Happy campers made for return business.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Logan poured himself a glass of wine and wandered out to the lodge room. Taking a chair a small distance from the crowd, he settled in to enjoy the aftermath of a good meal.
Rebecca was quite a cook. This morning the breakfast she'd made had taken his breath away. And supper had been roast beef with potatoes stewed in the juices, gravy, more biscuits. Hell, he could live nicely on just those biscuits alone. She'd even baked a cake. From scratch. He hadn't had food like this since he'd left his parents' ranch in Oregon.
Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his wine and studied the little rebel. A drawing pad propped on her lap, she created caricatures of the others to much acclaim. He shook his head. For an artistic type, she sure had no sense of how to dress. After coming back from Jake's Yosemite tour, she had changed into another of her ugly shirts, the ones that covered up every curve she had. Idiot woman. Even one of his flannel shirts would show her figure off better. Didn't she realize that a man would never notice the roundness of her waist when she had so much roundness above it?
Maybe he should tell her that.
God, she'd felt good underneath him this morning, and on his lap later. He could have resisted her physical attraction—maybe—but when she'd trembled in his arms as he made her pet Thor, he'd lost the battle. That damned vulnerability brought out every protective instinct of a Dom.
Then there was that moment when Thor laid his head on her leg, and her delight replaced fear. He had hoped for a truce between her and the dog, and instead he'd gotten the beginnings of true love. He sipped his wine and sighed. He hadn't expected the city girl to be so sweet. Like desert sand, she kept shifting on him until he could never be certain of his footing.
One thing he'd decided… She'd be underneath him again before the end of the weekend.
With a smile, he turned far enough to put her fully in his sights. She was aware of his attention, flushing every time she met his gaze, and even from here, he could see her breathing turn fast and shallow. A timid little rabbit when it came to sex, but trap her he would, even against his better judgment.
Giving her a break, he leaned his head back against the chair and relaxed. He had a long day's work in front of him tomorrow, and hopefully he'd get some sleep tonight.
“…BDSM.”
With that word, Logan's attention turned to the conversation going on, and he opened his eyes. What were they talking about?
“I thought swinging and bondage stuff were the same thing,” Rebecca asked the couple on the couch across from her, setting her pencil down.
“No, swinging just means open sex. Now BDSM means”—Mel rubbed his ruddy face as he thought—“three different things. SM for sadomasochism. And BD is…”
“Bondage and discipline,” Ginger said. “Tying people up and that sort of thing. And the DS part stands for domination and submission.”
Not bad, Logan thought. They'd gotten the acronyms correct at least.
He noticed Jake had disappeared, so he rose to make the wine rounds. Part of their lodge host duties involved playing bartender. He enjoyed the chores most of the time, and before they became too annoying, the lodge would empty out, and he could enjoy the quiet.
He filled glasses as he went around the room, reaching Rebecca just as she asked Mel, “I knew about the S and M stuff, and I've heard of bondage. But the domination and submission? I don't get that.”
The Dom in him couldn't pass over an opportunity like this, not from a woman he wanted. After setting down the wine bottle, he leaned over and threaded his fingers in her hair. When he tightened them, he had control.
She jumped in surprise and tried to wrench away.
With a steady pull on her hair, he forced her to look at him.
Her mouth opened.
“You do not have permission to speak,” he growled.
Not only did she stay silent but her pupils dilated slightly. Her cheeks flushed.
The sands shifted under him again. Spirited. Vulnerable. Sweet. Could she really be submissive also?
Releasing her, he cupped her chin in his hand, seeing the stunned look in her eyes. “That's domination, pet,” he said. He smiled slowly as her body quivered in his grasp, confirming his impression.
And that's submission.
His blue eyes seemed to pin her to the chair even as his hard hand kept her head from moving. His voice, his command, kept her silenced, and somehow, someway, her body not only let him but she was shaking inside as waves and waves of heat went through her. She stared up at him helplessly and knew if he wanted to take her, here and now, she'd let him.
He ran his finger over her lips, and she realized her mouth was open, her breathing fast. His cheek creased with his smile. And then he turned and left her sitting there in the chair, staring at him.
Chapter Six
“There are no empty cabins?” Rebecca set her hands on her hips. “Well, that's just great. What am I supposed to do?”
The after-dinner conversations had broken into increasingly hot displays. Matt sat on the couch with Ashley almost in his lap. She played with his hair, giving Rebecca a superior look.
“You could join in and have fun like the rest of us,” Matt said. “How can you know you won't like it if you don't give it a try? I know Christopher and Brandon wanted you to join them, and so did Paul and Amy.”
Ugh. “Not interested,” she said crisply. “So…” God, what was she going to do?
“Logan suggested you talk to him, and maybe he could work something out,” Matt added, then slid his hand into Ashley's low-cut blouse, his attention obviously not on the conversation.
Giving a huff of exasperation, Rebecca stalked out of the lodge. Screaming in fury might not help matters, but damn it all, hadn't she been in this same position yesterday? Sleeping on the porch swing meant risking hypothermia again, so that was out. Mouth tight, she headed down the trail. Matt used the cabin last night. Fairness dictated that she get it tonight—to herself. After all, that's why God gave locks to humankind, to keep out idiot males.
With the sun gone, the air temperature had dropped rapidly, and she shivered. In the stillness of the forest, the sounds from the lodge seemed distant as her sneakers crunched on the pine needles covering the trail. Almost there, she stopped. Heck, she'd left her art bag in the kitchen. She glanced back down the trail and shrugged. Not worth going back in the lodge again, not considering what would be going on.
At her cabin, she stepped onto the tiny porch, grabbed the doorknob, and…
Giggling came from inside the cabin. A man's laugh—Paul—and the bed started creaking in an unmistakable fashion.
Well, damn, damn, damn. She backed away rather than kicking the door like she wanted. So much for that plan. God, Matt must plan to have a foursome in there later. Ew.
She turned and went back down the trail, scuffing her feet, watching the dust glitter in the early moonlight.
She ran into a solid wall and let out a humiliating squeak.
Powerful hands gripped her arms, keeping her from falling, and she looked up into Logan's face.
“Jesus, just kill me and have it over with,” she said, putting her hand on her chest where her heart was trying to pound its way out.
“Sorry, sugar.”
“Sure you are,” she muttered. He didn't sound sorry at all, more like he was trying not to laugh, the bastard. “I needed to talk to you anyway.”
From behind Logan, Thor walked forward, an ominous-looking beast in the dim light on the trail. Rebecca stiffened, then sucked in a breath and held her hand out. Don't bite me; don't bite me.
Thor sniffed her hand, then, with his nose, nudged her hand up. Pet me.
With a choked laugh, she dropped to her knees and did just that. Furry and solid, the dog didn't want anything more from her than some affection. Within a minute, he sprawled over her knees, half in her lap, and Rebecca rubbed his chest and got an occasional tongue s
wiped on her chin.
“Are all dogs like this?” she asked Logan. A tiny bit of worry remained inside, and yet there was something incredibly comforting about having the big, warm body in her arms.
“Thor's one of a kind,” he said. “He doesn't trust too many people, so consider yourself honored.”
She buried her face in the soft, soft fur and sighed. “I like you too,” she whispered into one furry ear and saw his tail move in response.
“Let's get back before you freeze.” Logan offered her a hand. “Thor, out of the lap.”
The dog moved, and Rebecca let Logan pull her to her feet.
He walked beside her toward the lodge, not releasing her hand. “No place to stay for the night, I hear.”
“No.” Annoyance at Matt made her voice sharp, and yet anticipation rose within her like champagne bubbles. Logan's big hand engulfed hers in warmth as they climbed the steps to the porch. “Do you have a storage shed or something I can use?”
The light from the lodge windows highlighted the hard planes of his face. “You are going up to my quarters and to my bed.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted until her face was fully in the light. “You may say, 'Absolutely not,' right now.”
He studied her face while her mind yammered in confusion. Her body had no qualms, and heat swept through her from stem to stern. His lips quirked. “That's what I thought,” he said, as if she'd answered a question. “Come.”
After opening the lodge door, he set a hand on her lower back, pushing her forward to the private door behind the desk. He tapped a code into the keypad and steered her inside and up the stairs to his rooms. Thor slipped in before Logan closed the door. “Shoes off, Becca,” he said, removing his boots. Her sneakers looked tiny beside his.
As the dog curled up on a pile of blankets in the corner, Logan pointed to the couch. “Sit there, sugar.” The leather couch sank under her weight, trapping her in softness. She glanced around, noting the TV had been concealed behind a lush tapestry. Logan definitely liked his comforts with the cushy chairs and couch, the deeply plush rug in front of the fireplace.
When classical baroque music drifted through the room, Rebecca blinked. This hard-faced mountain guy liked Bach? After stirring the coals in the fireplace, he tossed on more kindling and a big log.
“Beer, scotch, screwdriver, or wine?” he asked.
“A screwdriver, please.” The healthy orange juice surely compensated for unhealthy alcohol, right?
He crossed the room into the kitchen silently, like a large animal, and darned if she didn't feel like prey. She edged over to the corner of the couch. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to watch the fire. Didn't work. Had she gone insane?
Of course, he was gorgeous, in a rather scary Vin Diesel sort of way. And she was a healthy female…who had just refused to go to bed with any number of willing men and instead let this man lead her up here. Not that he'd really asked. But her mind kept telling her she'd gone nuts.
“That's a very defensive position.”
Her eyes jerked up to see him looming over her. Her stomach did that fluttery thing again, and she swallowed. “No, it's comfortable. I—”
“Rebecca,” he interrupted. He set her drink down on the coffee table rather than handing it to her. Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up. His eyes were gray in the bright lights, his jaw stern. “Try again, and give me the truth this time.”
The quivering inside her increased, and her mouth went dry. But she raised her chin. “I… Yes. It's defensive. I'm rather nervous, okay?”
His smile was warm and approving, and why something so simple should make her feel good inside didn't make sense. Dammit, she'd always seen herself as strong. Confident. How did he have this effect on her?
Pulling her legs down with firm hands, he stripped her of her defensive position. She resisted long enough to get a sharp look, and then let him have his way. Damned if she knew why.
To her surprise, rather than setting her feet on the floor, he left her legs outstretched on the couch. Then he sat down on the edge of the couch next to her hips, leaving her no room to scoot away. Her corner had turned into a trap. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes, and then he handed her the screwdriver.
She took a few hefty swallows to ease the dryness in her mouth.
“Enjoy it, since that's all the alcohol you get tonight.”
“Why?”
“So you have a clear head.”
She looked up to catch him regarding her thoughtfully.
“I'm going to show you more about dominance and submission tonight,” he said.
“Excuse me?” she said slowly.
“Oh, you heard me.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “And you're interested, although you don't think you should be.”
Her mouth opened, but she couldn't deny it. She could feel her heart thudding loudly, loud enough she hoped he couldn't hear it. A brief hope, since he trailed his fingers down her neck to rest on her pulse there. His eyes crinkled.
She licked her lips. “So what does this”—saying the actual words would make them way too real—“stuff involve?”
“It's easy enough, little one.” His fingers slipped open the buttons on her shirt until it gaped open. When she lifted her hands to close it, he growled, “Don't move.”
She froze.
His smile warmed. “That's how it works, Rebecca. I tell you what to do, and you do it. Very basic.”
“Wh-what if I don't want to do what you say?”
“Good question.” His gaze on her face, his fingers trailed over the top of her bra, awaking nerves throughout her body. “If something I do is unbearable, either physically or mentally, you say, 'Red,' and everything stops. That's your safe word. Red.”
Red. She repeated it in her mind and then frowned. “What if I say stop or no?”
His eyes didn't leave hers. Direct. Even. “Then I continue.”
He stripped her shirt off as easily as if she were a baby, then the chemise she'd worn under it for extra coverage. A second later, her bra loosened, and he tossed it away. She covered herself with her hands.
He gave her a remorseless look. “No, I don't think so.” Taking her wrists, he lifted her arms. “Put them behind your head.” He moved her hands to the nape of her neck. “Lace your fingers together.”
When she complied, he nodded approval. A very strange game, she thought. This is only a game. A game sounded…safe. But her breathing quickened. As if her skin sensitized in anticipation of his touch, she became aware of the smoothness of the leather behind her back, the warmth from the fire heating her right side, with coolness on her left.
She could feel her pussy grow wet.
Having her hands behind her head pushed her breasts forward. With a smile, Logan cupped them in his big hands. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples, sending zings of pleasure straight to her groin. “You know, my mother was built like you,” he said. “Medium height and lush. In spite of having five kids underfoot, my father had trouble keeping his hands off her. I'm beginning to see why.” His fingers rolled one nipple, and the pressure increased slowly until it felt as if there were an open channel of electricity between her breast and her pussy. Nothing had ever felt like that. She started to move, to bring her hands down, and his brows drew together. His face turned harsh. “Don't move, pet. There are consequences for disobedience.”
Consequences? She opened her mouth, and he kissed her, his tongue plunging within, seizing possession. He caught her hair in his fist, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly, so thoroughly that her toes were turning up inside her socks. Releasing her lips, he moved down slowly, his five o'clock shadow scratchy on her neck, his lips warm velvet. As his mouth got closer to her breasts, she realized she was holding her breath, needing him to touch her, kiss her there. He pressed a kiss between her breasts, nuzzling one side, then the other. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen.
His tongue flicker
ed over one nipple. Hot and wet. A puffed breath cooled her skin, and the peak tightened, just before he took it into his mouth. A forceful sucking, then he pressed the nub against the roof of his mouth.
Her nipples engorged, throbbing with the beat of her pulse, sharp pulses of need shooting through her. Her mind seemed to shut down, her body taking over as the sensations continued. Almost frightened, she grabbed his shoulders.
His teeth closed on her nipple, delivered a sharp nip that sizzled straight to her core and made her jerk. “Put your hands back, little rebel,” he growled.
She wanted to whimper. When she put her hands back and he secured her wrists with an inflexible grip, wetness seeped between her legs. A thrill sizzled through her when she realized he'd trapped her hands so he could do whatever he wanted. God, this is so wrong.
His mouth closed over her other breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. A nip fuzzed her brain, another arched her up to him. He laved the tiny hurt. Her breasts were so tight and swollen, they ached.
Releasing her, he sat back on his knees and stripped off his shirt. She couldn't take her eyes from his chest and the way his muscles flexed with each movement he made.
“Time to lose the rest,” he said, undoing the button on her jeans.
She grabbed his hands. No way. Her breasts were all right, but her stomach and hips. And thighs? She looked up at the glowing amber glass on the ceiling fan, the lantern-style lights on the walls. Way too much illumination. Yes, he'd probably gotten a glimpse of scars and jiggles before, but no need to give him a nice, long look now. “Maybe we should move to a bed,” she suggested. And get it on under the covers. Excellent idea.
As his gaze followed hers, his eyes narrowed. He cupped her cheek, watching her face, and his other hand slid her zipper down. She stiffened. Darn it, she didn't want him to see her like this. She glanced at the lanterns again.
Without a word, he rose and walked around the room, flipping off the lights. The crackling fire glowed golden on his bare shoulders as he returned to sit beside her.
Master of the Mountain Page 6
