by Candace Camp
Leslie didn’t think about her feelings or analyze them. She didn’t even consider where this impulsive affair would end. Nothing mattered except the present moment. There was no tomorrow, only here and now, for tomorrow was too uncertain.
On the fourth day out from the rebel camp, shortly after their brief lunch break, Cutter spotted water through the trees on the right and veered in that direction. After he had refilled their bottles, they followed the small creek as it wound along, getting wider and swelling with more water as they walked. After a while they broke through the heavy vegetation to a beautiful clearing.
Leslie gasped with delight at the sight below them. The trees, knotted and snarled with vines, opened up, and a shelf of barren rock extended over a small lagoon and water from the stream spilled over it. The lagoon was pale green and glittered beneath the sun. The water was so clear that they could see the sandy bottom all the way on the far side where it was shallower. Wavering plants grew there and brightly colored fish darted about. Up here, they stood on a rocky cliff, watching the water tumble and shoot into the lagoon in a silvery spray.
“Wow,” Leslie breathed, enchanted. “It’s lovely.”
Cutter nodded in assent. “It’s warm, too.”
“How do you know? Come here often?” Leslie teased.
“Every lagoon I’ve seen here has been warm. I assume this one will be, too.”
“Perhaps we should test your theory.” She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. “Let’s go swimming.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.” Cutter sat down on the rock slab and tugged off his boots, then set his weapons and bundle of their dwindling supplies beside him on the rock. Leslie quickly followed his lead, taking off her heavy boots. She started to unbutton her short-sleeved shirt, then stopped, aware of Cutter’s eyes upon her. She glanced at him, somewhat embarrassed. As much as they had had sex, they had never undressed before each other, outdoors and in the light of day.
Cutter leaned back on his elbows, grinning, watching her. Leslie hesitated for a moment. Cutter’s eyes were scorching; just their touch burned through her, setting up hot, pulsing sensations in her abdomen. Her breasts tingled as if he had touched them. Mingled with the faint embarrassment was a new feeling, a shameless desire to be naked before him and see the heat of passion spark in his eyes. Not taking her eyes from him, Leslie unbuttoned her shirt and let it slide off her shoulders. The button of her jeans slipped out with a suggestive pop, and she moved the zipper down slowly.
The grin faded from Cutter’s face, leaving behind the imprint of desire. His eyes were bright, his throat and cheeks faintly flushed, his mouth wider and softer. His entire being was riveted on her body. Leslie pushed her jeans slowly down her legs, caressing her skin with the rough touch of denim. She stepped out of them and then reached back to unfasten her bra and slide it off. Cutter watched, his breathing irregular, and his tongue brushed his lips.
Leslie rolled down her sheer panties and pulled them off. She stood before him, lovely in her nakedness. Her breasts were rounded and creamy, centered by pink-brown nipples, already hardening under Cutter’s gaze. He could see the faint lines of her ribs below her breasts, the flow of her waist into her hips, the dark patch of hair that lured him to her femininity. He gazed at her, feeding on her beauty, letting her sensuality seep down deep inside him, stirring and heating him. Leslie waited for a long moment, then turned and made her way around the edge of the cliff and down the hill to where the water was shallower and she could see there were no hidden rocks. Once she got to the bottom she dived out into the lagoon.
Behind her Cutter scrambled to his feet, tearing off his clothes, and, trying to be inconspicuous, he threw down a square, silver packet that caught the sun as it landed on a dry rock down near the waterfall. A condom. Leslie grinned to herself; it was sweet how he wanted to protect her but also keep it romantic. He followed her down and dived into the clear water after her.
Swimming with fierce, long strokes, Cutter caught up with Leslie before she reached the center of the pool. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her hard against him, so that she felt his unmistakably awakened desire. His hands slid over her breasts, slick with water, and cupped their fullness. Their legs stirred lazily, keeping them afloat, as Cutter bent and kissed the tender flesh at the juncture of her throat and shoulder. He nuzzled against her, sensitizing her skin to the slightest sensation.
Leslie arched back against him, tilting her head. The water lapped around them, warm and caressing—echoing their movements. Cutter’s days-old beard lightly abraded her skin, making the pleasure of his velvet lips all the sweeter; his hair tangled with hers and brushed against her cheek. A dark, heavy warmth grew low in her abdomen, and she moved her legs restlessly in the water, seeking its intimate touch. She turned in his arms, and Cutter kissed her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth, his lips hard and searching against hers. He tightened his hold, pulling her in under him, and his legs wrapped around her. Leslie clung to him, slipping down into the sweet darkness of passion.
Their heads went underwater, and they came up dripping and laughing. Leslie sliced through the water, swimming gracefully away from him, and Cutter followed. They dodged and darted, playing a teasing game of tag, and the forfeit whenever one was caught was always a kiss.
Finally they climbed out and stood beneath the waterfall, letting its shining spray cascade over their skin. Cutter washed Leslie as thoroughly as if he had soap, his hands moving over every inch of her water-slick skin, and when he was through, Leslie returned the favor. Cutter took her hand and moved out from under the spray. A vine bearing huge pink flowers hung down from the massive slab of rock over which the waterfall flowed, and Cutter picked one of the large round blooms. He slid the flower into Leslie’s hair, tucking the stem behind her ear. The blossom nestled against the creamy white of her face and the sable darkness of her hair, glowing like a huge jewel. Leslie smiled up at him, so beautiful she took his breath away. Cutter was filled with a hundred sappy thoughts he wanted to say to her, but none of them was lovely enough or clever enough to do her justice.
So he spoke with his eyes and his hands, pulling her down with him onto the narrow ledge of rock behind the waterfall. The water roared in their ears, spraying them with a fine mist and shielding them from the world like a sparkling, rainbow-drenched curtain.
Reclining on his elbow and looking down at her, his pupils huge and dark with desire, Cutter plucked the flower from Leslie’s hair and trailed it slowly across her cheek and down her throat. The petals had a touch so light and silky it seemed unreal, like the stroke of angels’ wings or a sprinkling of fairy dust. Leslie’s eyes fluttered closed, and she made a soft noise deep in her throat.
Cutter moved the flower over her, caressing her through its satiny touch. He brushed it across her breasts, grazing the hard points of her nipples. Then he swept the flower up the swell of her breast, traveling again and again from the base to the nipple all around each orb, turning her nipples to hard buds of heat. Leslie moaned under his attentions, aching for the full, hard strength of him, yet too enthralled by what he was doing to want him to stop.
The petals drifted down over stomach, across the soft plain of flesh and up over the knobs of her pelvic bones. He teased the flower in little shakes over her hips and legs and drew it up the inner line of her thighs. She moved her les apart, aching for him, but he tormented her with only the lightest brush before he moved onto her abdomen.
His hand spread out flat, pressing the flower between it and Leslie’s skin, and he moved upward firmly, crushing the flower between them. The air was heady with the bloom, and the crushed petals left a damp trail over Leslie’s skin wherever it touched. The scent, the faintly sticky juice marking her skin, excited Leslie almost beyond bearing, and when Cutter rubbed the bruised petals over her breasts and nipple, she arched and moaned, begging him wordlessly to take her.
He was himself almost mindless with desire, but he didn�
��t take her yet. Instead he traced a straight line down the center of her body and covered the tiny engorged button of her desire with the petals, stroking with their infinite softness. Then, at last, unable to wait any longer, he tossed the crushed flower out into the pool and turned over on his back, pulling a condom out from the packet he’d tossed down earlier. Once Leslie rolled the condom down, he pulled her on top of him so that he bore their weight upon the hard slab of rock. She took him into her, as Cutter thrust upward, moving with the force and eagerness of a man on the edge. His body lunged instinctively, hungrily, and Leslie answered with an eager counterpoint. Their passion swelled, taking over their bodies and minds, hurling them into a sweet, wild blackness where nothing existed except their frighteningly intense need. The need built until at last it became unbearable and burst apart in a flood. Waves of pleasure swept through Leslie, sending heat to every part of her body, and she groaned, her pleasure intensified by the inarticulate cry of satisfaction that came from Cutter.
She sagged against him, and he took her in his arms, squeezing her so tightly she felt sure she would have broken had she not been so utterly limp.
“You certainly brought a lot of condoms for a rescue mission with a woman who disliked you and whom you hated even more.” Leslie joked, trailing her fingers over his chest lazily.
“I guess I’m an eternal optimist.” Cutter grinned. “Besides, you know you never hated me as much as you wanted to.” He laughed and held his hand up in front of his face as if to block a slap.
Leslie rolled her eyes but she knew he was right. She had never hated him and now… I love him, she thought, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. She smiled and repeated it in her mind for her own pleasure. I love him.
***
Later they took another lazy swim, then rinsed their clothes and laid them out to dry in the sun. While Leslie perched on a rock, her hair spread out around her to dry, Cutter fashioned a primitive fishing pole and caught two small fish for supper. He cleaned, then cooked them over a low fire, and they devoured the meal. Despite the multitude of bones and the slight charring from the uneven flames, Leslie thought the fish was delicious. It was another example of the perfection of this day and place. Cutter erected their tent on the rocky shelf beside the lagoon, softening their bed with layers of leaves and palm fronds, and they slept happily curled in each other’s arms.
The next morning they set out again. In the midafternoon they came upon a slight trail. They followed it, their footsteps falling faster now, and within an hour they reached a village. Leslie stopped and stared when they came upon the simple huts with women and children working in front of them. She and Cutter had been alone so long in the dense, oppressive jungle that she could hardly believe other people still existed.
The villagers were equally startled to see them, but Cutter calmed them down enough to learn where the mission was. “It’s less than two days away,” he told Leslie, turning to her and whisking her up in his arms to spin her around. “Darlin’, we’re home free!”
The rest of their journey was buoyed by hope. They followed the villagers’ directions, moving with more speed than they had since first leaving the Morista camp. At last, just as it was nearing dark on the second day, they topped a crest and saw Dolorosa spread out in the valley below them. Cutter let out a yell of pure relief, and they whirled around in a dance of joy before they began their descent to the mission.
The gates were closed and locked when they arrived, but Cutter’s pounding soon brought several people, who lifted the large wooden bar of the gate and let them in. Everyone clustered around them, asking questions, the children jumping up and down. Sister Mary Margaret rushed out of the medical building and threw herself into Cutter’s arms. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick about you. We heard the army had destroyed Mora’s main camp, and we were afraid you’d been caught in it.”
“We were, but we got away,” Cutter replied.
“I should have known. You always do.” Sister Mary Margaret pulled away from him and turned to Leslie, smiling broadly. She gave her a hug, too. “I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve had you in our prayers nightly.” Tears glittered in her eyes. Then she swallowed and became businesslike. “Well, come on in. You two are probably starving. And a soft bed wouldn’t hurt either, would it?”
She steered them through the crowd and across the courtyard into the main building. They ate and talked, everyone clustering around them to hear their story. Cutter spoke in Spanish, and Leslie watched him. Sitting like this, with the people around them, she felt strange, almost sad, as if she had lost something. Slowly she was returning to reality from the isolated world of their adventure—and it unnerved her and made her a little lonely.
Leslie leaned against the table, drooping with exhaustion and her odd emotional letdown. Sister Mary Margaret glanced at her and shook her head. “What am I thinking?” she said. “Leslie is about to pass out, and we’re keeping you up. It’s time you went to bed. We can hear the rest tomorrow.”
Mary escorted Cutter and Leslie to their rooms, then trotted back down the stairs. Leslie walked wearily into her room and Cutter followed.
Leslie froze. “Cutter, no. You can’t.”
“Can’t what?” He was already sitting on the bed to pull off his boots.
“Stay in here with me.”
“Why not?” He stopped what he was doing and stared at her curiously.
“Well, because… Sister Mary Margaret.”
“What?”
“She—well, she’d find out.”
“So?”
“Cutter! Please, I—” Leslie’s hands knotted together in front of her. She felt stiff and awkward and acutely embarrassed. She couldn’t sleep with Cutter tonight. Not here. “I—it’s a mission. It’s a religious place, and Mary is a nun. We couldn’t—I don’t know. It seems immoral, somehow. I can’t. I’d feel so uncomfortable.”
He continued to gaze at her for a moment, then shrugged and rose. “Okay, if it’s that important to you.” He kissed her once, firmly, and walked to the door. He turned, grinning wickedly. “We’re going to have to leave this place real soon.”
He was gone. Leslie sagged onto her bed. Tears pricked at her eyes and suddenly, much to her amazement, she began to cry. She turned and curled up into herself, burying her face in her pillow to muffle the sound and sobbed.
***
They stayed at the mission two days, and it seemed to Leslie that each minute dragged her farther down into reality. The days in the jungle were gone. Now there was a tomorrow, and many more of them to follow. She had to find proof of what had happened to Blake—and, she hoped, some closure—and then she had to return home, she had to pick up her life again. And she knew that her life would not include Cutter.
When this job was over, Cutter wouldn’t stick around. Perhaps he wasn’t the mercenary she had thought he was, but he was still a man who thrived on action and risk. She could never fit into that sort of life, just as he could never fit into her quiet one. With her, he’d be bored in a week; with him, she’d be unsettled and stressed. It couldn’t work, even if he wanted to try—and there was no indication that he did.
Cutter had never settled down, never loved just one woman except for Teresa. Teresa. She had been the perfect woman for Cutter: brave, strong, emotional, at home with intrigue and strife. In short, she had been the opposite of Leslie. Except perhaps for the strength, Leslie knew there was little of Teresa in her. She wanted a quiet life. She was used to calm outside her business hours. She made decisions on the basis of logic, not emotions, she planned things out; she thought before she acted. Surely Cutter, having loved Teresa, couldn’t possibly love someone like Leslie.
Leslie realized that her situation boiled down to this: she was hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t love her and with whom she could never have a stable relationship. She had lost control in the jungle and let herself fall in love with a man who was all wrong for her. She had been as
silly and impulsive as a teenager, ignoring reality for the heart-fluttering excitement of the moment. She wasn’t the type for a casual affair, yet she’d landed right in the middle of one.
Cutter would expect her to continue to share his bed when they left the mission and started searching for what had actually befallen Blake. But now that she was thinking clearly, now that she was no longer in the midst of danger and excitement, Leslie knew it would be disastrous to allow the situation to go on. She had never felt anything that compared with being in Cutter’s arms, and she had the suspicion that she never would again. The longer she remained there, the harder it would be to leave when the end came. The more involved she became with him, the worse the break-up would be.
She was back in reality now; she had to be sensible. If she continued to let her heart run her head this way, she’d wind up so deeply in love with Cutter that she would be devastated when he went his own way. She would ruin her life with these headstrong emotions, just as her mother had. And she would not allow herself to do that.
The only sensible thing was to stop the physical relationship between them. When they left the mission, she would make that clear to Cutter. He might be upset at first, but he’d soon accept it. He wasn’t attached to her. He’d never said, never hinted that he thought of her as anything but a woman who was equal parts desirable and irritating.
Having made her decision, Leslie found it difficult to be around Cutter. His casual demonstrations of affection—a kiss, an arm looped around her waist or shoulder, an enveloping hug—now made her awkward. She didn’t know how to respond. She felt trapped between her love for him and her good sense. As a result, she stiffened whenever he touched or kissed her, which made him glance at her in a puzzled way. She started avoiding contact with him as much as possible, trying to place other people between them at meals. It was an impossible situation. Leslie thought she would be glad when they left the mission. It would be a relief to face the issue and get it over with.
