Oh, he would have to push that button, Althea thought as she turned away to stare into the deep green of the neighboring forest. He would have to let her hear that terrible worry in his voice, see the fire of it in his eyes.
He would have to be perfectly and completely right.
Pride was the hardest of all pills to swallow. Making the effort, she turned back and walked to stand beside the steps. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."
His response was a grunt.
"Does it still hurt?"
He looked back down at her then, with a gleam in his eyes that would have made lesser women grovel. "Only when I breathe."
She smiled and patted his leg. "Try to think about something else. Do you want me to hand you tools or something?"
His eyes only narrowed farther, until they were thin blue slits. "Do you know the difference between a ratchet and a torque wrench?''
"No." She tossed her hair back. "Why should I? I have a perfectly competent mechanic to look after my car."
"And if you break down on the highway?"
She sent him a pitying look. "What do you think?"
He ground his teeth and went back to the carburetor. "If I made a comment like that, you'd call it sexist."
She grinned behind his back, but when she spoke, her voice was sober. "Why is calling a tow truck sexist? I think there's some instant coffee in the galley," she continued. "I'll make some."
"It isn't smart to use the battery," he muttered. "We'll make do with soft drinks."
"No problem."
When she returned twenty minutes later, Colt was cursing the engine. "This friend of Boyd's should be shot for taking such haphazard care of his equipment."
"Are you going to fix it or not?"
"Yeah, I'm going to fix it." He found several interesting names to call a bolt he was fighting to loosen. "It's just going to take a little longer than I expected." Prepared for some pithy comment, he glanced down. She merely stood there patiently, the breeze ruffling her hair. "What's that?" he asked, nodding down at her hands.
"I think it's called a sandwich." She held up the bread and cheese for his inspection. "Not much of one, but I thought you might be hungry."
"Yeah, I am." The gesture mollified him somewhat. He lifted his hands and showed her palms and fingers streaked with grease. "I'm a little handicapped."
"Okay. Bend over." When he obeyed, she brought the bread to his mouth. They watched each other over it as he took a bite.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. I found a beer." She pulled the bottle out of her pocket and tipped it back. "We'll share." Then she held it to his lips.
"Now I know I love you."
"Just eat." She fed him more of the sandwich. "Do you have any idea how much longer it's going to take you to get us airborne?"
"Yeah." And because he did, he made sure he got his full share of the beer and the sandwich before he told her. "It'll be an hour, maybe two."
She blinked. "Two hours? We'll have run out of daylight by then. You don't plan to fly this out of here in the dark?"
"No, I don't." Though he remained braced for a sneak attack, he went back to the engine. "It'll be safer to wait until morning."
"Until morning," she repeated, staring at his back. "And just what are we supposed to do until morning?"
"Pitch a tent, for starters. There's one in the cabin, in the overhead. I guess old Frank likes to take his ladies camping."
"That's great. Just great. You're telling me we have to sleep out here?"
"We could sleep in the plane," he pointed out. "But it wouldn't be as comfortable, or as warm, as stretching out in a tent beside a fire." He began to whistle as he worked. He'd said he owed her one. He hadn't realized he'd be able to pay her back so soon, or so well. "I don't suppose you know how to start a campfire."
"No, I don't know how to start a damn campfire."
"Weren't you ever a Girl Scout?"
She made a sound like steam escaping a funnel. "No. Were you?"
"Can't say I was—but I was friendly with a few of them. Well, you go on and gather up some twigs, darling. I'll talk you through your first merit badge."
"I am not going to gather twigs."
"Okay, but it's going to get cold once that sun goes down. A fire keeps the chill—and other things—away."
"I'm not—" She broke off, looked uneasily around. "What other things?"
"Oh, you know. Deer, elk… wildcats…"
"Wildcats." Her hand went automatically to her shoulder rig. "There aren't any wildcats around here."
He lifted his head and glanced around as if considering. "Well, it might be too early in the year yet. But they do start coming down from the higher elevations near winter. Of course, if you want to wait until I've finished here, I'll get a fire going. May be dark by then, though."
He was doing it on purpose. She was sure of it. But then again… She cast another look around, toward the forest, where the shadows were lengthening. "I'll get the damn wood," she muttered, and stomped off toward the trees. After she checked her weapon.
He watched her, smiling. "We're going to do just fine together," he said to himself. "Just fine."
Following Colt's instructions, Althea managed to start a respectable fire within a circle of stones. She didn't like it, but she did it. Then, because he claimed to be deeply involved in the final repairs to the plane, she was forced to rig the tent.
It was a lightweight bubble that Colt declared would nearly erect itself. After twenty minutes of struggle and swearing, she had it up. A narrow-eyed study showed her that it would shelter the two of them—as long as they slept hip to hip.
She was still staring at it, ignoring the chill of the dusk, when she heard the engine spring to life.
"Good as new," Colt shouted, then shut off the engines. "I have to clean up," he told her. He leapt out of the cabin, holding a jug of water. He used it sparingly, along with a can of degreaser from the toolbox. "Nice job," he said, nodding toward the tent.
"Thanks a bunch."
"There are blankets in the plane. We'll do well enough." Still crouched, he drew in a deep breath, tasting smoke and pine and good, crisp air. "Nothing quite like camping out in the hills."
She shoved her hands into her pockets. "I'll have to take your word for it."
He finished scrubbing his hands with a rag before he rose. "Don't tell me you've never done any camping."
"All right, I won't tell you."
"What do you do for a vacation?"
She arched a brow. "I go to a hotel," she said precisely. "Where they have room service, hot and cold running water and cable TV."
"You don't know what you're missing."
"I suppose I'm about to find out." She shivered once, sighed. "I could use a drink."
In addition to the Beaujolais, they feasted on rich, sharp cheese, caviar and thin crackers spread with a delicate pate.
All in all, Althea decided, it could have been worse.
"Not like any camp meal I ever had," Colt commented as he scooped more caviar onto a cracker. "I thought I'd have to go kill us a rabbit."
"Please, not while I'm eating." Althea sipped more wine and found herself oddly relaxed. The fire did indeed keep the chill away. And it was soothing to watch it flicker and hiss. Overhead, countless stars wheeled and winked, stabbing the cloudless black sky. A quarter-moon silvered the trees and lent a glow to the snow capping the peaks that circled them.
She'd stopped jerking every time an owl hooted.
"Pretty country." Colt lit an after-dinner cigar. "I never spent much time here before."
Neither had she, Althea realized, though she'd lived in Denver for a dozen years. "I like the city," she said, more to herself than Colt. She picked up a stick to stir the fire, not because it needed it, but because it was fun to watch the sparks fly.
"Why?"
"I guess because it's crowded. Because you can find anything you want. And because I feel useful there."<
br />
"And that's important to you, feeling useful."
"Yeah, it's important."
He watched the way the flames cast shadow and light over her face, highlighting her eyes, sharpening her cheekbones, softening her skin. "It was rough on you, growing up."
"It's over." When he took her hand, she neither resisted nor responded. "I don't talk about it," she said flatly. "Ever."
"All right." He could wait. "We'll talk about something else." He brought her hand to his lips, and felt a response, just a slight flexing, then relaxing, of her fingers. "I guess you never told stories around the campfire."
She smiled. "I guess not."
"I could probably think of one—just to pass the time. Lie or truth?"
She started to laugh, but then she shot to her feet, whipping out her weapon. Colt's reaction was lightning-fast. In an instant he was beside her, shoving her back, his own gun slapped from his boot into his palm.
"What?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed and searching every shadow.
"Did you hear that? There's something out there."
He cocked an ear, while she instinctively shifted to guard his back. After a moment of throbbing silence, he heard a faint rustling, then the far-off cry of a coyote. The plaintive call had Althea's blood drumming.
Colt swore, but at least he didn't laugh. "Animals," he told her, bending to replace his gun.
"What kind?" Her eyes were still scanning the perimeter, wary, watchful.
"Small ones," he assured her. "Badgers, rabbits." He laid a hand over the ones that gripped her weapon. "Nothing you have to put a hole in, Deadeye."
She wasn't convinced. The coyote called again, and an owl hooted in counterpoint. "What about those wildcats?"
He started to respond, thought better of it, and tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Well, now, darling, they aren't likely to come too close to the fire."
Frowning, she replaced her weapon. "Maybe we should have a bigger fire."
"It's big enough." He turned her toward him, running his hands up and down her arms. "I don't think I've ever seen you so spooked."
"I don't like being this exposed. There's too much here, out here." And the sterling truth was that she would rather face a hopped-up junkie in a dark alley than one small, furry creature with fangs. "Don't grin at me, damn it!"
"Was I grinning?" He ran his tongue around his teeth and struggled to look sober. "It looks like you're going to have to trust me to get you through this."
"Oh, am I?"
He tightened his grip when she started to back away. The look in his eyes changed so quickly, from amusement to desire, that it took her breath away. "There's just you and me, Althea."
She let the clogged air slowly out of her lungs. "It looks like."
"I don't figure I have to tell you again how I feel about you. Or how much I want you."
"No." Tension flooded into her when he brushed his lips over her temple. And heat, a frightening spear of it, stabbed up her spine.
"I can make you forget where you are." He trailed his lips down to her jawline and nibbled up the other side. "If you'll let me."
"You'd have to be damn good for that."
He laughed, because there had been a challenge in the statement, even though her breath had caught on the words. "It's a long time until morning. I'm betting I can convince you before sunrise."
Why was she resisting something she wanted so terribly? Hadn't she told herself long ago never again to let fear cloud her desires? And hadn't she learned to sate those desires without penalty?
She could do so now, with him, and erase this grinding ache.
"All right, Nightshade." Fearlessly she linked her arms around his neck, met his eyes straight on. "I'll take that bet."
His hand fisted in her hair, dragged her head back. For one long, humming moment, they stared at each other. Then he plundered.
Her mouth was hot and honeyed under his, as demanding as hunger, as wild as the night. He plunged into the kiss, using tongue and teeth, knowing he could gorge himself on her and never be filled. So he took more, relentlessly savaging her mouth while she met demand with demand and power with power.
It was like the first time, she realized giddily. The first time he'd dragged her to him and made her taste what he had to offer. Like some fatal drug, the taste had her pulses pounding, her blood swimming fast and her mind spinning away from reason.
She wondered how she had expected to come away whole. And then she forgot to care.
She no longer wanted to be safe, to be in control. Now, here, with him, she wanted only to feel, to experience everything that had once seemed impossible, or at least unwise. And if she sacrificed survival, so be it.
Driven by greed, she tore at his coat, desperate to feel the hard, solid body beneath. He didn't have to be stronger than she, but if he was, she would accept the vulnerability that came with being a woman. And the power that raced alongside it.
She was like a volcano ready to erupt, and she wanted nothing more than to be joined with him when the tremors came.
She was stripping him of his sanity, layer by layer. Those wild lips, those frantic hands. On an oath that was almost a prayer, he half carried, half dragged her toward the tent, feeling like some primeval hunter flinging his chosen mate into his cave.
They tumbled into the small shelter together, a tangle of limbs, a tangle of needs. He yanked her coat down her shoulders, fighting for breath as he raced greedy kisses down her throat.
He felt the vibration of her groan against his lips as he fought her shoulder rig, tearing aside that symbol of control and violence, knowing he was losing control, overwhelmed by a violence of feelings that he couldn't suppress.
He wanted her naked and straining. And screaming.
Her breath caught in gasps as she tugged, pulled, ripped, at his clothes. The firelight glowed orange through the thin material of the tent, and she could see his eyes, the dark, dangerous purpose in them. She reveled in it, in the panicked excitement that racked her body where he groped and possessed. He would ravage her tonight, she knew. And be ravaged in turn.
Levering himself back, he dragged her sweater up and over her head and tossed it aside. She wore lace beneath, a snow-white fancy that in a saner place, in a saner time, would have aroused him by its blatant femininity. He might have toyed with the straps, skimmed his fingers over her subtle peaks. Now he only ripped it apart in one jerky move to free her breasts for his greedy mouth.
The flavor of that warm, scented flesh hit his system like a blow. And her response, the lovely arching of her body against his, the long, throaty moan, the quick, helpless quiver, drove him toward a summit of pleasure he had never dreamed of.
He feasted.
A whimper caught in her throat. She dug her nails into the naked flesh of his shoulders, needing to drive him on, terrified of where he was taking her. She clutched at him for balance, moved under him in sinuous invitation, arching once more as he peeled her slacks away, skimming those impossibly clever fingers down her thighs.
The triangle of lace that shielded her tore jaggedly. Once again his mouth feasted:
Her cry of stunned release rippled through his blood. She shot up like a rocket, exploding, imploding, feeling herself scatter and burn. But where the release should have peaked and leveled, he gave her no respite. She clutched at the blanket while he battered her system with sensations that had no name, no form.
When he rose over her, every muscle trembling, he found her eyes open and on his. He watched her face, filled himself with it even as he buried himself inside her in one desperate stroke. Her eyes glazed, closed. His own vision grayed before he buried his face in her hair.
His body took over, matching the fast, furious rhythm of her hips. They rode each other like fury, greedy children gorging themselves on forbidden fruit. Her final cry of dark pleasure echoed through the air seconds before his own.
Strength sapped, he collapsed onto her, gulping in air as he felt her tremble
beneath him from the aftershocks.
"Who won?" he managed after a moment.
She hadn't thought it possible to laugh at such a time, but a chuckle rumbled into her throat. "Let's call it a draw."
"Good enough for me." He thought about lifting himself off her, but was afraid he might shatter if he tried to move. "Plenty good enough. I'm going to kiss you in a minute," he murmured, "but first I have to drum up the strength."
"I can wait." Althea let her eyes close again, and savored the closeness. His body continued to radiate heat, and his heart was far from steady. She stroked her hand down his back for the simple pleasure of the contact, frowning a bit when her fingers ran over a raised scar. "What's this?"
"Hmm?" He stirred himself, surprised that he'd nearly fallen asleep on top of her. "Desert Storm."
She hadn't realized he'd been there. It occurred to her that there was quite a bit about him that lay in shadows. "I thought you'd retired before that went down."
"I had. I agreed to do a little job—sort of a side job."
"A favor."
"You could call it that. Caught a little flak—nothing to worry about." He tilted his head, nuzzling. "You have the most gorgeous shoulders. Have I mentioned that?"
"No. Do you still do favors for the government?"
"Only if they ask nicely." He grunted and rolled so that he could shift her on top of him. "Better?"
"Mmm…" She rested her cheek on his chest. "But I think we might freeze to death."
"Not if we keep active." He grinned when she lifted her head to look down at him. "Survival methods, Lieutenant."
"Of course." Her lips curved into a smile. "I have to say, Nightshade, I like your methods."
"That so?" Gently he combed his fingers through her hair, tested its weight with his hand.
"That's very so. How soon do we have to add wood to that fire?"
"Oh, we've got a little while yet."
"Then we shouldn't waste time, should we?" Still smiling, she lowered her mouth to his.
"Nope." He felt himself hardening again inside her, and prepared to let her take the lead. As his lips curved against hers, he was struck by a stab of love so sharp it stole his breath. He clutched her close, held on. "I know it's a tired line, Thea, but it's never been like this for me before. Not with anyone."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 398
