turned back, her tear-swollen brown eyes blazing and her jaw set.

He drowned just a little bit more.

And knew with a stab of helplessness as he went under, this woman was going to be the death of him.

…

Clare burned to tell him she
was
doing a bang-up job and that, in fact, her being back in his custody was all part of her carefully laid plan. But she couldn’t, and so she didn’t.

You’ll see…and then you’ll be proud of me
.

The thought brought her up short. Since when was it important that he be proud of her? It had no bearing on their present situation. Yet it did. She wanted him to admire her courage and her cunning. She wanted him to view her with respect as an equal.

She cared what he thought about her.

Oh… That wasn’t good.

“Why don’t you just go?” he said dully, nodding toward the gaping door. “You could just go.”

“They’d know it was you,” she pointed out.

And they’d kill him.

It was funny how when things actually came down to life and death, they got a whole lot clearer. Things that would normally matter—that
should
matter—melted away. The question of whether he was a bad guy or a good guy suddenly became less relevant than if he was a good
man
.

“You don’t deserve to die protecting me,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Clare, I knew all along I might have to choose.”

He was choosing her. A whole mess of feelings tumbled along her bloodstream.

Tell him
…

That she had a perfectly good strategy all ready to go. But maybe she wouldn’t need hers if he had one? “Don’t you have a plan?” she asked.

“Not a good one.”

Tell him, tell him
… Voices clamored in her head, but something stopped her. A seed of doubt. As if bringing him into her confidence might actually mean a whole lot more. She twisted more towards him on the side of the bed.

“It’s not a very attractive quality, you know,” she hedged.

“What isn’t?”

“This defeatist, self-pitying business.”

That got his attention. Had no-one ever dared accuse him of being sorry for himself before?

“And you, of course, are the poster child for proactivity,” he countered.

“When occasion demands, yes.”

“I have yet to see anything vaguely proactive from you, Boston.”

“I escaped.”

“And we caught you 400 yards from the homestead. I’m hardly convinced.”

She groped around in her memory for something standout that she could share. That wasn’t still secret. He raised both eyebrows in challenge, sensing victory. She lowered hers in determination.

And her self-restraint ran out.

“Maybe this will convince you, then…”

She pushed him back into the mattress and slid across to straddle his hips, enjoying the momentary victory of his speechlessness. Unbelievably, he lay there not moving. About as tense as she’d ever seen him. Her bravado faltered. She suddenly felt very stupid sitting astride him while he lay dangerously still beneath her. She tossed her hair back.

“What are you doing?” he gritted.

“Going after what I want.”

And she was. It suddenly felt very, very right and very, very important that she not back down.

“Clare, you’re confused. And upset. After what just happened…”

Her chest tightened up. “What just happened was theft. This is my choice. And I’m making it freely. I don’t want that awful memory in my head.”

She wanted this one.

She needed it.

She needed
him
.

His eyes softened. And crinkled. “Well, far be it for me to stop you. Knock yourself out.” He lay back to watch, folding his hands behind his head.

Determined not to back down, she moved her hands over his chest, awkwardly at first, exploring the toned geography of his torso. It felt nice, very nice, but somewhat sterile given his carefully measured breathing. She roamed her hands down to his midriff. His expression remained impassive. It eroded her confidence. She traced lower but although his nostrils flared, he didn’t so much as flinch.

“You know, it’s not very sexy when there’s only one person doing the work,” she puffed, exasperated.

He tipped back his head and laughed, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat. She suddenly realized how many times she’d looked up at him, seen that lump working, and wanted to touch it. Without thinking, her hand went up and gently traced its contours.

The laughter died in Alpha’s chest, as though it was the most intimate thing a woman could do to a man. He grabbed her hand and warned her with darkening eyes. “If you touch me like that again, you’d better mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Last chance, Clare. I’m serious…”

This was it. Do or die. If she climbed off him now she might still be able to hobble barefoot up that stony track to the highway and flag down a passing rescue. Someone who wasn’t as dangerous as the poachers she was fleeing. But she’d still be vulnerable, right up until she was back with people she loved in a place that she knew, with her passport in her hand and cash in her pocket.

But if she stayed…there had to be a way they could both come out of this unscathed.

If she stayed, she could have a few more hours with Alpha. With him wrapped around her. Where she couldn’t imagine being safer.

Ever.

Her lips were the only part of her to move. “I’m serious too,” she breathed.

Something primitive within responded to the overwhelming sense of rightness she felt in his arms. It tugged at her conscience, at war with her more sentient dissection of her feelings for him.

And yet she couldn’t pull herself away.

Didn’t want to.

She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the mouth. His lips were soft and warm and she savored the taste of him. He tilted his head a fraction to fit their mouths together more fully, gently biting at her lips. It was a cautious kiss, exploratory and safe. Clare enjoyed it for a moment, in no rush to end it.

He cracked first, slipping the tip of his tongue between her lips and escalating the kiss from lazy to inferno. When he finally broke the kiss, she drew her tongue across his teeth, unwilling to let it end.

He clenched as though punched. “That might just be the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done to me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Except, for the life of me I can’t remember what anyone else has done to me. Ever.”

The strain of not touching her showed on his face. Her hands roamed all over him, running along the outside of his clothes. Heat scorched against her skin wherever her hands went.

“Touch me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. I have no right…” The agony of restraint showed itself in the bulging veins of his throat and temples.

“I give you permission to touch me. I want to feel you touch me. I don’t want to be the only one feeling this.”

That gentle, awkward invitation was all it took. Suddenly, his hands were on her, urgent but not rough. He pulled her mouth down to his, kissing her hard and long. She wriggled to fit more comfortably over his hips. She could feel him, rock hard between her thighs, his jeans and her cargos all that was keeping them apart.

“Clare…” He eased her upper body away while he stripped off his T-shirt with one hand. His other hand molded her bottom but his eyes never left hers. He had a beautiful chest, smooth and flawless and muscular. She wanted to feel those muscles move against her bare skin.

She rolled off him just long enough to shrug out of her cargos and peel off her tank top with fumbling hands, then straddled him again, watching his jaw clench as she slowly lowered the functional cups of lace down her breasts. He stared at them as though they were the first pair he’d ever seen.

“So beautiful.”

He reached up and trailed the back of his big hand down her shoulder, across her décolletage and down her cleavage, snagging the under-wire between her breasts pulling it like a handle. Clare tipped forward until they lay chest on chest, her breasts flattening against his hard pecs, doubling in size and creating two mountains of creamy flesh. He tipped his head forward and ran his mouth up and over one mound—excruciating, seductive—then the other.

Rising up on her knees she bent forward to kiss him, her breasts now hanging an inch from his hard body. He reached to undo the fabric clasps and the lacy bra fell away.

“You kill me, Clare…”

He took their full weight in his hands, his roughened thumbs torturing her tight nipples. Spasms of pleasure cut through her. She sucked his lips, his tongue, ravaging his mouth with hers. He matched her just as fiercely.

Finally, she lifted her lips long enough to gasp his name. “Alpha…”

“Simon,” he rasped.

He froze the moment he said it. And paled.

The bush-chenje filled the silence between their ragged breaths. She understood the enormity of the mistake he’d just made and so she paused too, giving him a moment to adjust to being so exposed.

Welcome to my world
.

She stretched out on his chest and tested his name on her lips.

“Simon.” She regarded him druggedly, her body suspended in a thick, pulsing fog. “That suits you.”

“God, you’re sexy.” His words seemed as involuntary as the hand now stroking her back. Dismay stained his eyes.

She smiled, catching her breath. “Simon says…don’t move.”

She scooted down and traced the ridges of his abdomen with her lips, roaming up to taste the sweat slicked on his chest. She sucked one tempting nipple into her mouth and teased it with her tongue.

He groaned and tried to grab her shoulders.

“Uh-uh,” Clare tutted. “Don’t move.”

Reluctantly he lowered his hands. She continued, tasting, nipping and then lavishing his other nipple. Just before moving on, she dragged her bottom teeth across the bullet of flesh.

His whole body jerked.

She kissed her way down his chest, until she was eye level with his navel. That deserved a moment’s exploration, too.

He moaned with pleasure.

Satisfied, she moved on, following with her tongue the arrow of hair leading down his pelvis.

Finally, she found him. He jerked.

“Simon says don’t move,” she reminded him huskily, looking up at him from down low.

His laugh was strangled. “Afraid I can’t help it, love.”

She sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to take care of it then.”

Her touch brought him half upright and his fists beat into the mattress while she worked him with her tongue. The pleasure in his curse made her smile, exposing his ultra-sensitive skin to the gentle scrape of her teeth.