Her Passionate Need

by Vonna Harper

  "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 been alone 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 f
elt 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 of her 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 t
heir 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.