Primal Obsession

by Susan Vaughan

  They came together in an embrace that banished her resistance. As soon as their mouths met and opened to each other, she pressed closer to him with a sizzling kiss that jolted his senses.

  The sweep of her tongue against his coursed waves of need through his body. She nibbled at his lips, brushed her mouth across his mustache, rubbed her fingertips over his chest hair, over the contours of his muscles. She was sweet and bold, strong and vulnerable, and he wanted her with a desperation that made him shudder.

  He tugged up her shirt and ran his hands over her smooth flesh, the curve of her waist, the indent of her spine. His mangled fingers wouldn’t cooperate to unclasp her bra, so he pushed it out of the way until he could cup one breast. Her tremulous murmur when he massaged the velvety aureole hardened him to the aching point.

  “Sam,” she sighed, pressing her breast into his palm.

  He bent to give her what she seemed to ask for. Taking her sweet breast in his mouth, he suckled the taut rose-colored nipple. “Beautiful. So sweet. God, I want you, Annie.”

  “Sam, we can’t... I won’t...” Her hands stilled on his body. Pulled away.

  He fought for control. Panting, he raised his head. Ben was right. He shouldn’t have sex with a client. But this was Annie. He didn’t understand, but he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. “Tonight. Come to my tent.”

  “No, I won’t have sex with you. Not now. Not tonight. Not at all. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. You’re all wrong for me, and you know I have to concentrate on the Hunter.”

  Aching, he pinned her with his gaze. “Wrong for you? No kidding. We’re oil and water, sweetheart, but as combustible as dry tinder. We will make that fire together. Make no mistake about that.”

  “You’re pushing it.” The breathiness of her voice belied the fierceness of her words.

  He trailed an index finger across her nipple, still moist and tight from his mouth. When she shivered, he continued up her shoulder blade to her stubborn chin. “But when we do make love, I want no one between us. Sure as hell not a crazed killer. So go crank up your baby computer. Search your notes.”

  “Thank you very much. I will.” She pivoted, but made no move to leave.

  “But ask yourself, would your friend Emma want you to throw yourself into this obsession? Wasn’t enjoying the wilderness and life the reason for this expedition in the first place? Wasn’t the trip for Emma too?”

  “Butt out, Sam.” She wrenched her bra in place and smoothed her shirt.

  “I know something about obsession. I know how destructive it is. Because of this.” He held up his injured hand.

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it? For months after my accident, I obsessed on rehab and getting back into the game. When that didn’t happen, wouldn’t happen, I obsessed on fury at the world because I couldn’t play baseball. I let it eat at me. I alienated my friends. I drank myself into a stupor and deep-sixed my job in the Red Sox front office.”

  “I didn’t know it was that bad. I’m sorry. Was that when your marriage ended too?”

  “My marriage ended as soon as that fast ball crushed my hand. I just didn’t know it until later.” He drew a deep breath as the whirlwind of it all twisted and coiled inside him. “Tricia enjoyed the good life as the wife of a Red Sox player. As soon as the surgeons told her my condition, she started packing.” He shrugged. “Probably for the best. I would have driven her off anyway.”

  “Not if she really loved you.” She shook her head, as if denying any sympathy for him. “I understand your anger and how self-destructive it was.”

  “No, you don’t. If you did, you’d recognize your obsession with the Hunter.”

  She folded her arms and leveled a glare at him. “That’s not the same thing at all. People have died at the hands of this madman. Innocent women like Emma. We know of five. There may be more. If I can find a clue in my notes that would help catch this killer, I have to try.”

  “I admire your dedication. Believe me. But you’re not a cop. It’s warping your life. Like my obsession did mine.”

  “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take care of myself. At least I have a goal. I’m not just hiding in the woods.”

  That stung, but he chose another tack. “So this little interlude that got me—us—all hot and bothered was only that diversion you wanted?”

  “Wasn’t that what it was for you?”

  He let his gaze cruise over her. “When I make love to you, it won’t be a damned diversion. You’ll be my sole focus. The only obsession occupying my mind and body.”

  As the impact of his words hit her, she swallowed hard. Good, let her sweat over what she was missing.

  A flush rose to her cheekbones, but her eyes narrowed. “It’s not going to happen, Sam. I don’t do quick and casual.”

  He grabbed her elbows and pulled against his chest. “Quick?” he growled. “The word’s not in my vocabulary. What I want from you will take hours.” When she averted her face, he murmured into her ear. “All night.”

  She wrenched from his grasp. She was breathing hard. “That was about as smooth as this beach. Your seduction won’t work. Sex isn’t a diversion or a hobby fo me, as it apparently is for you. It’s part of an intimate relationship.”

  “Aha, now we get to the real reason. It’s not your mission or your morals after all.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ll just bet you don’t. A washed-up jock’s good enough for a kiss and grope, but not for a relationship. Is that it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but suit yourself.” Something softened in her expression, but then she squared her shoulders and hiked her chin. “Washed-up or not makes no difference. I have no intention of having a relationship or a fling with another egotistical, arrogant jock.”

  Before he could absorb that and come up with a retort, she picked up the discarded rod and shoved it at him. “Here, you catch the damn fish.”

  ***

  A little while later, Sam organized a bushwhack. “So you won’t get rusty,” he claimed.

  Annie had her doubts. His real reason was probably to avoid her. He divided them into two groups again. She was with Nora and Frank. Their task was to head away from camp in two different directions and find each other at a predetermined point on the compass. This time the exercise ended in success and a few high fives among the males. Then they settled down for their fish dinner.

  Later, as Annie scraped the last of hers from her aluminum camp dish, she mused that her brothers would laugh to see her relishing pan-fried bass and naked baked potato as if they were Wolfgang Puck’s specialty. Or was it comfort food, needed after her encounter with Sam?

  Sam. She forced herself not to glance his way. Her skin tingled and her blood heated at the memory of their embrace. All he had to do was touch her, and she was wild for him. For the soft brush of his mustache, for the touch of his lips. For the rasping caress of his big hands. For his hot, hard male body against her. For his arousal pressing against her belly. For more—

  You’ll be my sole focus... What I want from you will take hours.

  His words triggered a pulse low in her body, making her squirm on the hard picnic bench. How she’d managed to stop, she didn’t know. But it had been the right thing to do.

  An injury didn’t make Sam washed-up or a loser, though he thought that of himself. His bitch of a wife walking out on him had cemented that self-image. Annie didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but if cruel bluntness was what it took to put distance between them, so be it.

  No more jocks. Sam might not appear to be the selfish egotist Ian was, but she was taking no chances. Sam had his own problems to work though, problems she didn’t need. One truth he’d have to admit—he was hiding out in the woods.

  When this trip ended, she’d return to Portland, and he’d lead another trip into the wilderness. No way to pursue a relationship. She’d meant her words. Sex wasn’t recreation.

  Afte
r the supper clean-up, Sam handed a map to Nora, the next day’s navigator. “Tomorrow, team, the next phase of your bushwhack training.”

  “Sweet,” Frank said, stowing his plate in a plastic bag. “Uh, what do you mean?”

  “It means you’re going without your intrepid guide.” Sam waited, letting that sink in.

  “Hey, no, man. That sucks.”

  Annie couldn’t help but smile. Most of the time, Frank’s moods took the day off, but occasionally those adolescent hormones and sensitivities kicked in.

  “Frankie,” his mother admonished.

  “Nora, it’s all right.” Sam grinned at the scowling teenager. “You’ve all learned enough compass and woods skills that you can do this hike on your own. Practice is over. Time to get in the game.”

  “Time to snip the apron strings, you mean,” Annie said, grinning at Sam’s incessant baseball analogies.

  He winked, apparently not deterred by her earlier rebuff. “Once you locate Otter Peak Trail, you’re all set.”

  Nora unfolded the map and spread it out on the table. “You really think we can do this?”

  “Piece of my mama’s coconut cake,” Carl answered. He gave Sam a pointed look. “In fact, I could lead this expedition the rest of the way all by myself.”

  Frank shrugged. “Me too. A puny little hike? No sweat.” Still dubious, he folded his arms. “What are you gonna do all day, sleep?”

  “Could be.” Sam propped one foot on the bench and leaned an elbow casually on his knee. “Or I might just be watching my team to see how you do.”

  “Or catching more bass for our dinner?” Annie prompted.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Sam grinned, his amber eyes holding no hint of his intent. “One more caution. Ted Wolfe mentioned some other campers had trouble with bears.”

  “Bears?” Nora’s hand flew to her throat.

  “You’ll be safe as long as you stay together. No lagging behind or scouting ahead.”

  “I can promise not to sprint past everyone,” Annie said. No way in hell she would go solo or let Carl out of her sight. Sam hadn’t completely convinced her of Carl’s innocence.

  “Those fucking campers probably mistook a raccoon or a moose for a bear,” the builder said with a derisive snort.

  “I don’t think so,” Sam said. “Bears aren’t usually a problem until fall, but the lack of rain has decreased their food supply—berries and such—so a loner could be on the move. Anyway, one group. Nobody go off alone or in pairs even for a pit stop. Guard each other.”

  Was the bushwhack test another way of pulling back from her? No, he wouldn’t send them out unless he knew they could handle the challenge. Pettiness wasn’t in Sam’s repertoire. Was releasing the campers on their own Moosewoods’ standard procedure? Was he staying behind to protect the camp from bears? Or from the Hunter? Did he believe her after all?

  All questions she had no answers for.

  He lounged with his back to her, legs crossed and arms folded, against the table. In the firelight, his hair gleamed like amber. Everything about him projected male power, from the set of his square jaw to his broad shoulders and muscular legs.

  To the rest, he also projected confidence, but anxieties wound him as taut as a tightrope walker’s high wire.

  For tomorrow’s bushwhackers, safety was in numbers, but Sam would remain behind alone. Unprotected. Her stomach clenched and her pulse raced.

  What if the Hunter went after Sam? Did the Hunter somehow injure Ray? Was he eliminating them one by one to get to her? Or was she obsessing, as Sam said?

  EIGHTEEN

  Night. When the Hunter did his best work.

  He held the night scope to his right eye and peered at the cozy group seated around the campfire. Damned slick instrument. He’d had to leave his equipment in his apartment, including one of these, but this new one made up for the loss.

  She was laughing. They were all laughing.

  Oblivious still. Or pretending?

  Damn. He caught only snatches of conversation when the wind was right, but he could tell the bitch suspected, was beginning to figure it out. He could see it in her face.

  Her fear was building, churning, eating inside her. Breathing in the scent of her fear raised his exhilaration to fever pitch.

  But he had to wait.

  She had more guts than he’d expected. In the woods, alone and naked, she’d give him a challenge.

  Clever. Creative. Bold.

  At last, he’d have the excitement he craved. The excitement of the hunt. Before he doled out the punishment the bitch fucking deserved for betraying him. For deserting him.

  Just like her.

  Remember. Remember the hatred, the cramped darkness, the mustiness, the coal dust that suffocated him. He wheezed, coughed into his sleeve as he had then.

  Quiet. He had to be quiet.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurred his vision. He gasped for breath. He squeezed his thighs together. He would save himself for her.

  Calm.

  He had to calm himself. Focus on his goal. Focus on his revenge. Focus on the rush, the ecstasy of power to come.

  As soon as his breathing returned to normal, he picked up the scope again. She couldn’t see him here in the dark, but did she sense his presence? She must.

  He wanted her to know. To know he was there. To know why she should fear. Whom she should fear.

  And the Hunter wanted her to fear.

  Yes, his strategies were frightening the bitch. Of course. She above all, knew how clever he was. But the loser jock kept distracting her. The Hunter hadn’t counted on that complication. Yet another way she betrayed him.

  No matter.

  He would prevail. They didn’t know it yet, but he’d isolated them. Incommunicado, that’s what they were.

  He had the advantage. Weapons. Provisions. Stealth.

  And patience.

  Still...time was running out. He had to make his move before they traveled much farther south. He didn’t want to stray too far from the Canadian border and his new life.

  Tonight. He had a plan.

  NINETEEN

  Early Saturday

  Something woke Annie. She jerked up on her elbows. A scrabbling noise. A squirrel, a raccoon foraging in the night. The forest rustled constantly. She no longer cringed in fright at every scratch and peep.

  She’d barely fallen asleep, dammit. Fatigue dragged at her, but so did her bladder. She shouldn’t have drunk that cranberry juice before bed. She stretched out on her back and waited for the need to subside.

  No luck.

  If she forced herself to visit the lounge, she could snuggle back into her sleeping bag for several more hours.

  She heard the scratching outside again. A squirrel digging up a cache of nuts. A raccoon foraging. Or a bear.

  Not the Hunter.

  Sam was right about one thing. Okay, two. The Hunter had become a self-destructive obsession. She was no profiler, no detective. Her notes held no clue to the Hunter’s psyche or his identity, only the gruesome details of tragedy.

  She was making herself even crazier imagining the Hunter to be here. Her fears about tomorrow’s bushwhack were irrational. Especially her worry about Sam staying behind. She let her feelings for him—as jumbled as numbers in a lottery barrel—get all mixed up with her obsession.

  Some of their disasters had to be accidental, like the hornets. Maybe Frank did erase her compass numbers. But the chipmunk? She wouldn’t put it past Carl to pull that one for a sick laugh. The snare was probably left by a previous camper.

  But none of it could be the Hunter. Didn’t Sam prove he couldn’t have followed?

  Not the Hunter. Not the Hunter. Not the Hunter.

  There, that ought to seal it in her brain.

  Going back to the story after the expedition ended would be her new goal. She could fulfill her promise to Emma to enjoy the wilderness. That was all. After the expedition, returning to the story would fulfill her other promise to E
mma and Rissa—to keep the public aware and pressure the cops. Never mind that one of the cops was her brother.

  She wriggled out of her sleeping bag. She felt for her flashlight, propped against her container of Crabtree & Evelyn carnation-scented bath talc. Since the first bushwhack, she’d given up mascara and lipstick, but she wouldn’t forgo her soothing powder. After jabbing her feet into sneakers, she stumbled out into the darkness.

  She hated this. Picking her way to the latrine in the night gave her the willies. Clouds covered the moon, rendering the night black as the Hunter’s heart. Oh, perfect, now she was scaring herself.

  Her gaze searched the clearing and the stand of birches beyond. No one. Nothing moving. Clad only in her long tee and leggings, she shivered in the night air.

  The rustlings were only animals. Small animals. Chirps and cracklings came to her with the odor of fresh earth. She swatted at a mosquito homing in on her ear.

  Circling the flashlight gave her bearings. She could barely make out the other tents ranked in a semicircle around the camp area—hers, Frank and Nora’s, Carl’s, and Sam’s. All quiet.

  Somewhere in the distance, a series of high-pitched cries attested to a coyote pack’s successful hunt. She shuddered at the images the yips and howls evoked. Sam had assured the campers no self-respecting coyote would dare enter their camp, but the eerie sounds spooked her.

  Since she’d dug the six-inch-deep sucker herself, she knew well the location of the latrine. She set off with a determined stride past Frank and Nora’s tent, then turned left onto the woods path. When she finished, feeling bolder, she returned a more direct route, through the trees in a beeline to her warm bed.

  The darkness seemed palpable, a living thing that swallowed up the puny flashlight beam. Shadows shifted with every arc of its illumination. When her beam swept an evergreen branch, something scrambled away in a flurry of trembling needles. Don’t panic. Keep your eyes ahead. Her tent was beyond the slender birches.

  She lost her balance, crashed onto her knees. The flashlight flew from her hand. She landed flat, breath exploding from her.