Prey

by Linda Howard

  He cocked one knee up and rested his forearm on it, coffee cup in hand, giving her a long, considering look. “We could have been. Damn it, I asked you out twice. So now let me ask you a question: Are you attracted to me, or not? I’ve made it as plain as I can that I’m attracted to you, so now tell me straight out how you feel.”

  Angie felt her face getting hot. She could lie—that is, if she hadn’t kissed him back the way she had, hanging on to him and meeting him tongue to tongue. He was asking a loaded question, one to which he already knew the answer. “That isn’t the point,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

  “That’s exactly the damn point. The least you can do is be as up-front with me as I’ve been with you.” He didn’t take his gaze from her face, studying every minute change of her expression. Such intense scrutiny made her feel emotionally naked, but then she’d given him that power by telling him all about her wedding, how much she doubted herself because of her own actions. He could figure out now what made her tick, how to get to her, and that was by making himself appear as vulnerable as she felt. The problem with that was she doubted this man had ever felt vulnerable in his entire life, even when shrapnel had sliced his throat. Some people just had that innate self-confidence that spilled over into every facet of their lives. She wasn’t one of them. Her self-confidence seemed to be confined to very specific areas, and didn’t bleed over into the others.

  “It isn’t that I don’t find you attractive,” she snapped, resenting being cornered this way.

  “Then why did you turn me down, twice?”

  He sounded really grumpy about that; surprised out of her resentment, Angie blinked at him. She couldn’t believe it mattered so much to him. Not that he sounded hurt or uncertain; he just sounded grumpy. “The first time, I wanted to go,” she blurted.

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I couldn’t. I was taking a hunting party out the next day, and I was running flat out getting everything ready and stocking up on supplies because I’d just gotten back from another hunt. I said I couldn’t, and you stomped off,” she charged, indignation growing. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you why. What was I supposed to do, yell it at your back?”

  “Maybe. Guys don’t know what the hell to do.” He scowled at her. “If we’re persistent, we’re stalkers. If we don’t push, then we aren’t interested enough. You tell me what else I could have done. I did ask you out again.”

  “That was different,” she grumbled. “It was months later. By that time, you’d already siphoned off so much of my business that I saw red every time I heard your name.”

  He shoved his hand through his hair. “Look, I can’t do anything about that. I didn’t deliberately hurt your business, but I didn’t turn down anyone who contacted me. What would you have wanted me to do? What would you have done?”

  That was a million-dollar question, because there was no easy, cut-and-dried answer. He hadn’t done anything illegal, or even unethical. He had as much right to make a living as she did. He hadn’t undercut her prices; if anything, he charged more for his services than she did for hers. She’d lost business simply because he was there, and was who he was, with different experiences and strengths that some of her clients had wanted more than they’d wanted hers.

  It still pissed her off.

  “I’m not saying you should have done anything,” she forced herself to admit. “Things are what they are. Regardless of whether or not we’re attracted to each other, the reality is that I’m going to be moving away and I’m really not interested in a temporary fling.”

  He drank some more coffee, eyeing her above the rim of the cup. “Flings can be a lot of fun.”

  Angie snorted. It wasn’t the most elegant sound but it expressed exactly how she felt. Goaded, she said, “Yeah, right. For a man, maybe.”

  His head snapped back a little. He lowered the cup, his eyebrows peaking in surprise as he studied her. “You don’t like sex?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s okay.”

  Shit! Why had she said that? She knew better. She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished like hell she could have taken them back. Men seemed to take it as a personal affront if a woman didn’t think sex was the greatest thing since sliced bread, then of course they wanted to show her how wrong she was, that—

  He set the coffee down with a thunk that made the contents slosh dangerously close to the rim. “If it’s just ‘okay,’ then obviously you haven’t been with anyone who knew his ass from a hole in the ground.”

  And … bingo! It took a great effort, but Angie didn’t roll her eyes. Not completely, anyway. She did cast them upward, as if asking for divine aid. Her common sense began shouting at her to just let it drop, to change the subject or even fake choking to death, but sex had been a source of dissatisfaction for her from the beginning, and she was tired of faking anything, even choking.

  “Look,” she said impatiently, “it feels okay, but I don’t see what the great song and dance is about it. A man gets his rocks off doing it. A woman gets her rocks off by hand—or mouth, if the guy’s feeling generous. I prefer to cut out the middleman, so to speak. No fuss, no muss. It’s a lot less effort, and the payoff is guaranteed.”

  He looked like a thundercloud, all dark intent rolling toward her as he leaned down so close their noses were almost bumping, just as he’d done during their argument in the parking lot. “I repeat: You haven’t been with anyone who knows what he’s doing.”

  She suspected a lot of people would have found him intimidating—she once had, but not now. Too much water, literally, had gone under that bridge. She just lowered her own brows and met him glare for glare. Her common sense escalated from shouting to all but howling Abort! Abort! and still she couldn’t stop her mouth. “I suppose you think you have the magic dick that can make everything wonderful, right?”

  “You bet your sweet ass,” he said flatly. “It isn’t rocket science. What you know about making coffee, I know about fucking.”

  She fell over laughing. Literally. Howls of laughter burst from her throat and he grabbed her coffee cup, rescuing it as she toppled onto her side, clutching her middle. “You … you mean you get the total volume and d-divide—” It was so ridiculous she couldn’t continue.

  Very deliberately he set both cups of coffee on the floor, then rolled over on top of her. She stopped laughing, the sound abruptly cut off when his heavy weight, all that heat and hardness, bore down on her. If she’d been immune to him, his action would have made her angry, but she wasn’t; she never had been. Neither was she afraid of him, at least not physically. She had no intention of trusting him with her emotions, but her body, her physical safety? Oh, yeah, without hesitation.

  “Not quite that way,” he said in his rough, hoarse voice, the tone going so low she could almost feel the vibration against her skin. His gaze roamed over her face, settled on her mouth. “Let’s make a deal.”

  “This isn’t a game show. I don’t play around with sex.” She felt really strange having a conversation with him while he was on top of her, but though she rested her hands on his sides she didn’t put any pressure on him, didn’t try to push him off. Considering everything she’d just said about sex, feeling him lying heavy and warm on top of her was a guilty pleasure, one she had no intention of letting him know she felt. What made her pleasure even more guilty was the fact that he had an erection. She wanted to spread her legs, let him nestle it against her, but wouldn’t that be using him the way she didn’t want him to use her? Or was it just part of sex, the taking and giving of pleasure? At the moment she was too distracted to decide.

  “Good, because I’m not playing, either.” He settled more heavily onto her, moving his legs in a subtle, or maybe not so subtle, adjustment that widened her thighs just a little, letting his erection push further between her legs, nudging hard against her clitoris. “My deal is this: If I can make you come while we’re fucking,
no hands or mouths allowed—though I gotta say, to me the important part is coming, not how you get there—then we have our fling for as long as you’re here. Who knows? In this economy, that could be months. I don’t know if my bank would okay a loan for the amount you’re asking.”

  She drew her head back as far as she was able, which wasn’t very far considering she was lying on her back, and stared at him in disbelief. “You’re using the economy and a bank loan to try to talk me into having sex with you?” She was actually talking, carrying on a conversation, and she had no idea how because almost all of her attention was focused on the pressure he was putting between her legs. Her heart was literally pounding away; he had to feel it against him, because her rib cage was rattling from the force of the beats.

  “You’ve ignored or rejected everything else.”

  “Dare, we’ve had one kiss! One! What gives you the idea that I’m anywhere near taking a risk like that, even if I were the risk-taking type, which I’m not?”

  “That one kiss,” he replied, and kissed her again, but this time the kiss was light and soft, cajoling instead of demanding, tender instead of intense. Angie tried to hold herself distant from it, to not respond—for about two whole seconds. Then the utter sweetness of the kiss, the temptation of it, completely swamped her willpower.

  She felt the same way she did when she really, really wanted chocolate ice cream but told herself no, then opened the freezer door and there it was, right in front of her, and she grabbed the carton out and in three seconds flat was eating the ice cream as if it were a gazelle and she a starving lioness. Like that. She wanted him like that. The fierceness of the way she felt took her by surprise, because she’d never really lusted after anyone before. She’d had teenage crushes, and she’d thought, would have sworn, that she’d loved Todd, but she’d never before felt this ache to touch and be touched.

  Then he was releasing her and sitting up, and she stared at him in bewilderment, trying to get her pounding heart under control, trying not to reach her arms out for him. She literally ached between her legs, and deep inside, an ache that made all her inner muscles clench, made her nipples feel pinched.

  “I’m not going to push,” he said. “Not too hard, anyway. You can trust me in that, at least.”

  “Of course I trust you,” she immediately replied, then felt troubled by her own answer, not only because it was the truth, but because he had so closely mirrored what she’d been thinking just a moment before.

  “In some ways, yeah, but that isn’t what this is about, is it?”

  He was far too astute for her comfort, but then she’d opened herself up to him more than she ever had to anyone else. She’d told him the most embarrassing stuff about herself, and anyone with half a brain could read between the lines to find all the things and places where she had the most doubt, where she was the least confident. “Do you want to know what I think this is about? I think it’s about you being horny, and nothing more complicated than that. You’re horny, and I’m conveniently here—for now. Regardless of anything else, I’m leaving in the not-too-distant future. We don’t have a future, and I’m not interested in temporary.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” he snapped back.

  “To make a living, yeah, I do.”

  “Ah, hell. I wasn’t going to throw this at you so soon, but—”

  Suspicion made the bottom drop out of her stomach, and she sat bolt upright, her gaze narrowed. “Throw what at me?”

  Clearly annoyed at her tone, he said, “Nothing horrible. Shit, you’d think I’d just suggested robbing a bank. It’s something for you to think about, is all.”

  Still wary, she said, “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Let’s get something to eat, first, and have another cup of coffee.”

  He was stalling. The realization worried her, because Dare was about as blunt as a person could be and not get locked up. But it wasn’t as if they weren’t going to be there all day, with plenty of time to talk. While she wasn’t really hungry, another cup of coffee would be welcome.

  His stockpile of food from the locker included instant oatmeal, breakfast cereal bars, trail mix, jerky, and the instant soup and stew mixes, as well as a few individually wrapped muffins. She chose cinnamon-flavored oatmeal, then brooded over the bowl while she ate, wondering what he had up his sleeve. He’d said she didn’t have to leave, but she had to make a living, and it wasn’t as if their little community in the back of beyond was seething with job opportunities.

  “Before we talk, I want to get some clothes on,” she said when she was finished with her oatmeal. She cradled the warm cup of coffee in her hands, relishing the comfort of hot food in her stomach and coffee to drink even if she did have other things on her mind. One thing she did know: Even though she knew it was completely psychological, she’d feel better if she was fully dressed when they had this serious discussion. Sitting around wearing his thermal underwear bottoms and one of his flannel shirts was comfortable, but she didn’t feel capable of handling a lot. She also wanted to brush her teeth again. For some reason, good grooming felt essential.

  He shrugged; maybe he was glad of more time to marshal his argument, whatever it was. After collecting their trash and drinking his third cup of coffee, he stepped outside the sleep area and drew the privacy curtain closed. “While you’re changing, I’ll rinse the mud out of your other clothes and hang them up to dry. You might need them when we start walking out of here.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She listened to him go down the ladder, heard the sounds from below as he donned his slicker, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Hurriedly she stripped, she used a couple of wet wipes to freshen up, and brushed her teeth. She’d love to brush her hair, but a hairbrush was one thing she hadn’t stuffed into her saddlebags, so she settled for briskly massaging her scalp with her fingertips, then raking her fingers through her hair.

  Dare came back in, presumably with the bucket he’d set out again to catch more rainwater. With the sound of rain on the roof, she could barely hear the sloshing of water as he rinsed out her sweats.

  Putting on underwear and her own shirt felt fantastic. Her bra was nowhere in sight, but what the heck, she didn’t really need one anyway. She didn’t have enough to jiggle; mostly her bra was to keep the imprint of her nipples from showing through. Working her jeans on was a chore. She couldn’t flex her right foot enough to point her toes and work her foot through the opening of the pant leg, so she carefully bunched the fabric and worked it up and over her swollen ankle.

  When she fastened her jeans, she realized they felt loose in the waist. She’d lost some weight, probably when her body was burning calories like crazy trying to stave off hypothermia, not to mention the effort she’d been putting out. Dare would have lost weight, too, from carrying her for miles, and from his own body fighting to stay warm.

  That horrible night seemed unreal now, as if she were thinking about a movie she’d seen instead of something that had actually happened to her. The contrast between then and now, when she was tucked inside this snug little cabin, her world narrowed down to this mattress on the floor in a partitioned area maybe two feet wider than the mattress itself, to just herself and Dare, was so great her mind seemed to have let go of “then” so it could completely hold on to “now.” Her subconscious had dealt with it by dreaming about it, and now that she was awake the reality seemed even further removed.

  When she had nothing else to do, she unwrapped the elastic bandage around her ankle. Some of the swelling was definitely gone. Another day of sitting on her butt should make a big difference in the ankle’s condition. If she could get her boot on, and if the weather cooperated, with the aid of a walking stick she might be able to walk out of here. The weather was the big thing. Even after the rain stopped, it would take a while for the flash floods to stop. Until then, they weren’t going anywhere.

  She pulled a clean sock on her left foot, and tried working one onto her right foo
t, but her ankle was still too swollen for the sock to be comfortable, so she put the sock aside and rewrapped her ankle. Her toes got cold unless she kept her foot covered by the sleeping bag; she’d either have to sit on the mattress all day or deal with cold toes.

  Down below, the door opened and closed again. Dare would be setting the bucket out again, to catch more water.

  Even though he wasn’t spending a lot of time out in the rain, the air was chilly and the water was cold, so he might appreciate another cup of coffee when he came up again. Angie checked the coffeepot: enough in there for another two cups, at least, but it might be tasting bitter by now. She freshened it up by adding a little water, then put the pot on the camp stove and turned on the flame.

  When she heard him reenter below, she pulled back the privacy curtain and called down, “I reheated the coffee, if you want a cup.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be up in a minute, after I get these clothes wrung out and hung up to dry.”

  She gave him a minute, then dumped enough sugar into the cup to choke a horse, estimating that was how much he’d used before, and poured the hot coffee on top of it to dissolve it. She’d just poured herself a cup when his dark head appeared at the top of the ladder. Her heartbeat gave its normal jump and the butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “I’ve already sugared it,” she said as she handed his cup to him, ignoring both her heart and the butterflies.

  “Thanks.” He took a long swallow. “Damn, that’s good. You can make the coffee from now on.”

  “I’d planned on it,” she said drily. “How’s it looking out there?” The only view she’d had was a brief look at some trees while Dare carried her to the portable toilet, as the cabin was built in a protected spot with limited straight-line visibility.