Lover in the Rough

by Elizabeth Lowell

  His hand slid down, seeking the warm darkness between her thighs. When he felt her liquid softness and heat, he knew beyond any doubt that she wanted him. He touched her slowly, learning the intimate textures of her desire, stroking her until she cried out and her warmth flowed over him. A fine sweat misted his skin as he felt the deepest rhythms of her pleasure. Taut with desire and restraint, his body gleamed above her like polished stone in the moonlight.

  She opened her eyes, dazed by the sensations that shivered through her. “Tiger God,” she whispered wonderingly, her hands sliding down his hard male body, touching him.

  He made a hoarse sound and covered her, all of her, holding her hair like hot silk between his fingers, Tiger God burning bright inside her, pleasure expanding with every movement of his body until she cried out and came apart in his arms. He let go of his steel restraint, sharing her ecstasy as release shuddered through him.

  Then he held her until they could breathe evenly once more. He kissed her lightly, repeatedly, as though memorizing her face with his lips. Her breath sighed out, pleasure and contentment in a single soft sound. Arms around her, lifting her, he rolled onto his side without disturbing the intimacy of their embrace.

  “If I’d known what was going to happen,” said Chance, nuzzling her ear, “I’d have brought one of the sleeping pads. I’d hate to bruise your lovely body on the hard ground.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” said Reba, burrowing into his warmth, holding him close.

  He smiled and teased her ear with the tip of his tongue. “Let me know when you begin to get cold.”

  “What are you going to do then?” she asked lazily, smoothing his chest hair with her palm.

  “Put your clothes back on you.”

  “I think I’d rather be cold,” she said, smiling, enjoying the confidence that came from being certain that she had satisfied him as fully as he had satisfied her. It was a new feeling to her, peaceful and yet almost bold.

  Silent laughter vibrated in his chest. “I’ll let you put my clothes back on me,” he offered.

  Reba made a face at him. “You feel better without your clothes.”

  “So do you,” he said, moving against her with an intimate knowledge that made her breath catch all over again. “You feel better than anything I’ve ever touched. Chaton.”

  She gave herself to his embrace with unconcealed pleasure. Her lips opened beneath his, meeting his tongue with sweet changing pressures of her own that she had learned from him. When the kiss finally ended she curled against his shoulder, drawing warmth from him. For a time they lay quietly, motionless but for his hand stroking the long curves of her body.

  The wind moved in the chaparral on the slope of the hill. Grass bent and trembled in the moonlight.

  “You’re cold,” said Chance, feeling her flesh roughen beneath the cool wind.

  Reba said nothing, not wanting to move out of his arms, to dress, to wake from the dream of him filling her senses until she felt nothing but a pleasure so great she could only cry out and hold onto him.

  With a lingering kiss, Chance separated himself from her and gathered up her clothes. “No,” he said when she reached for the jeans. “Let me.”

  The wine lace of her underwear looked black in the moonlight. He smoothed the lace over her, kissed her navel lingeringly, then slowly pulled her jeans into place and fastened them. As he picked up the blouse, its tiny faceted buttons glittered and winked. He eased the soft fabric over her arms and shoulders. Beginning at the bottom, he fastened each button.

  When he reached the point where he would have to cover her breasts, he stopped. He cherished each breast with his mouth, murmured another liquid, alien phrase and buttoned the rest of her blouse with obvious reluctance.

  “Warmer?” Chance asked softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  “Yes,” said Reba, her voice trembling slightly, “but I’m not sure it’s the clothes.”

  His smile was a flash of white against the dark planes of his face. He stepped away from her to gather up his own clothes. She moved quickly, scooping up everything in sight. She knelt in front of him, her arms crossed possessively over his clothes. He looked at her quizzically.

  “I thought you were going to let me dress you,” she said.

  “It’s more fun to undress me,” he drawled.

  “I’ll remember that,” she promised demurely.

  The first piece of clothing Reba pulled out of the angle in her arms was Chance’s shirt. She set the rest aside and stood. She pulled first one sleeve and then the other over his arms. Standing very close, she rubbed her hands over his chest beneath the folds of cloth, enjoying the masculine textures of hair and muscle and rippling strength. Finally she buttoned the shirt, standing on tiptoe to kiss him as she fastened the last button. His arms closed around her, holding her tightly.

  When his arms loosened she slipped from him to kneel at his feet. She reached for the rest of his clothes, hesitated, then let the cloth fall from her fingers.

  “Not yet,” she whispered, running her hand along the strong column of his leg.

  Chance’s muscles shifted and flexed beneath her touch, moving smoothly under skin that had been burned dark in the deserts and jungles of the world. Reba cupped her hands around his muscular calf, enjoying the feel of his strength. With a shadowy smile, she closed her eyes and moved her hands from his ankle up to the powerful muscles of his thigh. As though pulled by a magnet, she put her cheek against the outside of his thigh. Underneath the hair-roughened surface, his leg was hard and warm.

  The wind stirred again, blowing her hair across his bare legs, wrapping silky strands around his hips, caressing him like cool flames. She smoothed her cheek against his thigh as her fingers shaped the contours of his leg, oblivious to everything but the unique male textures of her Tiger God.

  Suddenly Reba found herself pulled to her feet, held immobile in hard hands. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Don’t you like—”

  The question died in her throat as she saw Chance’s hot silver eyes. His mouth came down over hers with a force and demand that would have frightened her an hour ago, but now it sent streamers of fire through her. She buried her hands in his thick hair and kissed him with a hunger that she had learned from him. His hands swept over her, peeling away the clothes that he had so carefully put on her just moments before.

  With fingers that shook, she unfastened the few buttons on his shirt. Her breasts touched the tantalizing roughness of the hair curling across his chest. His hands moved powerfully down her back, cupping her hips, lifting her until she fit over him. The intimate contact sent heat racing through her. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, pleasure and demand and surrender at once.

  Moonlight spun as Chance lowered Reba to the ground and buried himself in her softness. He found the wildness deep inside her, called to it, demanded it, and then drank her cries of fulfillment, giving himself to her as wildly as she had given herself to him.

  When Chance could breathe evenly again, he caught Reba’s face between his hands, holding her motionless, looking at her as though he had never seen her before. With infinite care he bent over her lips, his kisses as delicate as moonlight. The liquid words he murmured had no translation and needed none. They were part of the night and his warmth and his arms cradling her. She stirred slowly, echoes of ecstasy shimmering through her.

  “I love you,” she murmured, framing his face with her hands.

  His answer was another kiss, a tightening of his arms around her. “I don’t know enough about love to use the word,” he said. “I only know there has never been another woman for me like you.”

  Reba traced the sensual line of his mouth with her fingertip and fought the ache in her throat. She closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears caught at the base of her lashes. When she could trust her voice, she said quietly, “So I’m the best so far. Well, that’s something.”

  “Chaton—”

  “It
doesn’t matter,” said Reba, covering his lips with her fingers, silencing whatever words he had been going to offer in place of the only ones she wanted to hear. “I’m a big girl, Chance. I don’t need empty words from you. We please each other greatly. That’s enough,” she said, brushing his lips with her own.

  His hands clenched in her hair as though he sensed her retreating from him. He kissed her with a hunger that had nothing to do with passion. She smoothed his hair away from his forehead, unconsciously comforting him as though it had been he rather than she who had been hurt.

  “Reba,” he said, his voice roughened by emotion, “we have to talk.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “Now that I understand, I won’t embarrass you again by talking about love.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “I’m cold, Chance. I think it’s time we went back to camp.”

  He looked down at her, frustration tightening his lips into a thin line. He was holding her naked in his arms, yet she had never been further away from him. For a second he was tempted to keep her there, to make love to her until she came apart in his arms again. The temptation showed in every line of his face, in the sudden tension of his powerful body.

  “You’re very special to me,” he said, searching her eyes for the emotion that had blazed there so recently. He kissed her lips gently but sensed no softening. “Damn it, Reba, you’re a hell of a lot more to me than a good lay!”

  “And a hell of a lot less than a good love,” she said, smiling crookedly. “It’s all right, Chance. I’ve had a lot of practice at not being loved. I’ll settle for being enjoyed. But not this instant, okay? There’s such a thing as recovery time.”

  He knew that she didn’t mean recovery time from lovemaking; he also knew that if he pointed that out, she would retreat even further from him. With a last kiss, he moved away from her. When she held out her hand for the clothes he had gathered up, he hesitated before giving them to her, plainly telling her that he would rather dress her himself.

  Reba pulled on her clothes quickly, fumbling over the buttons that had given Chance so much pleasure. She sat down and began lacing up her hiking boots, struggling with the unfamiliar fastenings. He was already dressed, standing silhouetted against the moon, flashlight in one hand and shotgun in the other, waiting for her.

  A twig snapped loudly in the chaparral just down the ridge. As Chance spun toward the sound, he braced the shotgun against his hip and pumped a shell into the firing chamber. A cone of dazzling white blazed out from the flashlight. Caught in the unexpected brilliance, a young buck froze with one foot lifted. The flashlight winked out, freeing the deer. With a single clean leap the buck vanished back into the chaparral.

  Breath held, Reba listened to the retreating sounds. The image of Chance was burned into her mind. His speed, his skill, the flashlight held on top of the shotgun’s barrel to ensure that whatever came within the cone of light would literally be under his gun. Yet he had not pulled the trigger. She doubted that she would have been as discriminating under similar pressure. The sudden sound out of the darkness had sent her pulse into overdrive as she imagined being surrounded by dope smugglers bent on vengeance. Even now, her hands were shaking.

  Chance knelt in front of Reba and laced up her boots. When he was finished, he pulled her to her feet and held her close. She hesitated, then put her arms around him, returning his hug. Whatever Chance was or wasn’t, whatever he said or didn’t say, he was gentle with her. It was enough.

  It had to be.

  Seven

  Reba sat up, her heart pounding wildly. All around her was night, not even a pale shimmer of moon to outline the ridge-lines. A billion stars blazed coldly overhead, emphasizing rather than lighting the darkness. She shivered, wondering what had awakened her.

  “Go back to sleep, chaton,” said a deep voice from beside her. “There’s nothing to worry about. It was just a twitch of the dragon’s tail.”

  “What?” she said. Then, “Oh. An earthquake.”

  She sensed Chance’s smile in his voice. “Yes. A few more fractures in the tourmaline buried beneath us.”

  With a yawn, she lay down again. He reached out, pulling her into the curve of his body. Last night he had zipped their two sleeping bags together, over her protests. Now she was glad for the intimate nest. She put her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, and felt very safe. She yawned again.

  He laughed softly and nuzzled her hair.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked sleepily.

  “You. Only someone from Los Angeles would be frightened by a deer and yawn at an earthquake.”

  “It was just a tiny shaker,” she murmured sleepily.

  “The deer wasn’t very big, either.”

  Reba fell asleep before she thought of a suitable answer. She stirred restlessly during the minute aftershocks of the earthquake, but she didn’t wake again until dawn.

  The first thing she was aware of as she drifted slowly up from the depths of sleep was Chance’s warmth, his hands moving over her, bringing a pleasure that made her body melt in liquid waves. His mouth caressed her from her temple to her navel, a sliding heat that sealed the breath in her throat. Half awake, half asleep, wholly vulnerable to his touch, she could only twist languidly, helplessly, consumed by her Tiger God.

  When he finally came to her, she was crying his name, suspended in a sweet agony that only he could end. He moved slowly, powerfully, claiming her more deeply with each wave of pleasure that shook her until she came apart, giving herself to him without reservation. Only then did he succumb to her softness and heat, the siren call of ecstasy deep within her.

  For a long time afterward, Chance simply held Reba, caressing her with gentle lips and hands. She lay without speaking, holding onto his solid warmth, slowly becoming aware of her own identity again. She knew she had been taken without warning, without even the smallest opportunity to say no. He hadn’t given her a chance, but in the aftermath of sharing such extraordinary pleasure, she couldn’t be angry with him.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered against her cheek. “I had to know if I had driven you away last night. I had to know that from the core of you, not from whatever civilized expectations have been pasted on you by people who don’t know better or don’t care. Now I know. No matter what is said or isn’t said, you want me as deeply as I want you.”

  Reba wondered if love could be one of the “civilized expectations” Chance was referring to. She didn’t ask, however. She had promised him she wouldn’t speak of love again. It was a promise she would keep as long as she could. The day she broke it would be the day she would walk away from him and never look back no matter what it cost her.

  “Reba?” he asked, holding her face between his hands, looking at the cinnamon brilliance of her eyes. “Are you still angry about last night, chaton?”

  “No,” she said, kissing Chance before he could see the sadness beneath her honesty. “How could I be? You give me . . . beauty.”

  With a hoarse sound he held her painfully close. She returned the fierce hug without protest. This morning she knew the simple, devastating truth: She would rather be wanted by Chance Walker than loved by any other man.

  “Just for that,” he said after a long moment, loosening his arms reluctantly, “you get breakfast in bed.”

  “I didn’t see the bell for room service.”

  “No bell. Magic.”

  “I believe it.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure,” she said, laughter just beneath her words. “I went to bed wearing clothes and woke up wearing you. What other explanation could there be but magic?”

  Chance smiled like a tiger. “I’ll explain it to you sometime, in intimate detail. Very intimate.”

  He unzipped the sleeping bag and stood beside her, as naked as the mountains and as unconcerned. The thick gold light of dawn poured over him like honey, flowing over his skin, underlining the power of his body with velvet shadows.

&n
bsp; “I was wrong,” she said softly.

  He turned toward her with the grace of fire, his eyes transparent green, watching her.

  “You’re more beautiful than the Tiger God.”

  For an instant he changed, emotion rippling through him. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “Close your eyes, my woman, or the only breakfast you get will be me.”

  Slowly, dark lashes swept down, concealing Reba’s radiant cinnamon eyes. She drifted into a half-sleep until she heard the sound of a hatchet splitting wood. She opened her eyes and saw Chance. He was a few feet away, dressed in jeans, a black flannel shirt and a leather jacket that had seen much use in rough country. His back was turned to her as he worked. She admired the easy skill that reduced stovewood to kindling. He looked over his shoulder suddenly, sensing her attention.

  “Coffee in a few minutes,” he said. “How do you feel about steak and eggs?”

  “Predatory,” she said, stretching like a cat and then hurriedly bringing her arms back inside the sleeping bag. “Brrr! I’ve heard of hotels conserving energy, but this is ridiculous.” With a disgruntled sound she pulled the sleeping bag all the way up to her eyes.

  “I’ll speak to the management about it,” Chance promised, smiling to himself.

  “Do that. And while you’re at it, ask the laundry service what happened to my clothes.”

  “Try my side of the sleeping bag.”

  Reba groped around and found her clothes. She held them in the light and looked at them. “Your clothes are clean,” she said accusingly. “Mine aren’t.”

  “I had to walk to the Toyota.”

  She smiled winningly. “I knew you’d understand.”

  Laughing, Chance went to the Toyota and pulled out a change of clothes for Reba. He handed them to her and waited. He wasn’t disappointed. As soon as the cold clothes touched her, she yelped.

  “Warm them up in the sleeping bag while I shave,” he said, smothering a smile.