He thought he might die when she wrapped her legs tight around him. He’d meant to hold back, to take some precautions, but all he could think about was burying himself in her tight folds. Now.
He slipped a hand between them, positioned himself and thrust his hips. Something gave as he buried himself fully inside her with one long stroke. He froze even as she came around him.
A virgin—she’s a virgin?
His vision dimmed to gray; her body pulsed like a glove fitted tight around him. Her surprised cry made him smile even though he couldn’t open his eyes.
Something wasn’t right.
He gritted his teeth as he tried to hold still for her, to think, to let her get used to him. But she was so damn tight and arousal seared his brain. His head felt fuzzy. Swirling images dislocated his mind as he felt every quiver and clench of muscle around him.
She tilted her pelvis, took him deeper and he knew he was lost. He moved his hand down, between them and stroked her swollen flesh. His head dropped to her shoulder, his weight pinned her, and drove into her deeper and deeper, over and over again. He knew he was finished, game over, but as he felt the edge of his own release she stiffened again, her mouth falling open in a cry of pleasure and surprise. His climax hit him with the force of a hurricane, drowning him in sensations so startling he thought he’d exploded. His mind went blank, dazed by wonder, his body so sated with pleasure he couldn’t move.
Sex had never been that good before and he’d had plenty.
Josephine’s eyes were round and startled. “I can’t believe we actually had sex.” Her voice came out like a squeak.
Neither could he. He rested his head beside hers on the pillow. Something was wrong with him but he didn’t really care. He couldn’t move. His lips felt like wool.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Fan—” Marsh yawned, “fucking-tastic.” Fatigue whipped away his energy like a thief. He passed out still inside her.
FOURTEEN
Eliza kicked Tiger on with her heels, ignoring the insecurities that clamored through her brain and urged her to turn back. She’d frozen Nat out last night. Shut down and shut him out. She been scared, caught up in her own terrifying memories of rape, and had ignored his rights to a few answers. Well, now he was going to get all the answers he wanted, and quickly, because she was leaving the ranch. Today.
Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, rolling along her spine as the sun beat down mercilessly. Andrew DeLattio would come for her, and she didn’t want him to find her where so many people she cared about might get hurt.
She’d have left already, but the damned Jeep hadn’t cooperated. And she’d realized then, as she’d turned the key in an ignition that refused to fire, that she’d been taking the cowardly way out. She’d been so busy running from her past that she’d never given a thought to Nat’s rights. He was a good man, not a deviant. He’d seen her on TV—hiding out under an assumed name—and had had every right to be suspicious. She sure as hell would have been. He deserved an explanation and she was determined to give him one—just as soon as she found the damned cowboy.
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Cal had given her directions to where she could find Nat.
Cal had owed her one—and she’d collected. He was still moving stiffly from his beating, but it turned out nothing had been broken. Cal had directed her up in the hills, about a mile north of the glade where she’d first tested out her rifle. Told her to make enough noise and Nat would find her. He was photographing the wolves in their den and had planned to be gone most of that day and maybe overnight. Eliza couldn’t wait that long. The agitation in her chest already made her feel sick.
Tiger stopped and sniffed the air, dancing sideways as his gaze locked onto a stand of lodgepole pines. He jerked his head against the reins, snorted, dug his heels in and refused to go any further.
The horse was spooked.
Eliza peered into the trees but couldn’t see anything through the densely interlaced branches. Her palms grew damp and she swiped them along her jeans.
Was it animal or human?
Nat had assured her the wolves were ‘more or less’ harmless. She wasn’t so sure. She unslung her rifle from her back and tried to soothe Tiger with encouraging words as she loaded the magazine with cartridges. Not so easy with the horse dancing beneath her.
Should have done it earlier.
Tiger jerked and she dropped a cartridge into the short grass that edged the deer track she’d been following. She left it. Tiger was close to bolting and she couldn’t risk the horse getting away from her. She chambered a round, left the hammer half-cocked. She didn’t know what the danger was, but she also didn’t want to shoot some hapless hiker taking a leak. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear the pounding of blood in her ears. She managed to load three cartridges before she was forced to give up and try to control the horse.
Her stomach dropped and rebounded to her throat as a massive brown form shouldered its way through the branches, out into the open. The grizzly ambled towards her, head high, nose keen, black eyes beaded directly on her.
Shit.
She’d never encountered a bear in the wild before, but she knew what the experts advised. Don’t panic. Don’t run away.
Yeah. Right.
Tiger reared up with a loud squeal and plunged into the trees at a gallop.
Eliza clung one-handed to the horse’s mane, gripping her rifle with the other hand. The reins dangled dangerously loose, but she didn’t dare reach for them.
Feck. Feck. Feck.
The bear followed, giving chase at breakneck speed through dense forest and over rocky ground. She’d had no idea that anything so large and cumbersome could shift like a rocket. Tiger seemed to know though, reminding her that instinct was a powerful thing. The horse stretched out his legs in a flat-out gallop. Eliza, lying along his neck, hugged the saddle like a limpet.
She saw it a split second before the horse did, a sudden drop over a sheer cliff. Eliza compensated by leaning hard to the left, but she had no chance of staying on-board as Tiger made a right-angle turn at top speed.
Eliza sailed through the air, gripping her rifle like a lifeline. Self-defense training kicked in as she hit the dirt, dropped into a roll and careened down a grassy bank more than ten meters from where she’d left the horse’s back.
Seeing stars as her teeth jarred on impact, the side of her head rang with bludgeoning pain. Blasts of light assaulted her brain. She still held the rifle, but released it onto the grass as she lay back and tried to regain her breath. Her ribs felt flattened, her chest squeezed so hard the air had been knocked right out of her lungs.
She could not move.
Sucking up a rough breath, she squinted between pain-filled lids and saw the grizzly peering over the edge of the cliff. He seemed to grin as he started forward. Still on the move. Still after her. She reached for the .30-30, knowing it was no match for the huge creature. Cocking the hammer with her thumb, she rose slowly to her feet.
***
Nat was having trouble concentrating on the wolves. He’d taken a few rolls of film just after sun up, when the pack had brought home a kill for the alpha female who was holed up in the den. But since then he’d gotten nothing. The wolves were mostly out of sight, lying about in the hot sun. A couple of last year’s pups were still visible, but they hadn’t moved much beyond the flick of an ear to remove a pesky fly.
The hide he’d constructed two winters ago was a good hundred yards from the den, with a clear view into the dark recesses with his telephoto lens. He sipped coffee from a thermos and tried not to think about Eliza.
Hell, the woman was trouble with a capital T. He’d known it the first moment he’d seen her and still he’d been unable to resist the draw.
If what she’d told him was true, then she was on the run from the mob. His mind staggered at the possibility that someone out there might want to hurt her. That somebody had already hurt her. Damn. He swallowed hard,
feeling liked he’d failed her even though he hadn’t even known her then.
And what if they tracked her here? He locked his teeth together so hard the enamel grated. Give him ten minutes alone with the bastards and see how they felt to be on the receiving end of violence.
But there wasn’t just him to consider. He had his mother, his sister and his niece to look after.
A young wolf’s ears pricked up a second before the alpha male came to the opening of the den. The male was big, easily 130 pounds, maybe more. His sharp ears pointed straight at Nat, and his yellow eyes glowed. He was a magnificent animal, his pale silver coat glinting in the sunlight. The pack began to gather around him, others coming out of the den to wheel around in agitation.
The small, sleek, black female rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with her mate.
Something’s happening.
Nat’s spine prickled as he shot off a few frames of film. The wolves turned as one unit and looked down the narrow valley. They bristled and started yapping, just before Nat heard the unmistakable growl of a grizzly. Automatically he reached for his Remington, tucked neatly against the wall of the hide. Still shooting film, he cycled the bolt and lowered the safety on the gun. Leaning over as far as he could, he tried to see what was going on, but that edge of the valley was out of his line of sight.
His horse, Winter, wasn’t far away, left loose in a tiny glade about a quarter of a mile away. The horse wouldn’t go anywhere. Unless the bear attacked it.
One by one, the pack peeled away, heading down the gorge, toward the bear. Protecting the den and the newborn pups. The female went back inside.
Nat grabbed the camera from its tripod, hung it around his neck and raced out the door as he heard the bear growl again. But his heart damned near stopped when it was answered not by barks, but by a shot from a small caliber rifle.
***
Marsh woke to bright sunshine, white light burning red against his eyelids, and wondered just how much he’d had to drink last night. He squinted at the time displayed by the square digits on the radio alarm. Nearly eleven a.m.
Christ—how long did I sleep? What day is it?
He stared groggily at the apple-green bedroom walls with less energy than a dehydrated slug.
Josephine. The truth came to him in a blinding flash. The witch had drugged him.
Marsh swallowed convulsively, his throat raspy with dryness, his tongue like thick cotton wool. He didn’t know how she’d found the GHB locked in his briefcase, but she was a more accomplished thief than he’d given her credit for. Should have known better than to underestimate a street kid.
His memories seemed intact though—too freaking intact. The room smelled of sweat and sex. What the hell had he been thinking? But memories of her running her hands along the insides of his thighs had his body reacting all over again, which told him exactly where his brain cells had fled to last night.
At least she’d only given him a small dose of the drug. Any more mixed with alcohol could have had him passed out for days.
Shit, what day was it?
Maybe she didn’t give a damn if he died. Except she wanted to disappear off the radar not get put on the FBI’s most wanted list for the murder of a federal agent.
Ignoring the fuzziness of his brain, he tried to sit up, only to be pulled short by something rigid attached to his wrist. In horrified fascination he stared at the metal bracelet that secured him to the cast-iron bedpost. Then he fell back on the bed and laughed so hard he nearly cried.
Seduced and abandoned.
Handcuffed to the fucking bed.
Goddamn. You had to admire those women.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he recalled making it to the bed, just before they’d made love. Had sex, he corrected himself, they’d had sex—not made love.
He should have suspected something was up from the first moment she’d smiled at him and said “kiss me.”
Hah!
Humor seemed preferable to screaming down the walls. He sat up, the metal clattering against metal as he checked out the bedstead. She’d been surprised as hell when he’d gotten her naked and, he realized with sudden clarity, Josephine had gotten a damned sight more than she’d bargained for last night. She’d screwed up the dosage—had expected him to collapse long before he had done—and he’d screwed her in return.
At least he’d gotten something out of it.
Shit. He hadn’t used a condom. Gripping his head with his free hand, he sank back to the pillow. Fuck. Disease shouldn’t be a problem although nothing was guaranteed. He was clean, she was a virgin.
But a baby?
Damn.
Maybe she was on birth control, didn’t seem likely, but... Marsh wrapped his free hand around the back of his neck, tried to rub away the unease. The thought of Josephine swollen with his child didn’t scare him the way it should. He was surprised by the feelings the image evoked—even though he could murder the woman.
The bed was antique and solidly made. He was stuck. There was nothing for it. He had to call Dancer. Marsh was going to be the laughing stock of the division—if they ever found out.
Marsh dragged the bed across the floor, leaned into the movement with all his might to keep up the momentum. He ignored the screech as it scraped, inch by reluctant inch, across the polished wooden floor. Sweat dripped down his back, slick and hot as he reached the jacket that hung behind the door. He grabbed his cell, thankful that it, at least, was still there. He didn’t know what he’d have done if she’d taken that with her.
He put in the call and figured there might just be a way for him to extricate himself from the bed in the next thirty minutes before Dancer arrived. All he needed was a screwdriver.
***
Eliza glared up at the bear. She’d wasted her first shot firing over the animal’s head in an effort to scare it away before she became lunch. The bear just growled a laugh. A noise that rumbled along the ground like a minor quake before it rested at her feet.
Dogs yapped in the distance.
Weird. Her attention was pulled away from the massive creature for a split second.
Then she realized it wasn’t dogs, but wolves.
Great, two of nature’s top predators right on her heels. The bear was about thirty yards away working his way around the edge of the cliff, lumbering towards her like a slow moving freight train.
“Shoo, bear!”
If Nat were anywhere around here, he’d have heard the shot. But judging from the bear’s stance, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. He was pissed and hungry. And she was dinner.
The irony didn’t escape her. All her plans and plotting, wasted. Her Glock was back at the cabin and her hand-to-hand combat skills were successfully neutralized by a thousand pounds of teeth and claws.
Sweat gathered along her brow as she took aim at the huge beast. She didn’t want to hurt it, but didn’t know what else to do. The bear seemed to immediately realize it had become a target, for it sidled off and reared up to its full height. Eliza kept looking up. Nine feet of solid power, fur and muscle.
Hell. Her little gun wasn’t going to do much damage to this sucker, but she was damned if she was going to just lie down and die. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She wiped it on her shirt cuff. Kept her aim steady.
A wolf appeared at the edge of her vision, pale gray and huge. She dared not turn towards it, but could feel its energy focused on the bear.
Not her, thank God.
She was relieved to have an ally. Not that the presence of the wolf seemed to bother the bear. He ignored it, edged closer to her, and she knew he was going to charge in the next few seconds.
This was it.
She braced herself for the moment, knew that this was where it was going to end. On an isolated hillside in Montana—a meal for either the wolf at her side, or the bear that stalked her. Nat would never get the answers he deserved. She’d never get her second chance...and she suddenly realized she didn’t want to die.
Her heart cried out against the unfairness of it all.
The bear wheeled, charged. Eliza fired her rifle, levered the last round, and fired again. The bear flinched, but kept on coming, furious, irritated by the bullets that peppered his hide. Elizabeth threw herself to the ground and curled up into a ball, braced for the blow that had to come.
A shot rang out, followed by a second a moment later.
She heard the bear fall, felt stones and dirt pelt her skin as the huge creature smashed to a halt. A hot gush of breath grazed her cheek. The musty smell of damp fur and fresh blood overpowered her nostrils. She opened her eyes, stared into the blank eyes of the massive beast that had hunted her. And started to shake.
Tears of relief wet her cheeks as she heard someone scramble down the rocky cliff towards her.
“Eliza!”
It was Nat.
She tried to rise to her feet, but her knees wobbled too badly. She staggered away from the body, stumbled and scrambled backwards, unable to believe the animal was dead and not about to charge again. She flung her empty rifle to the ground and launched herself into Nat’s outstretched arms and hung on. He wrapped her up with a warmth and strength so solid that she wondered how she’d ever be able to live without him.
She clung to him with every ounce of strength she possessed.
“Oh my God, I was so scared.” Easy to admit now.
Nat pulled her closer so their bodies clicked into place at every curve.
“I’ve never been so terrified in my whole life.” His breath whispered through her hair as he spoke.
She pulled back, looked up into blue eyes that were dark with emotion. Her gaze lowered and she stared at his full bottom lip and knew she wanted to kiss him, desperately. She wasn’t good enough for him, but still...
Crimes of Passion Page 48
