by Radclyffe
Leslie handed Dev her wet rain gear. “If the weathermen had been
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even close to accurate, we should’ve had enough time to get back to the
mainland.”
“And when have you ever known that to happen?” Dev leaned down on one
elbow, the length of her body stretched out beside Leslie.
Leslie hesitated. “Point taken.” When Dev smiled, she said more softly, “I really
thought we had another hour or two.”
“I should say thanks for coming,” Dev said quietly, “but I’m still too terriÞ ed to
be gracious.”
“TerriÞ ed?” Leslie arched a brow.
“I was worried about you.” Dev touched a bruise on Leslie’s forehead. “Looks
like you got clobbered with something.”
“A branch, I think.” Leslie traced a Þ ngertip over Dev’s cheek.
“You’re bleeding.”
Dev snorted and rubbed the blood away on her sleeve. “We’re a mess.” She
shivered violently. “And it’s getting cold. We need to get out of these clothes.”
“I don’t have spares.”
“You can wear some of mine.”
Leslie sat up and wrapped her arms around her torso. “Do you have a Þ rst aid
kit? We ought to clean that scrape on your face.”
“The scratch won’t kill me. Let’s get dry Þ rst.”
“Good idea.” Leslie glanced around the interior of the tent while Dev pulled a
duffel into her lap and unzipped it. There was absolutely no possibility of
privacy. Well, that shouldn’t matter. They were both adults and this was an
emergency. Still, Leslie’s throat was irrationally dry. She’d never seen Dev
naked. They hadn’t been in the same phys.
ed. class in high school, and Dev hadn’t played any organized sports.
There’d never been any reason to undress in the locker room in front of one
another.
“Here’s a sweatshirt and jeans. They’ll Þ t you.” Dev handed over the clothes,
piled similar items at her feet for herself, and began unlacing her boots. Without
looking at Leslie, she continued, “I’ve got socks for you but no dry boots.”
“Thanks.” Leslie decided that speed was the best option and hurriedly pulled
her top and bra off together in one quick motion. She was soaked to the skin.
“God, this is miserable.”
“Here’s a towel for your hair. It’s the only one, so we’ll have to sha—” The
words died in Dev’s throat as she half turned to hand Leslie
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the towel. Leslie’s arms were extended over her head with the dry sweatshirt
partway down. Her breasts were full and pale, her nipples puckered from the
cold. Even in the lamplight, Dev could see the bluish tint to her skin. “Jesus, Les.
You’re freezing.”
“I’m just—” Leslie went still, staring at Dev between the triangle of her raised
arms as Dev leaned toward her.
Rising to her knees, Dev rapidly wrapped the towel she still held in her hands
around Leslie’s chest and began to rub her vigorously.
“Christ, you’re shaking.”
It wasn’t from the cold. Even through the towel, Leslie could feel Dev’s hands
on her. Her brain told her that Dev was just drying her off, but her body
translated the movements into something quite different. She felt Dev’s palms
cup her breasts and Dev’s thumbs ß ick her nipples. Against her will she arched
her back, lifting her breasts and hips, seeking more contact. Her thighs and
pelvis nestled into Dev.
Leslie caught back a gasp. “You’re wet too. You need to get out of that shirt
and your jeans.”
“In a minute,” Dev muttered, leaning closer to reach Leslie’s back.
“Almost done.”
Leslie couldn’t tolerate the contact any longer. She either needed more, much
more, or she needed to get away from the heat of Dev’s body and the Þ re that
ignited everywhere that Dev touched her. She yanked the sweatshirt down over
her head, and once her hands were free, pushed the towel and Dev away. “Get
dry, Dev.”
Startled by the irritation in Leslie’s voice, Dev stared at the towel in her hands,
then into Leslie’s eyes. Leslie’s pupils were wide and dark, as if she were very
angry or very aroused. Dev wondered what secrets her own eyes revealed,
because while she’d been preoccupied taking care of Leslie, she hadn’t allowed
herself to consider what she’d been touching. But now, even when there was no
contact at all between them, she could feel the weight of Leslie’s breasts in her
hands. She wanted to touch them again. “Take off your pants and get into the
sleeping bag.”
Leslie waited until Dev had turned her back to remove her shirt before unzipping
her own jeans, struggling out of them and her panties, and climbing into the
sleeping bag. Much as she had when Dev had cooked in the kitchen the
previous week, Leslie watched the muscles in Dev’s back ß ex and ripple as she
dried her hair and chest. But in
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the kitchen, Dev had worn a shirt. Now the smooth expanse of muscle and skin
shimmered and called to her. Leslie closed her eyes and didn’t open them again
until she felt Dev shift around on the sleeping bag.
“I can’t get my pants on in here unless you get off the bag and give me a little
room,” Leslie said, feeling ridiculously like a mummy.
Dev, in a dry shirt and jeans, grinned. “I can’t go very far, but I’ll try.” She got
to her knees and straddled the sleeping bag. “That’s about it.”
“Great,” Leslie muttered, twisting around in the bag, rocking against the inside of
Dev’s thighs before Þ nally managing to knee her soundly in the crotch.
“Omph,” Dev grunted. “Glad you don’t have much range of motion in there.
Could be dangerous out here.”
Leslie couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Shut up, Devon, and get in here.”
Dev stared. “What?”
“What was your plan?” Leslie inquired evenly. “That I should sleep in the
sleeping bag, all nice and cozy, while you lie on the outside and freeze?”
“Well, I hadn’t exactly intended the freezing part.”
“Just get in here.” Leslie pulled back the ß ap and turned on her side to give Dev
as much room as possible. “Do you think the roof will hold up in this rain?”
The torrent outside continued and gave no indication of letting up.
“It’s good gear. We ought to stay dry.” Dev turned out the lantern and then
inched her way down into the sleeping bag, trying not to slide her body along
Leslie’s. When she was all the way in, they faced one another awkwardly with
nowhere to comfortably place their knees and elbows. Dev blew out a breath.
“The only way this is going to work is if one of us lies on her back and the other
sleeps half on top. So, top or bottom?”
Leslie couldn’t see Dev’s face in the dark, but she thought she heard amusement
in her tone. Tightly, she said, “Top.”
“Works for me.” Dev curved one arm behind Leslie’s neck and shoulders,
settled onto her back, and pulled Leslie down into the curve of her body.
Lesli
e’s head nestled on her shoulder, with Leslie’s torso
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and one leg partially on top of her body. Dev took a minute to adjust to the
unfamiliar and yet completely natural feel of Leslie lying in her arms. Then she
whispered, “Okay?”
“Perfect,” Leslie said sarcastically. She was fairly certain that Dev didn’t realize
just how much she meant exactly what she said.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Are you sleeping?” Leslie whispered.
“No.” Dev shifted carefully and resettled Leslie’s head against her shoulder. She
didn’t feel tired, and even if she were, she doubted she would sleep. Being
cocooned with Leslie had ramped her every sense to high alert. The smell of
Leslie’s hair, the tickle of Leslie’s breath against her neck, the soft weight of
Leslie’s breasts molded to her side—Dev felt as if she were underwater again,
only this time she was immersed in Leslie, and drowning was a welcome
pleasure. Her body was vibrating, and she wondered why Leslie couldn’t feel it.
“Cold?” Leslie unconsciously pressed closer, wrapping an arm around Dev’s
middle.
“No. You?”
“Uh-uh. Toasty.” Leslie lay angled onto Dev’s left side, her cheek against Dev’s
chest, above her heart. Dev’s heartbeat, slow and steady, was a soothing
counterpoint to the ß urry of rain on the tent. Leslie had never been this intimate
with a friend, and rarely with a lover. She and Rachel barely had time to have
sex. They weren’t into lounging in bed.
Dev’s body was solid, heavier than Rachel’s; her hand where it rested lightly on
Leslie’s back was larger, her legs thicker with muscle. Leslie ß ushed with a
body memory of Dev kissing her on the bench by the lake, the weight of her
pinning her down, Dev’s mouth on her bare stomach, moving lower. Oh, God,
don’t go there. Not with her so close.
Leslie focused on something safer—the storm. “It’s still coming down out
there.”
“We’re probably in for another twelve hou—”
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Somewhere close, very close, a crack like a riß e shot was followed by a thud
that shook the ground beneath them. Leslie ß inched and, unconsciously trying
to shield Dev, ß ung her arm over Dev’s face at the same time as Dev pulled
Leslie’s head into the protective curve of her neck. After long tense seconds,
Leslie started to breathe again.
“I guess if you hear it, it didn’t fall on you,” Leslie murmured.
Her heart was pounding, but she sensed none of the rapid irregularity that
usually preceded one of her light-headed episodes. She was just plain damn
scared. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner. We’re like sitting ducks out here.”
Dev laughed. “The ducks are doing a lot better than we are right now. Besides,
when we talked this morning everything was calm and clear.” She rested her
cheek against the top of Leslie’s head. “You came as soon as you could, and
you shouldn’t have come at all.”
Leslie poked Dev in the stomach. “Don’t start that again. I didn’t do anything
you wouldn’t have done.”
“Actually, you did,” Dev said. “I couldn’t have gotten that boat this far. I’m not
that good.”
Pleased, Leslie traced her Þ ngertips along the open collar of Dev’s shirt, just
skimming the warm skin beneath. “I practically grew up around boats. I’ve been
piloting one since I was tall enough to see over the steering wheel. When I was
younger, I loved the speed.”
“Yeah, I seem to recall that while you were tearing up the water, I was tearing
up the road on my bike.”
Leslie heard a wistful note in her voice. “Do you ride anymore?”
“No, the road shock really plays hell with my hip.”
“I didn’t realize it was a problem now,” Leslie said quietly. She knew Dev had
been badly injured, but she didn’t know the precise extent. How could she?
She’d never tried to Þ nd out back then, and hadn’t asked recently. Still
blocking it out, still running. God, what a coward. “You don’t limp. I never
realized it still bothered you.”
“It doesn’t, most of the time. Sometimes when I’m cold or stiff, my leg aches
but—”
“God, this must be killing you! Lying on the ground with me on top of you?”
Immediately guilty, angry with herself for not thinking of Dev—again—Leslie
tried to lift herself off Dev. “Why didn’t you say something? Damn it, Dev—”
Dev tightened her grip on Leslie’s shoulder, and since there was very little room
to maneuver in the bag, it wasn’t difÞ cult to keep Leslie
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in place. “It’s plenty warm in here and my leg feels Þ ne. Stop fussing before
one of us gets an elbow in the eye.”
Still grumbling, Leslie settled back down, but their positions had altered just
enough that her leg came to rest between Dev’s. She heard Dev gasp and knew
that her own breath had caught audibly.
“Sorry,” Leslie said, trying unsuccessfully to disentangle her leg.
She needed to get away from Dev, immediately. The place where her thigh
rested high up between Dev’s legs was hot, and she imagined the warmth of
Dev’s sex cupped in her palm. The ridge of Dev’s hipbone snugged into her
mons, and she barely resisted the urge to rub against her. She was full and
throbbing and Dev’s Þ rm body felt so good. So terribly good. When she
clenched inside, instantly wet, she pushed at Dev’s chest. “I need to get out.
Can you reach the zipper?”
“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Dev asked thickly.
Somehow her hands had ended up nestled in the curve of Leslie’s lower back.
Another inch and Leslie would be completely on top of her, and Dev would be
lost. Most of her wanted to be lost, because somehow she knew it would feel
like being found. But the little part of her that was still able to stand apart and
look down at them in the sleeping bag, with the world a screaming, swirling
chaos outside, told her it was not the time. She groaned softly. “When will it
ever be the time?”
“What?” Leslie whispered when Dev murmured something into her hair that she
couldn’t make out. When Dev merely shook her head, Leslie stroked her
cheek. Dev’s cheek was damp, and she was shaking.
Leslie wasn’t sure why, but Dev was hurting, and knowing that was breaking
her heart. Could the truth be so terrible? “I want to make love with you.”
“I want to too,” Dev said, lying absolutely still, her hands barely making contact.
She was afraid of losing it again, like she had the Þ rst time and then again last
week. But the wanting was a huge void begging to be Þ lled, a pain more
profound than any broken bone or mangled muscle had ever been. “I’ve wanted
you for so long.”
The tent Þ lled with silence louder than the storm.
Truth, Leslie thought. The one thing she still owed Dev, what she would always
owe her, was truth. The words tore at Leslie’s throat. “I want you
so much, but
I’m afraid it’s a mistake.”
“I know it is.” Dev ran her Þ ngers through Leslie’s hair, then cupped the back
of her neck. Leslie’s breasts were cleaved to hers, their stomachs moving
together as they breathed, their intertwined
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legs trembling. Leslie lifted her head as if to speak and Dev kissed her tenderly,
just the barest touch of lips. An ache of wonder Þ lled her chest and her words
came out on a sob. “I know it’s a mistake, Les, but I don’t feel it. When I touch
you, when I’m anywhere near you, places open up inside of me that are Þ lled
with sunlight. Places that have been dark for so long.”
“Oh God, Dev,” Leslie whispered, wanting to kiss her so badly.
She hungered for Dev’s passion to ß ood over her the way it had every time
they’d kissed, and the force of her wanting terriÞ ed her. “I can’t tell anymore
what’s real and what isn’t. Up until a few weeks ago I knew exactly who I was,
what I was doing, where I was going. Now I…I hardly recognize myself.”
“Do you love her?”
The question pierced Leslie’s heart, because she had never asked it herself. Of
herself. Even though she couldn’t see Dev clearly in the pitch-black tent, Leslie
closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see Dev’s face to hear the pain, and knew
what the asking had cost her. She kept her eyes closed while she searched for
an answer, because she couldn’t bear to see ever again what her words did to
Dev. Truth. God, what was truth? Were there gradations of truth? Was
something true only if she didn’t know any other way to be, any other way to
feel? When had truth become relative for her? When had love?
Did she love Rachel? Two years. She’d been a willing partner in making the
relationship whatever it was or wasn’t. Rachel was not at fault for never giving
Leslie what she hadn’t demanded, and Leslie would not negate her as she had
once negated Dev. She took a deep breath and refused to qualify or excuse—
as much as her heart screamed out for her to. “Yes.”
With trembling Þ ngers, Dev traced Leslie’s face in the dark—her forehead, her
cheeks, her mouth. Then she unzipped the bag. “I’m going to get out. Keep the
bag closed so you don’t lose all the heat.”
“What are you going to do?” Leslie forced herself to release her hold on Dev
