by Amy Sandas
“I’m…freeing the tangles from my hair before I braid it again,” she suggested cautiously.
He came forward, stopping a few steps away, and looked down at her with a thunderous expression. “No. What are you doing on the floor?”
“This is where I am going to sleep.”
“Like hell. I’ll take the floor.”
“No,” she stated firmly. “You won’t.”
“You’re sleeping in the bed, and that’s that,” he practically growled.
“You can glare at me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that you’re the one who is injured. It only makes sense that you take the bed. I’ll be fine right here.”
Suddenly, something shifted in his expression. His brows lifted, and he eyed her with a narrowed gaze. “Is that where you slept the last two nights?”
Alexandra stiffened. She hadn’t expected that question.
“You slept on the bed, didn’t you?” he said in a dangerously low timbre. “Beside me.”
She felt a rush of heat across her cheeks. It annoyed her that she was embarrassed by her decision to stay close. “I…it seemed necessary at the time. I was so tired, and you stirred so frequently, it was just easier to be close by. I didn’t think it would be an issue.”
He said nothing at first—just stood there staring at her with his angled features set in a harsh unreadable expression, his eyes intense and unwavering.
“It’s not an issue,” he finally said in a dark murmur. “And it won’t be tonight either. We’ll share the bed.”
Alexandra’s shocked gaze swung toward the bed where it was tucked so harmlessly into the corner of the room, under the dark eaves, at the farthest reach of the firelight.
It was a terrible idea. Entirely inappropriate.
It was one thing to sleep beside an ill, unconscious man while tending his needs. It was something else altogether to contemplate lying beside that man while he was in possession of his full awareness. Not to mention the matter of how his very masculine qualities had been tripping her up all day. She was far too cognizant of his physical appeal, and of her attraction to him on a very personal and intimate level.
It was crazy to even consider it.
But she was considering it. She looked back to Malcolm, where he stood near the table. “It’s not a very wide bed,” she said finally.
“We fit together just fine the last two nights.”
“I might hurt your shoulder.”
“You can sleep on my left side.”
“It’s not proper,” she finished weakly.
He gave her a look that suggested he was amused. “You’ve been alone with me for more than a week, sleeping only steps away from each other over a campfire. What’s so different about this?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Because it’s a bed.”
“That we’ve already shared.”
“While you were unconscious and feverish.”
He sighed and dropped his chin. “The truth is, I don’t relish the idea of sleeping on a hard wood floor, and there is no way I’m gonna let you do that while I’m enjoying a soft mattress. I’m also getting mighty tired and don’t want to spend the rest of the night arguing.”
The fatigue in his voice was obvious. He was tired and undoubtedly in pain. And here she was fussing over where she was planning to sleep.
He was right—they had already shared the bed. Though she knew it was in no way the same as when she’d been nursing him through the fever, it seemed ridiculous to continue arguing. “Fine.” She nodded. “We’ll share the bed.”
As soon as she conceded, he turned away.
Alexandra finished rebraiding her hair while Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. She almost offered to help but bit her lip against it.
When he finished with his boots, he lay on his back with his injured shoulder practically pressed against the far wall. Bending his good arm to tuck his hand beneath his head, he closed his eyes.
She waited until his breathing settled into a steady rhythm before she rose to her feet and approached, feeling extremely self-conscious. Trying not to disturb him, she lay on her side with her back toward him.
After only a few minutes, her muscles began to ache from how tensely she held herself. She was just too aware of him. His breath, his warmth, the knowledge that his large male body was stretched out only inches from her.
She’d probably get more sleep on the floor after all.
“Relax, Alex,” he murmured behind her, his voice thick with sleep.
“I’m trying,” she muttered.
She heard him chuckle before he reached down to draw the blanket up over them both.
Despite her exhaustion, it was a long time before Alexandra managed to ease the tension in her body enough to slip into sleep. Even though there was enough space in the bed to allow a tiny gap between their bodies, she could still feel him. The heat from his body reached out to her, only now it was not the unnatural heat of fever but a more beckoning sort of warmth. As the fire burned down and the chill of night seeped more steadily into the cabin, she yearned to make use of that warmth. But she resisted and curled more tightly on her side, drawing her legs up and tucking her chin.
She just needed to relax and sleep. It should be easy, but it was still a while before she finally released her hold on consciousness.
Sometime later, when she was disturbed by an increasing chill and was too sleep-addled to resist her instinctive desire for comfort, she turned toward the warmth beside her, pressing along his heat and lifting her hand to his chest where the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulled her back to sleep.
Twenty-Six
Malcolm’s shoulder hurt like holy hell. The throbbing reached down to his fingers and up through his neck, pulling him out of a deep sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw that the cabin was gently lit with the slow, easy light of dawn.
He’d slept straight through the night without waking. A rare occurrence.
He was lying on his back with his injured arm tucked in along his side. His body felt stiff and sore. He needed to move, but as soon as he started shifting, he felt resistance.
Alex.
He stopped moving—practically stopped breathing—as he soaked in the sensation of having her small, feminine form pressed so sweetly to his. Her hand rested over his heart, and she had one knee bent high atop his thigh.
His physical need for her came on him with the force of a locomotive. His body craved hers with a depth that dumbfounded him. During the night, his arm had come down to pillow her head and wrap around her slim back. He flexed his fingers over the curve of her hip. The longer he lay there, the more his discomfort grew.
He’d never allowed himself to be governed by his sexual needs, but this woman tempted him almost beyond reason. Grinding his teeth, he shifted his arm beneath her head.
She snuggled in closer, wiggling her hips and sliding her hand up along his neck until she pressed her palm against the side of his face. Then she sighed.
Holy hell.
Every muscle in his body was on fire in his effort to keep from rolling over and settling his body atop hers. He could already imagine her hands sliding down his back to grasp his buttocks and pull him into the cradle of her thighs.
“Dammit.”
He didn’t realize he’d muttered the word aloud until she gave a tiny jolt and lifted her head off his shoulder. He was suddenly staring straight into her gorgeously sleepy, stunned, and confused blue eyes.
* * *
Alexandra was instantly aware of several things at once.
One: She was lying full-length against Malcolm’s side and had practically wrapped herself around him.
Two: He didn’t seem to mind, since his arm was braced around her back and his large hand curved rather possessively over her hip.
Thre
e: Their lips were inches from touching. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
Four: The stark yearning in his eyes sent deep shock waves of sensation straight through her center and filled her body with the oddest, most wonderful urge to press herself closer and closer to him until she felt no separation.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, hoping words might create some necessary space between them. “I did not mean to…um, does your shoulder hurt?” she finished awkwardly.
“Like the devil.” His voice was rough and low from sleep.
“You overdid it yesterday.” She started to shift and push herself up on her elbow. “I should take a look.”
“It’s fine,” he said gruffly, his arm tightening around her back, his hand sliding down to cup her rear.
She froze, partially looming over him, a swirl of delicious sensations erupting in her belly. His body was so warm and solid beside hers. His scent so masculine. She wanted to bury her nose against the side of his neck and breathe him in.
She blushed at the thought and shifted her gaze away from his face. Pressing her hand gently against his chest to prop herself up, she made another attempt at rising. “I should—”
“I know,” he interrupted in a gravelly voice. Shifting his attention to the ceiling, he dropped his arm from her, allowing her to roll away and swing her legs to the floor.
The chill in the cabin made her shiver as she rose from the bed. Going to the fireplace, she added some wood to the glowing coals. The stack beside the hearth would need to be replenished today. Luckily, there was a healthy supply, cut and stacked back near the horse shelter.
Once the fire was going strong, she swept up her coat and risked a glance toward Malcolm.
She nearly lost her footing at the sight of him sitting on the edge of the mattress, his feet planted on the floor and his knees wide as he ran his hand back through his hair. She had a ridiculous urge to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his big shoulders.
He made some tentative movements with his right arm, testing his shoulder’s abilities.
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Stiff. And sore.”
She got the sense that was an understatement. “If you want to fetch some water to start coffee, I’ll go check the snares. After that, I’m taking a look at that shoulder. Whether you like it or not,” she added when it looked like he might argue.
He gave her a narrow-eyed look before he rose to his feet and made a motion like he was tipping a hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Alexandra was distracted as she tramped through the woods. Her brain was still sleepy, and her thoughts kept getting dragged back to the cabin. She had been so nervous the night before about falling asleep beside Malcolm, she hadn’t even thought about having to wake up next to him.
Part of her wished she could have stayed in the bed with him a little longer. All right…a lot longer—soaking up his warmth, sharing his strength, giving comfort.
But the sun had risen, and the tasks of the day were upon them.
She made her way around to her snares but found them all empty.
Disappointment pulled at her shoulders. Then she thought of the creek. Perhaps if they headed upstream far enough, they’d find a spot good for fishing.
On her way back to the cabin, she kept an eye out for Indian hemp, a plant with strong fibers that could be stripped from the bark to use as line. As she examined some tree branches, thinking they’d make perfect fishing poles, she heard the snap of a dried twig not far behind her. All her instincts shifted into high alert, and her pulse rushed like thunder in her ears. Her first thought was of a wild animal, though images of rough men sent to kill Malcolm tumbled quickly after.
Terrified, she slowly turned in place, wishing she had her knife in hand. She was almost relieved when she didn’t see a hardened criminal coming at her through the woods.
Unfortunately, a mountain lion wasn’t any better.
As soon as she made eye contact with the animal, it went as still as stone and stared back at her from behind a grouping of trees. The predatory gleam in the large cat’s eyes went straight through Alexandra, chilling her blood and freezing her muscles.
Don’t run. Their instinct is to chase.
The instruction filtered up from some long-lost memory, and she seized it, digging deep for more.
Do not appear to be prey. Become a threat. Make yourself not worth the effort to take you down.
How?
She did not want to look away from the animal. As long as she kept her awareness focused on the predatory cat, maybe it wouldn’t see an opening to attack. But she needed some way to defend herself if it did. Her knife was strapped to her hip, but even if she could quickly get it in hand, she would need to allow the animal to come frighteningly close before she could use it.
Time and her surroundings seemed to slow to a crawl, while everything inside her raced at an unnatural pace. Her heart, her breath, the spinning of her thoughts.
Fear threatened to cloud her mind, but she shoved it down to the pit of her stomach. She would not become this animal’s prey. Not while Malcolm still relied on her. Not before she reached Montana. Not before she discovered herself…
The lion took a slow, stalking step forward.
Alexandra was running out of time. She needed to act.
The animal took another measured step.
Alexandra instinctively shifted her weight to better ground. As she did so, her foot kicked at what might have been a fallen branch or a rock, and her balance faltered—it was just for a second, but it was enough. The cat lunged.
Driven by a very deep and pure desire to live, Alexandra crouched and grasped ahold of the object at her feet. Thank God, it was a thick, old tree branch. She brought it up with both hands just in time to take a wide and powerful swing while releasing a throat-aching yell of fear and anger and total desperation.
The branch hit against the side of the mountain lion’s head and shoulder with enough force to knock the animal aside and send a numbing reverberation up her arms. The lion stumbled and took a few steps to the side, shaking its head before eyeing Alexandra again with a low growl.
Determined to fight with everything she had, Alexandra squared off and lifted the branch in preparation for another swing. “I won’t stop fighting,” she shouted. “So just go. Leave!”
She swung the branch in a wide arch in front of her, giving another yell, hoping it would be enough to scare the animal off.
The lion stepped back in reaction, its hindquarters lowering.
Alexandra didn’t know if it was intimidated or if it was getting ready to make another leaping attack. “Get out of here!” she yelled again, feeling tears burning in her eyes. “I am not your prey.”
With a quiet snarl, the animal spun around and took off back the way it had come.
Alexandra stood for several minutes, staring after it with the branch still raised and ready, her breath short and fierce, and her body humming with fear and the instinct for survival. Her ears strained to hear any indication that the animal might return. There was nothing. The forest had gone eerily quiet.
Her relief was weakening, but she didn’t give in to it. Keeping a tight grip on the branch, she quickly made her way back to the clearing, constantly scanning her surroundings for a glimpse of pale-brown fur or predatory eyes. By the time she stepped from the forest, she was shaking. But it wasn’t fear. It was an intense physical reaction to what she’d just done.
She had chased off a mountain lion. And though it was not something she ever wished to have to repeat, it told her something.
She had been terrified and uncertain, but she had managed to do what was necessary to survive. In a way, she had always done that: as a child learning about the world at her father’s side, that day when she was fifteen and her life completely changed, and afterw
ard in Boston.
But she didn’t want to just survive anymore. She wanted to live. To take risks and be free.
It suddenly seemed so obvious that she could never go back to Boston. She would never again be the woman who had been so lost and afraid after Lassiter left her to die. That wasn’t who she was. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been, though she’d almost convinced herself otherwise.
In the same way that Malcolm belonged out beneath the wide-open sky, breathing the air of the Rockies, so did she—unconfined by walls and rules created by others for their own comfort.
Here in the wilderness, she was liberated. She was home.
She decided not to tell Malcolm about the mountain lion. She didn’t need him worrying about her safety any more than he did already. He would probably try to make her stay inside the cabin going forward, and she couldn’t have that. Instead, she vowed to be more vigilant and look for fresh tracks when she went out to the snares. She wouldn’t be caught so unaware again.
When she entered the cabin, it was to be greeted with the rich and wonderful smell of coffee and something else. Curious, she approached the table and saw a pan of fresh-made biscuits cooling.
“They should be good to soak up what’s left of the stew from last night,” Malcolm offered in explanation as he stood from where he was crouched beside the fire.
“They smell wonderful,” she replied, turning to see him standing in the doorway. “I’m impressed.”
He let the compliment pass without comment, giving a nod toward her empty hands. “Nothing in the snares?”
“No, but I was thinking maybe we could follow the creek to see if there is a good fishing hole somewhere nearby.”
He tipped his head. “I know a spot.” His eyes narrowed, and he gave her a questioning look. “Are you all right?”
Alexandra smiled. “Of course.”
He seemed uncertain, but thankfully did not press the issue.
After breakfast, Alexandra sat him down to get a look at his shoulder.