by Rebecca York
Chapter Seventeen
Francesca watched the slump of Zane’s shoulders as he walked unsteadily toward the stairs. When he started to fall, she was out of her seat, but he caught himself and made it to the lower level.
She closed her eyes, sitting very still, listening to the buzzing of insects and the slapping of water against the side of the boat.
Probably the panther wouldn’t come back. But what else was out there? She didn’t know, but she had a better appreciation of the dangers of the tropical night.
They were less terrifying than the dangers inside this boat. It was personal danger of a type that she never could have imagined in a thousand years of nightmares. A werewolf was a creature of myth and legend, a creature to be feared. And here she was trapped as consort of one of those frightening beings. She had sensed power in Zane that she couldn’t explain. Now she understood.
She shuddered.
Zane had said he was drawn to her since the first moment he’d held her in his arms. If she admitted it, the same was true for her. He, at least, had realized what was happening. She had been clueless—except for the zings of feeling that had kept assaulting her since the night of the fire.
And now what? Could she walk away from him? She tried out that idea and felt a terrible sense of loss—and panic. He’d said she was his life mate. Did she have a choice about that? Or was she now under the same ancient Druid spell that held him captive?
The past few days scrolled through her mind like a video tape focusing on everything she had done. Everything Zane had done.
She’d given him a hard time, probably because she’d been frightened, and she hated relinquishing control of everything, even when she’d recognized that Zane was far better equipped to deal with her problems than she.
Still, she’d told him all her secrets, and he had told her none of his.
She made a low sound. She’d thought hers were bad. His were an order of magnitude greater. Beyond imagining until a few minutes ago. Lord, if the government knew about his abilities, they’d probably put him in a cage and try to figure out how to make a weapon out of him.
She shuddered, yanking herself away from that line of thinking and back to Zane Marshall as a man.
He might not have shared his . . . his shape-shifter secret. But since the moment she’d met him, he had done everything he could to try and save her life. For his efforts, he’d gotten shot and become a murder suspect. Then he’d pushed himself to the limit getting the two of them out of the marina and down the river.
And probably he was in his bunk, thinking she was going to walk away from him as soon as they cleared themselves of the murder charges—if they could. She shuddered, wondering if there was any way to convince the cops that they were only trying to find out who killed her uncle and why.
She wanted to stop being a fugitive. And what else? What did she want the rest of her life to be?
For long moments she sat with her elbows on the table and her chin cradled in her palms. Finally she picked up the gun from the table and started toward the back of the boat.
###
As the curtain closing off Zane’s cabin slid back, he looked up to see Francesca standing in the doorway holding the gun.
“You’re going to have another try at it?” he mumbled, thinking he shouldn’t have left the weapon on the table.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice softer than he could have imagined after their talk in the main cabin.
She checked the safety, then reached over to lay the semi on the shelf above the bed before perching on the side of the bunk.
He had been lying in the middle of the mattress, trying to simply turn off his brain so that he could get some sleep. Well, that was impossible now.
“Give me some room,” she whispered.
He scooted over a little so that she could wedge herself into the space along the edge, turning to her side and pressing tight against him.
He didn’t move, didn’t let himself think about why she had come here. She didn’t speak again, and he felt his heart begin to pound as he waited for what might come next.
She lay with her head against his shoulder while she reached to trace the shape of his lips, then play her fingers over his chest, touching his nipples before finding more neutral areas.
He had thought he was too worn out to respond, but his breath caught, then caught again as she hitched up, stroking her mouth against his, just the barest whisper of a kiss that sent heat flaring to the farthest reaches of his body.
Then her tongue was stroking against the seam of his lips, and he opened for her, feeling her explore the line of his teeth and the sensitive tissue just beyond.
He wanted to hold her there, keep her where he could marvel at the wonderful taste of her and the pressure of her body against his hip. But when he started to raise his arm, she circled his wrist with her thumb and index finger.
Grasping his wrist with one hand, she used the other to undo the button at the top of the jeans he’d hastily put on after his shower. Ignoring his questioning look, she finished with the button, then slowly lowered the zipper of his fly.
She had already aroused him with her touches and kisses. He caught his breath as she reached inside the jeans and closed her fist around his cock. That was enough to make him feel like he might go off like a rocket.
When she released him, he heard himself make a moaning sound. And when she climbed off the bed, he wanted to plead with her to come back. Instead she stood beside the bunk and pulled her shirt over her head before unhooking her bra and tossing it away.
As she stood before him, she lifted her breasts in her hands. The nipples were already hard, and she took them between her thumbs and fingers, playing with them as she kept her gaze locked on him.
He could barely breathe as he watched her. Next she undid her pants, skimmed them down her legs along with her panties.
Naked, she stood looking down at him before reaching to pull off his pants.
He lay in the bed, fully aroused, struggling to keep from begging for more. She didn’t make him wait for long. His heart leaped as she climbed back onto the bed. Her movements decisive, she straddled him, bring him inside her in one smooth motion.
For long moments she stayed poised on the knife edge of possibility, and he forced himself not to thrust his hips upward as her eyes locked with his.
Her first movements were slow, teasing. And when she began to move faster, he kept pace with her, his breath coming in gasps as she brought him higher and higher to a peak of pleasure he had never imagined. He grasped her buttocks with the hand of his good arm, anchoring her to him, holding back until he thought he would reach his breaking point. When he felt her contract around him, he let go, his shout of pleasure vibrating through the small cabin.
They were both slick with sweat and breathing hard as she shifted off of him and flopped onto the mattress.
He brought his uninjured arm up so that he could stroke her damp hair back from her forehead. Pushing himself up, he looked down at her.
His throat was so constricted that he could barely speak, but he managed to ask, “Why, exactly did you come back here?”
“Out in the main cabin, I started thinking about what kind of man I wanted to spend my life with. I wanted someone steady, honest, loving, a man with principles. And when I thought about the past few days, I realized you were all of those things. Everything about you is right—except for one scary detail.”
“The big bad wolf?”
“Yes. But I guess I’m getting used to that, too.” She cleared her throat. “And your weird diet. Werewolves don’t drink coffee?”
“Any drugs play havoc with our systems.”
“And I guess I’m not going to be making you a lot of salads.”
He laughed, astonished at the one-eighty turn their relationship had taken.
Closing his eyes, he knitted his fingers with hers. They were in a hell of a mess, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get them out
of it. But for the moment he felt a kind of peace—and completion—that he had never before experienced in his life. His brother and cousins had never told him about this—but he knew they would have been embarrassed to reveal so much.
“Thank God,” he murmured. “I was thinking about what I was going to do if you walked away from me. Of course, I still have to figure how we’re getting out of this mess.”
“You work for a detective agency, don’t you? Can’t they help us?”
He sighed. “They were providing support. I called them when you were at the grocery. But I’ve been busy since then.”
He pushed himself up and reached for the burner phone that he’d set on the shelf next to his laptop. When he punched in the Decorah Security number, the phone was answered on the first ring—by Frank Decorah, who must have been at the office all night.
“Zane? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell is happening down there? You went silent after we last talked.”
Zane sighed. “Sorry. We were dealing with a situation.” Quickly he filled in his boss on Francesca’s trip to the grocery store and their departure from the marina.
“Are you all right?”
He sighed again. “Still recovering from the gunshot wound. Do you have any information on the other one—the guy who Francesca hit over the head to save my bacon?”
“He’s recovering in the hospital, but he’s refusing to say anything.”
“Maybe if he talked, the cops would get a better idea of the whole picture. Meanwhile, we’re murder suspects, and I don’t know how to get the hell out of the state.”
Teddy Granada, who was apparently also on the line, spoke up. “I can home in on your GPS signal. You’re on a tributary of the Augustine River?”
“Yes.”
“And I saw a shot of your backs as you walked down the sidewalk. Nice that everybody in the world has a cell phone camera.”
Zane made a sound of agreement.
“You appear to be in a swamp,” Teddy said, switching back to the current problem.
“It was the best I could do last night when I was falling asleep at the wheel. We had to get out of the main traffic lane.” He glanced at Francesca and then away.
“Understood,” Frank answered.
“Our car is back at the marina, and we can’t risk using it in any case. Also I didn’t want to take the gamble of stopping to fuel up, so we don’t have much gas left.”
“You have a plan?” Frank asked.
“I was thinking about something. Maybe it will work and maybe it won’t.”
“Let’s hear it,” Frank prompted.
After listening to what Zane had in mind, Frank approved, with one caution. “We can’t get an operation like that up and running for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Understood.”
“Sit tight. We’ll let you know the location—and the timing.”
Zane clicked off and turned to Francesca. “We’re going to have to stay here for at least a day.”
“And do what?” she asked.
He shook his head regretfully, “How about—pray that nobody figures out where we might have gone and comes up this tributary looking for us?”
“You have a way of dampening my enthusiasm for a little R and R.” She gave him a considering look. “I guess we have to keep watch, but you should let me take the first shift. And you have to eat something. Do you think you could choke down any more of that chicken soup?”
Now that the wolf was no longer a secret, he said, “I’d rather go hunting in the swamp.”
“I’d rather not worry about you out there.”
“Point taken.” His voice turned serious. “That panther could come back. I don’t want you out on the deck.”
“Yes.”
Francesca took the gun out to the main cabin. Zane joined her just after noon.
“I take it there were no problems,” he said.
“A couple of times I heard a boat in the distance, but nobody came up this way.”
“Good.” Zane sat down in the pilot’s chair. “You get some sleep. I’ll stay here—hoping a nice juicy snake drops onto the deck so I can eat it.”
“Would you?”
“Doesn’t everybody say snake tastes like chicken?”
She made a face. “I’m not going to find out.”
“You would if you were hungry enough,” he answered, glad that they were relaxed enough to banter.
“I’ve still got stuff from yesterday.”
“The power to the fridge is off.”
“But nobody’s opened the door. It should be okay.”
She ate a sandwich and washed it down with bottled water before heading back to her bunk.
Zane kept watch, listening to the sounds of the untamed area. He was feeling remarkably better, and he wished he could slip off into the swamp, but he wasn’t going to leave his mate unprotected.
Early the next morning, his phone rang. It was Frank. “You can start heading toward the marina on the other side of the swamp,” he said.
“Let’s hope the Lady Slipper can get through.”
Francesca, who had heard the phone, came up the stairs and stood by the cabin door. “Are we ready to leave?” she asked when he clicked off the call.
“Yes.”
“Thank God. This waiting is nerve-wracking.”
He crossed to her, taking her in his arms and simply holding her. He’d hated being so close and yet unable to be with her. Now he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying her body pressed to him.
She raised her face, and he lowered his head, so that their lips met. Instantly he felt so aroused that his head spun. His hands moved over her, her ribs, her hips, the sides of her breasts. She moaned and eased the top part of her body away from him so that he could cup her breasts through her shirt. Reaching around to her back, she unhooked her bra and pulled it out of the way.
He swept her shirt and bra upward, bending to find one hardened nipple with his mouth, while his fingers played over its mate.
“God yes,” she sobbed, clasping her hands around the back of his head.
She had already kicked off her pants and panties when he lifted her onto the table, freeing his cock before stepping between her legs and plunging into her.
They both gasped at the intimate contact. He pulled back and pressed forward again, compelled to rush toward completion even while he was trying to keep himself from coming in the next few seconds, but she was right with him, pushing for her climax as they rocked wildly together.
They exploded in a fiery burst of ecstasy, both of them gasping for breath as they clung together.
She lifted her head, staring up at him, her eyes reflecting the depths of the emotions he felt.
“That’s what it’s like to make love with a wolf?” she asked.
“Only when he’s doing it with his mate,” he managed to say.
“It was never like that for you before?”
“Not hardly.”
“Well, I can certainly say the same.”
She kept her arms around him, holding him to her. But finally he kissed her once more and eased away.
She gave him a long look. “I guess you’re feeling better.”
He grinned. “Apparently. I’d like to see if I could last a little longer, but we have to leave.”
“I know. But let me get cleaned up first.”
He nodded, admiring the curve of her butt as she picked up her clothing from the deck and scurried for the stairs. He wanted to follow her, but he knew he had to stick to business.
She was back a few minutes later, dressed in a fresh tee shirt and cutoffs. “How far are we going?” she asked.
“Under five miles, I think.” He didn’t say that he was worried about the depths of the channel. There hadn’t been much rain lately, and if the water level had dropped too much, they were in trouble. Instead of voicing his concerns, he said, “I’ll cast off.”
As he str
ode to the back deck, he registered that Francesca was right. He was almost recovered from getting shot—thanks to recuperative powers of the werewolf constitution.
Outside, he found where she’d tied the lines to the branches above the boat.
When he’d freed the Lady Slipper from the unconventional mooring, he came back inside and started the engine. The gas gauge was pretty low, but he thought they had enough fuel to make it.
Francesca sat on the banquette near the pilot’s chair, watching him move to the middle of the channel. He kept the speed low as he headed toward the other side of the swamp.
He had decided they were going to be okay when the boat struck a hidden obstruction below the surface and began making grinding noises as it struggled to move forward
“What happened?” Francesca asked, alarm in her voice.
“We’re scraping the bottom,” he answered as he backed up a little.
“The river’s not deep enough for this boat?”
”Apparently.” Changing course, he tried to steer toward the opposite bank, with little effect. The craft felt like it was trying to plow through liquid mud rather than water, and he knew he was going to damage the engine if he kept trying to batter his way through.
Instead, he reversed, easing away from the channel and heading toward the side again. But now the water was too low to maneuver.
Francesca gave him a worried look. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to have to take the dinghy the rest of the way.”
He looked back toward the cabins. “We’d better get what we need off the boat.”
“How much can we carry?”
He laughed. “Only the essentials, like my laptop.”
He brought the computer plus his equipment bag and gun then flooded the suitcase with their clothing and tossed it over the side. Next he set about getting the dinghy into the water. It was made of heavy-duty rubber, but detaching it from the Lady Slipper was hell on his arm. He positioned it off the end of the bigger boat before lowering the outboard into the water. At least he knew the craft would float, but he silently prayed the engine would start when he pulled the cord.
