Her Passionate Need

# HER PASSIONATE NEED

An Ellora’s Cave publication written by

Vonna Harper

MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-497-3 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-498-1 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML

© Copyright Vonna Harper, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave. Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author/publisher permission.

Edited by Martha Punches Cover Art by Scott Carpenter

Warning:

The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. HER PASSIONATE NEED has been rated Hard R, erotic, by a minimum of three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this e-book are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

Prologue

The man crouched within the tangle of underbrush. He felt dwarfed by the massive evergreens that loomed over him, and although he'd never tell anyone, particularly Devin Rourke who was his best friend and soul brother. He understood why Devin had spent years avoiding this forest. It breathed and lived, whispered of danger. Right now Aaron Powers knew danger carried a rifle and wanted him dead. But even if he was just some yokel out for a stroll, he couldn't imagine feeling comfortable here because he knew what Devin had endured as a ten year old. In addition, he was a world away from civilization in a place untouched since the beginning of time. No! There wasn't time for thinking, for emotion. He was here as a hunter to hunt others of his kind. After reassuring himself that his cell phone was still strapped to his waist next to the extra cartridges, he settled his rifle in the crook of his arm and strained to see more than brush and ferns. Sweat trickled down his back and under his arms. He was thirsty, but physical comfort would come later. First he had to get irrefutable evidence against the man, or men responsible for a rash of poachings. As a game enforcement officer for the Forest Service, it was his job, responsibility, and passion to stop those who believed themselves above the law, whose lack of a conscience and greed made it possible to wantonly destroy wildlife. He believed in what he was doing so much, that he'd volunteered to work undercover and had gone after those heartless monsters like a dog killing rats. He believed in the law that prosecuted poachers and felt close to drawing a noose tight around them. What he kept to himself was how vulnerable and alone he felt. The better part of a half hour ago, he'd heard the faint echo of a gunshot. He dreaded what he'd find, maybe a bull elk carcass, maybe a dead or dying cow with calves too young to survive on their own. He'd wanted to report to district headquarters about what he was up to in case something bad happened, but the sad truth was, he didn't dare trust anyone right now except Devin who he regularly conferred with via cell phone. If anything felt wrong, he'd call Devin and tell him where he was. The two of them would decide what his course of action needed to be. One thing about letting Devin know his location, he wouldn't have to spend eternity rotting out here if something happened to him. Just the same, he'd feel a hell of a lot better if he wasn't alone. No, not just anyone. Devin. But Devin, fearless and half civilized, was in Alaska working undercover himself. Shit.That's where he should be. Living on salmon and good whiskey, sharing lies with the damn fool who could give Rambo a run for his money, not out here. They were both bachelors, and Devin, despite his uncivilized looks, practically had to beat off the women. He didn't mind being around when one of those women, horny and in heat, gave up on Devin and cast around for a man, any man to service her. A crow suddenly took flight, half shattering his nerves as it propelled its heavy body skyward. The man waited with his back pressed against the nearest tree until his heartbeat returned to something approaching normal. Then, despite the instinct for preservation that told him to get the hell out of here, he

continued moving forward. A wind-downed tree forced him to detour around the old deer trail he was on. Because he was concentrating on sounds, he didn't notice how close he'd gotten to the tree's exposed roots until his boot struck one of them, and he nearly fell. He almost lost his grip on his rifle but grabbed it before making sure his feet were under him. Stumbling made a lot of noise, and he couldn't quite convince himself that surely no one was close enough to have heard. A multitude of unseen birds squawked and chirped; whether because he or someone else had disturbed them he couldn't say. Shit. Shit. Shit.Who did he think he was? More than that, what insane Service policy said it was perfectly reasonable for its employees to go out alone after out-of-season hunters…armed and singled-minded killers of wildlife and maybe anyone who got in their way? In his next life he'd— For maybe a half second, the bullet striking his back and throwing him face first onto a thick carpet of pine needles made him think he was back in high school and had just been tackled by a defensive lineman. Then he heard the echo of the rifle shot and smelled blood, felt something beyond pain, all consuming. He tried to get his legs under him, but they wouldn't move. He had the vague thought that he needed to defend himself, but his rifle was under him. Someone had slugged him with a hot, electrically charged sledgehammer. And he was bleeding. Maybe bleeding out. His vision blurred, and his head roared so loud he couldn't begin to hear anything else. Still, he forced his hand to his waist and willed his fingers to grip the cell phone. He couldn't find it. Damn! Devin…please. Help!

Chapter 1

"He's dead." "I know he is." "For four months. And your husband was heading in that direction long before that." "What is this about?" Ana Briggs snapped. "To remind me of how long I've been a widow? Believe me, I haven't forgotten." "I know," her sister said, the take-charge tone gone from her voice and replaced with love and concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that, but having dinner with someone is hardly a crime. Frank's a gentle man, quiet and clean. Besides that, he has a regular paycheck, unlike John." "My husband was self employed; don't make it sound as if he was a deadbeat."

"This isn't turning out well, is it," Cathy said as Ana paced from her office into the living room of the small ranch house where she now lived alone. "You'd think we'd be over fighting like kids. I'm just worried about you stuck out there in the middle of nowhere like that. Sis, you're barely thirty. You should be living, not…" "I am living," Ana broke in. Thoughts of everything she needed to accomplish over the next few days made her anxious to hang up the phone. Although it was still afternoon, the horses were letting her know they expected to be fed, now if not sooner. "In case you've forgotten, I have a ranch to run." "All by yourself? Sell the damn thing. Buy something other than jeans and boots and get around people." "I am around people. Lawyers, insurance agents, bankers, groups wanting to rent the horses. Hunting season's about—" "I'm not talking about smelly, beer drinking old farts," Carol interrupted. "Think studs, and not of the horse variety." "I know what you're talking about." In truth, the thought of being near a man who might be attracted to her, and being attracted to him, nearly made her throat close down. "I'm not ready for that." "I don't think you ever were, thanks to our dear mother. Look at us. I can't commit to any man and run the other way whenever the 'm' word comes up. At the rate I'm going, I'll never get married. And you…you went for safe." John had been safe and unassuming right up until the time cancer took him from her."Sis," Ana said. "We've had this conversation more times than either of us can count. There's nothing we can do about our conservative upbringing." "Conservative? How about puritanical? Repressed. Archaic. I'm surprised Mom didn't lock us into chastity belts. I never understood what she was so afraid of." Maybe, like me, she was afraid of herself.Unable to voice that even to her sister, Ana reminded Cathy that she still had a full day's work ahead of her and only a few hours of daylight in which to do everything. "All right." Carol relented. "I'll let you off the hook, for now. But the next time you come into civilization, the two of us are going out for a drink. You know, a bar, with men. Maybe we'll get hit on." The thought of how she'd handle that caused Ana's hands to sweat. "We aren't bar crawlers," she pointed out. "Besides, it's going to be awhile before I get to town." "How come? Are you hiding from bill collectors?" Fortunately that was nearly behind her. "I'm going to be taking a journalist or reporter or something like that into the Siskiyous. Beyond Weston Ridge to Crystal Creek." "Crystal Creek? That area gives beyond nowhere a bad name. I never could figure out why John took fishermen there." "I don't know either. I've never been there." "But you can find it?" "No problem. Don't forget, I spent hours studying Bureau of Land Management topographic maps with John."

"Hmm.This journalist guy—it is a guy, isn't it?" "Yes." "Okay, what does he look like?" "I haven't met him. We've only talked on the phone." "How does he sound? Sexy?" There went her throat again, closing down and forcing her to struggle to breathe. Yes, Devin Rourke had sounded one hundred percent male. If she hadn't needed the money, and been intrigued by the nature of his project, she would have never agreed to rent her horses and pack mules—and herself to him. "He sounds determined," she sidestepped. "I told him I really couldn't devote that much time to this research trip of his, but he must have called his publisher because the next time we talked, he'd nearly doubled what he's going to pay me." "You're going with him? Just the two of you?" "He says he needs a guide." "What's that I hear in your voice? Anticipation? No." Carol sighed. "Knowing you my dear sister, you're scared witless at the prospect of being in the boondocks with someone with a penis." "Sis!" "Don't Sis me. The word's in the dictionary, and Mom's no longer around to punish us for saying it." "No, she isn't," Ana admitted. "I just wish I knew more about what this guy wants from me. Besides…" "Besides what?" "Apparently his article or piece or whatever, is about wolves." "Wolves? In the Siskiyous? There aren't any, at least not yet. Eventually those Idaho wilderness wolves will find their way here, but that'll be a few years." "That's what I tried to tell him, but I could tell he wasn't listening. If he's going to write something that'll stir up even more controversy, I don't want to be part of it." "I'm sure you don't. Heck, you're on both sides of that issue, aren't you? Half wilderness advocate, half rancher determined to keep her livestock safe." "Tell me about it. Sis, speaking of livestock, I really have to get going. The natives are getting restless." She could tell Cathy wanted to renew her argument about dragging her widowed sister into the dating scene, but fortunately, Cathy also understood how hard she'd worked and still needed to work, to get the small southern Oregon ranch back in the black. She and John had bought the property at a tax foreclosure sale, and by dint of a lot of sweat and blisters, had turned it into a combination boarding stable, horse training facility, and pack animal rental operation. John had been the expert in the rental project, using his Montana ranching upbringing to train a small herd of horses and mules for wilderness adventures. That arm of their business had been the most successful, in part because John knew the Siskiyou Forest like the back of his hand and often led the expeditions

himself, but then he'd gotten cancer, and they'd nearly lost everything. Amend that, Ana reminded herself. She had lost her husband. The bank had nearly taken the ranch. But she'd refused to give up and now, four months after burying John, she was once again current on the mortgage payments. Yes, she slept alone, but she was used to that. Even when she and John were newlyweds, sex had been unimportant.

***** Ana was working on a tuna salad well after dark when the business phone rang. She answered with her mouth full. "Ms. Briggs, this is Devin Rourke," a too-deep male voice said. "Is that you?" She swallowed and tried again. "I'm sorry. I was having dinner." She took a moment to calm herself. "Is there a problem? You won't be hiring me after all?" "Not at all. What made you think that?" What could she tell him, that she'd been counting on the hefty retainer to buy a truckload of hay and the thought of having to cancel the order and scrounging for something to feed the animals had tied her stomach in a knot? "Forget I said that. What can I do for you?" "I simply wanted to make sure you knew how much and what kind of equipment I'll be bringing with me," he said, the miles not doing nearly enough to blunt the impact of his masculine voice. "I don't see how I can get by with fewer than two pack animals." That seemed excessive to her, but by the time Devin had told her about all the photography equipment he was bringing with him in addition to what they'd need for a week in the wilderness, she agreed with him. "All those cameras for a creature that isn't in the wilderness?" she asked. "At least not anywhere in the Siskiyous." "That's not what I've heard." "What are you talking about?" "I'm afraid I can't tell you, Ms. Briggs," he said. "Let's just say that my publisher has reason to believe that more has been going on in your end of the state than meets the eye. Policies being enacted that haven't been made public." And all I'm good for is taking you into the middle of nowhere. Why the heck should I be told what I'm getting into?"If that's the case, I'm surprised you trust me to guide you," she said. "I didn't want it like that. If you'd trust me to handle your animals, Ms. Briggs—" "It's Mrs. Briggs," she shot back, her meal forgotten. "And I already made it clear that I'm not letting my best animals out of my sight that long with someone I don't know." "You're married?" "Widowed," she said without thinking. It belatedly struck her that he didn't sound interested in the

question, almost as if he already knew the answer.But that was impossible, wasn't it? Maybe not if he'd had her investigated…but what for? "How old are you?" "What does that…" "Most widows are up in years. I'm simply concerned about your ability to handle a rugged expedition." "I can handle it," she shot back. "The question is, can you?" To her surprise, he laughed. To her shock, she found herself—specifically the area south of her belly— responding to the sound. Not that she'd ever tell him, but this particular man's laugh felt too much like a feather being run over her hips and thighs, and the area between her legs. "Oh, I think I can survive," he said. "I'm looking forward to meeting you, Mrs. Briggs. Tomorrow."

***** Tomorrow.The word sat beside her as Ana worked her way through the now tasteless salad. It was still there when she put on her coat, grabbed her flashlight, and went out to check on the horses one last time. The damn thing even hung around when she went into the bathroom for a shower. The mirror in the old bathroom was positioned above the sink, providing just a waist-up view. That had always satisfied her since she only used that mirror to dry her hair and throw on a minimum of makeup. If she needed to see all of herself—which she did only when dressing to meet with bankers or the life insurance agent who'd helped her collect John's small policy—she could use the full length mirror fastened to the back of the bedroom door. She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked at herself naked; it must have been a couple of months after John's death. She'd been surprised by how much weight she'd lost and the way her hipbones stuck out. Her collarbone wasn't any better, nearly prominent enough to hang clothes on. For some reason, her breasts hadn't shrunk. Why she decided to take another look at herself now she couldn't, wouldn't say. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that she was going to spend a week with aman . After taking off her shirt, she resolutely positioned herself in front of the bathroom mirror. Despite her admonition to herself not to do so, she dropped her gaze as she unfastened her bra. For crying out loud. It's your body. It's not like it's some horse you don't have to buy if you don't like its looks. Strengthened by the talking-to, she lifted her head and focused. It didn't look as if she'd lost more weight, something she'd already suspected because her clothes hadn't gotten any looser. She was pleasantly surprised by the hard muscles in her upper arms. Throwing bales of hay over fences had a way of doing that. Her breasts still sat there, well, maybe not sat since there was hardly any sag to them. In fact, now that she'd committed herself to a thorough going-over, she realized the nubs were getting harder, larger. Oh, my! She wasn't turning herself on, was she? Certainly not! This reaction was a simple response to scrutiny, that's all.

John had never said anything about what he thought of her breasts, but then they'd never had that kind of conversation, even on their honeymoon when they'd actually had sex twice in three days. After that… No! She wasn't going to think about after that! All this talk about people who barely came up for air during the first months of their marriage, well that's what it was, talk. What about jobs and other responsibilities—life? Who had time for…for being in rut or whatever they called it? Where was she? Oh yes, taking inventory. In the short period she'd been caught in the past, her breasts had been undergoing even more of a change…actually getting larger. She didn't see how that could be, but they now felt heavy and her nipples ached. Well, not really ached. Something much more pleasant and more than casually connected to the joining between her legs. Her breasts had felt like this when she and John had had sex, as if they were waking up and eager to take her on some fascinating journey. But John hadn't been much into foreplay—just saying the word made her feel as if her mother was looking over her shoulder and disapproving of the word—and she hadn't had the opportunity to explore that possible journey. She hadn't asked for more than her husband had been willing to give because, well, because she didn't know how. How did someone ask for something she wasn't sure existed and if it did, what it was all about? Without asking herself why or if she should, she pressed the palm of her hand against her right breast and flattened it slightly. That increased her cleavage, but that's not what held her attention. Fascinated by what was happening, she pressed some more and began a slow circular motion. She felt her breast grow increasingly sensitive. At the same time… Well, heck, at the same time she was definitely feeling something between her legs. That, too, was a sensation she'd experienced before, a kind of warm buzzing, a softening. She felt herself growing moist up inside her opening and risked a glance down at herself. Of course all she could see was a cloud of curly dark hair, but unless she was sadly mistaken, physical changes must be taking place. What was her sex organ called? Oh, her clitoris. Her gynecologist had said the word so matter-of-factly when she'd gone to him for a yeast infection that it had been several seconds before it dawned on her that she'd never heard her mother speak it. She'd heard other terms likecunt andpussy and even spoken them herself when she'd been with her high school girlfriends, but she'd never felt comfortable doing so and had simply parroted what she'd heard. And she'd never, never told her parents what went on during 'girl get-togethers' as they called them. She and John hadn't done much talking when they had sex, and she couldn't imagine being that…blunt. But John was dead, and she was alone with her thoughts and needs. Fighting back tears, she again looked at herself. This time she didn't feel quite so hesitant. Her dark green eyes stared back at her, neither approving nor disapproving. There was no need to glance over her shoulder or listen to see if anyone was coming. She'd have to turn up the heat pretty soon, either that or stop whatever this was that she was doing and get in the shower. But she sensed, somewhere deep down inside in a place she barely understood, that the time had come to take stock of herself. Not just stock. To learn things about her body she'd always hid from. You did the best you could, Mom, she thought.You raised me the way you were raised. But I'm an

adult now. A widow asking what's going to happen with the rest of my life. Not questioning what she was doing, she took her nipple between thumb and forefinger and began gently rolling it back and forth. At the same time, she used her other fingers to massage the underside of her breast. Doing that increased the sensation of heat between her legs…her clitoris. She imagined a man doing that to her, not gentle, considerate John who'd always seemed slightly embarrassed about his physical needs, but a man who thought about her as much as he did about himself. He'd…what? What would a sexually assured, red-blooded man do to her? With her? Although she wracked her brain, she couldn't come up with anything other than what she was doing, and there was more to sex than playing with breasts. Still, this wasn't a bad start. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them, felt their weight and warmth and texture, pictured work-roughened male fingers on her soft, pale flesh. The thought of the contrast of leather against velvet caused her breath to snag. She pulled into herself, became one with the fantasy. Her fantasy man would cover her breasts with strong, competent hands, bury the tender mounds under his own flesh, bone, and muscle. He'd knead them, flick his fingernails over her nipples until they felt like small, sensitive rocks. Then he'd flatten his palms over her breasts and press them toward her rib cage, force her back—back against the bathroom wall. She'd suck in her breath, pull her belly as far into her pelvis as possible and spread her legs, surrender, surrender… No. Not so fast. There had to be more to sex than that dark, nameless man whispering to her to open herself to him and then driving his thing deep inside her. She and John had always done it in bed with him on top, but there were other ways…ways that both captured her imagination and left her frustrated because her damned so-called imagination didn't go far enough. In the middle of trying to think where and in what position she'd most like to have sex, she realized that her hands were no longer supporting her breasts. Instead, they were now trailing down her rib cage, reaching her belly, feeling, testing, exploring everything from hips to belly button. Lower. Do it, Ana, lower. Don't be afraid. But I am. I am!

Chapter 2

In part because the bathroom felt cold and sterile and hard, in part because she wasn't sure how much longer she trusted her legs to hold her, Ana stumbled naked into the bedroom. At first she wasn't sure she could make herself get on the bed…her and John's bed with its inexpensive percale sheets…but then curiosity and need displaced memory. She was alive! And tonight was about starting to comprehend the true meaning of the word. Buoyed by that, she climbed onto the bed and settled herself on her knees. The long, nearly black hair she usually kept in a single braid slid over her shoulders to tickle the top of her breasts. She spread her legs slightly, then, slowly, as far apart as she could comfortably make them go so she could look at herself. She thought about getting a mirror to help her get a handle on what was in there, but she wasn't ready for that. By pushing her pubic hair aside and looking down, she managed to catch a glimpse of her sex organs. Her labial lips hung down more than she thought they would and, to her thinking, were hardly things of beauty. As an adolescent, she'd touched herself there and enjoyed the experience, but she'd always been so afraid her mother would somehow find out that she'd never been able to let go…to really explore the way other girls said they did. The way they talked about getting wet and hot—someone always saidhot — had both embarrassed and intrigued her. The sensations brought on by her tentative adolescent probing had been pleasant; no doubt of that. Was that still true? You don't need to know, not tonight. Tomorrow you'll be meeting your new employer and off to do what he's paying you for. Don't, damn it! Don't back down! Are you calling me a coward? If the shoe fits. . . All right, already! It's not like anyone's going to tell. Is that what you're afraid of, that someone's going to disapprove? It's your body, for crying out loud! True. Sex had always been a little uncomfortable because she'd been pretty dry up inside so she put her fingers in her mouth to moisten them, then worked her fore and middle fingers past her dangling lips. To her surprise, despite the rather clinical approach, she felt her inner recesses press down as if in invitation. Encouraged by what she figured was her body's instinctive response to what she was doing, she reached up and in as far as possible. It was an easy fit and more than a little pleasant despite the lingering sense that she shouldn't be doing this. Intrigued, she wiggled her fingers. As the same time, she pressed her palm firmly against her pussy. Pussy!Holy cow! She'd actually thought the word! Something that started out as a chuckle but turned into a gasp escaped into the otherwise empty bedroom. With daylight gone and only a small lamp on, she felt her world closing in around her. There was just her and her need to be touched.

Again and again she extended her fingers as far inside her pussy as they'd go. Each time she did, her inner recesses—was that what women really called them?—got wetter and hotter. Just as she felt her self control slipping away, she drew back but not all the way. In truth, she couldn't imagine stopping now. Pressing her palm against her outer lips made her feel trapped, almost speared, exactly the way she wanted to feel. Her fingers served the same purpose as a man's penis, taking and giving. Despite the cool air, she no longer felt chilled. There wasn't enough oxygen in the room. So far she'd been intent on how deeply she could penetrate herself, but although she was intrigued by what was happening to herself—what she was doing to herself—she couldn't completely ignore the strain on her legs and back. Despite her good physical condition, she wasn't a contortionist. With her fingers barely inside her wet pussy, she half rocked, half flopped onto her back and lifted her legs up and out so that anyone coming through the door would plainly see everything she had to offer. Offer? Eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at the uninspiring ceiling, she held her pussy lips apart with her left hand while continuing her finger exploration. Her cheeks felt flushed, but embarrassment was the last thing on what little remained of her mind. Whenever her fingertips touched the front of her opening, what she could only describe as a hot tingling feeling intensified. She wasn't so naive that she didn't know there was more to her sex organ than lips and the opening where John put his penis but hadn't expected her clit —that's what it was, wasn't it—to be that sensitive. It didn't exactly hurt, but neither could she bring herself to press the slippery, hungry organ as firmly and freely as she did the rest of her clitoris. If she did, the top of her head might blow off. Blow off? Maybe that wasn't so bad. So why did playing with herself feel so darn good this evening?Because you've finally grown up , she told herself.You're no longer a shy little girl. . .a wife. No, that wasn't it, not all of it anyway. The conversation she'd had with that man, Devin, factored in. Thank you, mister. You'll never know what you've done, but thank you. Although in the real world she couldn't ever imagine wanting this, she mentally pictured the stranger she was going to meet tomorrow standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his mouth lifted in amusement and interest at what she was doing to herself. Like watching do you?she asked him.Pull up a chair and sit down then. I have the feeling I'm going to be at this for awhile. On the tail of that thought, she felt her mind and body narrow down, eliminating everything except the area between her legs. Here, centered inside herself in a room that no longer felt cool, she didn't have to worry about bills and other responsibilities or how she was going to live the rest of her life. Nothing mattered except connecting with the fantasy of having a man watch her play with herself, her own fingers inside her own hole and knowing, absolutely knowing for the first time in her life, that she had every right to satisfy herself, to climb on a roller coaster and ride it to the top. No, not a roller coaster, the wilderness—an old-growth area deep in the Siskiyou Mountains. She'd be there alone with a fine mist falling over the dense trees and breathtakingly large ferns, the smell and taste of pine and earth. It didn't matter how she'd gotten there or whether she was lost. She'd come on foot, unencumbered with pack animals and camping equipment; in a fantasy, those things weren't necessary.

She was simply there. Naked. Naked and gloriously alive. She stood on a rise looking out at a vast expanse of land seldom seen by human beings. Two hawks flew high overhead, silent as she was. A slight rustling off to the right alerted her to the presence of wildlife, and she stared until she spotted the newborn fawn and its rain-wet mother. She'd study the deer and they'd look back at her, all three of them understanding that they belonged in this place. Now there was another presence, male, primitive but not animal. Not afraid, not caring that she didn't dare run barefoot, she wrapped her arms around her naked waist and waited. He came. Silent as the hawks and deer. A mountain man in furs and rugged boots. He carried a rifle, and there was a knife at his waist, but like her, he hadn't burdened himself with belongings. His hair was long and dark and unkempt, and he was at least a week overdue for a shave. The brush and ferns seemed to part for him as he made his slow, confident, proud way toward her. In her mind and eyes, he was all grizzly-strength while she, a slender doe, waited for him. Closer and closer he stalked until she could smell him, feel his heat, return his bold gaze. I've been looking for you, he'd say. I've been waiting for you,she'd tell him. Her finger-fucks became harsher, quicker, jerking her hips and butt and causing her pussy to flood with its own juices. Wondrously caught in her fantasy, she barely noticed. She'd reach for her wilderness man's rifle, take it and lower the weapon to the ground, understanding its power. He'd hand her his knife, but instead of placing it beside the rifle, she'd glide the flat of the blade between her breasts, over her belly, between her legs. This is what I need,she'd tell him.Something hard and sharp and dangerous leaving its mark on me. Not a knife,he'd say and close his hand over the blade. She'd release her grip on it, entrust it to him again, widen her stance so he could see her sex. He'd bring the knife close, so close to her nether lips that the slightest movement would wound her. They'd both watch as her juices dribbled out and dropped onto the blade, proof that she trusted him. Then, as her fingers tap-tap-tapped against her throbbing clit, the wild man lifted the knife to his mouth and licked. He speared her with his eyes, raked over her body, silk and sandpaper in his gaze. Celebrate yourself,he'd say.Celebrate sex. She came, hard and screaming.

Chapter 3

Devin had told Ana that he'd be there in mid-morning, but that had been a lie. In truth, he'd wanted to get there earlier so hopefully he could observe her before she became aware of his presence. Now, after leaving his pickup at the side of the road leading to the isolated ranch with its corrals, pastures, and barn surrounded by forest, he made his way to the rise overlooking the operation. He carried a pair of binoculars. His cell phone was hooked to his waist. Finding a vantage point and focusing the binoculars didn't take long, but although he told himself to be patient, within a few minutes he was chafing at the lack of activity below. If she knew he was coming, she'd be out by the corral, wouldn't she? Doing whatever it was needed doing. He surmised that the horses and mules in the small, slightly rundown wooden corral were what he and Ana would be using. The mules were unimpressive looking beasts, not that he was a mule expert, but even the untrained eye could see that the horses were built for stamina, not speed. Like him, they were heavily muscled with broad chests. Chuckling…something that was rare for him…he hoped that was the end of his similarity to beasts of burden. Probably because, unlike the animals, he didn't simply stand around waiting to be told what to do next. In sharp contrast, he knew all too well not just what he'd vowed to accomplish, but how dangerous it could be. You'd hate me if you ever find out you're being used,Mrs. Briggs.But, fortunately for you, it's my job to make sure you don't. As if responding to his unspoken message, the front door of the small, sturdy- looking ranch house opened, and a woman stepped onto the front porch. Because she was staring over her shoulder at something, he couldn't tell anything about her features, but damn it, no one had told him she had the healthy body of a lean filly. Shaking his head at the unexpected comparison between Ana Briggs and horseflesh, he ordered himself not to be distracted by first impressions. Still, as she descended the stairs and walked over to the corral, he didn't try to take his mind off her physical appearance. Her faded jeans looked as if they'd been put on wet and had dried to the shape of her long legs and small ass. He should have known she'd be wearing boots. She had on a long-sleeved, button shirt that tucked into her jeans, the soft blue fabric loose enough that he couldn't come to a definitive conclusion about her breasts. However, there was something to be said for leaving certain things to future exploration. Knock it off, damn you. This isn't about getting it on with this particular woman. The stakes are too high for that. Despite his admonition, he nevertheless continued his study of her. She'd reached the corral but instead of unlocking the gate and going in, she rested her elbows on the top railing and leaned forward, prompting the animals inside to wander over and sniff her. She stood motionless and on tiptoe for so long that he wondered how her calf muscles could handle the strain. Something about the way she carried herself, her ease and comfort around creatures many times her weight and size, forced his mind off what he intended to use her for and onto questions of what kind of woman she was. A widow. He knew that. A lonely, sex-starved widow? Stop it. You aren't that kind of man. But he was a man, a fact now making itself abundantly clear by his rapidly expanding cock. Angry, he readjusted his jeans to better accommodate himself, not that that eliminated the problem.

The problem, for lack of a better term, was that there'd been no time or room for a woman in his life for the better part of a year. He'd occasionally dealt with pent-up frustration by showing up at one of Anchorage's bars and letting nature take its course—he'd never had any trouble getting women to come on to him—but he'd always gone to their bedrooms and left before morning. Hot, intense sex satisfied his immediate needs, but… 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 beensatisfied , 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 when 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, shehad 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." "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. "Whethergotten 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 aproarticle, 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 thatmore 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. "It was going to come to this sooner or later," he said conversationally. He pulled her hands down and together, crossing one wrist over the other. Then he gripped the X he'd made. "What makes you say that?" she demanded. Why she was arguing with him she couldn't say, maybe to keep her thoughts from wrapping too tight around the delicious sensation of being his plaything, his prisoner. "A man, a woman, alone in the middle of nowhere. You figure it out." "You arrogant—" Oh no, he'd worked his free hand under her shirt while she wasn't paying attention. The first touch of fingertip against the flesh at her waist snagged her breath. She might have gotten it back if he wasn't already walking his fingers up her rib cage. In her mind and nerve endings, she followed every millimeter of the journey. He ran his nails over her skin, lightly tracing the barely hidden bones. She was ticklish and usually being touched there, like that, made her jerk away, but the thought flickered and died before she could act on it. Her mind quiet, she explored with him, felt, became. Then, perhaps satisfied with what he'd discovered there, he turned his attention to her breasts by lightly closing his free hand over one and letting it rest there. Despite the barrier her bra provided and momentary lack of movement on his part, both of her nipples hardened. They ached and felt as if they'd nearly doubled in size. He ran his thumb up and over the top of her bra, tapped the flesh there, stopped, tapped again. Torn between the need to take back her body and giving into the delicious dance of flesh against flesh, she chose the dance. Her head dropped back until it rested against the tree. She closed her eyes, pulled blackness around herself. Once again Devin leaned into her and found a home for his penis between her legs, at least as much as he could given the fact that he was still inside his jeans. She gently drew her thighs over and around him, cradled him as best she could in her soft warmth. She wanted him to kiss her and yet the idea of that much and that kind of intimacy frightened her. It was better to keep things at the level of hard, unthinking sex. True it wasn't yet sex in the pure sense of the word, but a stranger's penis probing at the entrance to her pussy, that same dark stranger's hand reaching down the top of her bra to capture and control and entice a nub… Mouth open, she leaned forward and reached out, raked her teeth over his chin. He growled—at least that was the name she gave the sound. She didn't think she'd broken the skin, but if she had, so what? John would have never done this to her. Surely it had never entered her husband's mind to have his way with her. Have his way.How quaint. How inadequate for what was happening.

Her arms started to ache, and although she was content to remain within his control, she slowly lowered them. The sudden return of circulation made her catch her breath. She tried to shake her hands to get rid of the pinpricks, but at that instant he closed his hand over her throat, and she forgot everything else. He could kill her if he wanted. Choke the life out of her. Leave her dead in the wilderness. Didn't matter. Nothing did beyond feeling alive. Feeling. Needing something she couldn't put a name to, she placed her hands over both of his, not to pull him off her neck and breast, but to silently tell him that she approved, even trusted when that level of intimacy made no sense. Tears burned her eyes, forcing her to blink them away. She didn't think he'd noticed, but he suddenly leaned away from her. He probably would have removed his hand from her throat if she wasn't holding him in place. "What is it?" he asked. "Nothing." "Tears aren't nothing." "I don't know why I'm crying." To her dismay, he took a backward step, left her alone and untouched. "I didn't expect it to happen like this," he said. His tone was dark. "What?" she demanded, unnerved. "For us to…to…" If only she had more experience with seduction and understood herself better. "I let the past get a hold on me," he said. Then he turned from her and entered the night. A few more steps and she wouldn't be able to see him at all. "The past?" she blurted because she couldn't think of anything else. Surely she wasn't having hot flashes but what else explained the way she felt? She knew what sexual arousal did to her body, at least she thought she did, but she'd never felt so out of touch with herself. At the same time, she'd never before felt so tuned into her nerve endings. Her breasts felt swollen and so sensitive it was all she could do not to run her hands over herself to see if she could silence the sensation—either that or take it to the next level. "What about the past?" she belatedly thought to ask. "The thing about having been lost here," he whispered with his back to her. "I thought I'd put it behind me; I'm sorry it interfered with our relationship." She wasn't.

***** Collaborating over dinner with their work area lit only by their lantern had been hard enough, but that hadn't tried Devin's self control as much as the next hour of small talk had. Neither of them had brought up that damn groping session, but it had continued to loom between them. Now he was in his tent with his briefs and t-shirt and sleeping bag between him and the cold mountain air. He'd hoped that crawling into a chilled sleeping bag would keep his thoughts where they belonged, but he'd been wrong. The problem, the core problem, was that Ana Briggs turned him on. He sure as hell hadn't expected that

and wanted it even less. The hell you don't, the insistent voice inside his head demanded.When have you ever turned down a roll in the hay? Not often, he had to admit, but something about tonight was different. It left him feeling out of control. That's what he didn't like. Just because he'd felt as if he was looking at something more than a flesh and blood woman when he first spotted her didn't mean he'd forget what had brought him back to the Siskiyous and why he'd been determined to make Mrs. Briggs part of the experience. Resolutely closing his eyes, he willed sleep to claim him. Unfortunately, his hands and cock remembered the feel of her. What had he been doing and thinking when she'd come to him? If he could recall that he might have a better understanding of why they'd practically thrown themselves at each other. Thinking.That was it! His mind had been on— Without warning, his throat closed down. Desperate to escape the darkness, he opened his eyes, but he couldn't see. Knowing he was inside a small tent did nothing to calm his nerves. Damn! Damn the past! Once he'd been a ten year old boy, confident and full of himself as only a child who has never been tested can be. And when the supports had been pulled out from under him, and he'd beenalone in a way beyond his comprehension, he'd been forced to fight, not just for survival, but sanity. He'd accomplished both, damn it! Put those nights of hell behind him. At least he had until a vow to a dead man had brought him back to the mountains that held his nightmare. And the woman—the woman was part of it. Then why had he come within a whisper of having sex with her? Insanity. He was over it. By morning he'd have a plan in place. Plan? Now there was something to wrap his thoughts around. The lady had left no doubt in his mind that widowhood-imposed celibacy hadn't been easy for her, damn hard in fact. Ralph had jokingly told him to seduce her. It wasn't as if he'd have his work cut out for him in that department; no way. She was…what was the term? Ah yes, ripe for the plucking. Good. He'd pluck her. Then he'd learn what she knew about Aaron's murder. And if her husband had killed…

***** Ana had always been a stomach sleeper, but tonight she couldn't find a comfortable position to save herself. The hard ground was partly responsible, but as she flopped onto her back and stared up at nothing, she knew she couldn't entirely blame it. Devin was responsible. Devin and her response to him. Response nothing, she angrily amended. The truth of the matter was that she'd felt frighteningly, deliciously, out of control. She could deal with that, take a cold shower or something, and once again surround herself with the cocoon of nothing that all too fittingly described her sex life, but only if the man

sleeping a few feet away wasn't part of the equation. What was it?she demanded as, without asking herself what the hell she thought she was doing, she slid her hand between her legs. She'd never understood women who said they'd do anything for a romp in the hay, or getting screwed, if they were getting down to basics. Sure she liked looking at a physically attractive man, but she couldn't remember lusting after one, really raw lusting. She'd worn pajamas and had to pull the waistband down to her thighs in order to get to herself, but although that exposed her butt to the scratchy sleeping bag, she didn't hesitate. She didn't hesitate now but spread first her legs and then her nether lips. Eyes drooping, she worked her forefinger inside herself, but although she was moist…no doubt residual from her earlier hot and bothered state—she didn't do more than that. Maybe she would have if her behavior and response around Devin hadn't left her feeling so out-of-control. She wasn't a woman who threw herself at a man. She might think it; more than once she'd fantasized about walking into a dimly lit room with only a single male occupant, locking the door behind her, and wordlessly begin unbuttoning her blouse. The man, of course, would understand perfectly and get up from wherever he'd been sitting, glide over to her, pull her hands off her top and take over. That's what she'd wanted—for the man to know what she needed without a word having to be said. The reason, although she'd never tell anyone, was simple; she didn't know what she needed. She didn't know what was missing. An unwanted tear trickled down the outside of her nose. Because she knew it wouldn't be the last one, she didn't try to brush it away. With a finger still inside her but no longer with any task to accomplish, she pulled deep into her mind and body to where the lonely core ofher waited. She'd all but thrown herself at Devin, not because he was a sexy man—well he was, but that was another story—but because she'd been sleeping alone for so damn long. More than a year before John died. Self pity never got her anywhere, and she hated giving into the emotion, but surrounded by wilderness and a living, breathing, complex man stretched out nearby made the battle so hard. Maybe—maybe, she amended as a lump formed in her throat, she needed to devote tonight to getting that damned aloneness out of her system. A good cry and she'd be back to normal by morning. At least she would until she found herself face to face with Devin again. What was it with the man? Had he been programmed with some kind of sensual Geiger counter that not only allowed him to hone in on her sexual frustration but drew her to him like a proverbial moth to flame? Forget it! She wasn't going to get burned! Whatever the hell had passed between them was dead and gone. Finished. In the morning she'd let him know in no uncertain terms that he'd have to go somewhere else for a roll in the hay. The nerve of him, pushing himself at her, assuming she was in heat! Enough was enough! As quickly as her rage surfaced, it died. She should have tried to hold onto it, fed off it even, but now she felt surrounded by nothing. Except for hugs from well-meaning friends and her sister, she hadn't been touched for so long. Maybe John hadn't been a passionate lover, but he'd held her hand and kissed her nose and forehead and bought her gifts for no reason and been there to watch TV with in the evenings and wake up next to in the morning. But he'd died. Left her—

Was that the wind, she wondered as a faint sound penetrated her disjointed thoughts. She removed her finger from her pussy and closed her legs, then held her breath so she could better concentrate. Something sounded different about the night, unfortunately raising shiver-producing thoughts about wild creatures. Clamping down on what threatened to turn into an overactive imagination, she ran through the options. Most likely a raccoon had caught the scent of food and was— No, that was no raccoon rummaging through their belongings. Ana sat up, holding her sleeping bag around her shoulders. Fighting unease, she tilted her head, listening intently. For several seconds she heard nothing except her heart's pounding, but then the murmuring returned—only murmur didn't adequately describe it. Not asking herself what she was doing, she slipped out of the sleeping bag. The tent wasn't tall enough to allow her to stand so she scrambled around on hands and knees until she found her socks and slipped them on. She pushed aside the canvas door flap and stood up. Devin. The sound was coming from his tent. She walked quietly, quickly toward where he lay, one hand fisted between her breasts, the other wrapped around her waist. She became all instinct, all concern, not thinking, only acting. Ducking again, she entered his tent and dropped back on her knees. She reached out, hoping to orient herself to some part of his anatomy, but as she did, he slapped her forearm with a flailing fist. "No! No! No.Don't leave me…alone!" he shouted. Even in the dark she sensed he was about to strike her again. She managed to grab hold of his wrist, stopping his movement. She didn't believe he knew what he was doing; he was so deep inside the demons that had disturbed his sleep. Certain he wouldn't hear her, she concentrated on making sure he didn't hurt either of them. Although she sensed his strength, his movements were random and disjointed, making it possible for her to press his arm against her middle and used her body as leverage to hold it still. "Devin, Devin," she whispered in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "It's all right. You're dreaming, having a nightmare." He groaned, and although the sound was barely audible, it tore at her. "Devin, wake up. You'll see; you're all right. Nothing is happening. Nothing. It's just you and me. Just us and the moon. Maybe a raccoon." She deliberately added the last hoping the light tone might reach him. Instead, he half sat up, and his other arm snaked out to circle her neck. Her first impulse was to try to free herself, but maybe feeling her presence was what it would take to end the nightmare. Although she had to lean uncomfortably forward, she allowed herself to be pulled down to his chest. "It's me, Ana," she told him. "You aren't afraid of me; you know you aren't." "Ana?" Relieved, she laughed. "Yes, Ana, the woman you hired. Are you awake?" His arm was still locked around her neck, and somehow in the act of leaning against him, she'd lost hold of his other hand. Because her back ached, she repositioned herself so she was stretched out beside him, and propped herself up on one elbow.

"You can let me go," she told him. "You don't need to use a hammerlock." Instead of agreeing or disagreeing with her, he unzipped his sleeping bag and pushed it off and began massaging the back of her neck. She should scoot away and explain about having come in here to wrestle him from his disturbing dream, but it was cold outside, and he was warm. "What are you doing in here?" he said softly. "I heard you cry out." He was whispering so she did the same. He tensed. "What did I say?" "You kept repeating no. You also begged someone not to leave you." He shuddered, the sensation rumbling through him and transferring itself to her. She waited out his silence, becoming more and more aware of hip against hip, her breasts brushing his shoulder, his breath on her face and hers surely reaching his. She couldn't see a thing, but she didn't need to because her body knew everything. They were so close. So unbelievably close. "I'm trying to think," he finally said. "Trying to remember." "Are you sure you want to?" "I need to." Maybe she should ask him why and see if her concern helped him draw out of himself, but they were the only people in the world—this part of the world at least. Past, present, future didn't matter. Neither did the night sky and half-full moon. Owls might call out, and bats might be finding their way through the forest, and maybe deer were close enough to hear the human voices, but she couldn't wrap her thoughts around those things. Devin Rourke was a male body, mind, blood, bone, and muscle. She was a young, lonely woman. Soft where he was hard.

Chapter 6

"What are you doing in here?" he asked again. "I—I was afraid—you sounded—lost." He ran his hand over her shoulder, coming close to but not disturbing the neckline of her pajama top. "I haven't had that dream in years," he said. She felt as if she was splitting in two, part of her lost in the simple connection between shoulder and fingers, the rest locked on the desperate confusion she sensed lurked deep in his words. Fighting her

body's growing warmth, she forced her thoughts onto what he'd just said. "Tell me about your dream," she encouraged. "I'm not sure I want to go there." At least he hadn't shut the door to the possibility; maybe he only needed a little encouragement. Without daring to ask herself why she was doing this, she leaned over him and touched her lips to his. During the day whenever she looked at him, his strength and hardness had made the greatest impact, but at least this part of him was soft and responsive. Distracted, she moved her mouth over his, pressing down until she swore she could feel the roots of the contact in her belly. Only when she realized how hard it had become to breathe with her nose pushed flat did she force herself to pull back. "I didn't mean…" she started but didn't finish. She wasn't going to lie to either of them. "Your dream is tied into having been lost, isn't it?" she said instead. There. That was safer. Maybe. "Something's unresolved and being here has brought that back." "What are you, a shrink?" The question had been laced with sarcasm, but she couldn't decide whether it bothered her. "I'm a human being." It would probably have been safer if she'd spoken more forcefully, but she couldn't get out more than a low whisper. The heat in her belly kicked up a few degrees.Danger! something deep inside warned. She ignored it. "Oh yes." His voice was nearly as low as hers had been. "You're human all right." As if to prove his point, he slid his fingers under the pajama neckline and began tracing the length of her collarbone. "I thought, after what took place earlier, you didn't want anything to do with me." He shouldn't go there! Didn't he know how close she was to bolting? She was gun shy about testing self control, wasn't she? "This isn't about me," she told him. "I'm trying to help you deal with something." "Are you?" "Yes!" she snapped, suddenly and unexpectedly angry at him. She'd made an offer; he could either accept it or not. She didn't care. Yes, she did care, she almost immediately amended. An owl called out, reminding her of their isolation. Whoever she'd been before this moment didn't matter. Here, with his hands on her and her belly and private parts hot and hungry, she cared only about the here and now. Him. Her. "All I know is that you got lost out here when you were a boy." "Ten. I was ten." Good. He was speaking."And you were with...your grandfather, right?" "And my uncle." "Oh. What were the three of you doing?" "Hunting."

Had he already told her that? It sounded like a male right of passage that had gone horribly wrong. "You…you knew to stay with your uncle and grandfather, didn't you?" she managed. Determined to focus on his needs and not hers, she ran her hand under his shirt. Her fingertips caressed his flesh. "They must have lectured you about how important it was for you not to get separated." "Yes." He sounded unsure of himself. "But something happened. What?" "I don't know. That's the hell of it. I don't know." Was he still with her, or had he been sucked into the past? Determined not to let the old nightmare have too much of him, she traced the ladder of his ribs the way he'd done to her earlier. A small part of her still insisted she was insane to be doing this, but she couldn't remember who she'd always been and only wanted to be part of him. Help him. "When you first realized you were lost, what did you do?" His hand had stilled on her flesh, but now it started moving again, inching toward her breasts. "Don't," she whispered. He touched the space between her breasts. "You don't want this?" "I want…I want you to make your peace with the past." "Later." Later was good. Later was safe. No, it wasn't! "Devin, my husband's cancer was a closed subject between us. Oh, we talked about treatments and insurance and expenses and the inconvenience, but not about the important part. Even when we both knew he was dying, we didn't say the word." She calmed herself with a deep breath. "I'll regret that for the rest of my life." He closed his hand over her breast, cradled what made her a woman. She felt safe…and alive. "Regret won't change anything," he whispered. "Let it go." She wanted to; damn, how she wanted that. "It isn't that easy," she retorted, experience ruling her words. "No, it isn't. I don't know where we're going with this conversation." He caught her nipple between the sides of his middle and forefinger and began sliding it back and forth. The resultant friction made the nub so sensitive that the line between pleasure and pain blurred. "What I do know is that it can wait." He kept throwing up roadblocks; she'd call him on it except if she did, he might not want anything to do with her, and the thought of returning to her tent and lonely sleeping bag frightened her.Soon, she told herself.Soon she'd make him understand how important it was for him to exorcize the past. But now. . . He was still massaging her nipple, but he'd added to the mix of sensations by running his thumbnail over what he could reach of her swollen breast. She responded by seeking out his own breast and gently pinching the hard nub between thumb and forefinger. Stretched out against him the way she was, she easily sensed his growing erection and wondered how his penis would feel in her hand, how much of it she could manipulate, control, and contain, how he'd react. She'd occasionally touched John's penis, but because they'd never talked about what he did and didn't want her to do with it, she'd done so tentatively

and briefly. A man's penis was his most private part. Did they feel invaded when a woman touched it? "Ana, what's wrong?" "What?" "You're tense." "Am I?" "You want to be doing this and yet you don't, is that it?" He still had his hand on her breast, but it now simply rested over her. She wanted him to release her; even more, she needed him to help her feel alive. "I don't know what I want," she whispered. Immediately regretting her admission, she shifted to a sitting position. Now separate from him, separate and free and lonely, she struggled not to cup her unbelievably heavy feeling breasts. "Maybe neither of us knows what we want." In the inky darkness, he was nothing more than voice and heat. She could leave him and in the morning pretend this had never happened, but the thought made her shiver. She tried to tell herself her reaction was because nothing had been resolved about his nightmare, but she knew that wasn't it. She'd come in here, not just because she cared about him, but because she needed him and his body. She'd be. Simply be. Her fingers trembled so that it took several tries before she managed to unbutton her top, and slipping it off was an unbelievably complex task. He couldn't see what she was doing, but her movements surely telegraphed themselves to him. She imagined him staring up at her, his mind supplying what his eyes couldn't. Thank goodness for night; this way she didn't have to struggle to keep her emotions from showing. And locked in the dark and herself, she wouldn't ask what she was doing. Pulling off the pajama bottoms in the cramped quarters proved to be a nearly impossible task, but finally she'd tossed them aside. On hands and knees, her naked ass sticking out and her breasts hanging down, she contemplated her next move. Amazed at her reckless courage, she settled back on her haunches and fumbled around until she found first Devin's chest and then the t-shirt hem. She pulled up on it until it bunched around his armpits. She tugged again, frustrated because unless he lifted his arms over his head, she'd never get it off. Being naked while he was still semi-dressed made her feel as if she was at risk. Fool! A damned fool. "Devin." She tugged. "Please."I've never done this before; I need all the help I can get. With a sigh, he took over what she'd been doing while still lying down, which meant he had to briefly lift first his back and then his shoulders off the open sleeping bag. As soon as he'd tossed the garment aside, she took hold of his brief's waistband and pulled before she lost her nerve. He hoisted his hips so she could finish the task but did nothing else to help. Always before she'd been shy about seeing a man naked, but she now would have given anything to be able to gaze at him. At the same time, darkness made what she was about to do easier. "You were a boy alone in a world beyond your comprehension," she whispered so she wouldn't have to think about what she was doing. She placed her hands on his knees, feeling their strength. She thought his hands were by his side, and if he didn't want her to do what she was about to, he could stop her at any

time. However, even if he tried, she wouldn't easily give up. "Overwhelmed. Maybe you cried for your mother. It's all right if you did." She began walking her fingers upward, testing the hard swell of his thighs as she went. "Where was she? Had she come along?" "No." He didn't move, but his breathing, like hers, had picked up. "When did she learn you were lost? Who told her?" "My grandfather." "Where was your father?" "Working. He'd had to go somewhere on a trip; he was always flying off someplace." Was that anger or regret in Devin's voice? She'd been wrong about his thighs—the thighs she couldn't get enough of exploring. Yes, the muscle beneath the surface put her in mind of forged iron, but the flesh was soft, not silken like hers, but smooth and laced with fine hairs. She moved her fingers to the outside of his upper legs and continued her minute exploration.This is for him. Don't think about yourself. "You hated that, didn't you?" she asked. "You want to talk…at a time like this?" "Yes." For all his size and hard edges and the walls he'd built around him, was it possible that Devin needed the kind of gentleness only a woman could give him, a woman like her? She loved the possibility. "You hated it when your father put his job before you, didn't you? That other relatives were the ones to take a boy on one of his first hunting trips." She spread her thumb and forefinger, then pressed down and drew them together, trying to capture a little of the flesh over his hipbones, but it was so tightly stretched that she managed to capture only a tiny bit. Beneath her, she felt his muscles jump and twitch and guessed that his penis was becoming even more erect. If it wasn't, she didn't know what she should do to help it along. "Is that what you thought about while you were lost, that finally you'd get your father's attention?" "Maybe." No maybe to it. "It's all right." She leaned over, meaning to kiss his belly but finding the tip of his penis instead. Despite her shock, she didn't retreat but brushed it with her tongue. Her head roared; her eyes felt hot. Who was the bold and insane woman doing this thing? "Everything you thought and felt back then is all right," she told him when she could speak. "You're making me crazy." Then that makes two of us."What happened?" she demanded, her mouth still so close to his cock— yes, his cock—that she was certain he could feel her breath on it. The thought sent blood to flood her cheeks and neck. "Did…did your father return home and come looking for you?" "The…not at first, but before I was found." How much more of that experience could she draw out of him, and did she know what the hell she was doing? She rocked back a little and continued the exquisite trip from his hips to his sex. She was still shaken by what she was doing, but by focusing on him and his physical and emotional needs, she kept uncertainty tamped down.

Grow up. Become a woman. "And your mother?" She pressed. "Did she search too?" "Yes." There was a long pause, but from the way he was breathing, she didn't think his silence—at least not all of it—was a reaction to her fingers reaching toward his balls, finding them, touching, then retreating like some frightened animal. "But she didn't stay?" "No. All right. No." Don't go there; he doesn't want to explain."Why not?" she asked. "She was pregnant. She'd started to miscarry." Ana's temples pulsed and so distracted her that her hands stilled. They continued to rest on the inside of his slightly spread legs, quiet and yet, maybe, continuing to give him warmth and strength. "And you blame yourself for that, don't you? Did she lose the baby?" "Yes," he whispered hollowly. What do I do now? How do I reach him and put the past to rest?But she couldn't; she could only help him embrace the present. "Did you talk to your mother about that?" she asked. She managed to start her fingers moving again. This time she was careful to keep her touch gentle, a woman's caring caress instead of designed to sexually stimulate. Just the same, his groin muscles jumped, as did hers. "When you told her how you felt, what did she say?" "That…that it wasn't my fault." Thank you,she whispered to that wise and loving mother. "But you can't let it go?" "Right now it's not on my mind." Because of what I'm doing to you.But she hadn't done enough, certainly not everything she was capable of—if she found courage she'd never had before. She could! She wasn't some man's wife any more and acting according to the rules set down in their marriage. Instead, tonight, here with Devin, she could become someone new. Someone bold and strong. Once again she leaned forward, and although she could have kissed his belly the way she'd intended earlier, instead she opened her mouth. She hesitated, nearly lost her courage.Bold and strong. A woman. Sustained by that, she came even closer to him, commanded her heart to stop hammering wildly, and drew the tip of his penis into her mouth. She held him for a moment, full of wonder at doing something she'd hardly dared fantasize about. She hoped this was what he needed and was surprised by the juices dribbling out of her pussy, the way her belly had sucked in without her being part of the movement. Why was she so turned on when this was about him? Why had she taken off her clothes? She released him. "Wh—" he began, reaching for her. "Don't." She leaned away from him. God, she was sweating. . .shaking.At least you did it. "I gave you something personal. Now it's my turn to get something."

He groaned and fell back. "The past is still there, standing in the way."At least it will until I can figure out what's supposed to come next and go through with it. "You've always blamed yourself for your mother's miscarriage, haven't you?" "My parents separated shortly after." "And you think that's your fault too? What is this? Some crazy need to take on all burdens that come remotely close?" "They divorced." Maybe because her mouth still held the remnants of his taste, maybe because her fingertips and his thighs were the same temperature, she wasn't able to hold onto her anger. Instead, she nearly cried for the confused boy who hadn't understood what had happened between his parents and had blamed himself. "Did they tell you why?" "One day my father came home early from work. I'd just gotten in from school so it was just the two of us. He started throwing his clothes in suitcases. I asked if he was going on another trip, but I knew he wasn't. All he said was that he couldn't do this any more, and he was going to find his own life." "He didn't…he didn't say anything—personal—to you?" "As he was walking out the door, he hugged me. He might have had tears in his eyes, but I was crying and couldn't be sure." Damn Devin's father; damn him."I'm…I'm trying to see this from his point of view," she said. If she pressed her fingers into Devin's muscles, would it help free him from that awful time? Maybe, and yet they'd come too close to a breakthrough for her to back off now. "He was confused and hurting. I'm thinking…maybe your being lost had brought things to a head between your parents. They'd been avoiding facing a situation that wasn't working for either of them, skating along, maybe hoping having another child would save them. But then there was a crisis and—" "More than a crisis. They lost the baby and nearly lost me." "Their lies or avoidance or something blew up in their faces. The facade they'd hidden behind disintegrated. In the end, they were both able to start over. Are they happy?" "I don't know. Yeah, I think so." Any moment now Devin could close the curtain on this conversation, but she'd keep going until that happened. Naked and exposed, she'd prod and question. "Do they ever talk to you about that time?" "My mother does, a little." "But not your father?" "I hardly ever see him." He was quiet a moment. "My uncle said…one time he told me…" "What?" she asked when his silence stretched out. "That when my father finally showed up, instead of helping them search, he yelled at everyone that it was their fault. My mother was already cramping but trying to ignore it. My uncle told my father to back off,

but he wouldn't stop. He insisted he was doing his part by earning a living, and the least she could do was hold things together at home." "My God. He wasn't scared for you?" "I don't know. When…when the rescuers found me and took me to the hospital where my mother was, my father didn't show up until the next morning. I don't know where he went to." Devin might not be crying, but she was. Afraid he needed more warmth than she was giving him, she once again leaned forward, this time resting her forearms as well as her hands on his thighs. She closed her fingers over his hipbones but wasn't sure how long she could keep them there. Soon—she had no doubt about that—she'd need to touch his penis again. And when she did, she'd no longer be able to talk. "But he did come eventually," she managed. "What happened then?" "He wanted to know how I'd gotten separated from the others, what happened to my backpack; he'd bought top quality and was angry that I'd lost it." "Damn him. Damn him." Devin's hands had been still for so long that she was slow to react to the feel of his fingers circling her wrists. "I'm not sorry for what I said." She forced herself to continue. "I'll never understand a man who lets anything get between him and love for his child. To put anything else first. He's a sad, sad man." Devin lifted her hand off him, then drew it to his mouth and kissed her palm. "You're putting this on him, not me?" "Of course I am. Something was wrong with your father, something not wired right. Something missing." "Missing?" His voice was filled with wonder, and hope. "The ability to connect with his son, to love him. You were a normal, adventurous boy who'd made a human mistake and yet survived."Thank God. "It says something terribly sad about your father that he couldn't see that." "My father? Not me?" She could have reassured him again, repeated what she'd just said, but she felt exhausted and emotionally worn out. At the same time, her nude body was alive in a way that demanded exploration. She placed her hand over his mouth and waited while he kissed her palm again. He made the gesture slow, almost tentative. Gentle. When he was finished, she drew out of his grip and repositioned herself so that this time she was stretched out between his legs, her arms braced against his thighs to support her upper body. Although she wasn't what she could call comfortable, that was all right because her mouth was free to do what she needed to—she who'd only fantasized about this before. Instead of trying to draw part of his cock into her again, she tilted her head to the side to give herself full access to his scrotum. She stroked him with her tongue, tasted him, felt his reaction. They were both breathing as if they'd been running a race, and she had to fight the impulse to turn tail and run. He gripped her shoulders, caressing her, sometimes digging in almost painfully.

Determined to counter his firm grip with as much gentleness as she was capable of, given her hungry body's heat, she washed his balls and the underside of his hard, erect penis. This—this stranger and she —on the brink of sex! The texture of his cock fascinated her. Before long nothing else mattered. She felt like an artist, an explorer intent on learning everything there was to know about ridges and valleys, silken skin over the thick, rigid shaft underneath. This, she told herself, was her man. Their time together. A cock designed for pleasure, a gift. She stroked and dampened, laid her lips over him and sucked him into her, felt need burn in her hot, drenched cunt. Alive! Finally, alive! Letting up on her mouth's grip, she pushed enough of him out of her that only his tip remained in the cave she'd created. She ran her tongue over the ridge and then around to the underside. The moment she touched there, he jerked and muttered something she didn't catch. She remembered hearing that that was the most sensitive part of a man's penis and wondered if she, a novice in such things, could bring him to climax that way. But if she did, she'd deny herself, and she was desperately in need of release from something she didn't quite comprehend—something that now ruled her. Pulling back, she let him slip out of her. Not yet ready to end what she'd never done before, she ran her tongue over the slit at the top of his penis, his cock. His fluid filled the narrow opening, and she sucked it into her mouth, tasting salt. She could drink him, manipulate him to the point of climax and swallow him, make him hers in a way that was new and exhilarating and frightening to her. But if she did. . . "Not like this." She kissed his cock, then reared back and onto her shaky knees. Her breasts, heavier and fuller than they'd ever felt before, dangled from her rib cage. The contrast between their blood-heat and the chilled air caught her attention, and then Devin reached out and blanketed them inside his hands. She hung over him, gave him full access, offered her breasts up as a gift. He took her up on her invitation by massaging them almost as a farmer milks a cow. But unlike a farmer, there was nothing mechanical about what he was doing. Instead, he pressed and released, glided and stroked, sometimes pinched. Whenever he did that, he followed up the short pain by fondling the abused flesh. She took his offer, his treat, and rocked back and forth to increase her awareness of her breasts. They swung in time with her movements, and she recorded the sensation from the top of her head to her toes. Then, because her clitoris felt both swollen and throbbing, and if she didn't do it now she might never again have the courage, she straddled him, took hold of his penis and guided it into her. It fit, fully, intimately, as if made for the home she'd been born with but had never fully utilized—until now. For a moment, a precious moment, Devin remained still inside her, maybe learning her contours and making them part of his knowledge, like her making sense of what was happening. "You want this?" he asked. "Yes. Yes!" He pushed into her, testing the boundaries of her cunt.Yes! Yes! She could say that word, too! She lost touch with the rest of her body. Everything tunneled down to that one place, became clear and intimate. She swore she felt her clit throb and ache and grow. Her labial lips had been pushed aside as he entered her. Now they'd settled back into place, spread over the base of his shaft, fusing her sex organs with his. On his back the way he was, his movements were limited. He could thrust and withdraw to a certain degree, and was proving himself capable in that department, but much of the work would have to be hers.

A virgin to anything except the missionary position, she embraced her new role. She became the gift-giver by pressing herself down and around him and then retreating just enough to create a friction that heated her. . .her pussy more than she believed possible. She rode him, matched her movements to his, grunted and sweated and knew nothing except the incredible feel of him buried in her, his balls slapping her ass, building…building... Fire. Flame. Her cunt spasming, heat radiating out from it to ignite her belly, butt, legs, breasts. "Oh God, oh God!" Frightened of what was happening to her, she dug her nails into Devin's chest, then lost control of the act as a rolling, lightning-spawned wave spread throughout her. Mindless, she dove down into the middle of whatever it was and buried herself in the flames, became one with it. On the brink of losing herself, she felt him ejaculate inside her, his penis pumping, pumping. "Oh God!"

Chapter 7

Devin straightened his legs. Bit by bit he became aware of his body. His right arm was cold. By concentrating, he came to the not too intelligent conclusion that it was outside the sleeping bag. He'd started to tuck it inside when it belatedly hit him that his left arm was numb. Numb because Ana's head rested on his shoulder. Keeping his thoughts clamped down where he didn't have to deal with them, he shifted position so her head now lay on his chest. For some reason he didn't want to think about, he stroked her tangled, slightly damp hair. She was sleeping, her breathing soft and low as if trusting him to take care of her. They'd had sex. Sex. When she'd first entered his tent, he'd been caught in his nightmare's snare and slow to grasp her presence. She'd offered him a way out of that damnable dream, but although he should have jumped at her invitation and fucked her quick and mindless, she'd let him know that sex with her came with a price. The price had been honesty. That's why he'd told her about his parents and being lost and scared he'd die alone in the wilderness, so he could fuck her. Only, with her hair between his fingers and her breath warm on his flesh, he knew it had gone much deeper than that. Yes, she'd known what he needed physically—not that that had taken a rocket scientist to figure out. She'd been the initiator, he more passive when that had never been his nature. But he'd put himself in her hands, turned his body over to her, because he'd sensed she wouldn't give up until she'd gotten to the root of his nightmare. It had worked all right. Oh, maybe he'd never fully find his peace with that part of his childhood, but right now it didn't haunt him. It was simply there, a single element of the man he'd become.

She'd done that to him, for him. Helped him break free of old guilt-scars and see the truth. Hehadn't caused his mother to miscarry. Hehadn't been responsible for the divorce. Feeling half sick, he slid out from under her and placed his pillow under her head. Naked but not caring, he slipped outside and stood up. The moon, maybe a night past half full, stood watch over the evergreens. There was very little wind, and it was cool enough that the sun-spawned aroma of pitch and pine had been tamped down. Had Aaron died at night, or had it been day and the sun had kept his body from cooling long after that damnable bullet had torn the life from him? That's what he had to focus on,somehow . No matter how he now felt about the woman sleeping in his bed, she might first and foremost be his key to learning how his best friend had been murdered.

***** Ana led the way down the moderately steep slope leading to the creek. Although she felt Devin's eyes boring into her back, she refused to turn around and confront him about whatever the hell his mood was about. She'd awakened to find herself alone in his sleeping bag. Disconcerted, she'd thrown on her pajamas and slipped outside to find the sun just making its presence known. There'd been no sign of Devin which had caused her heart to thump erratically. If she'd failed in pulling him out of his nightmare's grip. . . She'd found him sleeping in her tent when she went there looking for her shoes. Holding back the flap so faint light touched him, she'd studied his naked and motionless body. She'd tried to tell herself they'd had sex because she'd gotten more than a little carried away, no big deal; it happened all the time. But as fresh heat warmed her core, she'd forced herself to face the fact that there'd had been much more to it than a bump and grind. She supposed there were all kinds of gutter terms for what they'd done, but she wasn't interested in them. Neither did she have the courage to ask what had turned her from the staid married woman she'd once been into a broad in heat. A broad who, last night, had had the first climax of her life. That's why she was glad Devin hadn't said anything about what they'd done— Why was it so damn hard to even think the wordsex this morning? And that's why she was equally glad he'd been as willing to avoid eye contact as she'd been. Otherwise, he might have looked into her eyes andknown. A climax! Mind-boggling! Something she could get addicted to. Something frightening. Did other people feel that way, shaken by the out-of-control sensation? She'd always dismissed what she'd read and heard about how awesome sex could be; from her own experience, making love was moderately pleasurable but nothing she needed all the time. She could no longer say that, but if Devin found out, if he knew out how vulnerable she'd become in the space of a single night… Stop it! Just don't think, all right! Do your frickin' job. As the isolated creek surrounded by several sharp, high peaks came into view at the edge of a long, narrow valley, it finally occurred to her that Devin hadn't taken a single picture since they'd left the ranch.

That didn't make sense. He was here to document the political and physical climate for the potential return of wolves to the Siskiyous; at least that's what he'd told her. A chill chased down her spine, and she had to work at swallowing. "Any time you want me to stop, just say so," she told him over her shoulder. Did her tone sound natural? "What?" Hadn't he been paying attention? "I said…you specifically wanted to see Crystal Creek. Don't you want to take pictures?" "Yeah." His off-hand response struck the wrong note, but she couldn't put her mind to trying to figure out what was going on. It was nearly noon, and the whole time they'd been traveling today, they'd been deep in the woods surrounded by trees that were hundreds of years old and so tall they blocked out most of the sun. She wasn't claustrophobic, but there was no denying that she was ready to be where she could see more than a few feet. The peaks made her feel somewhat vulnerable because anyone on one of them had a clear view of her and Devin—not that anyone was within a country mile. Because she hadn't accompanied John when he brought clients—it was hard for both of them to be away at the same time—she wasn't prepared for the creek's small size and couldn't understand why her husband had recommended it. Maybe the remote location appealed to people determined to get away from it all. At least it was a beautiful place, the valley a riot of grasses and wild flowers. She guessed the soil was particularly rich, and if it hadn't been so isolated, the land could easily be cultivated. No, it shouldn't, she amended. Some places should remain the way nature intended. "Well," she said. "We're here. What next?" He didn't answer which gave her no choice but to turn in the saddle and look back at him. Instead of studying her the way she'd feared, he was staring around him, not in appreciation for the peaceful setting but almost as if he expected some fierce wild creature to jump out at him. There were so many components to Devin, strong and confident by day but trapped in his past at night, an unbelievable sex partner—not that she had any comparison—silent and brooding this morning. However, this new aspect to him unnerved her as nothing else had. She tightened her hold on the reins, intending to ride back to him, but in the end remained where she was. Her small backpack was pressing into her shoulder blades, and she again tried to reposition it. The animals had taken advantage of the break and had already begun feeding. Because they were tethered together, they were limited in what they could nibble, but they seemed pleased with the selection. In unnerving contrast, Devin looked as if this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. As had happened last night, she felt all but swamped by a need to get to the root of his emotions and, if possible, free him from them. And if they wound up having a repeat performance of what had happened last night…just the thought brought a flush to her cheeks and throat and it was all she could do not to run her hand along her crotch in an attempt to lessen the humming tension there. . .either that or see what it was capable of becoming. "What. . ." She swallowed and tried again. "What are you thinking about?" He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the land. "Nothing." "Don't tell me nothing!" Her outburst startled her mare and forced her to spend a moment calming it. "In

case you haven't figured it out, I'm learning how to read you." "Are you? And what have you learned? Never mind. Why don't we talk about you, what you're feeling? What you want." Want? Couldn't he figure that out?On the tail of the two questions, another, more unsettling one, surfaced. Was he deliberately trying to distract her? "You're bringing what happened last night between us when you didn't say a word this morning?" she challenged. "Isn't reaching this creek what today is supposed to be about?" To her surprise, he only nodded and went back to taking in their setting. It would be safer if she did the same instead of studying him, but that's not what her eyes…and the rest of her…wanted to do. She concentrated on his legs. Like hers, his had been spread wide by the saddle. The position kept his lower legs in a constant state of tension as witness by the hard knot of calf muscle under his age-softened jeans. If not for his well-developed thighs, his upper legs would have flattened out. Instead, having the saddle under them only made her more aware of the muscle there. He'd told her he spent much of his time at a computer writing his articles, but those weren't the legs of a desk jockey. Neither did his wide shoulders and potent looking arms fit anyone's stereotype of someone who lived his life doing anything except using his body. What was he keeping from her? "What are you doing?" she asked, determined to try another track. "Deciding what pictures you're going to take? And why this place? Yes, it'd supply wolves with water, and game would be easier for you to find here, but it's hardly the only creek in the forest." He didn't reply; she wasn't sure he'd heard her. Her husband had been a forthright, uncomplicated man. He'd concerned himself with the mundane details of life, bills and food and local politics to some degree. They'd never had what she could call a deep conversation, and up until he'd gotten cancer, she didn't believe he'd ever questioned the meaning of life. In contrast, Devin was a man of shadows and layers. A man she wanted to have sex with again. Fighting a fear she could barely admit, she forced herself not to ask what tonight would be like…whether they'd spend it together, whether she'd find more of his layers and lay herself bare in a way she'd never wanted or needed before. "What do you know about this area?" he abruptly asked. "The geology of it? I'm afraid I don't—" "No, not that. What happened here?" His question was so hard-edged that she flinched. "Not—not much. Apparently the fishing's pretty good although I'm not sure—" "What about Aaron Powers?" "Who?" If Devin was trying to keep her off-balance, he was doing a great job of it. He kneed his horse's side, forcing the animal to close the distance between them. Torn between holding her ground and giving way,

she stayed where she was. She could only hope he wouldn't notice her suddenly flared nostrils or guess she was in danger of soaking her panties. What was going on? Couldn't she just accept his nearness? "Aaron Powers," Devin repeated. "Don't tell me you haven't heard the name?" Right now she couldn't swear to her own name, let alone some. . .Devin continued to stare until she felt as if he was looking right through her. "What is this about?" she demanded. "And don't tell me you aren't using an accusatory tone." "Aaron Powers. He died here last year." Despite the sunlight filtering down through the tree limbs, she felt chilled. "There was some man—he'd been in the Siskiyous doing some kind of research or something when he disappeared. They searched for several weeks before they found his body. Is that who you're talking about?" She tried to look at anything except into Devin's eyes, but no matter how uncomfortable their intensity made her, she couldn't break the contact. It was a moment before she remembered more of the story. "He'd been shot, hadn't he? Didn't they think some hunter had accidentally killed him?" "Hunter? Is that what you believe?" "Devin, it isn't my fault. I had nothing to do with—" "He died in June. That isn't hunting season." The conversation had become so intense that she could barely put her mind on what had led up to it. Her sexual awareness of him was being replaced by something else, maybe fear. "A poacher?" she suggested. "That's what the police decided." But you don't agree."Devin, I don't understand. What does this have to do with—" "He was my best friend." She couldn't breathe. Any other time, she would have expressed her heartfelt sympathy, but the way he'd gone about telling her had her too off-balance for that. "You didn't know that, did you?" he asked. "That Aaron Powers was my friend." "How could I?" It was just the two of them in this vast nothing. If she'd made a horrible mistake, and he was dangerous, maybe thrown mentally off-balance by his friend's accident… "I didn't even know his name until now. That's why you had me guide you out here, isn't it?" She forced herself not to shudder. "Not because of some article about wolves but because…why didn't you say something from the beginning?" "Would it have made a difference?" Damn him for playing word games! Only, that wasn't what drove him; she was sure of it. She could swear he was spinning a web around her, pulling her into whatever obsessed him. She wanted to run and yet she didn't. Last night she'd given her body and maybe a small piece of her heart to him, and the tie couldn't be easily broken.

"I don't know," she belatedly remembered to answer. "I can't say because you didn't give me the chance." "Let me tell you about Aaron," he said. His horse shifted its weight, causing him to adjust his position to accommodate the change. He seemed one with the animal and so much a part of the wilderness that she believed he'd carry that wildness with him for the rest of his life. She wanted nothing to do with what was happening right now and yet. . . "We grew up together," he went on, "learned to ride bikes at the same time. When we were nine, we decided to run away from home. We filled our backpacks with junk food and tied our jackets around our waists and took off. When it got dark, we pushed our bikes into a barn and slept in the hay although I'm not sure either of us got any sleep. By morning, we'd gone through half of our food. I was ready to go home and take my lumps, but Aaron was afraid of his stepfather and wanted to keep going. I wouldn't leave him." He ran his hand over his horse's neck, caressing, reassuring the animal who acted as if it had absorbed Devin's mood. "That day we made it to the county line and were heading south because Los Angeles was in that direction, peddling along the side of a narrow road when the pickup hit us." She opened her mouth, but how do you sayI'm sorry for something that had happened twenty years ago? "I got the worst of it." "In…what way?" "Broken leg. I don't know whether the driver didn't realize what he'd done or just wanted to get away. The bone was poking up through my jeans, but I think I must have been in shock because it didn't hurt…then." "Aaron, what happened to him?" "Scrapes and scratches. The skin torn from his knuckles." He ran his fingers through his gelding's mane, but she didn't think he was aware of what he was doing. In her mind's eyes, she clearly saw two scared and hurting boys in the middle of nowhere, exhaust fumes from the pickup still invading their lungs, and birds and insects oblivious to the accident. "You both survived," she said when his silence had gone on for the better part of a minute. "Did someone come by and take you to the hospital?" He shook his head, and in his eyes she saw the lingering memory of that long-ago day. "The road was off the beaten path and not very well maintained," he told her. "I think no one except a few farmers used it. Our bikes were trashed. I couldn't walk so Aaron did." "He left you?" "He had no choice. It was nearly dark by the time he returned." But he had. Aaron hadn't abandoned his friend. "I'm sorry you were alone for so long. Your leg? It healed all right?" "It doesn't have quite the stamina of my other leg, but it's fine. Aaron had walked maybe five miles before

he reached a farmhouse. Then he watched for awhile until he was sure the driver who'd hit us wasn't there. Finally he knocked on the door." Although she hadn't believed herself capable of thinking of anything except what Devin had endured, she now imagined a scared, tired, and hurting boy waiting for someone to open the door and then trying not to cry as he asked for help, not for himself, but for his best friend. "What an awful experience." She brought her horse close to Devin's, then took his hand. He let her hold it long enough to give him a squeeze, then pulled free. His hand became a fist. "The farmer drove to where I was and loaded me into his truck. Then he took both of us to the nearest hospital. My parents came as soon as they found out." Devin glanced away, then back at her; his eyes were full of fire. "Aaron's stepfather hauled him home. I didn't see him again until several days after my bone was set." She couldn't help it; she shut her eyes. "What happened to him?" "Aaron showed me where that bastard had taken a strap to him." "Oh God." "Do you get it?" he demanded. "Do you! Aaron's childhood was hell. I knew he needed me. I was the only one he could talk to, the only one he trusted. But I couldn't keep him alive. He died out here. Alone. More alone than I'd been while he was getting help for me or even when I was lost." She opened her eyes and stared at the man who'd ejaculated inside her last night. She didn't know who he'd become and yet…damn it, and yet this dark stranger excited her. She felt flushed, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't kill the fantasy of his hands on her, tearing off her clothes, taking her hard and fast and uncivilized. It wouldn't be rape. It'd be…mating. "What do you want me to say?" She still couldn't get her voice above a whisper. The way he blinked and frowned, she believed he hadn't expected the question. "Devin? I don't understand what's happening here, what this is all about. You act—damn it—you're acting as if your friend's death is my fault."

Chapter 8

Fourteen kinds of a fool! Unable to take his gaze off Ana, Devin fought to free himself from that long-ago day when his and Aaron's friendship had been sealed. He hadn't meant to use this tactic to reveal why he'd insisted on being guided to Crystal Creek. Unfortunately, his initial plan to force her to confess everything she knew about her husband's activities had flown out the window the moment he laid eyes on her.

He didn't believe in spells or psychic connection, and no one would ever convince him that there was such a thing as love at first sight—lust yes but not the other 'L' word—something was going on that he couldn't begin to understand or control. Nor was he interested in making it go away. Hell, he knew about the element of surprise, and his interrogation of more than one suspect had led to a confession, but not only weren't he and Ana sitting in some windowless room in a police building, but she wasn't a suspect. Hell, no. Some of his sperm was probably still inside her. "Don't try to tell me I'm wrong," she said. "That was an accusatory tone." "Take it how you want," he retorted. Shit, he sounded more like a pouting kid than a man in charge of the situation. In charge? What a joke that was. It was her fault…not. Not her fault, herdoing . She was lonely and vulnerable and fighting her way free of the unhealthy relationship she'd had with her husband. No wonder she'd contrived for them to have sex last night. Contrived? No, not that. Shit, he couldn't think straight around her. Determined to put an end to that, he backed his horse and turned it so he didn't have to look at her any more. Even with her riding behind him, he couldn't deny that his cock was hard, and he ached to bury it inside her. But he'd learned that with her pussy wrapped around him, trapping him, he couldn't think. And if he wasn't clear-headed, he'd never have closure for Aaron. Crystal Creek. There'd been amusement in Aaron's voice when he'd called and told him about where he was going. "You'd think they'd come up with a more inspired name than that, wouldn't you?" he'd said. "How manyCrystalCreeksdo you think there are? At least one per forest." His voice had turned serious. "But I know I'm going to the right place." "You trust your informant?" Devin had asked, frustrated by the miles separating them and the poor cell phone connection. "You're sure about that?" "That joker's too stupid and wasted for anything except the truth. It's amazing what a few drinks will buy. No sweat. I want to do a little out-of-season hunting? He knows a man who'll get me there." So Aaron had gone to Crystal Creek deep in the Siskiyous because that was part of his job, but instead of stopping a poaching operation, he'd been murdered. Ana was behind him, undoubtedly studying him with her vulnerable and wary eyes, turning him on despite his determination not to let that happen. That joker's too stupid and wasted for anything except the truth,Aaron had told him. Only, he'd been wrong. Instead of milking some idiot for information, Aaron had been led to his death. A death maybe caused by Ana's husband. "You want to know what this is all about, do you?" He dismounted and stalked toward her. Looking up

at her, he was struck by the way she blended in with the trees. If Aaron's voice wasn't settled inside him, he'd never be able to fight this woman's impact on him; he'd spent too many years in a career where one mistake could kill him. He wouldn't make one now. "Get down." He punctuated his order by reaching up and grabbing her around the waist. She leaned away, but he roughly jerked her out of the saddle. Off balance, she was forced to clamp her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling. She slid off the animal and down his chest, the contact burning them both. For a moment they stood chest to chest, belly to belly. Then he shoved her from him. "All right," he bit out. "I'll give you the rest of the story of Aaron's death." Or at least another chapter . "He was working undercover. The nature of what he was doing made him vulnerable because he didn't know who, if anyone, he could trust." She removed her backpack and rotated her shoulders several times. Then she wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned forward as if trying to protect herself. She put him in mind of a newborn fawn who instinctively knows that only gaining strength and speed, quickly, will keep it alive. He didn't want to feel protective toward her, damn it, and yet he did. Only his cock's response had nothing to do with that emotion. What, he wondered despite himself, would angry, hostile sex between them be like? Mind blowing. Body blowing. "I was in a similar situation once," he continued. His voice sounded as hard-edged as he felt; but why did she have to be wearing a soft flannel shirt that draped her breasts and reminded him of what he'd explored last night. "What kind of situation?" "Not knowing who I dared rely on and yet not willing to risk cutting myself off completely from help. Because we couldn't depend on anyone else, Aaron and I devised a system for staying in touch. Regular cell phone calls." He pulled his back pack off his horse. "Cell phone locations can't be traced, did you know that?" She shook her head. Her gaze flickered to the hardly subtle bulge in his jeans, then back to his eyes. He expected to see a superior smile. Instead, her tongue flicked out, and she licked her lips.Shit. "Sometimes," he continued, "when we had important information, details, names, that sort of thing, we left it on each other's mail boxes." "Why are you telling me this?" "I still have his last six messages." He indicated the back pack. "A year after his death, I can repeat what he told me, word for word." That wary look was back in her eyes and in the way she held her mouth in a straight, firm line as if determined not to let him past her barriers. At the same time, she drew her legs together, and he swore she was tucking her butt into her, maybe in an attempt to quiet whatever she felt in her cunt. Shit. Couldn't either of them control whatever the hell was taking place between them? "Your husband's name is on two of those messages," he said. Her head snapped back. But instead of accusing him of lying or insisting he had no business linking her husband with Aaron's murder, she took a long, deep breath and rammed her hands into her back pockets. He was glad she no longer believed she had to protect her body from his attack. At the same

time, her stance pushed her breasts against her shirt. Challenged him to try,just try to touch them. He wasn't that much of a fool. "My husband's name?" she said slowly. "In what context?" "Aaron was here in an undercover capacity because there'd been poaching in the Siskiyous," he said, refusing to back down from her hard stare. "Deer, elk. You'd be surprised how many people want to display antlers; at least I guess you'd be surprised." Her glare intensified, but she didn't speak. "There's a damn market for bear gall bladders," he went on. "Do you get that? A bear is shot and left to rot so some old man can get his pecker up…at least he hopes that eating dried gall bladders will make it happen." "I know." "You know?" "About that particular reason black bears are being targeted." "You do?" He hadn't expected that. "Devin, I'm not just a simple country bumpkin trying to keep her homestead from being foreclosed on. I know what's going on around me, the dangers to the forests." Some of the dangers, he wanted to tell her. She couldn't possibly know everything, even if her husband had told her what really happened during those so-called innocent fishing trips. "You know where I'm going with this, don't you?" he asked. She started to take a backward step. Then—and he swore he read every nuance of her decision in her eyes—she closed half the distance between them. "Let me guess. Aaron told you that he suspected John was helping poachers find animals to kill." She reached out and clamped her fingers around his forearm. "Did your friend have proof?" "You don't sound surprised," he said as his arm heated. "And you're not calling me a liar." It took everything in him not to take hold of her wrist and pull her toward him. "If I did, there'd be even more of a barrier between us than there already is." She pressed down. "And whether you believe me or not, I want the truth. I need it." "You don't think your husband was a saint?" "He was a human being." Her eyes closed. "A man with a death sentence hanging over him. Maybe— maybe that changed things for him." To hell with it. If she didn't know enough to release him, let her pay the consequences. Propelled by the thought and a raging desire to have her, he snared her wrists and yanked her toward him. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he was no longer the man you married. We all change." Change.The word ran through Ana, spreading through her veins to heat her flesh. She tried to hold it up and examine it so, maybe, she'd understand what the word had to do with her, but Devin was drawing her arms around his waist and holding them against the small of his back so she was kept off-balance.

Afraid to look into dark eyes filled with confrontation and danger, she struggled to go deep inside herself for the strength that had gotten her through the months of her husband's dying, but she couldn't find it with Devin's penis pushing into her belly and the smell of him invading her nostrils. Giving up, she let him support her. Her breasts were pressing against his chest, her cheek flattened against his collarbone. She breathed in his essence and recorded the beat of his heart. He shifted his grip, increasing his hold on her. Her shoulders ached from the strain of trying to span his greater size. His chest seemed huge, inhuman, all powerful and potent. The back of her thighs burned, and her toes carried most of her weight. The handgun strapped to his waist added to the sense that she was in over her head, and yet the danger it represented excited her. "What is this about?" Her voice was small and uncertain. "I don't know. That's the hell of it; I don't know." Neither doI."Then let me go." "Is that what you want?" I want you inside me. For us to be so close together, our sweat blending, that I can't think about anything else."Let me go." He pushed her away from him but didn't release her. Now he held her hands in front of her, low and near his penis. She wanted to lock eyes with him and let him know she wasn't impressed by his damn Tarzan game, but she couldn't pull her gaze off his penis. The sad truth was that she'd always been intimidated by men's penises. Maybe it wouldn't be like that if she'd ever seen her father naked, but that kind of thing simply didn't happen while she was growing up. Their things, her mother had dodged. Once, only once and probably because she'd been too young to weigh the wisdom of what came out of her mouth, she'd asked if it was uncomfortable for a man to have histhing always flattened against him by whatever he was wearing. Her mother's stammered response that that wasn't the kind of thing little girls talked about had come through loud and clear. Now, however, the question returned. Wouldn't Devin rather release his cock? It certainly didn't fit where it was. "That…that's not what I had in mind." She tensed her forearms and tried to jerk away. "What are you trying to prove?" She thought he sighed but maybe the sound, if there was one, came from her. When she gave up trying to match her strength to his, he slowly, so damnably slowly drew her fingers toward the bulge in his jeans. In her mind, she resisted, but the truth was, she could hardly wait for the contact. Damning herself for what she was doing, she stretched her fingers toward him. He was hard all right, not that she didn't need to cop a feel to know that. What caused her to shiver was the knowledge of how much more there was to him than what showed beneath the jeans. They'd had sex last night. Fucked if they were getting down to basics. Now she was hungry again. All right. If she couldn't have control of her arms, she'd do what little she could to let him know he hadn't won the round, at least not yet. Smiling, or maybe doing whatever it took to keep from panting, she curled her forefinger against her thumb as if preparing to shoot marbles, then snapped her finger at his penis…not sharp of course but enough to get his attention.

"No, I don't think so," he warned. He pulled up on her left wrist. Then he brought it toward his open mouth. She rocked back on her heels so she could watch him without his features blurring. When he slid her fingers between his teeth and gently closed down, heat washed through her groin. Eyes at half mast and knees threatening to give out, she lost herself in the sensation of Devin's teeth being drawn over her fingertips, his tongue washing under, over, and around her fingers. She had a physical woman's hands, complete with short, unpainted nails and calluses. She'd spent much of yesterday and that morning gripping a rein, not indulging in a manicure. On the day of her wedding, she'd presented her left hand so John could slip on her wedding ring, but as soon as he'd done that, he'd released her so he could concentrate on what the minister was saying. Not once in their married life had he given any indication that he considered her hands an erotic zone. But this man, who suspected her husband had something to do with his best friend's murder, handled her fingers as if he cherished them. No longer trying to focus, she sank deep into response and reaction. Somewhere between needing romance and a hard fucking, she tilted her pelvis toward his. He did the same, their bodies inching closer until they touched again. Their jeans got in the way of a satisfying contact, and yet she had no problem imagining what it would be like if they were naked. They'd stand face to face the way they were doing now, flesh against flesh, perhaps her arms wrapped around his neck so he couldn't escape. But of course he wouldn't try. Instead, his arms would be around her waist, and her back would be bowed as he curled his larger body over hers. His cock would press against her belly, at least for a moment. But they'd find a way to make it fit inside her and they'd have sex standing up…something she'd never done, and until today, hadn't imagined what it would be like. Her fingers felt cool, prompting her to blink and gaze up at him. He'd removed her fingers from his mouth. "What—?" she started. "Before we go any further, is this what you want?" Are you kidding!"Is…what?" Unable to hold her pelvis in that unnatural position any more, she sank away from him. Her belly where his penis had been remembered the sensation. "I don't go for teasing," he said. "Foreplay, yes, but not games-playing. If I'm going to have sex with a woman, I want the groundwork laid out from the beginning." She didn't want to think about him with other women. In truth, if one of those bimbos made the mistake of showing up right now, she'd tear her lips off. Shaking off the image of herself attacking another female, she took an involuntary step back. She couldn't remember how or when he'd released her. "I don't recall there being any framework set for what we did last night," she pointed out. "If I'd known you had a contract for me to sign—" "I was asleep when you came into my tent." "Are you telling me you didn't want me there?" To her relief, he smiled. "You know the answer to that. But this is daylight. I've said some things that upset you." Yes, he had. And, eventually, she'd have to convince him that he was wrong about her husband—her

dead husband. But on this bright and beautiful afternoon, her nipples pressed against her now too-small bra, and her panties were damp and warm with her juices. He had an erection. By way of answer for both of them, she touched her jeans with trembling fingers. "That's your answer?" he asked. "That's my answer."Please, let me do this. "What about regrets?" "What I regret. . ." She took a long, calming breath. Looked forward, not back. "What I regret is what I've been like up until now." "I don't understand." "I know you don't. I don't want to talk about it. Not now." When he didn't ask for an explanation, she tugged down on her zipper. He hadn't seen her naked before. Yes, his hands and cock knew what her body felt like, but when they'd had sex last night, she…and probably him, too…had hardly been thinking clearly. Maybe she still wasn't, but she didn't dare stop or give into doubts and fears. She'd worn boots today. Leaning over, she slipped them off and kicked them away. Then she drew her jeans down over her hips. It wouldn't have taken as long as it did if her hands weren't shaking and she didn't desperately need to know what he thought of what she was offering. She hoped he'd follow suit, but he stood with his hands by his side as she fumbled with the shirt buttons. He hadn't lost any of his erection, and his eyes had taken on a hooded quality as if only this moment, and what she was doing, mattered to him. That gave her courage. For the first time in her life, she didn't just remove her shirt. Driven by the hot weight between her legs, she slowly drew the garment off her shoulders and exposed herself inch by inch. As she revealed more and more flesh, she lost touch with the woman she'd always believed herself to be and became what she hoped Devin wanted. What she needed to be. Whatever Devin did with his life, it was filled with adventure and decisions and maybe danger. His world had little to do with balancing a paycheck and repairing old saddles and changing the oil in an ancient truck. He lived for the moment, did something vital that no one else could do. He'd want a woman capable of fully embracing life, one who saw sex as exercise and adventure, a woman who had no puritanical tapes playing inside her, who offered her body because, damn it, it felt good! In her mind and body she became that bold, confident woman. The new Ana didn't need clothes. Hell, they only got in the way of a good fuck. Simple, she decided as she slid out of the sleeves and let the flannel drop to the ground near her jeans. The new Ana needed to be screwed. Needed to screw. Beyond that…hell, there was no beyond. There was only determination to jump Devin's bones.

Chapter 9

"No, don't." Ana stopped with her hands on the fastening for her bra. "I want to do that." "Oh," she managed. With a shake of the head, she reminded herself that today shewas leaving the woman she'd always been behind. Tamping down on the shyness and insecurity she couldn't completely exorcize, she stepped toward him and turned her back to him. He reached around her and unbuttoned her shirt. Then he dragged it off her. Next he unhooked her bra. However, instead of finishing the disrobing, he wrapped his arm around her midsection and pulled her against him. With his free hand, he explored the swell of her breasts under her bra; his fingertips felt like the finest sandpaper. Sighing, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. She couldn't have lifted her arms if he'd commanded her. He became a painter, brush-stroking the tops and sides of her breasts before turning his attention to the valley between them. Because she still semi-wore her bra, the straps were around her upper arms, and she felt imprisoned by them…not as captured as his encircling arm made her feel, but not bad. Not bad at all. Slowly, lightly, he worked his fingers under a bra cup, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to touch her nipple. Couldn't he tell how hard and erect it had become? Surely her ragged breathing and the way she couldn't stop herself from pressing against him told him what she needed. Of course he knew. He simply wanted to play with her. Now he slid his hand under a breast and lifted as if clinically and critically testing its weight. Of course the rod poking into her backside made a lie of that observation. She stared at the treetops, seeing not the contrast of green against blue sky but inside herself to where the woman she was just now discovering lived and breathed. She was Devin's captive. How she came under his control, she didn't know. No one was looking for her; no rescuer on a white horse would charge up to save her from whatever fate Devin intended for her. If she was ever going to taste freedom again, she'd have to do it herself. But did she want that, she asked herself as he released her breast so he could run his hand over her rib cage, to her belly.No ! the wanton woman in her shouted when he pressed his hand between her legs and forced them apart. She still wore panties, but he had no trouble sliding his fingers under the nylon and pressing against her crotch. His slave. His helpless captive. His to torture and pleasure. Her heart became a wild animal beating against her breastbone. Momentarily alarmed, she tried to judge whether she was in danger of having a heart attack, but then he dipped two fingers into her. She sagged because she could no longer feel or command her legs. "Wet," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "So you've already started."

It was all right that he knew so much about her; she loved it that way. "But just started," he whispered as his fingers withdrew. Starving, she tried to grab his hand and guide it back in her, but he increased his hold around her arms and held them against her side. When she stilled, he returned his attention to between her legs but made no move to glide his fingers into her again. Instead, he trailed them over the inside of her thighs. Lost in sensation, she opened herself to him so his nails were free to lightly mark her flesh. He drew lines, circles, small, tight curves. She whimpered. He chuckled. "You like that?" he mouthed against her neck. "You have to ask?" "No, I don't." There. There he was. Inside her, his fingers at least, exploring that hot, moist place where surely all her nerves were centered. Without his having to tell her what he wanted her to do, she opened herself more fully to him and through eyes that could no longer focus on anything, shesawherself sagging in his arms with what little clothing she still wore in disarray. She imagined that his features had darkened. Maybe, like her, he couldn't close his mouth and was concerned about his heart's erratic thumping. Maybe, like her, this wasn't enough. Oh God, what was that?Touch—-touching what no man ever had! From somewhere came understanding; she clung to her newfound wisdom and reveled in it. He was— -oh shit, his short, strong nail had found her clit! Now it danced for him, for her, for both of them, swelling and pushing, maybe vibrating. Jutting her pelvis toward him, she ordered him without words. Fuck me with your fingers. Make me come! Feel my body celebrate! There! Him, knowing what she needed. Strumming her clit like it was some exquisite instrument. Her, twisting and rejoicing, climbing, climbing. Standing at the edge of the earth and leaping unafraid and gloriously alive into space. Into him.

***** She came back to herself a few moments later. It was as if something had briefly flicked off inside her, some light extinguished and time lost. She returned to find herself so weak she would have fallen if he hadn't still been holding her. At the same time, she'd never felt stronger or more ready to celebrate. Still not trusting her legs, she took inventory. The arm he'd wrapped around her midsection hadn't moved. His every breath chased warm, moist currents through her hair, and once, twice, three times he licked her ear, causing delicious shudders across her shoulders and down her spine. Most of all, oh yes, most of all, his fingers were still in her cunt. Yes, yes, my cunt! I can say it!

"Are you back with me?" he asked. "Y-es." He chuckled."But not completely yet. You had a climax." "Yes…I did." He chuckled again and withdrew his fingers. At the same time, he turned her toward him so she couldn't fully concentrate on the loss. Her cunt remembered the breadth and warmth of him. With his fingers no longer providing a plug, her juices flowed freely, drenching her panties crotch and oozing down her thighs. He held up his hand; sunlight glinted off her body sap. Still too far gone to know whether she should be embarrassed by the display, she waited to see what he would do. To her joy, he licked at it, cleaning one finger but leaving the other milked. He extended that one toward her and after a momentary hesitation, she drank of herself. "Devin," she managed. "Thank you." "For?" "Helping me find myself. What I'm capable of." He regarded her soberly. "That's never happened before?" Not quite strong enough to meet his eyes, she said, "Last night was the first time I've ever had a climax." "Damn him." Damn who?Belatedly, she realized he was talking about John, but she didn't want to have to defend him at this moment—didn't want to think about him. "I am who and what I am," she said, not sure where her thinking was going. "I've always…I had a conservative upbringing. Certain things simply weren't discussed." "Like your sexuality." A nod was all she was capable of. Even now, with the proof of her reaction in both their mouths, she couldn't completely extinguish the old tapes which said a nice girl didn't talk of such things, let alone take proof of her sexuality into her mouth and down her throat. But she wanted to silence that nice girl, bury her once and for all and relish the woman she'd become— the woman Devin had uncovered. It took effort, but by forcefully separating her mind from the lower part of her body, she managed to concentrate on him. On his obvious needs. Smiling in anticipation, she unhooked his gun belt and laid it and the heavy weapon on the ground. Then she unzipped his jeans. "You don't fool around, do you?" he said. "I have a lot of catching up to do—unless you mind."

"We may both regret this." "I know. Maybe. . ." She indicated what she'd just done. "Maybe I shouldn't—" "It feels right at this moment; that's all that counts." Unable and unwilling to argue with him despite the massive holes in his logic, she pushed his jeans off his hips. Then she crouched before him and unlaced and loosened his hiking boots. He placed a hand on the top of her head and balanced on one foot while she removed first one boot and then the other. That done, she slowly slid the denim down his legs. His thighs had only a faint dusting of hair, but it grew richer from the knees down. Again he lifted first one leg and then the other so she could remove his jeans. Instead of standing, she fashioned a cushion for her knees out of the garment and knelt on it so she could explore, not just his hair, but the flesh, muscle, and bone that was part of him. Despite her declaration that she'd buried the repressive woman she'd once been, she was grateful for the white briefs hiding his penis. In a few minutes, she told herself, she'd be ready to see it. Turning her head to the side, she slid her tongue over his shin bone. The hairs slowed her progress and caused her to repeatedly moisten her tongue, but when he sucked in a breath and fisted her hair, she knew she'd hit upon something sensual to do for him. The thought of her kneeling before a man still wearing a shirt and briefs while her only garment consisted of sex-drenched panties was erotic. Before she'd moved around to his taut calf muscle, she'd begun to feel hot again—gettingready to explore her capacity for another climax. Inspired by his earlier use of his teeth, she drew back her lips and raked her teeth over what she could reach of his lower legs. She wasn't sure this fit under the heading of erotic, but it felt good to her. Before long, the strain on her neck forced her to change tactics. As he'd done, she slid her hands between his legs, and ran her fingernails over his inner thigh. She was surprised by how silken his skin there felt in contrast to elsewhere. The contrast fascinated her; she couldn't get enough of educating herself, of exploring what resulted in the most reaction from him. It was hard to be sure because almost every inch of his flesh seemed to be sensitive. His grip on her hair tightened. Looking up reinforced her belief that they were in sync. His penis pushed through the opening in his briefs, so large and ready that, for an instant, it frightened her. Had she really taken him into her mouth? Good grief! She'd hardly ever fantasized about doing that, let alone carry through. Then the memory of what his penis had done for her last night took over. Straightening, she licked the shaft, running her tongue over the underside, then the hard ridge. Last night there'd been no light in the tent, and she'd gone by feel. Now, seeing what he had to offer—what made him fully a man—excited her even more. "What?" he said. About to ask what he was talking about, she realized she'd stopped tonguing him and had settled back onto her haunches. "I'm admiring the scenery," she told him. "It's pretty much standard issue. One to each customer." Was this the first time she'd heard him joke? Despite her growing heat and the all too real feeling that she

was letting down inside, her clit seeking to escape its prison, she had to acknowledge that. "I don't see standard issue at all." To prove her point, she took his tip between thumb and forefinger and pulled down so she had an unobstructed view of his slit. Moisture oozed out, and he sucked in his breath. "And you've made a study of this?" "Wouldn't you like to know?" In that single drop was the ability to create life. The knowledge held her in awe. "No, of course not. I…I always thought I'd be embarrassed if I did something like this, but I'm not." "Always thought? Then it's something you've fantasized about?" Her fantasies had always been carefully guarded, hidden even from herself except deep in the middle of a lonely night. "No." She leaned forward so her breath would reach his cock and held him immobile. "I'm a normal, red-blooded woman."And if you don't believe me, put your fingers back up my pussy. "I just never knew it before—before you." "Your husband—" "I don't want to talk about him." She was vaguely aware that she'd told Devin something like that before, but with every heartbeat, she became even more convinced that now wasn't the time for talking. She didn't know how long a man could sustain an erection but surely he wanted more than this. Deserved more. He must have had the same thought because he took hold of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. Before she could organize her muscles to the complex task of removing his shirt, he did it for her…for himself. Then he did the same to his briefs and watched as she rolled her panties down and off her. Naked. Naked in full daylight. His cock hard and huge and dark. Her nipples looking frozen but feeling everything. The only thing she knew was that she didn't want sex the way she'd always had it with her husband. As if reading her mind, he looked around, then led her to a mound and guided her to the top of it. She still wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish what they both wanted, but the moment he cupped his hands over her butt cheeks and pulled her toward him, she didn't care. She spread her legs as far apart as possible. His cock slid between her thighs and rubbed against her clitoris. His tip found the entrance to her core, and he slipped in as easily as if they'd been made for each other. Still, she didn't feel him deep inside her. She lifted one leg. As the same time, he worked his hands from her waist to her hips and finally her thighs. Arms clamped on his shoulders, she waited until he lifted her in his arms and then locked her ankles behind his ass and leaned back slightly. As easy as that, he settled inside her. They couldn't keep this position long; they'd have to hurry, work their bodies, drink of each other, maybe explode together. He thrust into her, his powerful leg and hip muscles moving in double-time. After a false start, she found his rhythm. Face to face, in full daylight with only the unconcerned animals to keep them company, she felt alive and centered. With each drive, his scrotum slapped her crotch, the sound translating into a drumbeat inside her. For the first few seconds, she didn't focus on anything except the feel of Devin's penis deep inside her and the growing current in her clit, but this wasn't just about her pleasure. His was equally, if not more, important.

After assuring herself that her movements matched his, she lifted her gaze so she could see his eyes. He stared back at her, and although she found it slightly disconcerting to know he could read her every emotion while caught in the pleasure of sex, it was all right since his emotions were equally naked. He was living for this moment, maybe unaware of the world around him. She imagined that, like her, his nerves were fully alive. Knowing that he was seeing, actually seeing her and not just focused on his own release and what he had to do in order to accomplish that, made her feel even more tuned into him. Wrong! They shouldn't be doing this, not with his accusations about John still between them. Didn't matter. Didn't matter. If anything, the wrongness made their intercourse even more intense. She nipped at his chin. He reared back and, still holding her welded to him, gave her a quizzical look. "I felt like it," she said. "What else do you have in your bag of tricks?" She hadn't had a bag of tricks in her life. Certainly, as a married woman, she had never been anything except the dutiful wife. But there were no guidelines for what they were doing and no restrictions. Only wrong and right and welding the two into one. "I'm learning," she whispered as the electrical current inside her kicked up another notch and promised to take her beyond the point of being able to talk. "Learning that sex is a hell of a lot of fun." "It can be. If everything comes together." "Make it like that for me, please." "I'll try." He made good on his vow, not by pounding away at her at such a pace that she'd feel she was riding a runaway horse, but by shifting her so she now rode even lower on his hips. She clamped her legs around him and balanced herself as best she could so she wouldn't strain his back and then simply and completely surrendered to fucking and being fucked. He slid in and back, in and out, never leaving her completely thank goodness but with enough freedom for his cock that she felt the joyful dance throughout her cunt. Her breasts jiggled with such abandon that she nearly laughed. Sex could be fun. What an incredible revelation—sex could flat-out be fun! More than that, it became a rumbling, volcanic action that left her feeling like a proverbial leaf caught in raging water. With no desire to find the shore and safety, she let the current sweep her away. Her clit began to shudder; the gyration increased, and she cried out. The shudder became a spasm, and she sobbed, caring not at all how far the sound might carry. Sweat soaked her; the top of her head felt as if it might blow off, but that was nothing compared to the explosion between her legs. "Oh God! Oh my God!"

Chapter 10

Feeling weaker than he remembered ever being, Devin let Ana slide down his body until her legs were once again on the ground. He wasn't quite sure where he'd been but didn't care. Taking what inventory he could of himself, he discovered that his body was sweat-soaked, and his now deflated cock was drenched with both their sex fluids. He could smell their earthy aromas, her taste still in his mouth. She clung to him, her head resting against his chest, arms locked around his waist. For a competent businesswoman, she felt fragile and vulnerable. He'd done it again. Turned his back and sanity on why he'd made contact with her and his determination to learn who had murdered his best friend. Soon, very soon, he'd demand honesty from himself and return to the only goal that mattered to him. But for these post-coital moments, he'd run his fingers down the small of Ana's back and press her belly and pelvis against himself. She wasn't the only one wearing the labelvulnerable. In the end, the stiff breeze along his naked, sweat-slick shoulders forced him to open his eyes. "We need to get dressed." His voice felt too-long unused. "Otherwise, we're going to get cold." "All right." She didn't move. Neither did he. "Ana?" "I know. I just…I guess I just want to hold still for a few minutes until I understand…how did this happen? I didn't think…" "I don't know." It was the truth. "I hope you don't think I intended to seduce you. It just happened." She didn't say anything, and he could only hope she believed him. When she straightened and took a backward step, he didn't try to keep her with him. Instead, risking a great deal, he looked down at her. Her breasts, although probably a C cup, were in proportion with the rest of her muscular body. Yet they commanded his attention. . .them and the dark pubic hair that prevented him from seeing what he'd lost himself in a few moments ago. She wasn't a sorceress, and he couldn't call her a temptress, and yet there was something about her that defied comprehension. Maybe she sensed he was trying to fathom her power over him and wasn't about to reveal her secrets, and maybe she simply felt uncomfortable with being naked in the middle of the wilderness. Whichever it was, when she knelt to pick up her clothes, he stepped into his briefs, then watched her pull back on her panties. Knowing his cum was already leaking onto the crotch was unbelievably erotic. "We…" She took a deep breath. "What do you want to do?" Give him a few minutes, and he'd be able to demonstrate. Instead of telling her that, he gathered his intellect about him and took in their surroundings. "I need to get a better sense of what happened here, familiarize myself." She fastened her bra in front and then slid it around and leaned forward, positioning her breasts inside the cup. "You don't need me for that," she said. "In fact, if you had a map, you could have come here without me." He waited until she'd straightened and was facing him. "It's back to that, isn't it," he said. "Not trusting me."

Her laugh was bitter. "It can't be any other—" An explosion cut her off in mid sentence. Even as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened, he dove at her and knocked her to the ground. They landed side by side on her jeans. "Shooting!" he gasped. "Someone's—" "I know." Like him, she continued to hug the ground. If he'd injured her, she gave no indication. After placing his hand on the side of her head to make sure she didn't try to lift it, he propped himself up on an elbow. The tree-choked mountains had muffled the sound, making it all but impossible to determine where it had come from. Just the same, he knew the only thing that counted—the shooter was nearby. "We're exposed." He struggled to keep his voice calm. "We have to get to cover." "I know." She wasn't panicking; at least they had that going for them. Looking around, he decided that their best chance lay in trying to make their way to a large clump of brush maybe twenty feet away. Being nearly naked made him feel vulnerable but not nearly as vulnerable as not being able to reach his gun. Damn. The pistol was maybe twenty feet away, in the open, and he'd left his rifle on his horse. If she wasn't here, he would have risked going after the handgun. "I'll go first," he told her. "I don't want you moving until I know it's safe." She grabbed his arm. "This is no stupid hunter, is it? You think someone's shooting at us, don't you?" "Yeah." Comprehension continued to grow in her eyes, but he still saw no sign of panic. Belatedly, he noted the animals' restless movements. If they ran away. . . Dismissing what he couldn't do anything about, he began scooting forward on hands and knees. Rocks and forest debris cut into his flesh, but he had no choice. When he'd covered about half of the distance to the hopefully sheltering brush, he looked over his shoulder at her. "Come on," he whispered. She nodded and hoisted herself off the ground while clutching his jeans. He should continue his own retreat, but he needed to make sure she was going to be all right. Gritting her teeth, she moved one knee and shifted her weight. Maybe he should have anticipated the second shot, but when it cracked and dirt exploded in all directions only a few feet away, he jumped. "Shit!" he gasped. Then: "Run for it! Now!" She'd sprung to her feet before the words were out of his mouth. He reached the brush, then whirled and held out his arms. She crashed into him, and they hugged the ground. The brush was tall and thick enough to shield them, but whoever was firing had seen their attempt at escape. A horse whinnied and the mules seemed to bray in unison. "Grab rocks!" Ana ordered. "Throw them at the animals." "What?" Instead of repeating herself, she snatched up a couple of palm-sized rocks and hurtled them at the

nearest horse's flank. At the same time, she yelled, sounding for all the world like an Indian on the warpath. Both of her rocks struck her horse, causing it to squeal and rear. Shit! She was causing a diversion! Following her lead, he dug a rock out of the earth and threw with all his strength. The stone crashed into a mule's neck. The animal kicked out with its rear legs, lifted its head as high as it would go and brayed. He was rather proud of his accomplishment but doubted that Ana was paying attention because she'd already gotten another handful and aimed at her horse's underbelly. The poor confused creature snorted and jumped away, nearly falling. Another rifle shot! Then, less than a second later, another. The animals charged back and forth, sometimes colliding with each other. Not giving them time to gather their wits, he threw and yelled, threw and yelled. His gelding, its ears back and eyes wide and disbelieving, galloped away from the creek. Not waiting to see if the others would follow suit, he grabbed Ana's hand and yanked her toward him. "We can't stay here! The trees!" She jerked free. "Not together. Apart, we make smaller targets." How did she know about something like that?Instinct , he answered his own question. Leaving her to race toward her right, he struck off in the opposite direction. Unlike her, he didn't lean low to the ground but stood upright, hoping to draw the shooter's attention away from Ana. The ground lacerated his feet, but he refused to let that slow him. He prayed she could do the same. When he reached the nearest tree, he all but hugged it. It seemed to him that the shots were coming from partway up a rock and tree-choked steep slope overlooking the creek. He had absolutely no doubt that this wasn't some drunken out-of-season hunter. But who wanted him—them—dead? He'd been shot at before. Granted, it had only happened once and had been more of a warning than a serious murder attempt. The pistol in the nearly toothless and irate old man's hand had gotten his attention all right, and after the confrontation was over, he'd taken his fellow ranger to dinner and bought him the largest steak in the establishment because his co-worker had yanked the pistol out of the old man's grasp. The difference between this time and when he and the other ranger had tried to sneak up on a remote cabin where a poacher lived, was that both law enforcement officers had been armed and prepared. Today, not only was he unarmed, but he was barefoot to boot. Still, he was ready to die if it kept Ana alive. Ana. Where was she? Despite the almost overwhelming need to see how she was, he forcefully reminded himself that he wasn't going to do her any good with a bullet in him. Teeth clenched against the pain in his bare feet, he slipped from one tree to another. It became a game of hide and seek, a deadly game. The animals were gone. Fortunately, as far as he could tell, none of them had been shot. As for whether they'd return once the danger was over…he could only hope so since otherwise it would take them days to walk out. From where he was, he couldn't see his back pack, boots, and the rest of his clothes. Because he didn't know how long the shooter had been watching them, he couldn't be sure whether they knew the extent of his firepower.

What chilled him the most and made it difficult to plan was that the would-be killer, or killers, was situated above him and Ana and able to see them the moment they exposed themselves. He shuddered at the thought of having to hide like a scared rabbit until night. Unless the enemy tried to put an end to this insane waiting game now. Ana had to be having the same thoughts. The danger and uncertainty had to be worse for her because she wasn't trained in law enforcement and had no ideas what their options were…not that they really had any. Unless she'd known—lured him— No! He'd never believe that. Abandoning his plan to remain separate from her, he took a moment to orient himself, then relied on the thick vegetation to provide the necessary camouflage. Either his feet had gotten used to being punished, or he no longer had the mental capacity necessary to hear their complaints. His skin itched where it had come in contact with various bushes, and he kept moving his hand to his waist as if expecting his pistol to suddenly appear there. He'd never felt so helpless. No! Feeling overwhelmed wasn't going to get him anywhere!Only determination would. That and the vow he now made to get Ana out of here alive.

***** Ana couldn't be sure, but she guessed she'd been hiding for the better part of an hour. Devin hadn't said anything, and although she strained to listen, she was certain he hadn't made any sound. She kept telling herself that he'd been all right when they separated, and that damn deadly rifle hadn't gone off since then. Unfortunately, she had nothing to think about except this nightmare. She was thirsty and hungry. A few minutes ago, she'd emptied her bladder and felt marginally better because of it. It didn't help that she'd moved around so much that she'd become disoriented. At least she had on her jeans, something that couldn't be said about Devin. Where was he? What was he thinking? Was he aware, like she was, of the sounds the unconcerned birds and insects were making? If nothing else, the critters grounded her and reminded her that other living things continued to go about their lives. Although at first she'd had to struggle against a fear that felt as if it was trying to crawl up her throat, fear couldn't sustain itself forever. She'd learned that during John's battle with cancer. Another thing about living with a death sentence, it put life into perspective. One never knew how long it would last, and as a result, every moment spent breathing was a blessing, something to be accepted for what it was. If only she didn't have to spend it alone. Whoever the sharpshooter was…she wasn't sure how she'd come to think of him that way…she'd become convinced that it had to do with Devin's friend's murder. That nameless, faceless shooter believed he had unfinished business, and until Devin was dead, he wouldn't give up. Unless she stopped that bastard. Was that who she'd turned into? She asked herself this question as she shifted position so the sun no

longer beat down on her back. Had being shot at awakened a fierce determination to do whatever it took to keep Devin alive? Maybe. And maybe she simply couldn't handle the thought of him being dead. If only she had boots! And her trusty all-purpose knife. With those two items, she'd be superwoman. Instead of feeling as if she'd been hobbled, she'd be sneaking up the backside of that cliff. She'd inch soundlessly through the underbrush, determined and single-minded until she found the sharpshooter. She'd wait until she was close enough to jump him, then slash and open up his wrist. The moment he dropped his rifle to stare at the blood dripping from him, she'd snatch up the rifle and hit him over the head with it. He'd crumple into a motionless heap. She'd stand, place one foot on his chest and let out with the world's loudest Tarzan yell. Right! Then you'll wet your pants from fear. Deflated, she put her mind to reality. If Devin was here, he'd know what to do, and with his arms around her, she'd stop shaking. Together they'd— Something slammed into her, knocking her face-first to the ground. A man's body settled over hers, holding her immovable. A frightened scream bubbled up but remained trapped behind the masculine hand now clamped over her mouth. Her muscles melted; the world darkened. "Ana, it's me." Devin whispered in her ear. She still couldn't move, but now the condition was because of relief, not fear. She felt him slide off her, but he kept an arm and leg over her, making her wonder if he knew how much she needed his warmth. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't want to have to do that, but I needed to make sure you didn't give away our location." He freed her mouth. "Are you all right?" I am now."I—think so." "Good." Relief flooded his voice; she had no doubt of that. Turning to the side, she looked over at him. Even with just his briefs on, he struck her as the most confident and determined man she'd ever seen. Although this was hardly the time for it, she couldn't resist running her hand over his naked chest. He smiled. "Miss me?" he whispered. "Oh, were you gone?" He turned sober, and after a moment so did she. "I don't know if he saw me coming your way." "If he did, he would have shot, wouldn't he?" "Unless he was waiting to make sure he had both of us in his sights." Despite her best effort, she shivered. "He wants us dead." "Yeah, he does." She wanted to ask him why but didn't because no matter that they'd twice had mind-stripping sex, the truth was, neither of them could completely trust the other. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "Wait until night."

Chapter 11

The sun had never taken longer to set. By the time the final rays of sunset faded, cloaking the forest in darkness, Ana's stomach grumbled constantly. Although they'd had hours during which they could have debated who the sharpshooter might be, Devin hadn't said anything, and she'd followed his lead. Not once in all those hours had he relaxed his vigilance, reminding her of a wary forest animal. At first his habit of constantly scanning their surroundings had unnerved her, but finally she'd taken comfort from the fact that no one could possibly sneak up on them as long as he remained alert. Despite herself, she'd mentally gone over her recollection of John's friends and acquaintances, asking herself if any of them were capable of killing. She was less than crazy about a few of the men, hard-drinking loudmouth rednecks who lived and breathed hunting—or at least talking about their supposed exploits—but what stopped her from voicing her thoughts to Devin was the question of motive. None of them would want her dead. She was nothing to them—except that she was with a man driven by the need for answers and willing to do whatever it took to find them. The only thing she knew for sure was that Devin's best friend, a forest ranger, had been murdered near here and now someone was shooting. "Are you ready for this?" Devin asked, startling her with the unexpected question. "What are we going to do? It's getting cold. You need clothes."And if you can't get to them, we'll have to keep each other warm all night. "I need my pistol. And my cell phone. It's in my back pack." Cell phone! With it they could call in the local law officials! Why hadn't she thought about that? A heartbeat later her excitement faded. "Devin? I know I've said it before, but with the mountains all around, we might not get a connection." "I know. Aaron and I sometimes had the same problem." Suddenly on the verge of tears, she ran her hands over his chest, then brushed trembling lips against the side of his neck. "What was that about?" he asked. "I'm not sure. So much has been going through my mind that…" "And through mine, too.Ana, I'm sorry." "For what?" "Getting you mixed up in this." There was something incredibly, well, erotic about talking to a man she could barely see but certainly

could feel since they'd been sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. And when a large element of danger was added, well, if this was some movie instead of the real thing, she'd have to tell the director that she and her co-star were going to take a break because they had some…how should she say it…some communication issues to deal with. Something warm and male was on her hips. With no real surprise and a liberal dosage of anticipation, she acknowledged his fingers trailing over her hipbone. "Did you want something?" she whispered. "You must know the answer to that. Unfortunately, this is hardly the time to act on it." So he was in the same mood, was he? Or rather they had the same thing on their minds. With a sigh, she placed her hand over his, holding it against her. "I've needed that all day," she admitted. "You didn't act like it." "I didn't?" "You're an incredibly strong woman. Focused on reality." With her hand piggybacked on his, he began a slow but deliberate journey to her crotch. "You didn't panic. You're hanging in there." "What option do I have? Besides…" She was pretty sure she'd been about to say something, but darn him, his hand was between her legs now. She cursed the jeans that had served her so well all day. "Besides what?" he prompted. His palm rested on her inner thigh, thumb and forefinger bracketing her crotch. She tightened her pelvis muscles. "You can't be thinking—" "You're right," he said on the tail of a sigh. "The circumstances could be a lot better. I was just testing a theory." The hell he was. "You're still grounded," he continued. "All systems working." "Yes, they are," she admitted as realization of what had been behind his grope dawned. "I appreciate your checking that out." Chuckling, he ran his finger back and forth over her cunt. Despite the dense layer of fabric, shefelt . Lordy, did she. At the same time, she sensed him leaning closer and didn't know whether to applaud or simply relax and enjoy when his mouth unerringly found hers. Not asking herself whether she'd come to regret this, she pressed her lips against his, reassuring herself that he'd lived through the day and was still with her. Although he'd just told her that the timing was less than appropriate, she didn't so much as try to resist the temptation to slide her tongue between his teeth. She ran the tip from the base to the roof of his mouth, tasting the warm, moist cave, growing excited. For an unfathomable length of time, he accepted her exploration, and she could hear his heart beating faster. Then, groaning, he pulled away. "Not now. I'm sorry." She didn't try to speak until he'd removed his hand from between her legs. "You're right," she whispered, not because she feared the sharpshooter was nearby but because she hadn't recovered her equilibrium.

"What…what do you want me to do?" "Stay with me. We've got to get what belongings aren't with the animals." "Do you think I did wrong by chasing them off?" she asked. "No. Whoever is out there probably would have killed them." Shuddering, she fell into line behind him. He was right. This was no movie they could walk out of, this was real and dangerous—deadly. Devin seemed blessed with a second sense that made it possible for him to find his way through the moon-illuminated night to their discarded clothing. Most of their food, unfortunately, had been on the pack animals, but she'd been wearing her backpack when she'd dismounted what seemed a lifetime ago, and there were several granola bars in it along with her marginally operating cell phone. It seemed ridiculous to be thinking of food right now but darn it, she was starving! Once she'd satisfied her belly, she could put her mind fully on another kind of hunger. Was she crazy, she admonished when she nearly bumped into Devin. This was hardly the time for sex. Besides, he believed her husband had had something to do with Aaron's murder. How could she have dismissed that? "Now," Devin whispered, "I want you to wait here." "Here? No! We're in this together." "I won't argue that, but think about it." He was right. As long as one of them remained in the trees, there was less chance that the sharpshooter could accomplish his mission. Besides, she knew that no amount of argument would change Devin's mind; he'd insist on taking the greatest risk. She touched his arm. "I'm not going to tell you to be careful because that goes without saying. I'll be waiting for you." He kissed the top of her head. "You don't have a choice, but thanks for saying that." He was gone. For maybe five seconds she couldn't think beyond the loss of him. Then she forced herself to slip a little closer to the clearing and peered around the tree she'd taken shelter behind. She could barely see him, a slow-moving shadow bent low to the ground, arms uneasy at his side as if willing a weapon to suddenly appear. Maybe she should have found something comical in the fact that the only thing he wore were his briefs, but he looked too vulnerable for that. Too precious. Precious? Was that how she saw him? Only dimly aware of what she was doing, she mentally sent her courage to this man who'd all but called her dead husband a murderer. Maybe he'd sense her message and that would steel his resolve, remind him to be careful. One moment she wanted to yell at him to hurry; the next she was begging him to go slower, not take any chances. He had to live! All too soon she lost sight of him. She began counting out the seconds, but when she got to fifty, she couldn't stand it and stopped. The breeze was picking up, rattling the tree branches and hopefully making it more difficult for anyone to hear him. Unfortunately, the constant rustle and groaning also made it impossible for him to detect a sinister presence.

She'd jammed a finger in her mouth and was gnawing it when finally he came back into view. He now had on some clothes, and she thought he was wearing shoes. He carried something that she assumed was his backpack. She couldn't be sure but it looked as if he had on his gunbelt. Although she didn't want to, she looked up at where the shots had come from, but she couldn't see that far.Good. That means that bastard can't either. She watched the distance between her and Devin slowly decrease. He'd nearly reached the edge of the clearing when he suddenly straightened and turned toward the cliff. Fear pounded into her. The shot sang through the night, filling her ears. Despite the terrible need to scream, she clamped her hands over her mouth. At the same instant, Devin dropped to the ground. He didn't move. Oh God! What do I do? Please, please don't die! Rocking back and forth, she fought for a sense of direction but couldn't move a muscle. She was positive she was ready for another rifle blast; still, when it came, she gasped, and her legs threatened to give out. She sucked in a deep breath, then analyzed. Nothing…no smell of blood…not that that meant anything. Get up! Please, get up. Devin remained as motionless as the rocks. Sick at heart, she started toward him. "No. Don't," he hissed. "Devin?" she whispered back. Had her heart stopped beating? "You're—are you all right?" "Stay where you are." He still hadn't so much as flexed a muscle. "The bullets didn't come close, but maybe that bastard doesn't know it." I don't care. Just come to me."What if he hears…?" Devin didn't respond, and she ground her teeth together. A minute ago she'd been rejoicing at the thought of how soon they'd be reunited. Now he seemed a world away. She couldn't guess how long he remained where he was, and when at length he reached out and took hold of the backpack that had scooted away as he hit the ground, she fought the need to yell at him to forget it. After tucking his belongings against him, he began wiggling toward her. His movements reminded her of Army recruits sliding under barriers during training—only this was real. As for whether the sharpshooter could see what he was doing. . . It took forever but finally, finally, he was back among the trees and bushes. She waited until she was sure he was hidden from the would-be killer, then stumbled toward him and embraced him and his burden. "You're all right?" she gasped. "Please, are you all right?" "I'm fine, Ana. I didn't mean to scare you." She couldn't help but laugh although hysteria and not amusement was behind the sound. "Well," she whispered as she continued to hold him. "You did scare me. Promise you won't again." "I'll promise, but it might be a lie."

***** When, finally, he was sure they were where their unseen enemy couldn't spot them, Devin dropped his backpack and the rest of her clothes and then sat cross-legged, one hand on his pistol. Ana joined him but didn't say anything. "I checked your cell phone," he said. "The battery's dead." "What about yours?" "I couldn't make a connection." "Oh." A man trained in law enforcement, a man who'd gone undercover three times in the past two years, should have a Rambo complex, shouldn't he? Rambo laughed in the face of danger, then stuck a knife between his teeth and struck off to vanquish evil forces. However, he wasn't Rambo. Quite the opposite, his stomach felt uneasy in a way that had nothing to do with hunger, and it would take awhile before he trusted his legs to hold him. He didn't want Ana to be the one responsible for his newfound determination to stay alive, but she was, damn her! In an attempt to keep himself from telling her that, he indicated her fanny pack. "I'm sorry. I stepped on it before I saw it." "You did fine. Wonderful." She unfastened a buckle, reached into the pocket and pulled out several flattened containers. "Energy bars," she said, handing him one of them. "I've been thinking about them for hours." "I hoped you had something to eat in there. All I have in my back pack is a ground cover and blanket, binoculars and. . ." "What does he want?" she demanded. "Why hasn't he left?" "Because we're still alive." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but would remaining quiet change anything? Instead of shuddering, she sighed. "In the morning, we're going to have to try to leave," she said. He could have said that his intention was to take advantage of the dark to do that; he didn't because he hadn't accomplished what he'd come here for…learning who had murdered his best friend. "Did you hear me?" she asked around a mouthful. "Coming here, I chose trails the animals could handle, but now we can go a more direct route." "You can." For a moment the only sound came from the night creatures. "You aren't leaving, are you?" she said softly. "I can't."

"Even if it kills you?" It won't. But he didn't say that because it might wind up being a lie. "Ana, I don't know how whoever is out there learned who I am and why I'm here. It doesn't matter. All I care about is the truth. Justice for Aaron." "You've already said that." Did she understand? Did she have any idea of the depth of his commitment to Aaron? Maybe not, because he wasn't sure he fully comprehended it. He'd been fumbling with the wrapper on what she'd given him but hadn't gotten anywhere. Frustrated, he yanked. She took it from him and, using her teeth, finished the job. "Eat," she told him. "Then we'll talk." "Argue, you mean? There's nothing to talk about. I want you where you'll be safe." "That's what I want for you." Of all the things she could have said, nothing could have touched him more. After what he'd accused her husband of, he wouldn't blame her for hating him. Instead, she'd handed him her body. "Devin? I'm not leaving either." "Yes, you are! I won't have you risk—" "It's my life. I'll do what I want with it. And right now that means not leaving." "Why not?" "Because you aren't the only one who needs answers." If she hadn't taken this moment to slide her fingers over his hand, maybe he could have mustered arguments to try to change her mind. But when the latest shots had whizzed around him, he'd been left with an undeniable message: life was precious; he wasn't ready to surrender it. She had become the primary reason why. Instead of shaking free, he laced his fingers through hers, leaving his thumb on the outside so he could massage her palm. He deliberately kept the contact feather-light. He wouldn't lie to himself and say he didn't want to have sex at this moment, but he could wait. "I keep thinking this isn't happening," she told him. "That I'm going to wake up and tell someone about this wild dream I had." "What someone?" "You're right," she said after a long silence. "There's no one here except you and me." And whoever is trying to kill us. Lifting her hand, he ran his tongue over her knuckles. At first, she tensed, but then she relaxed; her sigh drifted around him. "I feel so alive," she whispered as he continued to explore the contours of the back of her hand. "As if my

skin has been rubbed with the softest silk or caressed with feathers. Is that what danger does? Kick up all the senses?" Danger had a lot to do with the way he felt, but not everything. The truth of the matter was, he couldn't fathom trading this moment with her for plush surroundings and an army of bodyguards. She hadn't complained about having to sleep on the ground and not once had she mentioned her hunger or thirst. Also, she hadn't come after him demanding to know how he could accuse her dead husband of anything. Yes, initially she'd expressed disbelief, but she no longer pounded at it…either because she knew talking wouldn't change anything, or because he'd planted doubts in her mind. "Devin?" "What?" "I just…I just need you to know how relieved I am that you're safe." He placed her hand on his knee and began running his fingers over her wrist. "I'm sorry I put you through that." "Did…did you get all your stuff?" "Yeah. My old cell phone—the one with Aaron's last messages on it—is in my back pack." "Oh." He was up to her forearm now, his fingertips testing her soft flesh. Finding a small scratch, he caressed it. She hadn't said anything but that didn't mean he could ignore what was on the old phone, could talk himself out of getting her to listen to it. He just wasn't ready to go down that road. "What's going on between us?" She gave a slight jerk but didn't really try to pull away. "I'm not sure. Maybe a celebration of life." "I understand." Warmth coated her voice. She rested her free hand on his knee. "I feel the same way." "Enough to…" "I don't know." "Good enough," he told her because he wasn't sure whether he wanted sex either. Sure, physically he had no problem with the idea. Despite the day's adventures, or more likely because of them, he couldn't think of a better way to end things. Unfortunately, they weren't animals in heat. They'd each brought their brains and hearts to the equation. That's what he'd do, listen to his heart and body and thus silence his mind. If he was successful, maybe his cock would end up inside her hot cunt and as long as it was there, nothing else would matter. Eager to test his theory, he settled his back against a boulder, then drew her to his side. She'd put on her shirt but hadn't finished buttoning it. Just the same, he didn't immediately reach for her breasts. Instead, he pressed the flat of his hand against the base of her throat. "You have a pulse there," he told her. "Strong. Steady."

"Thank you, doctor." She moved his hand to her neck and guided his fingers around the soft column. "Do you understand what this is about?" He understood his quickening heartbeat and the twitch in his cock. "Tell me." "Trust." The word came from low in her throat. "If you wanted, you could kill me." He wasn't sure he, or anyone else, could choke off life with just one hand, but he had no doubt of her point. Cautiously, he kneaded the area below her jaw-line. "Have you thought I might try that? I've thrown a lot at you, forced you to question things about John that—" "I don't want to talk about him." "I don't think that's possible." For a second or two she didn't move. Then she pushed away, but before he could decide what his response should be, she leaned back into him. "You're right." She sighed. "He's always going to be between us, isn't he?" "Maybe not right now." "I need that." Had he whispered sweet nothings with other women? Maybe, not that he could remember a word of what he'd spoken to the women who'd come before her…or their names or what they looked and felt like. What did it mean to have no existence beyond this moment or the woman in his arms? The thought frightened him, but if there was a way out of the emotion, he didn't try to find it. "I didn't know this was going to happen," he admitted. "Between us, I mean." "Neither did I, but when I first saw you…" "What?" He not-so-casually placed his hand on her inner thigh. "What did you think when I walked into the barn?" "I told you." Maybe so but he wanted to hear it again."I'm sorry if I startled you." "I wasn't. At least not after the first few seconds. I've…I've been alone for a long time." She sounded so young and vulnerable that it nearly tore him apart. Any other time, with any other woman, he might have been tempted to take advantage of it, but this washer. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But you aren't alone now." He gently squeezed what he could reach of her thigh through the heavy fabric. "Unless he finds us." "You don't want to talk about John." He spoke more sharply than he'd intended. "I don't want to talk about whoever is trying to kill us." She sighed and ran her hand over his chest. Like her, he hadn't taken time to button his shirt, making it

easy for her to slide her fingers inside the cloth. He felt the warm, soft contact in his groin. "Ignorance?" she asked. "Is that what we're after?" "No," he whispered. Had he ever felt more naked? "At least I'm not. What I need is proof that you're all right." "You know I am." Her fingers marched slowly south, teasing the area below his ribs and causing him to suck in his breath. If it was cold, he was no longer aware of it. "No," he admitted. "I don't know that. Those bullets didn't find you, but there's more than just the physical." "Is there?" she asked and he swore she was holding back laughter. "Oh, I understand what you're talking about." Fastening her fingers over his jeans' button, she deftly freed it. "The whole emotional thing. But I don't want to go there, not now. I need—you know what I need." A blind, deaf, and dumb man could figure that out. He also suspected the emotion wouldn't last long, and she'd need more than carnal affirmation that they'd survived, but he'd be a fool if he didn't take advantage of the situation. If he didn't let her take advantage of him. Standing, he unceremoniously dropped his jeans. His briefs came next, leaving him with his garments bunched around his hastily slipped into boots. While he balanced himself by resting his hand on the top of her head, she pulled off first one boot and then the other. He stepped free. Now it was her turn to stand. Before he could reach out to help her disrobe, she shucked off her clothes. He'd made sure they were sheltered by trees, and yet the moon found her. She became something other than a flesh and blood woman; her skin took on a silvery cast, making her all of one flowing piece, angles and curves, mystery and promise. His cock swelled even more. If he touched her cunt, would she be wet? He touched. She was. Dimly he wondered if he was going too fast, assuming too much too soon, but facing death had left him needing, not just sex, but her. When she spread her legs and thrust her hips at him, increasing his access to her, he knew she felt the same way. Stepping into the shelter of her legs, he bent slightly so he could work his fingers into her. She sobbed low and hard deep in her throat and grabbed his shoulders, holding on with everything in her. No slow buildup here; no lingering and languid seduction. This was going to be sex, tough, primitive sex. He came at her, one hand still in and on and over her pussy, the other grinding into her belly until she was forced to take a backward step. Her nails dug into his shoulders; he wondered if she was drawing blood. Still, he came at her, making her retreat until she came in contact with a tree behind her. He didn't like the thought of rough bark digging into her ass, but she gave no indication she was in discomfort. Instead, she released his shoulders, flattened her palms over his breasts, and captured his nipples between thumb and forefinger. She pinched. He felt, not pain, but hot electricity from chest to cock. "Fuck me, Devin!" "Just like that?" "Now, please!"

Now, please. This wasn't the practical woman experienced in wilderness trips, even a lonely widow. If she'd become a bitch in heat, what did that make him? A stud. Laughing at the image of himself as a stud or stallion, he nevertheless didn't fight or deny the possibilities. "Not on the ground," he told her. "It's too hard." "And bugs." "I see you've been thinking about this." "So have you." She pinched again. "Don't try to deny it." "Ow!No, I won't." Instead of trying to free himself, he moved his pussy-buried fingers in a slow, searching circle. She rewarded him with a throaty sob; her hot fluids drenched his fingers, ran into his palm, oozed toward his wrist. Her cunt muscles tightened around him, then spasmed. The thought of her heated strength swallowing his cock took him beyond amusement and exploration, centered him on the undeniable need for release. When this was over, he'd spend the day, the night, hell, a week pleasuring her. But not now. "How do you want it?" He slid his hand from her belly around to her ass so he could arch her toward him. She needed little encouragement and willingly bent her knees, making her more defenseless, more open to assault. "I don't know," she whispered. "I've had so little experience." And she trusted him to guide her toward what she needed. Understanding that changed him in a way he didn't quite grasp and yet knew he'd never forget. She didn't want to hear about his sexual history, and he didn't want that becoming part of tonight. "I want this to be for you," he told her. "For me, too, but mostly you." She shook her head. Although her features were only a blur, he swore he could see into her hungry eyes, understood the emotion in her soft and vulnerable mouth. Because he wanted her to be able to think, he stopped teasing her cunt. "For both of us, please." Her breath floated over his chin and neck. "Don't worry. I'll get what I need. Do you trust me?" Her response took too long and told him too much, and yet he didn't want it any other way. "At this moment I do," she said.

Chapter 12

He turned her away from him, guiding her by first placing his hands on her hips. The fingers that had so recently been inside her were wet with her fluids, and he wiped them off on her left flank. She looked down and back at what he was doing but said nothing. He wanted to take her now, hard, fuck her as she'd begged him, but even with his blood heating him, she deserved more. And if truth be known, so did he. Once her back was to him, he slid his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Her curves fit into his angles; the small of her back made the perfect home for his swollen cock. Still holding her against him, he slowly, lightly ran his other hand over her arm and around to her breasts. Not hurrying what was an only half-formed idea of how they'd accomplish this fuck, he concentrated on the outer swelling. She arched back into him, silently welcoming and begging for more. She groped behind her with both hands until she found his hip bones and clung to them. Her exposed and defenseless body said everything.I'm yours, all of me. Whatever you want to do, here I am. Inching closer and closer to her nipple, he tried to enter her mind, feel what she felt, want what she wanted. The experience, although not entirely new to him, had never been this all-consuming. She deserved to betold that he found her breasts desirable. He did, the truth coming out through his fingers, his nails, the heel of his hand. By turn he imagined that his hand was a feather; then it became a butterfly, even briefly, a fiery brand. Every time he reinvented himself, she reacted by gasping and sagging a little, pressing more firmly against him. Her head fell back against his shoulder. He leaned his cheek against hers and breathed in the forest scent that had become part of her. Although she could reach very little of him, he appreciated the effort, occasionally thinking of nothing except the touch, the taste even of her nails trailing up and down and over his hips. He wanted her to take his cock in her hands and cradle it, speak to it in the language of the flesh. Soon, yes, soon, he'd surrender to sex. But not yet. First he lifted and cradled her breasts, drove the heel of his hand into her lower belly, spun little spider webs with his nails at the joining of leg and pelvis. The gentle scratching caused her to growl in a way he'd never heard before. She was opening herself to him, inch by inch increasing the space between her legs, gifting him with even more proof of how much, at this moment at least, she trusted him. His head pulsed; he gave up trying to focus. He took told of her pubic hair and worked his fingers into it, tugging lightly, reaching even further around her so he could flick her swollen labial lips; he operated on automatic pilot. Yes, her body kept telling him.Yes, this is what I need. Play me; strum me as if I was a guitar . But he heard her only on a primitive, primal level because that's what he was becoming. His cock felt huge and hot and needy, and he begun thrusting it at her. He barely existed beyond his sex organ. Unexpectedly, she leaned away from him. Air unheated by either of them chased down his chest, reached his belly, attacked his cock. He shuddered and tried to pull her back into him. She resisted. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind, his body even. Only then did he realize she hadn't stepped away as he'd thought, but was readying herself for sex, for him. Bending low at the waist, she placed her hands on her knees for support and spread her legs as far as they would go. She looked over her shoulder at him, and although night kept many of her secrets, he sensed her embarrassment and courage.

Loving her, at least for this moment, he put his hands on her butt cheeks and spread them so he could slide his cock into her offered pussy. She continued to stare up at him, maybe unaware that he couldn't read her expression. She trembled, breathing quick and shallow. It's all right,he wanted to tell her.You'll always be safe with me, and this is good. But just the thought of those words made him feel as if he was bleeding, losing his independence, his protective layers. He could give her his body and take hers; he just couldn't talk about what they were doing. He slid into her, slowly working his cock in, each of them shifting position to make the connection as tight and sure as possible. While adjusting himself to her and helping her absorb him, he'd lost his hold on a little of his arousal, but the moment they were sealed together and he'd laced his arms around her hips so she wouldn't lose her balance, he started pumping. His heart pounded. He felt her heat and moisture along the length of his shaft, and every time his balls slapped her flesh, a shock jolted him. She moved with him, her thrusts timed so that each time he pushed his cock as deep in her as possible, her ass was rising up to meet him and suck him even further. And when he drew back, she did the same so his cock felt and tested every millimeter of her cunt. He could have raced toward a climax; she would have let him. But he didn't. Instead, he went deep inside himself and found a slower rhythm. He lived, breathed even inside her, educated himself about her inner recesses, explored her fully. He learned anew that she was physically strong and limber, that she didn't care that her breasts swung freely and her hair had come unbraided and tumbled down around her face. She'd all but forgotten how to breathe, and sexual excitement made her noisy. Her pussy wasn't just wet; it had flooded. He had to be careful not to slide out of her. He didn't. His pelvis muscles took over, picking up the pace, straining, straining, feeling as if he was climbing a mountain with the sun beating down around him and a voice screaming for him to hurry— maybe his own voice. He could do this forever. He wanted this moment to last and last and last. And yet the mountain peak was so close, and he might explode or die if he didn't reach it. Closer, closer he came to the edge. He swore he was running naked and exposed. He loved the way he felt, as if was expanding and expanding and a thousand tongues were licking his cock. Clamping his hands against her pelvis, he forced her to slow so he could concentrate, so he could prepare, be, do. Do! Release! Release and release and release until there was nothing left of him. Ana heard Devin's hard, short grunts, but she was too far gone to acknowledge them.This is you, she told herself.No longer a woman but a wanton. A true wanton! Her cheeks flamed; she wondered if she was catching fire. Then her pussy started to spasm, and she forgot everything else. She was going to scream, scream! Explode. Let it happen! Be that wanton. At the last moment before sanity and climax, she managed to clench her teeth. The spasms gripped her. She felt as if she was being torn apart.

***** She was no longer hunched forward like a dog about to be mounted. He must have helped her straighten and turned her toward him because she couldn't remember doing it herself. "I'm sorry. I lost you," he said. Devin sounded as if he was in a tunnel. Without opening her eyes or lifting her head from his shoulder, Ana struggled to make sense of what he'd said; it took a great deal of effort. "You didn't lose me. I'm here," she said. Her body felt as if she'd been floating in a heated whirlpool and was so languid and spent that she couldn't identify its separate parts. "And I was with you." "Then you climaxed?" "Several times. So close together I'm not sure how many." That she could say this and feel no embarrassment served as further proof of how far he'd taken her from the creature she'd always been. "I didn't mean for it to be that way." He stroked her back. "You asked me for something; I wanted to give it to you. But then…I think I needed to celebrate being alive as much as you did." He was getting at something profound, and much as she enjoyed the floating sensation, she couldn't stay there forever. She vaguely remembered him holding her up as his penis deflated and slid out of her. Her breathing had still been returning to normal when he pulled a tightly compressed waterproof ground cover out of his backpack and spread it on the ground. Not saying anything, they'd dressed and lain down under his blanket. After unsuccessfully trying to use his cell phone, he'd pulled her against him. She thought she'd fallen asleep but maybe she'd only been caught in the afterglow of sex. It was still hard to think of anything except their bodies' joining; with everything in her, she wanted to stay in that nothing place. But if she didn't face something now, it would only surface during the night. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. "You're getting tense." She wasn't aware of having moved and certainly didn't want to alter the way she'd spooned herself against him. The sweat had dried on their bodies, lending a slightly gritty quality to the flesh-to-flesh contact. She liked the earthy, real feel. "I won't press," he continued. "If you'd rather not talk about it—" "You're right," she interrupted. "I'd rather not. But it won't go away. I was almost asleep when it came back at me, almost like those bullets that nearly killed us." It was his turn to say nothing which made her wonder if he sensed where this was going. "You said. . ." She swallowed. "You believe you have proof of John's involvement in Aaron's murder. What is it?" He'd stopped stroking her back, but now he started again. "I told you; I've kept the messages Aaron left on the cell phone I used last year." She nearly asked how it was in his possession instead of part of the law enforcement investigation, but he was a cop, kind of, and could have every right to it. Besides, that question might distract her from the most important thing.

"It's with you?" she whispered although she already knew the answer. "Yes." "The battery is charged? I can listen?" Her temples throbbed. "Yes." He hadn't wanted to say that; she heard the reluctance in his voice. "Now?" she pushed. "You're sure?" "I need to do this before I talk myself out of it. Please, don't make this any harder than it already is." Silent, he slipped away from her and sat up. Silent, he reached for his backpack and pulled it toward him. He opened it and held up a cell phone. "I always keep it with me," he said. She was trembling again; this time her reaction had nothing to do with being cold or sexually excited. He showed her how to access the message function, turned up the volume, and placed it next to her ear, holding it in place. She kept her eyes closed. "Dev? Dev, where the hell are you?"a strong male voice asked."I sure hope you're all right, man. Next life we're going to get safe jobs like rodeo bull riders. I've made contact. It's taken about what we figured it would, hanging out at a good old boys' bar and shooting off my mouth. I bought a couple of rounds pretending I saw myself as hot shit because I'd figured out a way not to have to fork over for an out-of-state hunting license. Then I asked how many game cops are in the area. I'm not there yet. No one's come out and said they'd help me poach, but they sure checked out that bad-ass urban assault vehicle I'm driving. Nothing like advertising you've got more money than smarts. Anyway, I'm supposed to meet with someone tomorrow who's supposed to know something. It's all very hush-hush, at least as quiet as a drunk can be." "That's how it started?" she asked. "How Aaron connected with—with. . ." "Yeah." Devin sounded tired. "How he made contact with the man who agreed to help him do some out-of-season hunting. I didn't save all his messages, just the ones with meat in them. Aaron and I considered and threw out a lot of ideas about how to determine the extent of local poaching. In the end, although we knew it was dangerous, Aaron hired a man he'd yet to meet to take him into the Siskiyou Forest. The next message is when he tells me about it." Ana thought she'd prepared herself for hearing a dead man's voice again, but it still gave her a chill. "Me again, like you can't figure that out. You're right. We need a record of what I've learned and this is the only safe way to do it. I hate the idea that a local cop or game warden is on the take but it's got to be that; otherwise, the poaching wouldn't be so open. Of course, only having two enforcement-trainedForestService employees in southernOregondoesn't help. I'm going out tomorrow. Meeting my guide at dawn. I insisted it just be the two of us, but you and I both know that's no guarantee. I'll call when I can. Wish you were here." She swallowed. No matter how much she needed Devin's strength, she wasn't going to lean on him now. It had to be unbelievably painful for him to replay his best friend's last days of life.

"According to the message counter, he left this on June 29th," she said. "When did he die?" "July 2nd or 3rd." "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So am I." He didn't say anything for nearly a minute. "The next message is when he and his guide are in the mountains." Could she jump to her feet and run? Go back in time to when nothing mattered except coping with widowhood? Because she knew the answer to that, she punched the button that accessed the next message. "It's the middle of the night,"Aaron whispered."Damn, I hope I don't lose the connection this time. What a crap shoot. He's sleeping; I can hear him snoring. When we met, he didn't say anything about whether he could trust me. I told him I thought he would but maybe he'd already had me checked out. He shrugged and asked for the money up-front. I argued about that…I figured he'd get suspicious if I didn't. He just said that's how it was going to be. How he had to have it. Dev, he's a sick man." Grateful for the night, Ana still stared at Devin. She felt as if she was hollowing out. "I'd have to be blind not to see it. His skin looks too big for him, like he's lost a lot of weight fast, and he has dark bags under his eyes. He sits his horse as if it takes all his strength not to fall over. We're following a deer trail; he says it'll lead us to a place where bears feed. I asked him how he knew that, and he said there are ways to keep bears coming back. In other words, he or someone else is salting the area." As her sense of dread increased, she leaned away from the phone, but Devin moved it closer to her. "I started to hand him the money this morning, then stopped. I said I wasn't going to give it to him until I knew who I was doing business with. I could see him turning it over in his mind. Then he said he didn't have any choice, since he had to be paid. Write this down, Dev. John Briggs." Aaron went on talking, but she couldn't concentrate. Over and over she heard a dead man repeat her dead husband's name. John, gentle and easy-going, had pulled himself out of a sick bed and was risking everything…his reputation and maybe his life…to do something illegal and beyond comprehension— slaughter animals for money. "Ana?" Devin gripped her shoulder and shook it. "Ana." "What do you want me to say?" she ground out. "I heard."

Chapter 13

Devin had wanted her to lie next to him so they could share their body heat, but Ana knew she'd never

get any sleep if she could hear his heart beating. Besides, how could she stretch out next to Devin knowing what she now did? Tense but determined, she'd told him she had some thinking to do and for him to please not disturb her. He'd taken her up on her word, and now, maybe an hour after she'd listened to Aaron's devastating words, she could hear his slow, regular breathing. The night was getting cooler and cooler and without a jacket, she'd soon have to join him under the blanket, just not yet. She'd listened to the rest of Aaron's messages to Devin, but she hadn't paid the attention she should have. As a result, she now struggled to remember everything Aaron had said. Much of it had been about the logistics of what he and John were doing, the frustration of having little to do except sit and wait for a bear to show up. Apparently Aaron had convinced John that he wasn't particular; if they struck out killing a bear, he'd settle for an elk. He'd even offered to give John more money, but according to John, this time of year they'd have to go to a higher elevation to find the magnificent animals. "He's told me to be patient,"Aaron had said."But I think the truth is, he doesn't have the energy. I try to get him to talk about himself, but I'm not getting very far. He did say I'm not his first client and he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have bills to pay. From what I gather, he's concerned he and his wife are going to lose their ranch and business. He didn't say why." "Because we didn't have health insurance," Ana whispered, beyond tears. "We thought, because we were young, it made more sense to put money in the ranch." They'd taken a risk and that had nearly destroyed them financially. Unwilling to revisit the disbelief she'd felt over the growing doctor and hospital bills, she forced herself to comprehend why John, gentle John, had turned to poaching. Of all the things he could have done to try to make money. . . But what else had a chance of quickly filling his pockets? He'd talked to her about wanting to accept a friend's offer of a job in his real estate office, but the friend couldn't pay much more than minimum wage and they knew he wasn't capable of working full-time. Instead, desperate, John had gone behind her back and capitalized on his intimate knowledge of the forest. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. Johnwasn't capable of murder. He wasn't! She'd go to her grave believing that. But someone had killed Aaron. Facing that irrefutable fact, she forced herself to go back in time. Aaron had died in early July. John had lived another four months, but for much of that time he hadn't been well enough to leave the house. Early July. Just before the 4thof July. What had they done for the holiday? A chill that had nothing to do with the night sliced into her spinal column. A few days before the 4th, he'd returned early from what she'd believed had been an expedition with biologists and other environmental experts. What had he told her, that he'd been contacted by some California university staff members who were interested in learning more about how a forest serves as a watershed? Busy with a bumper crop of foals she hoped to sell for much-needed cash, she'd only expressed concern that he wouldn't have enough stamina. He'd assured her that being in the wilderness was better than sitting around at home. She hadn't thought anything of his explanation that he'd be meeting the university people in nearby Grant's Pass instead of having them come to the ranch. She'd been surprised when he returned three days before she'd expected him, but her concern that he'd been fired quickly faded because he'd looked so awful. Not just physically sick—something she'd come to recognize all too well—but something else.

She'd tried to get him to go to the doctor; she remembered that clearly. But he'd refused, insisting they couldn't afford any more medical expenses and he'd be all right once he'd rested. He'd added that the university people had reassured him that they could continue on their own since he'd familiarized them with the terrain. Still. . .stillsomething had been wrong. From then on until he was too ill to do so, John had insisted on answering the phone. He took to watching every news program he could find, read the paper cover to cover. He'd had nightmares that she'd attributed to pain and had been so pale that it scared her. No matter what she said or did, she could barely get a word out of him. And. . .and— Shaking, she clenched her fists. The night seemed to close in on her, and she couldn't swallow. The veins in her temple pulsed. Barely acknowledging what she was doing, she got to her feet and walked over to Devin. She sank to her knees beside him and touched his shoulder. He came awake immediately. "What is it?" he whispered. "Did you hear—?" "No," she interrupted, surprised that she hadn't given the sharpshooter a thought. "Not that. I just remembered something about John." He sat up and indicated she should sit near him on the ground cover. When she did, she felt the warmth he'd left behind. "That's what you've been doing," he said. "Thinking about him." "Did you think it would be any other way?" "No." His hand was only a few inches from her leg, but although she needed his touch, she hoped he understood how important it was that she concentrate. "I've been trying to piece it together," she said. "You've nailed down within a day or two when Aaron was killed because of the date of his last message, right?" "I don't think I have to tell you that, just as you don't need to be reminded that your husband was the only one with him." Despite the pain of his accusation, she stood her ground. "You're wrong," she said. Then, feeling his eyes boring into her, she told him how, using the holiday as her benchmark, she'd been able to reconstruct the time just before that. "I had the vet out to the ranch just about the time Aaron died." "Was murdered." "I know that!" How could she be so angry at a man who'd fucked her senseless? "John was there." Devin didn't say anything for several seconds. "You're sure?" "He'd gotten home the day before. I'm sure, if you asked the vet, he'd corroborate that because. . ."

"Because why, Ana?" "Because John had him look at the horse he'd taken into the Siskiyous." Emotionally exhausted and dreading what she feared would be Devin's arguments, she hugged her knees. Devin covered her fingers with his. "His horse had torn up the knees on his front legs," she whispered. "And he was missing two shoes. Also, the animal was exhausted. I remember—I remember asking John why he'd ridden him so hard." "What did he tell you?" "Nothing." She sighed. "He wouldn't talk about it." "And your conclusion?" Devin was massaging her knuckles, but she didn't let that distract her. "That something scared my husband. That he'd left Aaron and hurried home." "Unless. . ." Devin pulled her hands off her knees and placed them over his chest. "Unless he raced home after murdering Aaron." "The dates—" "I'm not positive of the day Aaron was murdered." She tried to pull free, but he wouldn't let her. "Let me go!" she insisted. "My God, how could you want to have sex with me believing what you do?" "You had nothing to do with Aaron's death." No, she hadn't, she admitted to herself as the unequal tug-of war continued. But she'd lived under the same roof as John and— "That's it, isn't it?" Her voice sounded like ice to her, and the muscles in her arms and back burned from the tension she'd put them under. "You seduced me because that's how you intended to get to the truth about my husband. How you planned to have him named as Aaron's murderer." "Someone has to be held responsible." He slackened his grip on her. "A dead man? What is it? Your need for revenge is so all-consuming that you're determined to get to him through me?" "Ana, keep your voice down." That's right. There was a would-be killer out there. "Thanks for the reminder," she ground out. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that whoever that is might have killed Aaron. That. . .that. . ." Disjointed thoughts washed over her. "I know what you're thinking," Devin said. "That your husband saw Aaron killed and ran away." "Yes." "If that's so, why didn't he tell anyone?"

Was she still struggling with Devin, or were they now somehow connected, feeding off each other? She didn't know. "He said nothing," she managed. "Because he was afraid whoever killed Aaron would come after him." "Was it that, or was he afraid he'd be accused of the murder? After all. . ." "I know." Hating herself, she finished for him. "After all, I'd have to testify that John had been paid by someone to take him into the wilderness—to the area where Aaron's body was found." "Yes." He'd gone back to massaging her fingers. "You'd tell investigators about the university staff members, but they'd learn that was a lie. Did John take a rifle with him?" She shuddered. "He always did." "Where is that weapon?" "I sold it." Her voice, her very being felt hollow. "He told me to sell it because we needed the money."

***** Like earlier, she hadn't wanted to lie down beside him, but Devin had insisted because her trembling alarmed him. He'd warmed her by wrapping his body around hers, and after awhile she'd stopped shuddering. No matter what his rampaging thoughts snagged on, he didn't voice them. They both knew the night held no answers. He'd come to the Briggs's ranch determined to get at the truth behind Aaron's murder. More than that, he'd vowed to hold John Briggs, or if nothing else, his corpse, responsible. Now with Ana's attempts at an explanation whirling around him, he felt further from the truth than he'd been at the beginning, but right now that didn't concern him. He wanted her. Plain and simple, he needed to fuck her until neither of them could think. But he had no doubt that he was the only one who felt that way; if she wasn't cold, she wouldn't be beside him now. Sleep, damn it! Shut it off for a few hours so you're ready for tomorrow. Determined to have that happen, he forced his thoughts onto whether he should keep his Jeep or trade it in while it still had some value. He wouldn't hesitate to start across country with a newer model which appealed to him because he needed a change, time off work, new scenery. Scenery he'd have to look at alone. Shit. It wasn't working. He'd no sooner admitted that than Ana changed position. She'd been curled up with her back to him, her butt settled against his thighs, but now she rolled over onto her back. She placed her hands on her middle. "You'd be warmer if—" "Don't," she said. "I don't care whether I'm warm or cold." He propped himself up on his elbow so he could study her. From what he could tell, her eyes were open,

and she was staring at the treetops. "What are you thinking?" he asked.We might as well get it out. To his surprise, she chuckled. "What?" he repeated. She turned toward him. Instead of propping herself up too, she placed one bent arm under her head. At first he thought it was just his imagination, but a moment later there was no doubt; she was working the fingers of her free hand under his shirt. Let it happen. Just let it happen. "I'm not thinking; that's the crazy thing," she said. There was still a hint of amusement in her voice, but it was being taken over by some other emotion he couldn't put a handle on. "I feel as if my brain will explode if I let anything else in." He sucked in a breath, taking her hand on the ride. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked. "Did you when you first approached me?" "I thought I did." "That's the way I feel now. Half believing there's a reason for. . ." She brought her fingernails into play and ran them not-that-gently over his ribs. "For what I'm doing. But I don't want anyone asking. . ." "I'm the only one here," he told her. She was still burning his flesh with those short, strong nails of hers. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand a combination of pleasure and pain. Maybe if he distracted her— Feeling no more sure of himself than she'd just admitted she was, he pulled her hand off his chest. Unfortunately, that meant he had to put it somewhere. No longer in contact with him would be safe, but that was the one thing he didn't want. Hoping he'd struck a compromise, he guided her hand toward his face and closed his mouth over her fingers. If she'd wanted, she'd have no trouble freeing herself, but until she did, he'd explore her. He began at the tips but soon worked his way down, careful to concentrate on the sensitive area at the base. By turn he was gentle and firm. The difference didn't seem to matter to her because every time he switched, she took a quick little breath. When she was completely wet, he withdrew her hand but kept hold of it. Mindful of how quickly moisture chilled at night, he placed her hand on his chin before dragging it down his throat. She used her limited mobility to take hold of as much of his flesh there as she could grip. She squeezed, not with enough pressure to cause pain, but there was no mistaking her message. Whatever you do, I'll be appraising, judging. And if you step too far, I'll make you regret it. He continued the downward journey. Slow, so slow that he felt the pace in his groin, he drew her hand to his collarbone and let her finger the hollow above it before pressing her palm over his heart. This man, this man who was both lover and enemy was entrusting her with his body. Yes, Ana acknowledged, as long as he held her wrist, he'd never allow her to harm him, but he wouldn't have let her take hold of his throat if he had any fear of her.

She wished she could be that sure of that. The pounding beat of his heart against her hand pulled her from that thought and took her back into sensation. The contrast between his body heat and the mountain air had something to do with it but mostly emotion was responsible. The longer she felt his life pulse, the more it became part of her. She imagined the organ as being larger than hers, stronger because his body needed that. Their hearts performed the same functions of pumping blood into arteries and veins, but they were more than muscles, more than machines. A heart also pushed blood into a man's penis, a woman's vagina. That was happening to her now. It didn't matter that he hadn't so much as touched her breasts or between her legs; she remembered what it felt like when he'd done that before. The thought alone was enough to harden her nipples and swell her clit. Was that what she wanted? Sex with Devin? The question was too hard to answer and made her temple throb. Barely able to keep from shaking her head, she struggled to decide what to do. The safe thing, of course, would be to turn her back on him, but it was too cold to sleep without him next to her. Besides, she wasn't interested in sleep. Dreams waited there. Dreams and memories, regrets and questions. Beside Devin, him inside her, meant she didn't have to think. Still not sure how to proceed, she rotated her wrist to let him know she wanted him to release her. He held on a little longer, then the pressure let up. Being free didn't help, at least it wouldn't if she took the time to debate and consider, but if she simply acted— Enough! She didn't want him to know what she planned to do because he might stop her. Besides, she needed time in which to build up her courage. When she moistened her forefinger and trailed it over his belly, he sucked in his breath and held it so long she thought he might become lightheaded. Intrigued by what she was doing, she fumbled one-handed with his shirt buttons and pulled the fabric back from his chest before placing her fingers and thumb in her mouth and washing them. She had no difficulty finding his chest in the dark, and although her fingers soon dried, resulting in friction between her flesh and his, he didn't seem to mind. She certainly didn't. Feeling a tug on her shirt, she belatedly came to the not so brilliant conclusion that he'd done some unbuttoning of his own. Her bra had gotten so dirty from being on the ground and she hadn't been able to talk herself into putting it back on after their first mating. As a consequence, nothing now stood between his hands and her breasts. She thought for sure he'd immediately claim them, but although she felt the warmth from his hands, that's all it was—his warmth. She sensed herself straining toward him. Then, just as her nipple made contact with a fingernail, she pulled back. "Tell me what you're thinking," he said. "I—I don't know." "I think you do."

Not sure he was right, she nevertheless waded through the morass of her mind. In there she found confusion and disbelief, sorrow because John wasn't here to defend himself, relief that she didn't have to choose between the words of two men. "I don't know what the truth is," she told Devin. "Maybe I never will. You either, unless you've already convicted my husband." "Your husband." He bit out the words. "Is that what it's going to be? He's here tonight?" Suddenly angry, she tried to put distance between them, but her body didn't want to move. "Is that what you want? For me to pretend he never existed?" "No. Damn it, Ana, I'm not that stupid or that selfish. But either this is between you and me—" He lightly touched her nipple, causing it to harden even more. "Just you and me. Or it isn't going to happen." Where had her anger gone? It had just been here and now. . .and now she was crying. She didn't think she'd made a sound, but he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. He didn't say anything. "I've never felt like this before," she managed through the lump in her throat. "It sounds so cliché, but I feel alive around you. Does that make sense? Alive." "Go on." Go on? How could she possibly do that when she didn't know her mind? Or did she and was simply afraid to admit it? "I feel. . . All the time I was married, it was as if I was only half awake." Her voice sounded small, but she didn't know how to change that. "Only half alive. I thought I was happy, in love. I was and yet. . ." Devin couldn't possibly want to hear any more about John. She didn't either but because he'd been a key part of who and what she'd been, she couldn't dismiss him. Or could she? Even now with her thoughts in turmoil, her body was telling her that the only man to bring her to climax was next to her. "Devin?" "What?" "I—I was asleep, barely existing. And then you showed up. That's what I can't comprehend. Not the other stuff, like what I learned from Aaron's messages." She'd taken a small step, and yet it wasn't enough. "Touch me, please," she whispered. "Are you sure?" "For this moment, yes." Her so-sensitive nipples tightened in anticipation, but the first brush-stroke of sensation was to the side of her neck. He ran his fingers in light circles from behind her ear to where neck and shoulder connected. She'd always been ticklish, and yet what she now felt didn't make her squirm and want to retreat. Quite the opposite, she found herself emotionally and physically leaning into him. She lost awareness of any other part of her body and felt, simply felt. There was something terribly sweet and intimate about his rough fingertips igniting the tiny hairs there, sliding over sensitive flesh, finding muscles and tendons. Wanting him to understand how much she appreciated his tender caress, she placed her hand against the

base of his throat. He swallowed; she found that erotic. Despite the distraction of what he was doing to her, she expanded her search until her fingertips lay over the vein just above his collarbone. Earlier today —or had it been yesterday?—someone had tried to kill him. That monster had failed, thank God. As if celebrating that fact, she felt his heart pump strong and sure. His fingers were on the move again. They still felt like feathers on her skin, and she marveled at his ability to go from hard physical labor to this. . .this sweet gift. She wanted to continue to do for him what he was doing for her, but the need to understand the full texture of his present to her was too strong. She stopped movement so she could concentrate—so she could comprehend how fingers on her neck could resonate throughout her body. She couldn't. The sensation was too large, too everything. Slow, putting her mind off anything else, he touched and tasted and claimed every inch of flesh from throat to breast. She felt, not the hard sexual arousal he'd ignited in her before, but a gradual silken coming to life. His nails slid soft-as-mist over her breasts, then between them. He rested there briefly, his hand nestled between her loose mounds. She could do this forever, being born by exquisite degrees, the journey going on and on and on. . .without end. Awareness of the heated cave between her legs became more than just humming energy. She felt herself grow wet, full and swollen. Still she could wait, experience. Only when he took her wrist and drew her hand off his throat did she remember her earlier desire to do for him what he was doing for her. Before she could renew her commitment to gift him, he placed her hand on her own breast and helped her flatten it. "It's your body, Ana. Something to celebrate." She could tell him that she'd always seen her body as a tool, a means of earning a living, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear. . .or what she wanted to say. "I'm learning that," she admitted. "But you aren't all the way there yet because you had so far to go." That was profound, wasn't it? "And you know the way?" she asked. "Only you can tell me that." Under his guidance she moved her hand in a small, strong circle. Her breast seemed to be filling with blood, heating from some unknown source. He spread her fingers with his own so both their hands were engaged in teasing and testing her there. Once again she lost touch with the rest of herself as she concentrated on exploring the difference between her fingers and his. They found a rhythm. In sync they moved to the right, then the left, pressed down firmly and let up, so her breasts—not just the one being manipulated—were in a constant state of excitement. If it wasn't for the sometimes uncomfortable drag of rough fingertips over loose and pliable flesh, she could have done this forever. "Do you masturbate?" he asked. No one had ever asked her that. Yes, her mother had stammered out a question about where she touched herself followed by admonitions that nice girls didn't put their fingers in certain places, but this was hardly the same thing.

"Yes. Sometimes." "And it satisfies you?" Her breath caught; her cheeks flamed. "Devin." Does it?" "Not. . .the way you have." "How do you feel about it?" How could he possibly expect her to carry on a conversation given what he—she—was doing to her? "All right, I guess." "In other words, it could be better." "Devin, please. I don't want to talk about—" "That's what I thought you'd say." Because I'm so damn sexually repressed, at least I was before you stormed into my life."You think you know me, don't you? That's what you're trying to say." Damn him. He was pressing down on her nipple as if trying to push it into her rib cage. Yet it didn't hurt. "No, Ana, I don't know you," he whispered. His admission settled around her and killed what small anger had started to take form. No longer interested in talking, she gave up trying to keep her eyes open. The breast they were manipulating had gone from savoring the attention to all but flinching from what now felt like an abrasive attack. What she felt in her cunt mirrored that, at least a little. "Enough?" he asked. "Enough?" His hand, and as a consequence hers stilled. "You're getting sore there, aren't you?" "A little."Please, let there be more to us tonight than this. "What do you want now?" No man had asked her that; she'd never asked it of herself. "Ana?" He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "What feels good to you?" "Ev-erything." She was afraid he'd laugh at her, but he didn't. "I'm not going to ask what you and your husband did because I don't want to know. But you must have fantasies. Things you think about when you're masturbating." "I'd. . ." "What? Ana, tonight is about us. We don't know what tomorrow's going to bring."

He was right, so right! "I'd love to be pampered." "In what way?" "A spa. Sauna. A massage." "That's it?" That was as far as she could go. "You sound surprised." "More like a failure. Unfortunately, I didn't pack my sauna." It felt so good to laugh! Lighthearted in a way she'd all but forgotten was possible, she guided his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm to mirror what he'd done for her. "It's all right. I forgot my swim suit." "You wouldn't be wearing one. Neither would I." Just like that, amusement gave way to yet another layer of awareness of him. "It's a wonderful fantasy," she admitted. "But cold as it is—" "Then we'll have to improvise." Wondering what he had in mind made her even more lightheaded. He guided his fingers past her lips, and she opened her mouth slightly, then a little more, inviting him in. He willingly entered, and she rewarded him by wrapping her wet tongue around him and caressing his fingers. Even when her jaw started to ache, she shrugged off awareness. It was slightly awkward, but she managed to stretch her arm enough to reach his waist. Going by feel, by instinct, by what she'd learned about him in the short time they'd been together, she finger-walked around his jeans' waistband from just above his belly button to as far back as she could stretch. At the same time, somehow, she continued to tongue-kiss his fingers. Her head was buzzing and even with her eyes closed, she swore her vision had become blurry. She wanted to unzip his jeans but knew better than to attempt anything so complicated. The arm under her had gone to sleep, but the rest of her was awake in spades. "Wait a minute." Slow to realize he'd spoken, she could only comply as he rolled her onto her back and unfastened her jeans. She opened her eyes so she could watch, or at least believe she was watching. He pulled the denim away from her belly but didn't try to remove the garment. Once he'd exposed her as much as he could that way, he rose onto hands and knees and leaned over her. Vibrating, she waited. Lower and lower he came, his head a shadow. His mouth found her first. Then he opened it and dipped his tongue into her navel. Sobbing, she arched her belly toward him. At the same time, she fisted her hands through his hair and held him there. He was a willing prisoner. Either that or she was wrong, and he was the master. It didn't matter. Nothing did beyond his tongue, his breath chasing over hypersensitiveflesh. He varied the experience by dampening the edge of her belly button, washing lower, lower until he wetted the top of her muff. She didn't want to hurt him but couldn't put her mind to whether she might be pulling his hair. She must not be because he gave no indication he was in discomfort. She couldn't keep still. By turn, she found herself trying to escape by pushing her buttocks against the

hard ground, or tightening her pelvic muscles and all but levitating in order to encourage him on. Much as she hated her confining clothes, the denim added to the growing tidal-wave of sensation. When, occasionally, he stopped bathing her flesh, the night air immediately cooled her where he'd deposited his moisture. Much more and she'd start shivering—only not from being cold. His tongue, mouth, teeth roamed her belly until she thought she'd scream. If she hadn't known that was dangerous, she would have. What he was doing kept her so focused on that part of her anatomy that almost too late she realized what his exploration was doing to her sex. The juices that oiled her and made her ready for his cock overflowed and dribbled toward her butt crack. She could smell herself. He must have too. Either that or he was becoming turned on without any help from her. The tempo of his breathing quickened, and when he briefly lowered his body to hers, she felt his trapped cock glide over her belly. The next time he did that, she was ready. Gentle and yet not overly so, she kneed him in the groin. He laughed, but because he caught his breath at the same time, the sound had a strangled quality. "You're a mean woman," he gasped. "I was simply checking out a suspicion of mine." "And what might that be?" "You're erect." "Erect?" He'd positioned himself so one arm was on either side of her, his knees between hers. "Lady, I have a hard-on." Another first. A man had actually said that in her presence."Yeah and I. . ." "You what?" Say it, damn it."I need a good fucking." He stretched himself over and above her. Only a fool needed to have that spelled out, a fact she made abundantly clear by ridding him of his jeans' confines with clumsy fingers. Once she'd peeled the garment down over his buttocks, he took over, eventually tossing it aside before settling his legs back inside hers. She welcomed him with both hands and discovered his penis struggling for freedom. It took a little maneuvering to find the opening to his briefs, but she managed that too, then cradled his newly-exposed cock between her palms. "Fuck my hands," she whispered. "I want to feel you that way." Calling on his well-honed leg and pelvis muscles, he thrust deep into the enclosure she'd created out of her hands. She was sorry she hadn't moistened her palms first, but in a few seconds, his pre-cum provided the necessary lubrication. Tender and tough, gentle and masterful, she worked him. He drew away, then pushed down into her. Over and over again he pumped. His cock seemed to grow larger and larger and was so hard and erect she felt as if she'd taken hold of a tool. . .or maybe a weapon. His breathing deepened. Sweat broke out on him. Determined to share in his impending climax, she pulled him closer to her exposed belly and arched toward him. The tip of his cock kissed her stomach. If she'd known how, she would have snake-walked so his cock could find her pussy. There was too much distance between his sex organ and hers. How— Don't think about yourself. Make this your gift to him! Help him climax!

"Ana!" Was he strangling? She fought free of enough of her sexual excitement to concentrate on him. He'd stopped pumping and was trying to pull his penis out of her grip. "What?" The single word was all she was capable of. "This has to be for both of us." "It is." "You're still dressed." Just barely, she told him in her mind. But he was right. Her damnable jeans were in the way. "It's all right," she told him. "I'm coming anyway." He shook his head. Although he was no longer trying to draw his cock out of her grip, neither had he given in. "That's not what I want for you. Let me go." "I don't want—" "For just a moment." She could do that, couldn't she? Her now empty hands felt lost. He scooted back so he was resting on his buttocks, then grasped her waistband and drew her jeans down over her hipbones. They hung up on her butt, forcing her to bend her knees so she could lift her ass off the ground. He tugged, then pressed his palms against her hips, letting her know she could settle down again. She did, and mentally followed along with him as he eased the denim one inch at a time along her thighs. Feeling herself being exposed this way, laid bare to the night and moon and him, caused her clit to twitch. He slid one hand behind her right knee and pushed up, causing her to bend it even more. Then, slow and in command, he pulled her leg free of the garment. She waited for him to do the same with her left. Instead, he guided her right foot between his legs. Understanding, she reached out with her toes and touched his balls. She felt them jerk. Concentrating, becoming a mix of him and her, she ran her toes under the opening in his briefs before gliding her big toenail over, under, and around the base of his cock. She'd never thought of her feet as being capable of giving and receiving pleasure, but both those things were happening now. She became minimally aware that he'd turned his attention to her left leg but what he was doing didn't register until the air kissed her calf. "No more jeans," he whispered. "How does that feel?" "Wonderful." "So does what you're doing. But that's not what I want—now." What was he talking about? When he rolled her panties off her, she nodded her approval. Then he stood and did the same with his briefs, and she nodded at that too. They still wore their shirts as concession to the cold. She'd heard that there were a million—well, a lot—of ways to have sex. Her imagination didn't go far enough; either that or concentrating on anything was beyond her.

Belatedly she realized he was still standing, his head turned to the side. "What is it?" "Nothing. I just wanted to make sure. . ." "Of what?" "That we didn't have to worry. Tonight." But in the morning, that would change. "We'll deal with that then," she told him and reached out her arms toward him. "We'll have to." He slowly sank to his knees between her spread legs. She waited for him to touch her pussy and take her away from thought. Instead, he sighed. "It's never going to go away," he whispered. "What isn't?" He was scaring her. "Until we know everything, it's going to be between us." "Yes, it is." She couldn't summon the strength to move. "I hate it like that." "So do I." From what she could tell, his erection was still there, and yet he seemed to have become less. . .less substantial. The forbidden topic had broken out of its cage. "I wish. . ." "What do you wish?" "That I'd never met you." He rocked away from her. His eyes seemed to darken and sink deeper into their sockets; she had no doubt that she'd hurt him. She lifted her too-heavy hands and laid them on his thighs. "I had to say it," she continued. "Because it's the truth. But we did meet, and I can no longer hide." "That's how it feels to you? As if I've forced you—" "No! It's not your doing. Not really. I-I'd—I can't blame you." "Then who?" "No one!" she snapped. "All right, no one! Someone killed Aaron. You couldn't face yourself if you didn't commit to finding out who." This conversation was exhausting her—and, she feared—driving a wedge back between them. Tonight, a pocket of time untouched by reality, belonged to them. "Devin, right now I only want one thing from you."

Chapter 14

His hands were on her calves, easing upward to her knees, pressing down lightly as if checking their strength, then upward again, feathering out to enslave her thighs. She held her breath and went with his nails, fingertips, palms. She'd caught fire and yet she wasn't afraid. Desperate to quiet his own questions about the danger in what they were doing, she fastened her fingers around his wrists. He didn't seem to notice; maybe he was so intent on her that he'd forgotten his own needs. No, she amended when he leaned down so his strong-as-steel cock brushed the inside of her knee. That length of iron flesh left no doubt of his arousal. She felt herself turning into him, then concentrated on trying to trap his penis between her knees. "No," he whispered. "I'm not ready for that." "You—you feel ready to me." He sighed and began tiptoeing his fingers over and then inside her thighs. With each touch he stole a little more of her muscle. "For sex I am," he told her. "But having you take me in your hands the way you did earlier—that's what I don't want to happen again." "You didn't like it?" She had to arch her neck to get enough oxygen into her lungs. "I felt. . .like a prisoner." So she wasn't the only one overwhelmed by what was happening between them. Maybe she could tell him that; he'd be equally honest, and they'd break past whatever barriers stood between them. They'd do more than have sex. They could become lovers. Lovers?The word was electric with commitment. No! She wasn't ready for that. What was the last thing he'd said? Something about feeling as if she'd imprisoned him. That's exactly how she felt now. And yet she couldn't fathom, couldn't handle anything else. Letting her body speak for her, she spread her legs and opened herself fully to him. He leaned close and breathed his warm breath over her sensitive inner thighs. She twitched, started to close her legs to protect herself from a more sensual assault, then stopped. She'd never wanted anything more than to offer herself up to this man. Play me. Dance with my clit. Turn me into your guitar. This was her, Ana Briggs, woman. No longer her parents' good little girl, her husband's dutiful wife. She felt, not shy or uncertain, but joyful. Something broke open inside her and burst free. "Look at me," she said. "My God, look at me." "I am," he whispered. "Believe me, I am. But that's not all I want to do." "Then do it," she whispered.Make me whole. As if reading her mind, Devin painted her with his fingertips, using a mix of pressure and strokes so soft she wasn't sure whether they were real or her imagination. Her pussy became hot, huge, too large to remain contained within her pelvic bones. Juice bubbled out of her, and the scent hung in the air. She knew he could smell it.Do you see what I'm capable of, she thought.What you've done for me. "Ready?" he whispered.

"For. . .you? Yes." "Not that. Not yet." "Then what?" "I'll show you if you trust me." "I do. You have to know that." After bending her legs even more, he pushed lightly down on her knees spreading them wide apart. He positioned his own knees so she could brace her feet against them before turning his attention to what of her he'd exposed. No longer able to reach his wrists, she rested her arms on the ground and simply felt. Simply existed. He began by stroking the area between her anus and cunt, the gesture gentle and yet demanding. Fluid from her sex flowed around his fingers. It came and came, warm liquid oozing from her and telling him everything about her. At first the change was so subtle that it didn't make its way into her so-called senses, but then she realized he was using both hands to trace the contours of her pussy lips. Up, down, over, and around his fingers marched, exploring her core but not once invading. "You're beautiful," he said. "You have an incredible cunt." Any other time, with any other man, she would have been rendered speechless, but this was Devin. "Do it," she begged. "Please, do it." "Do what?" "You know. . .inside me." "Not yet, my lady. When I've finished celebrating your gift." Shewas ready; couldn't he tell that! Unable to listen to her clit's lonely cry any longer, she rolled up off the ground, lifted her still-heavy arms, and pulled her nether lips apart. Not believing what she'd done, she fell back but didn't release herself. To her delight, he took the invitation. Although it was now crowded around her pussy, he slid first his forefinger and then his thumb into her wet opening. She couldn't think beyond that one part of her anatomy. He seemed to rest in there for a short while her clit pulsed and throbbed, feeling as if it was trying to escape. Then he took the needy piece of flesh between his fingers and held her as she'd earlier held his cock. He kneaded her clit as he'd ministered to her breasts, sometimes rolling the nub back and forth with his finger-pads, sometimes pushing it back into her, occasionally drawing it outward. "This is what you need?" he asked. "Oh God, yes." "You don't want me to quit, to free you?" She didn't want to be free. She wanted to scream. To explode, maybe to die!

There! Rolling toward her, swelling around and over her. Hot and wet. Release! Climax! "Let it go, Ana. Let it come." He still controlled her clit, taking it for his own, turning it into both their plaything, their shared pleasure. He was gentle and yet strong. She narrowed down and became nothing except a sex organ until, until. . . It started as a wave. She caught fire between her legs and was dimly aware of twin heats in her nipples. He stroked, flicked. Leaned in and breathed on her. Gifted her with proof of her sexuality. The wave grew, coiled outward from her pussy until she felt it in her belly, breasts, throat, teeth even. She needed to be free! To run and run and run! To scream! "Let it come. Let it come!" She felt like molten glass that shattered and splintered. Throwing back her head, she gulped in air and let her climax explode from her. She sensed her vulva jerk. The pace quickened until it became a tremor, a series of minute, yet powerful earthquakes. She started to scream. Devin clamped his hand over her mouth. The last thing she knew was the taste and smell of both of them.

***** She must not have been unconscious for long because Devin was still where she remembered him being, and the moonlight gave her a glimpse of his so-big cock. She tried to touch him, but her muscles hadn't yet returned. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "I take it that means it was good for you?" "I feel. . .as if I've been shot." "No, it's not that. You'd feel different." Laughing, she took inventory of her various body parts. With her shirt doing nothing except covering her shoulders, she was starting to shiver, thanks in part to the sweat that seemed to cling to every inch of her flesh. Although she still didn't trust herself to lift more than a feather, she no longer felt completely boneless. And she was starting to think. "You're getting cold," Devin said as he rubbed her thighs. "That's. . .that's not all of it." "Then what is?" Shut up. Keep it to yourself.But she couldn't do that; the woman she'd become wouldn't allow it. "You knew what to do." She indicated her still-exposed cunt. "It didn't take you any time at all to make me come."

"I didn'tmake you, Ana. You wanted it. You were ready." She couldn't argue with that. Still, she couldn't let it go yet. "You—you didn't want me to go on holding your cock. Cock. I can say the word. And yet that's what you did to me." "Yes." He drew out the word. "I did." "Why?" "Because it's what you needed." How could she possibly argue with the truth, his sensitivity and understanding? "I just didn't know it would be so easy for you to—you know." "Would you rather not be capable of a climax?" The thought of going back to the dried-up shell of a woman she'd once been made her shudder. "You're freezing." He began massaging her belly. "Not really. I feel as if I've discovered a stranger living inside my body. One you brought to life." "I can't take full credit. You had a lot to do with it." He was probably right, but now that she was along the road to recovery, she could no longer ignore the tension in her splayed legs. Maybe a ballerina could hold a pose for hours, but she was risking a cramp. She flexed her ankles. "That's uncomfortable, isn't it?" he said. "A little. More than a little." He slid away from her which gave her the necessary space to straighten her legs. She bit down on a gasp of pain. Once she was in a more comfortable position with her pussy again safe and secure within the protection of her legs, she focused on Devin. He was looking at her breasts. She started to cover herself. "Don't," he said. "Unless you're too cold." "I'm not." It wasn't a complete lie. "Do you want to sleep?" Part of her needed to regain the strength her climax had stolen from her, but she could wait. "Later. Now it's your turn." Because of the darkness, she couldn't be sure that he'd smiled, but she chose to believe he had. "Do you agree?" she asked. "You're in charge." She'd never been in charge in the bedroom, hadn't thought that was possible. But not only weren't they in bed, but Devin was a new sex partner; the rules forthem hadn't been written. Hopefully there'd never be rules. "I've gotten the ground cover warm," she said as she sat up. "Now it's your turn."

"My turn?" "To lie down." She rolled to the side and patted the spot for emphasis. "Unless you're afraid." He didn't say anything. Neither did he jump at her suggestion, but eventually he was sitting where she'd recently lain. She settled herself on her knees and scooted around until she'd found a comfortable spot for them. Then she pushed against Devin's chest. "Down, boy." His long-suffering sigh didn't fool her; beneath that act was a man unsure of what was going to happen next. Well, that made two of them. Once he was on his back with his hands folded not too casually on his chest, she surveyed what little she could see of the scene. What caught and held her attention was the thick, dark rod sticking up from him. She ran the back of her thumb over it, careful to cover everything from base to tip. He handled everything until she reached the slit at the top of his cock. When she slid her nail over it, he jumped. "Ah," she said, trying to strike a casual tone. "Duly noted. A sensitive area." "Very." "I'll remember that. What do you want? Kisses all over your body? Maybe you need a massage." "Not necessary." "In other words, get to the main act?" "Men are like that." The longer she studied and touched his cock, the more it fascinated her. Not only that, she was fast discovering that she wasn't as satiated as she'd thought. Her body was getting ready for another round. Another round? She was heating between her legs just thinking about having him shoved deep inside her. She was willing to do anything he wanted, but she sensed he'd settle for a basic fuck. Without letting either of them in on what she intended, she straddled him. Then she took hold of his cock and aimed it between her legs. He was staring at her, and although she wished she was brave or crazy enough to return his gaze, she couldn't quite pull it off. Besides, she had things to do. By putting her full concentration on it, she held back from inserting him in her cunt. Instead, she ran the tip of his cock over her labial lips duplicating the movements he'd made earlier with his fingers. She loved the idea of being able to control his sex organ. More than that, she loved the sensations that accompanied the brush of cock against cunt. After a few stops and starts, she hit upon a crude figure eight that kept them in constant contact. He'd placed his hands on her thighs and lightly caressed them, adding to her excitement. Her sex juices leaked out to keep both of them lubricated, although she suspected some of the fluid came from him. Through experimentation, she discovered that she was most sensitive toward the front of her pussy. Although he'd yet to penetrate her, it wouldn't take much to set her off. His grip on her legs became tighter, firmer. Neither of them had a rhythm to their breathing. "Ana. . .I can't do. . .this much longer." "You're coming?"

"As if you had to ask." But she had asked. For the first time in her life, she'd asked. Tears burned her eyes. He was right. He didn't deserve to be tortured. Smiling through her tears, she squatted lower and showed him the way into her opening. As soon as he began to slide into her, she released his cock and settled herself over him. She felt him every inch of the way in, the sensation like wet silk against wet silk. Gripping her waist, he held her in place, but even as her ability to concentrate faltered, she knew that she, not he, controlled their movements. If she wanted, she could pin him to the ground. Instead, she kept her weight on her legs and gave him his freedom, at least enough to allow him to pump. It wouldn't take long before his back gave out; maybe he wouldn't come before that. Surprised at her ability to remain clinical, she concentrated on his motion, then timed herself so they worked in harmony. She rode his cock, reveling in the sucking sensation. After a few moments, he stopped and let her do the work. No problem. After leaning back and placing her hands behind her on his thighs to give herself the necessary leverage, she locked her gaze on him and worked her body up and down, up and down. Her face felt numb. Her hair tumbled forward to brush her bouncing breasts. He reached up and took hold of them, and she guessed at the sensation he was getting from the ripple of movement. She felt her breasts, her belly, her thighs jiggle. It was as if her entire body was in on the ride. Under her, he gathered his pelvic muscles so he could rise up to meet her every downward thrust. She felt as one with the cadence. He was hers. Her prisoner. Macho man laid low by a woman's cunt.Her cunt. Laughter bubbled up inside only to be lost in her body's drive and retreat. She counted each downward thrust, sweated and tried to breathe. She wanted to concentrate on the heated friction inside her. He was a rod, a stake she'd impaled herself on. Instead of trying to free herself, she embraced and rode him. His fingers ground into her thigh muscles. She felt as if she was climbing a mountain—as if they were climbing it together. The exertion might kill her, and she didn't give a damn. She imagined that his cock had broken free of the rest of his body and had become a heat-seeking missile aimed at her gut. Her heart. She threw back her head, clamped her teeth down over her scream, her climax. Felt it from her clit clear through to her fingers and toes. Felt him pump and thrust, pump and thrust, then let go, his cum drenching her core. She couldn't be sure but she thought they were both crying.

Chapter 15

Devin didn't suppose he'd ever completely make his peace with the wilderness, but he'd managed to put

his childhood experience into perspective. Knowing that his best friend's life had ended here had made that perspective harder to keep, but that was nothing compared to what he felt at this moment. It was morning, maybe as late as 9 a.m. Neither he nor Ana had said much when they woke up wrapped in each other's arms. Knowing what the day would be about had kept him from asking her if she wanted to have sex again or ask himself if he had the courage to bury himself in her again. Now they were on the move—slipping silently through the trees to the peak where the rifle shots had come from. He'd tried to order her to start for home, but she'd refused, saying she needed answers as much as he did. Then he'd pointed out that she should at least search for their animals. She mentioned a nearby meadow John had told her about where the horses and mules might be. "He's probably gone anyway," she'd told him when he brought up the sniper. "That way he won't be risking discovery." Unless he's determined to kill us. He hadn't told her that, just as he hadn't said anything about how vulnerable he felt around her. That's what gnawed at him, not the possibility that he might be dead before night, but that he'd live and have to decide where Ana fit in his life and she in his. Breakfast had been a shared granola bar and water, but that's not what slowed his pace. He'd stopped asking himself whether this sniper and Aaron's killer were one and the same because there was no way he could answer that now. Neither was he afraid for his life. What made him wish he was doing anything except what he'd thought about for the better part of a year was whether his damnable determination had placed Ana in danger. He wanted her gone, out of his thoughts and skin. Out of his life? "Devin?" He stopped and turned to look back at her but was careful to remain crouched so his head didn't show over the brush. "What?" "When this is over, when we're back to civilization, I want you to leave." "Why?" His chest constricted, and he couldn't force air into his lungs. "Because I need to think." "And you can't with me around?" he asked. Although hadn't he just had the same thoughts? "You must know the answer to that." Her eyes were both dark and bright distracting him from her dirty face and tangled hair. "I need to remember who I was before you came into my life." "I don't think you can go back to that." She glared at him. "Tell me something, Devin. Why didn't we have sex this morning? You didn't even touch me." Earlier she'd stuttered and stammered when discussing sexual matters. Now she sounded, calm, almost clinical. He'd believe that if it wasn't for the midnight in her eyes. "You didn't touch me either," he said. "You're right. I didn't. But I asked you first." A sad yet relieved smile touched her mouth, then died. "That's all right. You don't have to answer because I already know. We buried ourselves in each other,

lost our separate selves. That's frightening." He nodded. "I don't want to be afraid of you, or of myself." She blinked rapidly, but he still saw the sheen of tears. "Devin, I want to thank you for what you've done to and for me. Because of you, I finally know what it is to be a woman. But I turned my life over to a man once. I'm not ready to do that again. Maybe I'll never be." "I'm not the enemy." "Aren't you? You took away the person I always believed I was." She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "Devin, I don't want to talk about this now. I'm not sure if I ever will. You scare me. Isn't that enough?" He scared her? What about howhefelt? On the verge of admitting that, he nodded and started walking again. She was right. They'd gotten too damn close. It was time for physical and emotional distance. As for whether that would ever change. Lack of food and sleep coupled with the tension he'd been under, stripped him of the ability to answer his own question. Accepting his limitations, he concentrated on the immediate goal. He had no intention of letting her get close to where the ambusher had shot from. He wasn't sure how he'd prevent that short of knocking her out, but if there was the slightest indication that bastard was still around, he'd do whatever it took to protect her. That was him. Macho man. A crow cried out, the strident call startling him. He scanned what he could see of the sky but didn't spot the bird. He started to look down again when he realized that his mouth was watering. Stopping, he took a deep breath. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he smelled an orange. "What is it?" Ana whispered. "Nothing." He kept his own voice low. "We're almost to the top. I want you to wait here." She grabbed his arm. "Why?" Think, man. Keep her safe."It's not wise for us to be together now. Besides, we only have one gun." He picked up a short branch and handed it to her. "It's better than nothing." She hefted it. "Don't be afraid to use it." "I won't." "And if something happens to me, get the hell out of here." Not giving her time to argue, he slipped off his back pack and struck out. After taking half a dozen steps, he looked back. She was straining toward him, the branch clutched to her breasts. Be careful, she mouthed. Then she sank to her knees and waved him on. The closer he got to where the shooting had come from, the more certain he became that he smelled an orange. Thick brush grew all over the slope leading to the peak. From what he could tell, there was a

small flat area at the top, but the growth prevented him from clearly seeing it. So the would-be killer was waiting for them, was he? Waiting and watching and eating breakfast. How would he like that orange shoved up his ass? Devin stopped and held his breath. He couldn't do anything to silence his heartbeat, but fortunately there was almost no breeze to hide the sounds of a human being. Hoping to hear something, anything that would tell him where the enemy was, he didn't move for the better part of a minute. He'd deliberately led Ana on a circuitous route so they'd start up the peak on the opposite side from where they'd spent the night. He hoped the orange eater hadn't seen them this morning and told himself that if their attempts at stealth hadn't worked, he'd have already tasted lead. How would you like the tables turned, you bastard.Give me half a chance and I'll make you regret — Was the man out there Aaron's executioner? Not John but the faceless, nameless monster who'd nearly killed Ana yesterday? Unwilling to hide like some terrified animal, Devin unholstered his gun which held a full clip. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to empty it into that unseen man, but if he killed him, he might never know the truth. And neither would Ana. In the middle of deciding how to best reach the top, he was distracted by the memory of how Ana had looked, acted, sounded as he'd brought her to climax for the first time last night. She'd reminded him of a fine violin waiting to be played. He'd never seen himself as that kind of expert, but he'd known what she'd needed—just as she'd known the same about him. She was right. They needed distance from each other, time and space in which to find themselves again. A new sound snagged his attention. He clutched the pistol in both hands, cursing the dense vegetation. After an indecisive half second, he started toward what appeared to be the most direct route to the top. He wondered if Ana could see him but didn't risk looking back at her. One step, two, a half dozen. The sound wasn't repeated, making him wonder if he'd imagined it. I'm coming for you, you bastard. And before I'm done, you'll tell me everything. You'll— Boom! Something slammed into his right shoulder and spun him around. Surprised, he struggled to stop his out-of-control movement. His upper body felt as if bags of cement had been tied to it, and his shoulder had never felt so hot. The gun slipped from his grasp. He took a step. Before he could take another, the strength left his legs, and he collapsed. The world had gone out of focus. The gun was under him. He'd grab it and…and. . .

The rifle blast wrenched a cry from Ana. She clamped a hand over her mouth, sealing off a scream. Her fingers cramped from gripping the branch. Lurching forward, she stared. Sick, she watched Devin slump to the ground. It wasn't possible, of course, and yet she swore her own blood was pouring out of her; she felt his pain. Disbelief and terror took huge bites out of her. She fought the assault, and when it became manageable, she locked her mind around the only thing that mattered. Devin had been shot. If he was alive, it was up to her to keep him that way.

Think! Damn it, think? The shot had come from the top of the peak. The sniper had known Devin was coming, but he hadn't shot at her, hopefully because he didn't have a good view of her. Yesterday she'd crawled on her belly to keep from being detected. She did that now but only after tucking the limb under her shirt. Like Rambo or Tarzan—it didn't matter which—she wriggled and wiggled inch by laborious inch. She'd decide what to do once she'd reached the bastard who'd wounded Devin. Wounded. Not killed. She couldn't handle that. Her journey seemed to take forever, and yet a small, analytical part of her knew that wasn't true. She'd covered a little over half the distance when she got her first look at the person who'd turned a sunlit day into a nightmare. The armed man hadn't quite reached Devin. His body language struck her as a cross between arrogance and caution. He wasn't particularly tall with short legs and a barrel chest. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't concentrate on that. Don't move, Devin. If you do, he'll shoot. Once again the question of whether Devin was alive slammed into her. She fought it off, refused to let that fear weaken her. The man's attention was focused entirely on Devin, and there were now less than twenty feet between them. Even if she sprang to her feet and charged, she couldn't reach him before he got off a shot. She'd have to get closer, somehow. Ignoring her scraped and sore forearms, she continued her too-slow advance. The sniper's legs were bringing him closer and closer to Devin's motionless body. Unable to do anything except watch, she fought rage as the sniper extended a foot and prodded Devin in the side. The man who'd owned her body last night didn't move. The sniper kicked at Devin again. Still no response. Don't be dead! Damn you! Don't be dead. Despite her terror, she continued belly-crawling. The smell of blood reached her nostrils and knotted her stomach. The sniper tried to roll Devin onto his back, but he must have lacked the leg strength. Either that or Devin's inert body weight— Cursing, the sniper stepped closer and rammed his foot under Devin. Then he leaned away, adding leverage to the effort. Devin started to roll over. Then as Ana surged to her feet and pulled out her branch, Devin grabbed the man's ankles and yanked him off his feet. The man hit the ground butt first but didn't lose his grip on the rifle. Devin was trying to sit up but something wasn't working right. Screaming, she charged. The man looked back at her; his gaze locked on her weapon. Jumping to his feet, he swung the rifle in her direction, but she ducked under it. She felt her branch strike something, but before she determine more than that, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. The rifle was arcing back toward her. Again she ducked, but the rifle connected with her collarbone, knocking her weapon from her fingers. Pain shot up her shoulder, her neck, exploded inside her head. Although she struggled to keep her footing, she lost the battle.

Disoriented, she looked around for the length of wood. It lay between her and the man she hated as she'd never hated before. His legs were splayed far apart, and he was leaning to one side. Despite her blurred vision, she saw him start to raise the barrel at her. "No!" Devin! Somehow Devin had gotten to his feet. His shirt was blood-soaked, and his right arm hung at his side. Still, he confronted the would-be killer, the pistol gripped in his left hand. Grunting, the stranger swiveled and aimed at Devin. "Listen to me, bitch," the man ground out. "Don't move or I'll shoot him." He was going to kill Devin anyway, unless Devin got off the first shot. But how accurate was he with his left hand? If only she knew more about rifles. Did the man have to do anything before it was ready to fire? "Who are you?" she asked, hoping to distract him. "Ana? You're all right?" Although it cost her, she ignored Devin. "What is this about?" she demanded. "Why are you here?" Instead of answering, the man kept his attention on Devin. "I don't want to die." Her voice came out a whine. "He m-made me bring him out here. . ." She jerked her head at Devin. "He lied to me. Didn't tell me what he. . .I—I just want to go home." Careful to telegraph her intentions, she got to her feet. The numbness was leaving her arm, but she kept it dangling. "Please, let me go home." "It's too late, bitch." "No it isn't. He—" Again she indicated Devin. "He forced himself on me. Made me—I just want to go home." Devin didn't move a muscle. The tightness at the corners of his mouth chilled her. "Let me leave, please. Once I'm gone. . ." "What do you think I am, bitch? Stupid?" Again she was struck by the sense that she'd seen this man before. "I didn't say that." The rifle was so close. If she lunged—"I won't say anything, I promise." "Like I'm going to believe you?" "Please, I'm begging you! He's been saying horrible things about my husband. My dead husband. And he raped me." "Then why are you still with him?" "I'm scared of him. He—he's talking crazy. Why did you shoot? If you hadn't, we would have never known you were here."

His harsh laugh nearly made her gag. "You don't get it, do you, Mrs. Briggs?" He knew who she was."How can I?" She had most of his attention now. If only she could get closer! "You hurt me." She started to touch her arm, then jerked her hand away as if unable to bear the contact. "Please, just let me go home." "Too late, bitch." Ignoring his awful words, she slumped forward, then staggered. Her movements brought her a few precious feet closer to him. "What the hell are you—" Devin dove at him, the force knocking both men to the ground with Devin on top. With his first move, the sniper slugged Devin in the shoulder. Devin grunted; the pistol started to slip from his fingers. Acting on pure instinct, Ana lunged for her branch. Ignoring the pain screaming through her, she clutched it in both hands. But if she attacked, she might hit Devin. The sniper still held his rifle and was trying to increase his grip on it. When Devin reached for it, the man struck Devin's shoulder again. Devin grunted again, went limp, his pistol under his hand. "Damn you, damn you!" Ana bellowed. At these close quarters, the rifle was worthless, but with the pistol, that monster could kill Devin; that's all she knew. Propelled by terror and determination, she used her boot to push Devin's hand aside and stepped on the weapon. The man swung the rifle at her leg. Because he was on his back, he wasn't able to put much force behind the blow. Just the same, pain started in her shin and traveled quickly upward. One chop with her branch.That's all she needed. But the risk to Devin— The second time the man struck her leg, she yelped and jumped back. Too late she realized she was no longer standing on the gun. Again the man reached for it, but with Devin's inert weight on his lower body, he couldn't reach it. Cursing, he tried to shove Devin off him. As he did, his grip on his rifle slackened. At that moment, Ana dropped her half-rotted branch and grabbed the rifle barrel. Leaning away from him, she used her full weight for leverage. Then, screaming, she gathered her muscles and shoved. Her forward momentum knocked the man back and onto the ground, bringing her with him. Despite that, she shoved up on the barrel, forcing him to lift his arms. Somehow she kept her balance and sidestepped his body, but her grip was precarious. She was trying to prevent him from bringing the rifle back down toward his body when she heard a solid thunk . The man bellowed and surged upward. Barely aware of what she was doing, she yanked with all her strength. The rifle came free. "Ana, get away!" Not questioning, she back peddled, the rifle clutched to her chest. Devin was on his knees, his face bleached of color. Once again he held the pistol. Like her, the sniper stared at Devin, but he was also gripping his left knee, rocking back and forth. The now shattered branch lay on either side of his knee. "Don't move!" Devin warned. "You even think about it, and I'll empty every bullet I have into you." The man believed him. His wide eyes and slack jaws left no doubt of that. The way he kept trying to touch his knee told her he wouldn't soon be walking on it. She didn't care. Only Devin mattered.

The look in Devin's eyes, part grim determination, part pain, too much of it hatred, stopped her. "What is it?" she whispered. Standing, Devin continued to glare at the man he'd just wounded, and who had wounded him. "Was it you?" he demanded. "Did you kill Aaron?" "Who?" the man asked. "Aaron Powers," Devin ground out. "Not quite a year ago. Near here. Was it you who shot him?" "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Fuck. You broke—" "Matthew. Matthew Black," Ana interrupted. "Now I remember." "Who?" Devin asked. Still in shock, Ana tore her gaze off Matthew. If anything, Devin's face looked even more bloodless, and she hurried over to him. "What do you want me to do? Maybe your cell phone—I've got to get help." "Soon. How do you know him?" Knowing Devin was holding himself together through brute determination, she lay the rifle on the ground and held out her hand, indicating she wanted him to give her the gun. After a moment, he did, then swayed. Fighting a fear she'd never known, she wrapped her free arm around his waist. "Sit down. Please. If Matthew so much as moves, I'll shoot him." Either Devin believed her or he'd come to the end of his strength. With her help, he did as she'd ordered. His shirt was soaked with blood. Looking around, she spotted Matthew's belongings and rummaged through them until she found a flannel shirt. She used that to tie a bandage around Devin's wound. "How did you know how to do that?" he asked. "I'm a rancher. I know first aid. Devin, where's your cell phone?" "With my back pack. Ana, who is he?" She'd almost forgotten about Matthew. Now she stalked within a few feet of him and pointed the gun at him. She didn't give a damn about this man. But Devin, who she loved—oh yes, loved!—deserved to know everything she did. "He's afriend of John's. I guess they hunted together, guy stuff, before John and I got married. I don't think I've said more than a few words to him." She stopped, stared. "What is it?" Devin asked. "I just remembered—my God." She crouched down so she was eye to eye with Matthew but beyond his reach. "You came out to the ranch one day. You and John walked off together. The two of you were gone a long time. When you came back, you left and John—what did you talk about? What?" "Go to hell!" Matthew ground out. He shifted position, cried out. "You don't know what they said?" Devin asked. "No. But John was upset afterward. Sick and upset." Straightening, she started back toward Devin. Unlike Matthew, Devin met her gaze. Even wounded and bleeding, unable to stand, he was incredible.

How could she have thought she wanted him out of her life? Thinking to tell him she'd been wrong, she glanced back at Matthew to make sure he wasn't moving. That's when realization struck. "It was hot when Matthew came out to the house." Her voice was expressionless; she felt anything but. "Early July. Shortly after John returned from the Siskiyous." "Not long after Aaron was murdered," Devin finished.

***** Ana believed herself fully capable of torturing Matthew to get him to tell her more, but that would have to wait until she'd gotten help for Devin. Because she was unwilling to leave her lover long enough to go down for his cell phone, she'd rummaged through Matthew's belongings looking for one. She didn't find it, but she uncovered enough supplies that Matthew could stay here for a couple of weeks. She also came across a saddle and bridle, but Matthew refused to answer her questions about where his horse was. After Devin assured her that he could hold the gun on Matthew long enough for her to scan their surroundings, she walked over to the edge and held Matthew's binoculars up to her eyes. Please, pleaselet there be a horse out there. I've got to get Devin— Yes, there! Not just one but her all of her missing livestock as well! All five animals were grazing not more than a half mile away. On the verge of letting Devin know what she'd found, she was distracted by a wide, flat area just beyond where the horses and mules were. It was a meadow, probably the one John had told her about, but instead of being full of grass and brush the way it should be— "Ana," Devin called out. "Are you all right?" "What?" "I thought I heard you gasp." Feeling numb, she stumbled back to where she'd left the men. Matthew stared up at her. "That's what you were protecting, isn't it?" she snapped at him. Then she sank beside Devin and leaned against his good side. "What are you talking about?" Devin asked, leaning toward her in return. "I found..." She took a calming breath. "There's marijuana down there. The whole valley is full of it. It— the crop is surrounded by a high cyclone fence." "To keep wildlife out," Devin whispered. He wrapped his good arm around her. "Do you have any idea how many plants—?" "Thousands." "Worth millions of dollars." She wanted to get to her feet, pick up the rifle and use it to beat the truth out of Matthew. Even more, she needed to remain where she was with Devin supporting her. "How long have you had this operation?" Devin asked Matthew. "Figure it out."

Devin took a long, shuddering breath. "This has to be at least the second year. Itwas you, wasn't it?" Matthew turned his attention to his now obviously swollen knee. "Ana's husband didn't kill Aaron, did he?" Devin's hold on her waist became tighter. "You did. What happened? John and Aaron came across your operation. You murdered my friend, but you didn't kill John because. . .shit, because you used to be hunting buddies?" "Devin, I'm so sorry," Ana whispered. "Don't be. You had nothing to do with it and your husband. . ." "Why didn't John say anything?" She felt as if she might fly apart. "If he'd witnessed—tell me! Damn it, Matthew! Tell me! Was John part of—?" "John?" Matthew laughed. "Your husband freaked. When he and that fucking ranger stumbled across my operation, he damn near wet his pants. He kept blubbering, begging me not to do to him what I had to do to that—what was his name?" "Aaron," Devin bit out. "Whatever. Ana, your precious John got down on his knees. I knew he was dying and besides, he didn't want the cops finding out about his little poaching operation. Hell, we went back a long way. When he said he wouldn't tell anyone, I believed him." "But you came out to the ranch and threatened him just to make sure, right?" she asked, although she already knew the answer. "I was protecting my investment." Matthew was quiet for a moment. "That's why I moved the body, so those local yokels would look in the wrong place." "And when their investigation didn't turn up anything, you relaxed," Devin said. "For awhile. Then it came out that your friend was an undercover cop, and I knew it wasn't over." "Ana," Devin said."Help me stand." Are you sure?But Devin was beyond caring about himself, and because she loved him, she'd do what he needed. He took several deep breaths and then walked unaided over to Matthew. "How did you know who I was?" he demanded. "I didn't—not your name." "But you wouldn't have come out here, wouldn't have tried to kill me, if you hadn't known I was here. What tipped you off?" Ana felt lightheaded. Did Devin suspect that she'd had—no! Surely he knew she'd die to protect him. "Shit. I don't have to tell—" "Yeah, you do." Devin positioned himself near Matthew's injured knee. "Maybe I broke your kneecap; maybe I didn't—yet." "No!" Matthew blubbered. "You're some kind of cop; you can't—Ana!"

"I'm not going to stop him," Ana said calmly. "Do you get that, Matthew? Whatever it takes to get the truth out of you, I'll let him do it. Maybe I'll help." "All right! All right! It was your sister." "My. . ." She couldn't finish. "She worries about you being without a man, you know. She talks. I listen." "You—why?" Matthew glanced at her, then went back to studying Devin. "To protect my investment. If there was any chance John told you what happened here last year, I figured you'd confide in your sister." "I—I didn't know anything." "Ana," Devin said."Did you tell your sister about where I wanted you to take me?" She nodded.

***** Soon Ana would go back over everything that had happened today, everything she'd learned, but that could wait. After tying Matthew's hands behind him and roping him to a tree, she'd gone down and brought back two horses. She could have managed leading a mount for Matthew, but when Devin told her he'd have law enforcement sent back for him and his marijuana crop, she didn't argue. She needed, wanted, to be alone with Devin. Despite what it cost him, he managed to get himself into the saddle but let her handle both animals. Intent on finding a way down off the peak that wouldn't jar him too much, she didn't say anything until they were on level ground. She should have gone ahead of him, but she couldn't bring herself to put that much distance between them. He rode leaning forward a little, cradling his injured arm with his good one. "If you need to rest, you'll let me know, won't you?" she asked. "I'm all right. Ana?" "What?"You're going to tell me that today has convinced you that you don't want anything to do with me. That it's too intense. "I'm sorry you had to go through this." "Me?You got shot." "It could have been you." She looked over at him. His eyes were clear, dark. And the way he was staring at her— "It wasn't," she whispered. "But it could have been. When I think of what nearly—Ana? I was wrong." She stopped both horses, leaned over and found the courage, the need, to touch his thigh. "Whatever you have to say, I need to talk first. What I said about wanting you out of my life, it was because. . ."

"I felt overwhelmed," he whispered. "You did, too?" Was she going to cry? "I've never felt—when we were together, it was everything. Everything. The sex. More than the sex." "Feeling as if we were one person, no longer separate." "You weren't ready for that," she said. "Neither were you." "No," she admitted. Praying it wouldn't be the last time, she began rubbing his thigh. "I wasn't. But then you were shot and—and I knew I couldn't go back to what I was before you came into my life." "When I felt that bullet, the only thing that mattered was that I stay alive because you—because you'd changed me." Shewas crying, but it didn't matter. "Youchangedme ," she admitted. "You made me a woman." "Would you like to prove that?" Confused, she blinked away her tears. Only a few inches away, just out of the reach of her fingers, Devin's cock pressed against his jeans. "It's telling the truth," he said. "About how I feel about you." "That's a purely physical reaction." "No, it isn't. Ana, I'm trying to say that you're the most important thing that's ever happened to me." "I—I hear you." "More than that. I need you to believe." "I do." Her voice was strong now. "Devin, I love you."

Epilogue

Ana hung up the phone and walked out to the front porch where Devin sat in the rocking chair, his feet propped on the railing. She leaned down and nibbled his neck. "That was the district attorney's office," she said. "It's official. The trial will start next Monday. They want to talk to us tomorrow to go over our testimony one last time." Devin shook his head, then brought his legs down and patted his thighs, indicating he wanted her to sit on his lap. She happily accommodated him. "Six months from his arrest," he said. "That's not too bad." "Six months." She sighed. "It feels as if we just met, not half a year ago." "In other words, you haven't grown tired of me?"

"Let me think about that." Taking his hand, she placed it over her breast. Just like that, her nipple hardened, and she became aware of her cunt. "Nope. Not tired. It still feels damn good." He slid his free hand between her legs. "Yes, indeed, it does feel good. Does the D.A. still think the trial won't take more than a couple of days?" "He said to tell you that he owes you a C note if it runs longer than that." Already it was getting hard to talk. "He—he also thanked me for getting you to transfer here." "He gave you credit, did he?" Devin unfastened her jeans' snap and started toying with the zipper. "I wonder what gave him that idea?" "I have no idea—except that you've moved in with me." "Yeah, I guess that would be a give-away." He pulled the zipper down a few inches, then slid his hand under the fabric and used his forefinger to trace a circle around her navel. "I was thinking. . ." "What?" She prompted. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she was expecting several families to return before long with the horses they'd rented for the day. Much as she wanted to have sex, there wasn't time for the kind and duration she wanted—that she knew he preferred. "What were you thinking?" Devin nibbled the side of her neck, then licked the spot. "This is working out pretty well between us, isn't it?" Welldidn't begin to touch at the mind-blowing changes he'd brought to her life. Now, nights weren't just for sleeping; sometimes they spent an entire night in the same bed and didn't so much as nap. Not only that, he was turning out to be a competent ranch hand, and she loved his enthusiasm for his career. It was as if he'd finally buried Aaron's ghost. "Ana," he whispered."I'm trying to ask you something." His serious tone pulled her back into the here and now. She straightened and leaned away from him so she could see his features clearly. She'd come to love his eyes, not just because they were bright and nearly black, but because they revealed so much of the man behind them. He could be gentle, calm, and strong by turn; the night he'd helped one of her mares give birth had been proof of that. Sometimes when they were having sex, she cried. Instead of questioning her about something she couldn't explain, he'd lap at her tears until they dried. That always made her laugh, and for some reason, he'd laugh too; that usually led to another round of sex. That was why she loved him, not just because of their active sex life, but because she adored his laugher. "Ana? I hope—I'm ready for this, and I think you are too, but if. . ." "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, what?" "I'll marry you." He chuckled. "What are you, a mind reader?" "When it comes to certain things, yes. That was a proposal, wasn't it?"

"It sure was. Only, I'm getting confused. Am I asking you, or are you asking me?" "You're asking me because you want to make an honest woman of me." "Oh no, sweetheart." He slid his hand back under her jeans. "It's way too late for that."

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