The time came at last when he knew he could restrain his body's demands no longer. Her movements against his caressing fingers grew more urgent, and he held himself until she convulsed in a molten flood that carried him with it, crying his name as he plunged within the embrace of her body's fiery core and found his own release.
Only the sound of their breathing accompanied the aftershock of passion. Luke held himself within her, careful not to let the full weight of his body trap hers, savoring the feel of her, unwilling to let her go. Her fingers splayed over his back, she began to stroke his skin where her nails had raked him as if to soothe the tiny hurt. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as they gazed up at him. Bending to kiss the arch of her brows, he rolled onto his side and carried her with him, still sheathed comfortably in her warmth, so that one hand was free to stroke away the damp strands of hair that clung to her cheek.
Her head pillowed on his arm, Joey pressed her face into his chest, and he caressed her hair until the last of her shuddering subsided. When she looked at him, her eyes bright with quiet joy that he felt to the marrow of his bones, he knew every one of his fears had been useless. Even his grandmother had recognized it. This woman in his arms had been the only one from the moment he'd seen her. He wanted to keep her a part of him forever, bringing his leg up to hold her there as if she would escape. But her arm came up to drape over his shoulder, and she moved her own legs so that they were intertwined, one perfect whole.
They gazed at each other in the same wordless communication that had come with their lovemaking, her eyes were so beautiful that the emptiness in his soul was filled to overflowing. She alone had filled it. He wanted to kiss her again, explore every last curve and hollow of her face, her body, but the sweet languor and deep peace between them was too wonderful, too fragile, to risk.
It was done, she was his, and he was hers. The bond was sealed between them. For a moment he looked away from her, shutting his eyes against the sudden fear that surged within, unbidden and unwanted, in spite of this new completion. She didn't know. She couldn't know what had happened, how thoroughly they now belonged to one another.
If she did... He shut the thought out behind clenched teeth. He could not bear that thought, that she might learn and reject it and abandon him.
Too late for doubts. He would have to hold her, make her stay with him. He would give her whatever she wanted, so that she would stay. But if there was any chance she might escape him, he would use whatever means necessary to prevent that terrible, unthinkable, and fatal possibility.
"Can we move a little?" Joey's voice cut through his grim thoughts like a soothing balm. "My arm is falling asleep."
Luke felt his lips curve up into a smile in spite of every unanswerable question. He lifted her and carried her with him so that she sprawled across his chest. "Better?"
She sighed deeply and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Much better." After a moment she propped her chin in one hand and grinned at him. "No complaints at all."
He couldn't quite reach her lips, so he satisfied himself with the gentlest of kisses on her forehead. "I'm glad to hear it."
"You see? It wasn't so bad after all." She reached up to tug at the hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, it wasn't entirely horrible for you either—was it?"
Luke almost chuckled at the hint of insecurity in her tone. "No. Far from horrible. Incomparable."
She dropped her eyes and peered up at him coyly from under her lashes. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls."
The smile eased from his face. He felt his fingers tighten where they rested on her upper arms. "There are no others. Never again." He willed her to understand what he dared not say. "Only you, Joelle.Always."
She searched his face, her own grin fading. "You have a way of getting so blasted grim sometimes. You're going to keep playing mystery man, even now that you've had your way with me?"
Sighing deeply, Luke closed his eyes. Even now, he could not tell her. "There are some things—things that I can't explain, Joelle." He opened his eyes and traced her cheekbone with one finger, as delicately as he would caress a snowflake. "Just be with me. Stay with me."
Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown, but she could not maintain the expression long, she dropped her chin to his chest and stretched her arms to either side of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair.
"Someday I'm going to figure you out, Luke Gévaudan. I've never met a puzzle I couldn't solve."
"Take all the time you need, Joelle," he murmured, pulling her up so that her cheek brushed his. So incredibly soft. "Take a lifetime."
For an instant her body grew rigid in his arms and then just as quickly relaxed. Her breathing took on the slow, deep cadence that comes just before sleep; he stroked her back from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, gentling her beyond the need for questions.
"Luke?" Her voice was lazy music. "Say my name again. I like the way you say it."
He trembled with the intensity of his need for her. "Joelle." He breathed her name as he breathed in the unique fragrance of her hair. "Joelle." Her muscles grew loose against him, her body languid with sleep. "Never leave me, Joelle. Never leave me."
His words echoed in darkness and silence.
Chapter Thirteen
Joey's fingers brushed across the raw-silk texture of his skin as she woke. For a moment, her eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep, she took in the feel of it, inhaling the warm masculine scent under her cheek. Her senses were so finely tuned, even now, that a thousand subtle messages came to her at once: the deep, gentle pulse of his heartbeat, the bite of cold air kept at bay by the heat of their intertwined bodies, the scents that were uniquely hers and Luke's mingled with those of the dry needles and leaves that lay scattered under them. Luke's breath tickled her hairline, his big hand resting with infinite tenderness on her shoulder. She could feel each place where his body touched hers with such delightful intensity that it made the various aches and scrapes and bruises fade to insignificance.
Luke stirred. The very pleasant pillow of his chest hardened as he arched and stretched, she shifted to accommodate his movements and matched them with a long, luxurious stretch of her own. When he was still again, she snuggled against him and sighed deeply, her breath teasing the wiry hair under her cheek as she drew her fingers down over his ribs and the hard-ridged planes of his belly.
This time Luke's motion was far from casual. His hand came down to stop the exploration just shy of its mark, flattening to trap hers. He dwarfed her everywhere, and that was no exception, she let her hand rest where he held it under his and arched her fingers just enough to register a protest.
Luke made a half-choked sound. Looking up under her lashes, Joey decided it had been more laughter than an indication of ticklishness. Nevertheless, she felt suddenly very curious to find out if he was as sensitive in that way as he seemed to be in others.
Relaxing her hand in surrender, she waited just until the tension went out of his and then began her sortie, darting up to flick her fingers back over his ribs. He stiffened and gasped in genuine surprise. "Joey!"
"You are ticklish!" she cried in delight, and momentarily forgot her intent to demand his total surrender. The lapse gave him all the time he needed. Before she could do more than squeal in surprise, he had lifted her until she straddled him, her legs along his, her breasts against the arch of his ribs. She knew instantly that her teasing had had a most satisfactory effect on him, even if he'd managed to counteract her assault. The feel of that significant and very admirable part of him trapped between them made her shiver with pleasure.
"Now you know my terrible secret," Luke growled ominously. His lips curved upward in a smile that made her heart squeeze into a fist and loosen again, forcing the blood through her veins in a rush like the flow of heady wine
"And you can bet I won't forget, either," she warned with an answering grin. "You'd better stay on your guard from now on."
"I will. I most
definitely will."
As he gazed at her, amber-green eyes intent as if she were all the world, the rare smile faded. Joey reluctantly abandoned her plan to suggest a sequel to last night's activities. There could be no doubt he was more than ready, the hot length of him against her belly was adequate proof of that. And the mere feel of his body under hers from ankle to chest was enough to make her wish they had nothing to do but make love and let the rest of the world shatter into nonexistence.
But it was the look in his eyes and the gradual return of his features to the familiar set pattern that made her bow to reality. Her own as well as his. Closing her eyes, she let her head drop to his shoulder, her lips at the hollow of his throat.
"I wish we could stay like this forever," she murmured against him.
She felt the tightening of his muscles, shifting in his arms and growing rigid where his chest rose and fell in measure to her own. "Do you, Joey?" He drew a deep breath and let it out again. Suddenly he tumbled her over on her back, pinning her beneath him. The intensity in his gaze held no hint of playfulness.
Joey stared up at him, alarm singing through her. Her body reacted, tensing and resisting instinctively, like an animal caught in a trap. But Luke held her as surely with his will as with his strength, and only when she closed her eyes did he break the invisible bonds that imprisoned her.
She felt his palm settle against her cheek. "Joey," he breathed. "I would keep you here forever if I could." And then he released her, moving up and away before she could open her eyes again, his back turned as he crouched over the pile of their discarded clothing.
Joey pushed herself up and struggled to clear her mind. The moment of alarm had vanished, and all she could think of were absurdities and the absence of Luke's warm body touching hers.
"And only yesterday," she joked a little breathlessly, "you couldn't wait to get rid of me."
Luke lifted his head, his shirt draped over one bare shoulder.
"Everything has changed," he murmured, as though he spoke only to himself. The simple statement made Joey shiver. Everything had changed—and she was a long way from understanding what those changes meant. To her life, to her future, and to her heart.
"You don't make things easy on a man, Joey."
She looked up. Luke stood over her, his fists on his hips, and he smiled—all the grim intensity gone, a rueful curve of his mouth that raised the temperature in the cave by several degrees. It was as if a summer sun had found its way from the far side of the world, piercing her heart with warmth and an unfathomable joy.
"I never intended to," she answered, grinning back.
There was a beat of silence, full of hidden meanings, before Luke turned away. She couldn't quite help following him with her eyes, his graceful lithe walk and the sheer masculine beauty of his body. Before her mind could move on to the next logical thought, she shook herself and searched the dim cave for something practical to occupy her mind and set it in order again.
She was constantly aware of Luke moving about the entrance of the cave, gathering up discarded gear and stowing it in the packs he had used to block a portion of the opening. A quick glance told her that the morning was quiet beyond the cave, the cold air that penetrated was ample evidence of the temperature. She found her dry clothes where they hung along the rock wall and pulled them on as quickly as possible.
Luke vanished outside and returned soon after with wood to light a fire. The smell of hot coffee made Joey feel strangely content, as if she were in the one place in the world she most wanted to be.
"If we leave soon and make decent time, we'll get to Val Cache by nightfall."
Luke dropped into a crouch beside her, gazing as she did through the smoke into the morning visible beyond. "It's clear—no sign of more snow. Not deep enough to slow us too much." He turned to look at her thoughtfully, dark brows pulling down. "If you get tired—or overheated, or cold—you tell me instantly. Understood?"
Joey could not hold back a wry smile of acknowledgment. "Quite understood."
Luke's palm brushed her shoulder as he rose to step over the fire. The casual intimacy of it made her shiver, she wiped out her cup and packed it away with trembling fingers. After a moment Luke returned, and his face was open as he extended his hand for hers.
She stepped out into a world of perfect beauty. The snow was brilliant in the morning sun, even and smooth except where it tripped over rock and boulders and seedlings, brushed like icing on the branches of pine and spruce. Her feet made whispering sounds as they sank down several inches to find a purchase on the ground beneath, her breath frosted the air in a graceful plume. Luke tightened his grip on her hand and watched her as she took it in.
Joey gave herself up to the sheer joy of it, flung her head back so that the puffs of her breath obscured the crystalline blue of the sky. She realized after a moment that she was laughing. Without thinking, she dropped down to gather some of the snow in her gloved hand, feeling it shift and condense between her fingers.
When she turned to glance at Luke, his expression was so absurdly pleased that she had the feeling he was taking personal pride in her reaction, as if he were solely responsible for what nature had provided. Her fingers tightened on the ball of snow her hand had formed, her wicked grin was not quite enough to warn Luke of her intention. The snowball caught him full force in the middle of his chin.
The comical look of surprise on his face lasted only long enough for Joey to catch her breath, and then he was stalking her, head low, teeth bared in a snarl of mock ferocity. She backed away, half-afraid in spite of the game, while he crouched low enough to grab a handful of snow in his fist. As he straightened, he grinned slowly and with great satisfaction, hefting the snowball suggestively, Joey looked around for somewhere to hide and fell into a ridiculous fit of giggles that effectively demolished her ability to escape. She planted her feet and braced herself for the coming impact.
The blow that came staggered her with unbelievable pain, and she felt herself falling—knocked off her feet with such force that her teeth rattled and she hit the ground hard enough to stun. She lay there with cold snow under her cheek, her chest squeezed in searing bands of agony, her vision blurring as she struggled to focus on the impossible.
A huge dark form loomed above her, nearly black against the snow. Vast ragged plumes of hot breath condensed in the air as the huge grizzly spread its paws wide in a killer's embrace.
Joey had no time to consider her final moments of life, before the grizzly could reach her, an explosion of gray fury scattered the snow between them and hurled itself at the huge animal like a sparrow harrying an eagle. In the agonizing seconds that followed, Joey grasped only bits and pieces of the drama that played out before her: the low grunts and angry roars of the bear as it maneuvered to face its attacker, the snarls of the wolf that whirled like a demon about the bigger animal, and once a single yelp of pain as the massive claws struck home, the unmistakable smell of animal heat and blood, the cold caress of the snow that spattered her face. And always, over and under all of it, the pain that urged her not to breathe, to let go.
She tried to call out his name, to use that one word as a focus that might keep strong the desire to live. The sound caught in her throat, though her lips moved in the snow, she tasted blood. The hot flow of it traced paths over her temple and burned like acid into the chill white that cradled her head.
Perhaps it was the shock of seeing her own blood in the snow that enabled her to come back to herself. She clung to awareness and stared at the place where the deadly struggle had played out, the bear was gone. The snow was marked with the struggle, torn away from the ground to expose the raw flesh of earth beneath. There were dark splotches that Joey knew the deadly meaning of. She used the last of her will to focus, to search for the one thing she wanted so desperately to see.
The wolf was there, suddenly, filling her vision. Even now she could spare enough thought to admire it the heavy coat in disarray, erect along its spine, the sheer
magnificent size of the beast, the eyes that burned into hers with the familiarity of an old friend. Familiarity. Joey squeezed her eyes shut and slowly opened them again. The wolf was staring. But her eyes were playing tricks on her, because it was also changing. Changing so gradually and so subtly that it took several long moments before she realized the impossibility of what she was seeing.
She knew then she was truly dying. Only a bizarre end-of-life vision could account for this. Still she stared, unable to look away, while the wolf blurred and shivered and became something else. Something she could not believe and yet had no choice but to accept.
The wolf was Luke.
He was the last thing she saw as she let herself descend back into the peaceful sanity of oblivion.
Once again he had failed her.
He cradled her in his arms while her blood dripped into the snow, and for an eternity that single numb thought overwhelmed all the world. The howl that rose in his throat choked him, but it brought back sanity, the sanity of the need for survival. The sanity his wolf's nature demanded. The need to take his mate back from the embrace of his dark and ungiving rival.
He snarled as he lifted her and carried her back into the cave, defying death to take her from him. Enough of the nature of his man's form remained to enable him to find the first-aid kit, to clear away the clotted blood that matted her hair and streaked her body, halt the deadly escape of her life's blood before it could carry her away with it. He located the deep gash at her temple and bound it up, and then patched the lesser wounds, tearing up his spare shirt when the bandages ran out. Her breath came slight and soft, but it came, he paused to bend his head over her and call upon the spirit of life to keep that one steady rhythm unbroken. The cold certainty of her condition did not leave him, but when he had done all he could, he was able to gather up the vestiges of human logic and weave them into resolution.
PRINCE OF WOLVES Page 27
