Blazing Bedtime Stories

by Kimberly Raye, Leslie Kelly

  She’d had erotic dreams before, but they’d always included actual erotic content. She’d never felt her sex moisten and her nipples harden in anticipation of a longed-for caress unless some seriously hot activities were happening in her dreams.

  They weren’t. Not yet.

  She wasn’t deeply asleep, but in that place where consciousness almost seemed able to control the unconscious. A voice deep in her head ordered the dream to change, demanded that it shift into something erotic and wild.

  Then came another voice, this one more distant. “Can you hear me?”

  She frowned, not wanting to hear more than sultry whispers.

  “I know you’re at least partially aware of what’s going on,” the voice said, sounding much too harsh to be a lover. “So listen, lady, you’d better wake up and stop me. I’m a total stranger and my hands have been all over you tonight.”

  Was he kidding? Why on earth would she want to stop him? Or to wake up at all? She sighed and burrowed deeper into the delightful bed. “Touch me,” she whispered to her dream lover.

  “It’s the herbal tea,” he snapped. “I spooned a little into your mouth while you were unconscious. It’ll make you feel better, but it can also hype you up and make you horny as hell if you’re not used to it.”

  The angry tone, and the sudden lightness of the bed—as if the person sitting on the edge had gotten up—began to penetrate the mist in her mind. The dream faded and reality gained a stronger hold.

  Not yet. Please.

  She focused on the last thing he’d said—horny as hell. God, yes, she was. She ached, deep down, feeling hollow and empty. She needed an orgasm, but she needed penetration even more. Her hips thrust up in silent demand.

  She shifted on the bed, kicking at the covers, wanting nothing touching her, nothing on her skin, unless it was a man’s hands. That man’s, the one with the deep, accented voice and the strong but tender stroke.

  Her own touch would be a poor substitute, and she knew it. But the need was tremendous. She slid one palm across her stomach, the other to the bottom of one breast. Both slowly began to move farther, one up, one down, but were suddenly stopped by the clamp of strong fingers around her wrists.

  “Huh-uh, lady. I might be one of the good guys but I’m no damned saint.” His tone was a mix of frustration and anger and just a hint of throbbing sexual desire.

  And that was when she realized she was no longer dreaming.

  Her eyes flew open as she realized the truth. Strong hands were wrapped around her wrists. A big, powerful-looking man was at the other end of those hands, leaning over her, though her vision was blurry and she couldn’t make him out clearly. She did, indeed, lie in an incredibly comfortable bed, against silky-smooth sheets that felt so good she wanted to roll all over them. Most shocking of all, she was nearly naked—wearing only her skimpy panties and a sheer, lacy bra.

  Oh, yeah, and she was definitely hornier than she’d ever been in her life.

  “What’s going on?” Despite the sensual awareness that had her legs shaking and her breath coming in short gasps, Scarlett tugged her hands free and struggled to sit up. Grabbing for the sheets, she pulled them up to cover herself, because, physically aroused or not, she had no idea where she was or who the hell she was talking to. “Where am I?”

  “You had an accident.”

  “Oh, and all my clothes were ripped right off my body?”

  The man stepped back from the bed, his hands up in a nonthreatening pose. “You were covered with glass. So were your clothes. I took them off so I could shake them out and clean them, as well as tend to your cuts. I needed to make sure you didn’t have any other injuries or broken bones.”

  Scarlett blinked rapidly, her flash of anger at being nearly naked in a strange bed dissipating with the realization that she had been hurt. Her body ached, her head throbbed. Her collarbones felt as if they’d been pulverized and her left shoulder felt as if it had been used as a punching bag.

  “You’re sure nothing’s broken?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. But you’re gonna have some bruises, especially where you flew against the seatbelt and got a face full of airbag.”

  “Seatbelt…airbag?” she murmured, trying to remember.

  “You don’t remember crashing your car?”

  The car. Oh, God, yes, the car! She’d been driving on that crazy, tunnel-like road, plowing on even though her every instinct had been screaming to turn around. And then she’d…what? The recollection got fuzzy and dim. She remembered something moving in the trees—a shadow. Then nothing.

  “I saw it happen. You were almost ’gator bait,” he said. “A minute or two later and you would have gone into the swamp with your car. You were unconscious. I had to break the windshield in order to get you out.” He gestured toward her face and shoulders, where she could feel the sting of tiny nicks. “That’s why you got a little cut up. Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Don’t be, you saved my life. Thank you.”

  And he had. He’d saved her life. She could have died.

  Next time, don’t stray from the damn path.

  “Road,” she mumbled. “Don’t veer off the main road.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She lay back on the bed. “Who are you, anyway?”

  He remained a few feet away, in the shadows. Though her vision was clearing as she pulled herself farther and farther from her fuzzy sleep, she still couldn’t see him well. And she wanted to. Remembering the dreams she’d been having, she wanted to put a face to the voice, a body to the touch. Right now, all she could tell was that he was very tall and very broad. And had a great voice.

  “Hunter.”

  “You’re a hunter?”

  He chuckled softly, for some reason. She modified her assessment: he had a great voice and great laugh.

  “I’m Hunter Thibodaux.”

  “Cajun.

  “N’awlins born and bred, cher.”

  God, she loved Cajuns. She’d moved to New Orleans ten years ago because she’d been so enraptured by the city. And, she had to admit, also by the sexy, mysterious quality of the men it produced. Men like this one.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “My name’s Scarlett Templeton.”

  “Scarlett?” he asked, sounding disbelieving. Her name sounded especially Southern when spoken with his lyrical accent, which seemed to lengthen and soften each syllable at the same time. So hot.

  One other thing she noted—he hadn’t reacted to her name because he’d recognized it. That was good. He’d merely sounded as though he thought she might be lying. “You’ve got a lot of room to talk. I guess Hunter’s the next Bob, right?”

  “Sorry. That was rude. It’s not a name you often hear.”

  “My mother was a book-inhaling romantic.”

  That was putting it mildly. Her father had walked out on them both before Scarlett was even born. And her mother had retreated into a complete fantasy world, believing he would someday come riding back on a white steed, after fulfilling whatever glorious quest must have drawn him away.

  Personally, if she were her mother and the man ever did come back, Scarlett would greet him with a closed fist, not open arms.

  “Ah. I half wondered if you were on the run or somethin’.”

  “On the run?”

  “Well, you were out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “So were you.”

  “I was camping.”

  “In a swamp?” she asked.

  “Forget it,” he said. “Just be glad I was there.”

  She nodded, conceding the point. “This doesn’t seem like a hospital, Hunter.” She liked the way his name tasted on her lips. It was sexy. A little dangerous.

  Which pretty well described her current situation, didn’t it? Nearly naked, vulnerable, with a complete stranger. And still overwhelmingly aroused.

  Dangerous. Sexy. Oh, yeah, it fit.

  “No. Like I said, I was camping and my truck was miles
away. It would have taken too long to get you out.”

  “You sure know how to pick your camping sites,” she said, unable to resist. That need to get the last word in had always driven her mother nuts. And her exes.

  He ignored her. “You were unconscious. It was easier to bring you here and take care of you than try to carry you through the bayou in the middle of the night.”

  Here. Where was here? She glanced around, moving slowly since her head hurt. Though, honestly, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as she would expect after being knocked unconscious in a car crash. And her confusion merely grew.

  The low lighting didn’t allow for a thorough inspection, but she did realize at once that she was in a spacious, one-room cabin. The rough-hewn log walls and unfinished pine floor made that clear. It was obviously a very rustic one judging by the hanging lantern providing the only illumination. No electricity.

  But as she’d already noted, the bed was incredibly comfortable, the coverings on it as soft as any 500-thread count sheets she’d ever owned. Interesting accommodations: luxurious sheets, no power.

  Then she noticed the single door that must lead out, meaning there was probably no indoor plumbing. An outhouse? Oh, wonderful.

  “What is this place?”

  “Just a hunting cabin in the woods,” he said. “I knew there were first aid supplies here…”

  “Not to mention aphrodisiac tea.” Which still had her in its grip, given the way the muscles of her legs kept clenching and releasing, and her body still thrummed beneath the sheets.

  He said nothing, watching her from the shadows a few feet away. Her eyes had adjusted, so she could now roughly make out the shape of his face and the gleam of his eyes.

  Not enough, though.

  “That’s an occasional side effect,” he admitted. “But it’s also a very good pain reliever. I only gave you a few spoonfuls. Are you feelin’ better?”

  She did a little shoulder roll and carefully turned her head from side to side. To her surprise, the pain was diminishing and her arm didn’t fall entirely out of its socket as it had felt on the verge of doing only minutes ago. And the fuzziness in her brain was completely gone. In fact, she felt more wide awake now than she usually did after a full night’s sleep.

  “Yes, I am.” She glanced toward the wall again, wondering what time it was, but a heavy cloth covered what appeared to be the only window. “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “About an hour. It’s around midnight.”

  Midnight. She had finished buying Granny’s guilty pleasures and left town at seven. The drive to her grandmother’s place usually took no more than two hours. The math didn’t work. “That can’t be.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I’m missing a good couple of hours.”

  He said something under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Driving through the woods can make time seem…flexible.”

  She grunted in disbelief.

  “I’m not lying. See?” He stepped closer and extended his arm, showing her the face of the plain watch on his left wrist. She noted the time, but was more interested in the visible strength of his hand and forearm.

  Then she looked up at the rest of him. And was way more interested in that.

  She’d sensed he was sexy and dangerous. She just hadn’t expected that he’d be so damned handsome he’d nearly make her heart stop beating in her chest.

  His shaggy, shoulder-length hair was light brown, maybe dark blond, shot with streaks of gold that glittered in the soft light thrown from the lantern. His deep-set eyes were green, a vivid, deep jungle green. His hollowed cheeks were lightly whiskered, as was his strong, jutting chin. The mouth was the only soft-looking thing about the man, and she suddenly wondered how much more devastating he’d be when he smiled.

  Right now, there was no smile on hint of a those lips. Nor did any humor linger in his eyes. He was intense, on alert, his whole body held stiff, as if he was ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.

  She could definitely think of some action she’d like this man to leap into. And if she hadn’t been beaten up so badly by a vicious beast disguised as an airbag, she’d consider provoking him.

  “See? Midnight.”

  He must not have noticed the dumb, glazed way she’d been staring at his gorgeous face. That was good. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the drool, either.

  Even though her mind grew more sharp and clear by the second, physically she felt pretty banged up. Yet it didn’t matter. She didn’t know if it was that tea or his big, hard body, or the fact that she hadn’t been touched intimately by a man in months, or that she was a woman who really liked sex—or all of the above…she was ready to pull him down on top of her.

  Thinking about it, she realized her chest and collarbones probably wouldn’t appreciate his weight. So maybe she’d pull him down and roll on top of him.

  You’re crazy. She was lusting over a complete stranger, who’d taken her to a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere, stripped her and admitted he’d had his hands all over her.

  Mmm. Those big hands all over her.

  As if finally noticing that she was staring at him as if he was an ice cream sundae and she a diet-deprived housewife, he stepped back. The shadows wrapped around him once more, though now that she’d laid eyes on him her mind filled in all the spaces she couldn’t see. And all the ones she hadn’t yet seen. Especially because, from here, his body looked just as delicious as the rest of him.

  “It’s the tea,” he said flatly.

  Damn. The man was a mind reader.

  “It’ll keep you awake and pretty much pain-free all night. And that, uh, side effect will wear off soon.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “For a writer, you’re not a good liar, Ms. Templeton.”

  Double damn. He had recognized her. “You know who I am?”

  He nodded. “It took me a few minutes. The name sounded familiar. I saw your picture on a poster at a bookstore once. You write books for kids, right?”

  Probably not the kind he imagined. “For the most part.”

  “Are people going to be looking for you?”

  In a normal situation, if she felt in any way threatened, she would have snapped, “Hell, yes, the National Guard will be out searching for me by now, buster.”

  But she didn’t.

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He stepped across the room, lifted the heavy curtain and peered out into the night. “Look, I have to go out for a little while.”

  Her jaw dropped. “At midnight?”

  “You’ll be fine,” he insisted. “There’s more tea on the table beside you if you start hurting again, but try not to drink too much.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks. I’ve had quite enough of the side effects. Don’t you have a bottle of aspirin lying around?” She always did. Of course, hers was in her purse, which was in her car, which was now resting at the bottom of a swamp.

  Wow. Her insurance agent was not going to be happy.

  “No, I don’t.” He dropped the curtain and walked over to the bed, staring down at her. Frowning, he murmured, “I know you could have a concussion, and I’d stay if it wasn’t so important. The tea will keep you awake, so just lie here and try to relax, okay?”

  She did feel incredibly jazzed up, nowhere near ready to fall asleep. Almost the way she had felt when that strange, Rumpelstiltskin-like man had touched her earlier.

  “That man,” she mumbled, suddenly realizing he was the one she’d been hearing as she drove blindly through the woods. Stray from the path. His words. And his voice.

  “What man?” Hunter asked, his tone sharp. “Did you see someone in the woods?”

  “Someone crazier than you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The tea can make you a little jumpy, but that mouth, it’s all you, isn’t it?”

  Scarlett couldn’t contain a cocky grin. “’Fraid so.
”

  His lips might have quirked the tiniest bit. But whether he was going to smile or sneer, she honestly didn’t know.

  She wasn’t going to find out, either.

  Because without another word, Hunter swung around and crossed the room, grabbing a long duster coat off a hook. He tugged it on, then put a tattered fedora on top of his head.

  The Indiana Jones look so worked on this guy.

  He reached for the doorknob. “I’ve gotta go.” Before he slipped out into the night, however, he added a warning. “Stay inside until I get back. You don’t want to be wandering around in the dark. There are…things out there. And do not open the door to anyone.”

  He mumbled something else under his breath.

  “What?”

  He grudgingly explained. “Strange people live around here. If a grumpy-looking dwarf shows up, just stay quiet and pretend you’re not here.”

  Scarlett couldn’t contain a snort and she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and, uh, I have to beware of old crones bearing apples, right?”

  “That’s ancient history,” he muttered.

  Then he was gone, leaving her to wonder just what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

  And why she didn’t seem to care.

  4

  HUNTER HEADED BACK to the cottage at dawn. The night had proved fruitless, as he had thought it would. Morning came earlier here—the days were shorter all around—and he’d had just a few hours to track. The only good thing was the daylight hours would pass quickly, too. He’d be back out to start all over again the moment the sun went down.

  Lucas wouldn’t be able to stay in after dark. It didn’t matter where he was holed up, he’d be drawn outside into the moonlight as surely as a salmon was drawn upriver to spawn every year.

  Hunter glanced at his watch. It was 3:00 a.m. But streaks of pink and orange sliced the sky, preparing it for the arrival of the sun. The woman in his cabin would almost certainly notice.

  “Of course she will,” he mumbled, shaking his head. Half frustrated, half ruefully amused, he changed his watch to a time she’d find more realistic.