This time it's her turn to take a bite of the sandwich and buy herself some time. I wait, chewing on mine, watching as she looks everywhere but at me. Finally she washes it down with a gulp of water. "I don't know him too well, mostly just by his reputation. He's very successful, and very respected in the industry."
"Hmm." That doesn't sound too reassuring. "So how do you know if you can trust him?"
Anita lowers her sandwich and stares to the side, down at the river. Her attitude shifts. That brittle wall of enthusiasm falls, her face momentarily revealing a melancholy that surprises me. "I don't, to be honest. But I need to, all the same."
Strange. Concern rises within me. My bear senses something wrong. Speaking gently, I ask, "Why do you need to?"
Anita sighs and looks down at her lap. Takes a deep breath, then looks up with a forced smile. "Because I need my bakery to be a success, of course!" She's smiling, but her eyes are still sad. There are depths there that I can't fathom. Not yet. Pain. Loss. Determination. I'm sure it has something to do with that creep who was accosting her in town. What was his name? Gerry?
"Anita." I set my sandwich aside and move forward to crouch before her. "What's going on?"
"Going on?" She pretends to be surprised by my question. "Nothing's going on. I'm just determined to make my bakery a success, is all. Is that so weird?"
The wind blows through the trees, causing splashes of sunlight like golden coins to dance across her face. We hold each other's gazes, and she looks away first. "Shall we get going? We've got a long way to go still, right?"
"Right," I say, standing up. My heart feels heavy. I don't know why I care. But I do. I'm strangely invested in this gorgeous woman's problems. She's like a river, calm and beautiful on the surface, but with dangerous currents beneath, depths and rocks that I know she's trying to hide.
Anita bundles away what's left of the sandwiches, and then stands with a groan. "Ooh. My legs are already stiff."
I smile. "I'll go slow, give you time to warm up."
Anita grins at me. "Sounds good. But we can go as fast as you like once you've got me warmed up." Then, comically, her face goes bright red.
I laugh. "Is that a fact?"
"I didn't say anything," she says, almost running past me to get to the trail. "Especially that. The thing I didn't just say. Didn't say it at all. Nope!"
I shoulder her pack and stand there, grinning, as Anita hustles down the path, all her stiffness forgotten. I watch her swaying hips, her full ass, and begin to follow. She's a mystery. One that I'm determined to figure out, and soon.
Chapter 6
Kill me now. I can't believe I just said that. Did I just say that? We can go as fast as you like once you've got me warmed up? What came over me? I feel the mother of all blushes burning through me, from my face to my toes. I'm going to have to lead this hike now 'cause I can't allow Arthur to pass me and look me in the face. I'm going to have to sprint the whole way to this werebear's damned valley. Most importantly, I'm not going to say anything else. Not going to open my stupid mouth and say anything else so crazy. What will I say next time? Well, Mr. Mountain Man, why don't you just drop those pants and – or Mmm, why don't we skip the hiking and cut to the camping, or –
I take a deep breath. Even without the pack this is hard work. The trail is starting to wind uphill, and soon my breath is burning in my lungs, sweat running down my face again. Why did I think a three day hike was a good idea? I look like a hot mess. Here I am, trying to flirt while I look like a disaster. Arthur looks like he could hike forever without breaking a sweat. Which begs the question, what would it take to make him sweat? Just how hard would he have to work before his breathing started getting fast?
I almost groan. What is wrong with me? I reach out for a slender tree and haul myself up a step of rock. I should be focused on my mission, not daydreaming about the wickedly handsome gentleman walking behind me. Wait. Is he staring at my ass? I gulp. He has to be. What else is there to look at? Suddenly self-conscious, I squeeze my butt cheeks together and start walking as if I need to pee. I almost trip, and force myself to stop acting like a fool. Why can't be I as confident as Rachel? She rocks the curvy look like the whole world's celebrating her gorgeousness. Me? I've always loved my body, but in isolation. I've always been happy being me, but I've never expected anybody else to feel the same way. The whole world's made it clear what it considers gorgeous, and since I don't fit that profile, I've always assumed the world would never be interested.
But the way Arthur looks at me... The way his eyes seem to drink me in. Those pauses. The intensity of his gaze. There's a hunger there. Of that I'm sure. Or am I? Am I imagining, projecting, needing him to want me? Because I've never felt this drawn to a man before. He's more than just gorgeous. He's more than fuel for every late-night fantasy I'll have for the rest of my life. His character is amazing. Stronger than anybody I know, but not aggressive. Not pushy. Not arrogant. He's gentle, thoughtful, considerate, and kind. A gentleman.
There's a distracting throbbing in my pussy. I wish he was a little bit less of a gentleman.
The path grows steep, and I slow. Damn, this is hard work.
"Anita." My heart does a somersault, and I turn, glad for the break. Arthur is striding off the path, picking his way through the underbrush to a fallen branch. He takes it up, and easily snaps off smaller branches until he's left with a straight staff. "Here. Use this. It'll help with the slopes."
A walking stick. Perfect. He steps up to me, and I take it. His hand slides over mine. My breath catches. I look up at him. Time slows. I want to slip my hands around his neck. I want run my fingers through his hair. He's so tall, so broad, he's like an oak tree. Powerful and strong. But there's a fire in there. I can see it burning in the depths of his eyes. There's a fire that completely belies his gentle exterior. I feel a shiver of excitement run through me. What would it take to make that fire slip free? What is he like when he loses control?
There's silence all around us. I can hear my heart beating, thudding in my chest. "Thank you," I say.
"You're welcome," he rumbles, but neither of us moves. This is where I should turn to continue hiking. I should turn around now. Any minute now. Yet I just stare up into his eyes. I'm not mistaken. There's a hunger there, and it's a hunger for me.
"Anita," he says, and the way his voice rumbles deep in his chest makes my knees weak.
"Arthur." It's all I can say.
"We're close to camp." He blinks, and that smoldering heat banks down. Is controlled. Why? Why is he holding back? Why is he such a gentleman?
"Oh. Right." I'm lost in his eyes. I fight to pull back, and then nod sharply, as if that's the most important fact. That we're close to camp. Which it is.
He smiles, steps past me, and leads the way up the final scramble to what must be the Devil's Knucklebone. I'm puffing and gasping by the time I make it to the top, and feel like I must have climbed Mount Everest, even though I know this is one of the gentle Berkshire mountain peaks. Arthur is waiting for me at the top, a smile on his face, and he extends his hand to me, pulling me close.
"Are you ready?" He leads me around an outcrop of rock, and I'm floored. The view is amazing. We can see for miles, the autumn foliage of the forest below looking like a wonderful quilt, a blanket of oranges, yellows and dusty reds, disappearing to the east.
"Is that –?" I peer more closely at a small smudge.
"Honeycomb Falls," Arthur says, pointing it out. "Can you make out the steeple?"
I shield my eyes. "I think so? Wow. This is amazing!"
Arthur wraps his arm around my shoulders and I lean in to him, still drinking in the view. It's a sharp drop over the outcrop, and given my trouble with heights I don't want to get too close to see just how high we've come. It's late afternoon already, and the sun is dipping below the mountain ridges to the west, sending long shadows across the forest.
"I bet you can see the most amazing stars from up here," I say, looking up at the dark
ening sky.
Arthur doesn't respond, but instead gives me a squeeze. I feel so happy. Like when my dad would take me on our hiking trips. Just being out here in the wild seems to simplify things. All the complexities of society and people seem distant and far away. Greed. Anger. Nastiness in general. "I can see why you like being out here all the time," I say. "Away from people."
"Yeah." His voice is thoughtful. "Though it can get lonely, sometimes."
I look up at him and see that he's gazing off toward the horizon. "Do you live alone?"
He nods. "I do. It's the life I've chosen. And for the most part I like it. There's a peacefulness to it that works for me. Sometimes I go weeks without seeing another person, and my thoughts get – well. Fluid. Smooth. I stop thinking of myself, of my own wants and needs, and just live fully in the moment. In tune with nature. With myself. That's when my –" He hesitates, as if he's quickly changing what he was about to say. "When my wilder side is happiest. But then, sometimes, especially at night when I'm sitting in my cabin, watching the flames, or halfway through a good book, I get struck by a sense of missing out. Not on life, which is all around me, but on being able to share the pleasures of the moment."
I listen, completely enraptured. For the first time, Arthur seems to be speaking right from the heart. I love his strong arm around my shoulders. "I know what you mean," I say.
He looks down in surprise. "You do? But you live in town. Surrounded by people."
I shrug. "Just because there are people around doesn't mean I don't get lonely too. I've made some wonderful friends. Rachel and Hui are the friends I always wished I had. And Mindy at the general store, she's been so kind too. But there are times when I sit down to eat dinner in my apartment by myself, and all the care I've spent on making the food delicious makes me all the more aware of having no one to eat it with. It's like – I've spent so much energy making my little place as cozy and wonderful and homey as I can, that I find myself asking – what's this all for? Surely it can't be just for me. So I sit on my couch and watch my shows, or read my favorite romance novels, and I just get to feeling like life's slipping by."
We're both staring out over the darkening woods. The reds are turning to burgundy, the colors losing their vibrancy as the sun continues to set. My words slip away with the wind. I feel at once a sense of sadness and peace. Arthur understands. I know he does. I can picture him so perfectly in an armchair by a fire, a thick book resting on his broad knee, square chin in the palm of his hand, staring off into the shadows. Maybe at the same time I'm sitting on my couch, miles and miles away, my apartment dark but for the flickering light of my TV, a mug of tea growing cool in my hands, staring at the dark window.
We stand there for some time, and finally I realize that I'm starting to get chilled, my sweat cooling, the temperature dropping. I shiver and hug myself, and Arthur drops his arm and leads me to the campsite, a small clearing ringed by fir trees, the rock covered in a thin mat of their fallen needles. It smells delicious, natural and green and tangy, and there's a circle of stones in the very center with the dark, charred remains of past fires.
"Set up your tent," says Arthur. "I'll gather some firewood."
So I do just that. I'm good with things like tents, just as I am with recipes. Soon I have my little two-man sleeper set up, a jaunty, cheerful orange, and I inflate my air mattress and unroll my sleeping bag and dig out my little night lantern and by the time I'm done, Arthur has a fire crackling and dancing in the ring of stones. I sit just inside my tent flaps and watch him as he slowly feeds more branches into the flames. It's grown dark surprisingly quickly, and already the trees around us are just shadows, and the fire lights Arthur's handsome face in cheery hues of orange and yellow.
His eyes, however, seem to catch the light occasionally, much like a cat's or a dog's will when headlights pass over them in the night, reflecting the light sharply in a way that I've never seen. I sit and watch him. I've only known him for a little more than twenty-four hours, and already I feel a connection to him that surpasses that which I've felt for any other man. Arousal and desire, yes, of course, but more. There's a depth to him, like a well or a still pool, that's both comforting and intriguing. Quiet men have often interested me the most, and Arthur has a core of mystery and strength that I know I've yet to sound. I watch as he snaps a branch as thick as my wrist without effort. Who is this man? Why does he choose to live alone, out here in the wilderness?
I emerge, and drag out the one pot that I've brought. I wanted to bring three, but managed to convince myself that would be foolishness. I pour one of my big water bottles into it and carry it over.
"Here. Can we get this to boil?"
Arthur rises to his knees, nodding confidently, and pushes several of the rocks close to the flame on which we can precariously balance the pot. "What's on the menu for dinner?" His voice is an amused rumble. "I'm guessing it's not oatmeal?"
"Oatmeal?" I laugh as I sit down next to him. "Only if I had brought cranberries, cinnamon, brown sugar, and had time to roast the oats beforehand. No. Just a little something to give us strength for tomorrow."
I settle down, and then freeze as I realize I've plopped down right next to him, our hips touching. Arthur doesn't seem to mind, even though there's a whole bunch of other places I could sit that don't involve being this close. The smoke rises into the night, almost invisible, but I can smell its rich, cottony aroma. The wind whispers through the treetops, causing the shadows to sway, and already I can see the faint pinpricks of stars appearing overhead.
"Why do you live alone, Arthur?" The question escapes my mouth before I can stop it.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he prods and pokes at the fire a little, doing things that cause the flames to leap higher. "I had a reason, once." His voice is quiet, pensive. "And there's a completely new reason for it now. But to be honest, it's mostly because of habit. I've grown used to being alone."
"What was your reason? The old one?" I feel nervous at prying. But something tells me I'm allowed.
Arthur frowns gently. "I had my heart broken. The woman I had hoped to mate with proved untrue. With, of all people, my best friend."
"Your best friend?" My eyes go wide. "That's awful."
Arthur smiles ruefully. "I thought so too. She'd promised to be my mate. I was going to be the leader of our – group – and as all future leaders must do, I went on a vision quest. It took me far away, right up into Canada. When I finally returned, it was to find my best friend the self-appointed leader, and married to Selune. He'd declared that I must have died, and taken the position without going on the quest."
I listen, spellbound. I don't understand half of what he's saying. Vision quest? Mates? But I don't want to interrupt.
"Many urged me to challenge Rorsk and become the rightful leader. But my heart was broken. I was young. Idealistic. Seeing Selune by Rorsk's side was too much. So I cursed my people for having allowed him to become their leader, cursed Selune for being fickle, and cursed Rorsk for his evil. I swore to never return, and since then, I have lived alone, up here in the mountains."
It's like a story of old, a legend or myth. Curses, exile, betrayal. I feel like I shouldn't believe him, but I do. Absolutely. It's in the slow, sad way he tells his tale, undercut by his bitter smile.
Arthur rouses himself. "But that was many years ago. The pain has faded. I no longer feel that anger. Rorsk wasn't a monster, he was just young and ambitious. Selune wasn't a whore, she had simply done what she thought was best for herself and her future children. And my people? There are leaders for a reason. I should have led them, not abandoned them."
"Why don't you go back, then?" My voice is small.
A slow, rolling shrug is his response. "As I said, I've grown used to being alone. Used to the silence. The simplicity. Or so I tell myself." He frowns and tosses his branch into the fire. "But to be honest, maybe I don't deserve to go back. That was my moment of truth. When I returned. My moment to be a leader, and I fa
iled. I ran away. While I may have forgiven Rorsk and Selune, I don't think I could live under their rule. But by what right would I challenge him now, so many years later? No. That life is an old one, and no longer mine."
I shiver a little and nod. I don't know what to say, so I stay quiet. I want to ask what his new reason is for living alone, but I feel like I've pried enough for now. That, and the water's boiling, so I go to my pack and pull out the two cases of ravioli. "I didn't make these," I warn. "They're store bought. But they were so expensive they better be amazing, and, like, one serving is over three thousand calories, so they'll give us plenty of energy tomorrow."
Arthur laughs. "I'm sure they're great."
I dump them both into the pot, give them a stir, and sit back down. I've got two jars of homemade tomato sauce in my pack that I know will elevate the ravioli to my culinary standards.
"What about you, Anita?" His eyes flash in that strange way as he turns to me, like a cat's. "Why is a beautiful woman like yourself still single?"
"Beautiful? Me?" I laugh. "Hardly. You've been out here in the wilds too long."
Arthur frowns. "How so? You are beautiful."
I blush furiously, glad of the dark, and stare fixedly at the fire. "You're a gentleman for being so polite about it. I'm happy with my body, but I know I'm not 'beautiful'. I am who I am, and that's fine with me."
"Anita." He reaches out and takes my chin with two fingers, turning my face to his. "You're fucking gorgeous."
The way he says it sends a surge of heat right through me, and my heart can't decide if it wants to stop beating altogether or race at a hundred miles an hour. His voice is so matter-of-fact, so adamant, that my protests die on my lips. The firelight dances over his face, making him seem primitive, sinfully hot, a primal mountain man with burning eyes that are staring right into my soul.
"The ravioli," I say weakly. "I have to – um – drain the water – before –"
Arthur lowers his fingers, but none of the intensity leaves his eyes. I get up, grab the kitchen towel I brought, and lift the pot from the fire. Stagger away a few steps, and then carefully pour out the steaming water till the ravioli are sitting in just a little of it. That'll help heat the sauce. I set the pot back down on the rocks, grab the jars, and pour both of them over the pasta. Stir them around, and then reluctantly, almost afraid, sit back down. Not quite next to Arthur, however. I don't dare that much.
Look Before You Bake: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 2) Page 5
