by Vonna Harper
“I’m here,” she said as she got out of her car and walked to the edge of the wilderness. In deference to the relentless sun, she’d changed into shorts as soon as she could, following her meeting with Ralph.
Suddenly she felt a familiar hand run up the outside of her thigh. If it hadn’t been for her shorts’ tight fit, who knew where that particular invasion would have ended.
“Hello,” she said, trying to keep her voice on an even keel. “You really know how to welcome a gal.”
The bushes to her right rustled, but when Laird didn’t materialize, she concluded that the breeze was responsible.
“What is it? Are you all right?” So much for her intention to keep things casual and not let him know how concerned she was for his safety. “I’ve had—it’s been an amazing day.”
She heard a car stop and turned to see a silver sedan with two young males in front.
“Car trouble, lady?” the passenger asked through his open window. “If you need help, my buddy and I’d be happy to accommodate you. If you get my drift.”
“Laird,” she muttered. “Now would be a good time to get out here.”
Nothing, just that hand print on her thigh.
The passenger opened his door. Beyond him, she could see that the driver was giving her the once over. Great!
“Sexy lady like you shouldn’t be out here all by your lonesome,” the passenger informed her. “What you need is a couple of bodyguards.”
“What I need is to be left alone.”
“Ah, don’t be like that.” He exited the vehicle. There was no doubt of his message in the way he’d clamped his hand over his crotch. “I’ve got something in here you’d like.”
“In your dreams. Do your mothers know you’re out?”
His smile faded. “We’re old enough. The question is, are you woman enough for us?”
This so-called conversation had gone on long enough. No matter what she said, they’d take it how they wanted.
“Go away,” she ordered. “I’m not interested.”
“But we are.” He turned and said something she couldn’t hear to the driver. Mala had felt some comfort because the driver hadn’t killed the engine, but he did so now. When he opened his door, she nearly panicked. Darn but he was tall! And stronger-looking than she felt comfortable with.
Dismissing her unlocked car and purse, she practically dove for the brush. Something scratched the side of her neck, and she nearly lost her footing when she caught her shoe on an exposed root. Because she’d already been back here, she knew the brush wall became less all-encompassing a few feet beyond the side of the road. Hopefully the two jerks didn’t and wouldn’t be in a hurry to come after her.
“Did you see that?” she demanded of Laird. By turning her shoulders, she managed to worm her way between a couple of twenty-foot-high bushes. “For two cents, I’d punch their lights out.”
Sudden realization of how the confrontation could have turned out sent a chill through her.
“They were so crude. Do they really think that approach turns women on?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “On the other hand, there’s your approach. You didn’t ask permission. We weren’t even properly introduced before you started manhandling me. Or is it womanhandling? Who cares. You know what I mean. Ah, I kind of told my best friend what we’ve been up to. Most people would think I need locking up, but she envies me.” Mala took a deep breath, then rushed on. “Hell, I envy me. Now that I’ve had a taste of the wild side—”
“You are all right?”
“Yes.” All of a sudden, putting more distance between herself and the two men no longer mattered. Did Laird have any idea how sexy his voice was or how much she’d wanted to hear it? “I’m all right. Where are you?”
“They’re here.”
“Who?” she demanded. “Those men? Make them—”
“Not them. My people.”
His people? What was he talking about? Grabbing hold of a tree branch for support, she peered at her surroundings. As far as she could tell, there was no sign of him.
“I’ve been trying to reach your family,” she told him. “The number in the Naples phone book, that’s a relative?”
“No.”
“Oh. But the name Jaeger isn’t that common. What about the boat business? That’s yours, isn’t it?”
“They need me.”
“Who needs you?” she asked, although she suspected he wouldn’t answer. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”
He didn’t answer, but she felt his presence. It reminded her of waking up at night as a child and knowing one of her parents was in the room making sure she was all right. She didn’t see Laird in the same light, and yet there was no way she could shake the conviction that he was watching everything she did. Caring about her. Protecting her if need be.
“I was going to come back,” she told him. “Surely you knew that. You told me to keep my appointment. I did. But after that I was—you didn’t have to do what you did, you know.” She rubbed her hand over her thigh to make her point. “I don’t appreciate your proprietary approach.”
“Yes, you do.”
She wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. “What happened? Did something—damn it, I feel like a fool talking to myself.”
Another of his silences had her on the verge of screaming, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t comprehend what he’d been through, or what its impact on him must be. She didn’t want to think of him as being incapable of dealing emotionally with the experience, but that was a possibility.
“You’re a strong man,” she told him. “Brave. You’ll get through this. Whatever it takes, I’ll bring you back to where you belong.”
Although he didn’t respond to the promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, she felt his approach in the earth’s slight vibration. When she fully distinguished him from the patterns of sunlight and shadows, she was shocked by the change in him. It wasn’t just that he looked as if he’d gone several days without shaving and was naked except for the loose and nearly inadequate fabric covering his genitals. Even with that barrier, she could tell that he was well-hung. His hair was tangled, and he had scratch marks and mosquito bites on his bronzed chest, but the transformation went beyond even that.
He now carried himself, she concluded, like a creature of the wilderness. His posture was straighter, his stride firmer. His eyes were full of wisdom about his surroundings, and she had no doubt that all his senses were on the alert. She tried not to stare at the knife fastened to the cord that held his loincloth—she couldn’t think of anything else to call it—in place. There was a dark stain on his wrist that might be dried blood. She didn’t think it came from him.
“You’ve changed,” was all she could say.
“I know.”
At least he was still capable of speaking English. Despite that reassurance, she couldn’t ignore the accent that hadn’t been there before. An alarm went off inside her. Looking at him was like looking at a jungle cat, a man-eater, a wild animal. But she couldn’t run. The fierce and wild woman in her wouldn’t allow that.
“Tell me about it, please.”
“Not tell. Show.”
Don’t talk like that. It sounds—primitive. “How?”
“You will come with me.”
It was an order. She’d been about to erase the distance separating them, but now it felt like walking into a lion’s den. Would he attack? And if he did, would she run or meet him fang for fang?
“Why?” Her voice lacked strength. Trying to run from him would be futile, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“They have been waiting for me. Men, women, children, even babies.”
He wasn’t looking at her, not really. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused on his world. She wondered if she’d ever think of their surroundings like that.
“Who are they, Laird?”
“The Seminole.”
Too much. Way too much. Her heart thundered, and
her legs felt on the brink of giving out. Sanity and maybe survival itself depended on her getting back in her car, rolling up the windows, locking the doors and not stopping driving until she reached California, three thousand miles away.
Instead, she walked toward him, stopped inches from his hard, sun-heated body, reached out and placed her hand over his breast. His heart beat in there. She had to hear it pound as he fucked her. She pressed her palm against his small nipple and took some of his heat for herself. She hadn’t expected him to be so hard and muscular. Most of the men she’d known had been lean white-collar types, but nothing about him felt soft. He was as wild as their surroundings, a primitive man who took what he wanted. And he wanted her as much as she did him. Forget convention and seduction. To hell with courtship! This was about sex, plain and simple.
Down and dirty and wonderful fucking.
He still wasn’t looking at her. Maybe he wasn’t aware of her after all…of himself as a man.
Feeling as if she was being propelled by an unknown force, she slowly and possessively ran her hands over his chest, ribs, throat, shoulder blades. Just doing that kicked her libido up a notch. She was already having trouble controlling her breathing, and as for not conjuring up images of having him locked inside her, well, forget it! He continued to stand unmoving. The memory of his control of her made her question how much he was responsible for what she was doing. It didn’t matter.
She slid her hands under his arms and around to his back. That forced her closer to him. She could no longer keep him in focus. She was turning liquid from belly to hips. The inner heat rose and rose. He smelled of sweat and dirt. Far from repulsing her, the raw scents added to her arousal.
He leaned back and stared down at her, making her wonder if he was taking inventory of her. Well, she wasn’t a Playboy centerfold, but then he’d never grace the cover of a romance novel. Besides, from her admittedly limited expertise, she knew that once a couple started tearing at each other, imperfections didn’t matter. What she needed was an old-fashioned roll in the hay, a little bumping and grinding, some hot and—
“Kneel,” he ordered.
You can’t order me!
Yes, he could, she amended as her legs turned to jelly. She tried to retain her balance by leaning against him, but he grabbed her arm and pushed her away from him. He jerked down on her arms, emphasizing the command. Why should she fight? After all, she’d come here for one thing and one thing only. She sank to the ground, sliding her hands and arms down his body for support.
She felt weak, out of control.
Chapter Seven
Mala thought she detected a change in the sound the wind made, but she couldn’t concentrate on it enough to be sure. It was hard to think of anything else when an all-but-naked man stood spread-legged a few inches away. A young, strong and, no doubt about it, virile man, she might add.
Her mind snagged on the word strong. Maybe because she was looking up at him, she felt just a tad overwhelmed by his size and bulk. She wasn’t a ninety-eight-pound weakling, but he’d already demonstrated his mastery over her. She might fantasize about having a man overpower her, but dreams and reality were two very different things. In the real world, nothing scared her more than the thought of not being able to defend herself—to be at someone’s mercy. At the same time, sticky juices pooled at her crotch and seeped down her thighs.
“Now, on your back.”
Shock slammed into her chest. She felt her clit heat and swell. “My—damn it, Laird! I’m not a hooker. You can’t order—”
Lifting his knee, he pressed his leg against her chest. As he did, she caught a glimpse of his swollen, enormous cock. “On your back.”
Her forehead felt about to burst, but even that pressure didn’t distract her from the unbelievably erotic image of her as this marvelous man’s plaything. He wasn’t some rapist waiting in the shadows. If her life had been in danger, she would have sensed it and fought his attempts to pull her into his world, wouldn’t she? But to be possessed and at his mercy sent hot blood charging throughout her.
“I don’t want…” She tried to protest with what remained of her will.
“Yes. You do.”
“You’re not doing this. All right, you aren’t a damn brood mare. A slave.”
Then why was she scooting around and stretching her legs out in front, leaning back, back until the earth pressed into her spine? Although it was so hot that the earth itself radiated warmth, she couldn’t stop shivering. More fluid leaked from her. She’d become so swollen that her cunt pressed almost painfully against her shorts. It took incredible self-control not to lift her buttocks toward him like some bitch in heat.
“Spread your legs.”
“Laird! What—”
“Spread them.”
Inch by trembling inch, she did so. Arching her neck, she glanced at herself, relieved to discover that her shorts still covered her crotch and were absorbing her juices. At least that was what she thought until he leaned forward and sniffed. His mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed.
“I thought so,” he said with what she took to be a superior tone. Then, almost tenderly, he added, “It’s the way it has to be, Mala.”
“I don’t want—”
“Yes, you do. We both do. Wider. Open yourself to me.”
Watching his expression, more than a little scared, she spread her legs as far as she could. She didn’t know what to do with her hands and wound up gripping grass. Despite the thick foliage, the sun hurt her eyes, forcing her to close them to slits. She felt locked inside herself, unwilling to fully acknowledge how vulnerable she was. She heard birds, insects, herself breathing.
He was touching her, weighted thumbprints on the sensitive sides of her thighs. He’d begun at her knees, but had quickly marched toward her clitoris until maybe half of the journey had been completed. Then he slowed and painstakingly explored her soft and sensitive flesh.
Her legs trembled. She couldn’t regulate her breathing. He caressed and pressed, pinched and painted. It was all she could do not to try to slap his hand away. At the same time, she felt her clit swell even more. She smelled her arousal.
Her nails dug into the earth. Pulling up handfuls of weeds, she brushed them aside only to snag more clumps. She dimly realized what she was doing mirrored the way he was handling her. Her breasts swelled within their prison until the tips felt as if they’d rip through the fabric, but, much as she needed him to work them, he wasn’t done with her thighs.
Slow, so slow, he came closer to her core. As he did, her sex ached to meet his fingertips.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “What do you want?”
“You, damn it.”
“That doesn’t tell me enough.”
“Stop it!” She sounded hysterical, but couldn’t do anything about it. “You haven’t touched—why won’t you—”
“Your shorts are in the way.” Although he could have worked his fingers past the fabric, he teased her to distraction by running his nails over the flesh at the hem. Over and over again he traced the same area of skin. With each pass, he applied more pressure until she wondered if he’d draw blood.
“I’ll take—them—off,” she stammered.
“No, not yet.”
For maybe three heartbeats she had all she could do to deal with his refusal. Only then did she realize he no longer had his hands on her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. Frustration turned her voice ragged.
“Making you wait. Making both of us wait. Now…” Without warning, he ran two fingers under her shorts and panties. They slipped over her flooded cunt, making her sob.
“Wet,” he said, “good.”
“Wet doesn’t begin to describe what’s happening to me, damn it!” Before she could continue, disbelief snagged her breath. He’d removed his hand, robbed her of the reason to go on breathing.
“Don’t do this to me!” she demanded, hating him. “Don’t you damn toy with—”
“Mala
! Shut up.”
He backed away, grabbed her ankles and forced her legs together. “I’m running this right now. That’s the way it’s going to be.” As if to punctuate his words, he pressed her thighs so tightly together that her swollen and sensitive cunt felt as if it was being pinched—deliciously so.
“If I let you come now,” he said, “you won’t remember enough of the journey. It’s the trip that’ll keep you with me.”
“I don’t care.” Liar.
“I don’t believe you. Now.” He gave her thighs a final shove. “Stay like that.”
Once he had her where he wanted her, Laird slowly lowered himself to a crouching position with his legs on either side of her waist—pinning and imprisoning her. She was impressed by the muscle control it had taken to accomplish that, but the feat wasn’t nearly as impressive as the feel of his engorged cock brushing against her breastbone.
“What—what are you going to do?” Had she asked that before? And what made her think she needed to?
His response was to take hold of the hem of her top and pull it up to her armpits. The sudden rush of air along her ribcage brought a bit of sanity with it. He might have his way with her, but not without a fight. Determined to put her vow into action, she planted her elbows on the ground and pushed herself upward. He rocked back slightly as if willing to let her up, then grabbed her arms just above her elbows and yanked her supports out from under her. Then he dropped her onto her back again.
“You didn’t have to—”
Before she could think how she should finish the sentence, he again grabbed her top and slid it up and over her breasts. She noted he was staring at them—or rather what he could see of them under the flesh colored bra. When he slid his hands over the insides of her upper arms and repositioned them over her head, she didn’t try to resist. And when he again yanked at her top, she helped by lifting her back as much as possible. The garment came off. Fortunately, the groundcover felt nearly as comfortable as carpet against her back.
He leaned forward until all she could see of him was a blur, brought her hands together over her head, and held her wrists one across the other. If she put everything into it, she might have been able to wriggle out from under him, but she didn’t try—not with the memory of how her earlier attempt at resistance had played out still strong.
