by Lia Riley
Psycho? Goonbag? “Are those actual names?”
“Murray is a surname, I think. Lots of nicknames get thrown around camps.”
“What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I fail to suppress a grin. “You probably scare everyone.”
He returns my smile despite himself.
Ooh, a challenge. I put my hands on my hips. “I’ll come up with one for you.”
“What’s yours?”
“Um, I don’t have one either.” I’m betrayed by a blush. Great.
He gives me a deeply suspicious look. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Au contraire, it can. Awful actually.”
“Now I must know.”
“Woody,” I mutter with as much dignity as I can muster.
“What?” He bursts out laughing.
“See?” I give his chest a playful whack. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.”
“It’s apt, truth be told, seeing as I’ve had one since meeting you.”
“God, here we go.” I throw my hands up in mock aggravation. “And to think I hoped traveling thousands of miles would put enough distance between me and Woody jokes.”
“A woody can stretch a fair way.”
“I appreciate your attempts at joking.” My tone is a little acerbic. “And that smile? It’s a good look on you. But make another Woody crack and I’ll cut a bitch, and by ‘bitch’ I mean you.”
“Cut me?” If he intends to peeve me by ruffling my hair, mission accomplished. “With what?”
“I haven’t forgotten you have a utility knife somewhere in that giant Santa bag of yours.”
“Santa bag?” He gives me an incredulous stare.
“You know what I mean.” I point to his huge backpack.
“Half the time I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He draws me in tight, his murmur warm against my skin. “But nothing about you makes sense, so perhaps it’s fitting, eh?”
Overhead, through a gap in the trees, a mountain rises in a bold granite thrust of rugged cliffs. “Isn’t it beautiful here?” Easier to look at the overwhelming natural beauty than feel half the things I do.
“Aye, that it is.” His stare bores into me.
I skim his scruffy jaw with the tips of my fingers, allowing myself to explore his thick hair, then dip down to travel his brawny back, reveling in his unabashed male beauty. “That sounds strangely like you’re giving me a compliment.”
“Auden, two days ago, I didn’t want to see anyone. Talk to anyone. Hear anyone speak. I wanted to climb La Aguja, and that was my sum total.” He leans down and kisses the place where my neck meets my shoulder. “Then you came along, and I don’t know… Things don’t seem half as bad.”
“I…” I don’t have words. I don’t have thoughts. His lower lip drags along my skin until I’m distilled to a hard beating heart. He’s gruff and awkward as hell, but there is something about him that’s charming the pants off me. Literally. I’d drop trou right here and let him go to town if three Israeli backpackers weren’t gaining on us.
“On your left,” calls one, and they plod by single file.
I’m so wet I can barely stand it. Can these strangers tell from the look on my face? Can he? The way he watches me—yeah, he knows. I knock the toe of my boot into his. “I bet you don’t get passed on trails normally.”
“Not really.”
“See, I am slowing you down.”
“Nothing about you makes me want to go slow.” He clasps one of my hands between his, rubs the pad beneath my thumb in the intimate way he has of making every touch half-sexual and half-tender. “Faster? Harder? More? Those are the words that come to mind.”
I smile and squeeze his hand. “I like being with you.”
“Aye, same.” He tugs a wayward lock of my hair, reverently threads it between his fingers as if he’s handling something priceless.
My body grows tense, concentrated. I wish I could stay with him, in this fantasy lovey-dovey space, but the real world hovers around the corner. The expectations related to my dream job are mounting, and my panic is rising in conjunction. What if no climbers want to talk to me?
“Why that sudden frown?” he says.
“I’m flying home in a week. What if no one speaks to me at base camp?”
“Is this the part where you ask me for help again?” He doesn’t stiffen, but I know this is a test.
“No. I’m not giving you a big hint.” I let out a sigh. “But I do need people to interview.”
He grimaces. “I’m sorry I can’t be the one to assist you, truly I am, but don’t go worrying none. Once the lads at camp get a whiff that you work in media, you’ll be beating them off with a stick. Everyone likes to hear themselves talk.”
We’re going up a steep incline, and he holds up a hand, suddenly distracted. “Stop. Wait here.”
“Why?” I’m still in fretting-about-the-future mode.
“Let me check something.”
He doesn’t pause to see if I obey. It’s a little annoying the way he barks commands and expects I’ll follow orders without question. But before I can get too worked up, he’s back.
“Follow me,” he says, even as he raises a warning hand. “But careful, mind the edge, and don’t venture too close. It’s a trifle steep.”
I gingerly pick my way down the escarpment, trying to avoid tripping on the roots riddling the small footpath. I duck under a low-hanging branch, but I don’t squat enough, and the top of my backpack wedges against the wood until Rhys reaches and tugs me free.
“Thanks,” I say, straightening before vertigo sets in. “Steep? Whoa, that’s a bit of an understatement.” We’re on a four-foot thrust of rock, and beneath us the ground disappears. There’s no sloping gradient, just boom, earth gone. Far below a blue river runs through the green, like an open vein. “I knew we were at altitude, but not that we were so high.”
“Do you see?” Rhys stands right on the edge, casual as anything. He might as well be standing on a curb, pointing out an interesting city landmark.
It takes a moment before it’s possible to swivel my head in the direction of his outstretched hand. When I do, my heart does this weird swelling thing but also plummets off the edge. I’m full and empty at the same time. Because Rhys is showing me a gorgeous stone tower, rising against the distant sky like a pointed finger, wider at the base and tapering near to nothing at the top. The peak is crowned by a thick band of snow. At least I think it’s snow, because a last layer of cloud is still covering it.
“Look, the weather is clearing just as predicted,” Rhys says, excitement animating his voice. “La Aguja, isn’t she something?”
“You can’t do that,” I say, aghast to see his plan come to life. There is a world of difference between hearing about a legendary, dangerous mountain and seeing it firsthand. I wanted to go to the camp to profile climbers, see what drew them to put their lives at risk to achieve their dreams, but this mountain isn’t a dream maker; it’s a death maker. Suddenly, getting to the camp feels like my worst nightmare. “Rhys, you can’t climb that thing solo. This is insanity.”
The way he sets his mouth is three kinds of stubborn, like he’s about to do a Cartman “I do what I want” impression.
Holy shit. I’d be terrified if he said he was doing that climb with a team, but at least then he wouldn’t be alone. This mountain doesn’t look the sort to fuck around. There has to be a better way.
“How long until we get there?”
“At the rate we’re going?” He frowns, considering. “Tomorrow afternoon.” The way he rocks on his heels, all repressed energy, I know if he could, he’d bolt right now, take off running. He probably thinks that offhand smile is reassuring, but he doesn’t even see me anymore, staring instead at the peak as if it’s an enemy to vanquish.
I want to tell him that the demons he fights are on the inside, that if he does this climb, the stone wi
ll be just an innocent bystander to his private battle, but what’s the point?
He can’t hear me. I could jump up and down and turn cartwheels and he wouldn’t notice.
The same hypnotized gaze slides over my sister’s face before a competition.
I’ve gone from being his total focus to a ghost, sidelined by the force of his ambition.
19
RHYS
Auden’s quiet after we leave the lookout and remains so for the short distance to the campground. I wanted to stop here for the night because it’s the last chance before we get to La Aguja and there’s more at stake now than my shot-to-hell focus. Once we arrive at the climbing camp, it will be damn near impossible for her not to learn the truth about what happened to Cameron on that lonely mountain in the Himalayas. I should be grateful for this stolen time, the opportunity to have spent a few days not haunted by the past.
What if…? What if she somehow understands how the situation occured? Doesn’t hate me like everyone else. What if, someday, our paths cross again? I come through the States on occasion. She doesn’t live far from Da. It could happen.
No.
I try to stamp out the whim, but it persists as a stubborn little flame… Maybe.
All right, wise guy, think it through, my inner voice pipes up. Imagine if the best-case scenario happens and she learns about the accident and doesn’t hate you. Decides your sorry ass is still worth pursuing. Isn’t it better for this moment to be all you ever have rather than facing the real world, the eventual drudgery of the day-to-day, inevitable fights about how you’ll want to go for a climbing trip and she’ll be after a beach-bound holiday to Hawaii? And either way you’ll lose. At least she will. Because you’ll go.
Aye. I will.
There will always be another mountain. It’s selfish, but at the end of the day, that’s what we are—selves. If we don’t look out for our own interests, there are plenty who’ll be more than happy to chip away at our core, piece by piece, until we forget what we ever wanted.
Cameron’s headed in that direction. Amelia is from the California coast, not much vertical there outside of climbing gyms. But then, he doesn’t have a fucking hand anymore, and whose fault is that? I grit my teeth as bitter self-loathing floods my mouth. It’s a nearly impossible effort to swallow it down, keep from losing my shit.
As we set up the tent in a clear, flat space, other people lounge in front of their tents, reading paperbacks or playing Hacky Sack. A couple pauses to give us a friendly wave, but I keep my nod as curt. I’m not after a “how do you do” chat with the neighbors. I don’t give a fuck if they come from Boston or Toronto, Sydney or Paris. I haven’t come to this place to shoot the breeze with people I’m never going to see again. Auden’s my exception, the only one I’m prepared to make.
Simply watching her is its own form of foreplay, the way she snaps poles together and threads them into the nylon. Each thrust of her wrist is an invisible stroke on my cock.
“There, all done.” She sinks the last peg into the earth, her round ass showcased by thin hiking pants. “Home sweet home.”
My brain flashes to the night we met and those damn captivating underclothes.
“Good. Now, get in there,” I rumble, unzipping the door, “and get into those kitten knickers.”
“Kitten?”
“Take me off right meow,” I say. “Put them on.”
She shakes her head slowly. An expression close to disbelief takes hold. “Are you going to say the magic word?”
“You’ve a magic word?” My brain isn’t equipped for riddles right now. “And just how am I supposed to guess it?”
“Holy God.” She half laughs and half looks like she’s about to smack me upside the head. “Did you grow up among trolls? Were you raised by wolves? Here’s a hint. It starts with P and ends with lease.”
I mash my lips together, rolling them a little. “Please, Auden, please put on those sweet fucking little knickers. They drive me mad.”
She averts her face, gaze dropping to my climbing rope coiled to my pack. “Have you ever tied anyone up?”
She’s the master of a well-played diversionary tactic. My cock thickens at the thought of binding her. “No.”
“Have you ever been tied up?” she asks.
I fold my arms. “Of course not.”
“Of course not?” Her mouth quirks.
“I prefer to remain in control.”
“And I think I’d like taking it away from you,” she murmurs.
“You want to tie me up?” I say slowly, her words sinking in as my cock gives a sharp twitch.
She wrinkles her brow. “Yeah, I kind of do. I’ll give in to your weird underwear fetish for a chance at tying you up—those are my terms.”
“Your terms?” I allow a shred of amusement to enter my voice.
“Yeah,” she says softly, before clearing her throat. “Yes.”
Yes… such an innocent word for a wicked proposition.
I run my thumb over my jaw. Giving up control doesn’t sound appealing, but when you layer in the idea of Auden naked, it’s got a certain level of appeal. The girl’s clearly in league with the fairies, working strange magic, because I’m actually considering letting her do this.
Fuck it.
Maybe she’s right and not all surprises have to be bad. Plus kitten knickers. “Very well, Miss Woods. You have got yourself a deal.”
“Really?” She blinks once, twice, three times before retying the blue scarf in her hair, the one that’s a near-identical match to her eyes. “OK. OK. Yeah. Um, let’s do this.” She rummages in her backpack and tugs out a pair of small black shorts, swinging them around one finger with a shy smile. “These are what you are after?”
That’s it. I’m done for. I grab her hand and my rope in two efficient movements. “You, in the tent, now.” I zip the door closed behind us and sit on my heels.
In a few short seconds she sits across from me, hands braced on her knees, lips parted in anticipation.
“Remember the knot I taught you?” I ask.
“Yeah. More or less.”
“That should work.” I drop my chin, sensing she’s got another request. “What else?”
“Would you mind…? Um, is it cool if you…?”
Her blush drives me mad—makes me want to care for her and at the same time pound her breathless.
She traces a circle on her thigh. “Can you take off your shirt? It does all the things to me.”
I fist off my shirt and drag my hand through my hair a few times. “All the things?”
Her gaze pierces mine before dropping to spread over my chest with open fascination. “So many things,” she murmurs, picking up the rope and turning it over in her hands with a private, wicked grin. “Lie down.”
I do without protest. This isn’t something I’d normally consider, and perhaps that’s the appeal. Auden is new terrain for me; it’s fitting we try new things as well.
She gathers my wrists and fiddles about. Her tongue pokes out in the corner as she falls into deep concentration tying the knot. “How’s that?” she asks at last.
I twist my hands and the rope slips away.
“Shit,” she mutters.
“You’ll have to go rougher.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She hurts me every second we are together. The sharpest, sweetest stabbing pain. “Not all hurt is bad.”
She mutters something like “You asked for it.” This time the rope winds tight, chafing my skin.
“There,” she says with satisfaction. “Better?”
I test, gingerly at first and then with a stronger attempt. “Aye. Holding fast.”
“Good.” The air charges between us, palpable and hot.
She moves to my ankles. “I want you at my mercy.”
She wants a game, and I’ve indulged her, but everything feels different. I’m on my back, arms raised over my head, legs strapped together.
She pulls her gaze from
the erection tenting my trousers and tugs the scarf free from her hair, moves to drape it over my face.
“But then I can no’ see those knickers.”
“I said that I’d put them on, but not when.” She sounds smug even as uncertainty crosses her fine features. “Now, should we establish some sort of a safe word?”
“A what?” I splutter, unable to believe she got the better of me and admiring the hell out of her for doing so.
“Safe word,” she repeats. “Like the thing you’re supposed to say if you want me to stop.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Stop what?”
She blushes straight to her hairline. “Well, the thing is, sometimes people want to say stop while, you know, fooling around, but they don’t mean it.”
“How the bloody hell do you know all this?” Maybe I’ve read her wrong. She’s not an innocent, not in the least.
“My, um, e-reader has given me quite an education in kink,” she mumbles. “I’ve just never tried any of it in real life.”
If my arms weren’t tied over my head, I’d pull her into my arms and give her a proper education in all sorts of things. “I don’t need a safe word.”
“So stop will mean stop. But can I blindfold you?”
“Fine.”
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” She settles the scarf over my eyes, and the world veils. I can sense shadows when she moves, but that’s all.
She blows over my stomach before giving my nipple a slow, circling lick. I arch like a bow.
“You’re sensitive there, huh?”
“Looks like it,” I gasp, and she does it again to the other one. Such an eager little thing.
“You prefer it this way?” She circles me lightly with her tongue, the pressure increasing as she switches to the flat of her tongue. “Or a little harder?”
“Aye.” I swallow. “Just so.”
“Good to know.” She pulls away, and my senses heighten. Who knows where she’ll go next? The waiting drives me mad, but it also feels goddamn incredible.
“You have such an unbelievable body, Rhys,” she whispers, running her hand over my abdomen.
