Oh god! Cold didn’t even begin to describe it.
The mountain water of the lake seized all her skin cells, particularly between her legs, hardening into a futile defense against the million-year-old water recently released from its glacial home.
But, oh, oh, heavenly to have relief from the searing heat of Corbett’s desire and determination and anger and plunder. Wonderful to accept the numbing of her body parts, bruised from her bindings or scraped raw and painful from his invasions.
The moon was well risen now, glittering across the water, glowing cold and hard and beautiful in the clear night sky.
Plan—find the rest of her clothes and get on her Scout and get the hell out of Lavinia Creek Valley.
Sure, and what would she say to Leo?
Sorry, Dad. He wasn’t interested.
Oh yeah. He’d been too damned interested. Interested in impaling her with his cock and anything else that came to hand. And she’d been overly interested in being impaled, which meant she could never countenance his working with her father.
She’d ruined everything.
“Hey, Calloway!”
She spun around to look back at the shore, where, ghostly white in the moonlight, Corbett stood with a casually amused look on his face. Not a hint of arrogance.
“Cold?”
“Refreshing,” she called back.
“Can we start again? Talk this over, act like adults?”
The welcome words flew across the water to wrap themselves around her and warm her.
“Maybe…”
Their words echoed in the hollows of the mountains.
“You must be freezing. Come on out.”
“I can’t. I’m naked.” Even as the words left her lips, she realized how ludicrous this was.
“Okay, if you insist.” He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it from him, then kicked off his shoes.
“I thought we were going to behave like adults.”
He undid his belt. “By my calcs, you’re twenty-five now. I’m thirty-one. We can be adults. Do grown-up things together. No bondage. No foreign objects. No more sexual ravaging of a helpless woman, even if it was consensual.”
Clearly he didn’t care how sound traveled over still water, nor who was around to hear.
Her broken breathing was now due to more than the bitterly cold water enveloping her as he dropped his jeans and briefs down to his feet and kicked them off.
There he was again. Joe Corbett. Big. Hard.
And when she could drag her eyes to his face, that carefree grin said worlds—universes—to her.
The old Corbett.
He stood on the shore, naked, hands open in appeal. His body language asking, seeking…what?
“Well?” he called. “May I join you?”
Consent. He was asking her consent.
“Yes!”
He waded in.
At waist depth he dove under and with a few strong strokes, surfaced at her side. He hauled her into his arms, up against him, full-frontal contact. She joined him eagerly, seeking reprieve from the icy water around her, and finding it in the searing heat of his skin on hers, his chest against her breasts, the force of his penis crushing against her vulva.
Oh god yes, take me and hold me if only to save me from death by hypothermia.
Without a word he brought his lips—hard and soft and cold and hot and wet—against hers, devouring her mouth as she engaged her own lips and tongue and teeth to give as good as she got.
Now he let go of her mouth and twisted her around to pull her up against him, one arm protectively across her breasts, the other on her abdomen, sliding inexorably downwards and between her legs, his fingers gently spreading her labia apart and she gasped in further shock as the icy water hit her deeper.
“I don’t know if I can bear this…”
“Sure you can,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her cheek. His endearingly warm fingertip dragged itself along the center of her groove, back and forth, pressing harder and deeper with each pass.
“God, woman, you’re hot down there.” Even as he spoke, he thrust a large, warm finger into her, hot and deep and achingly welcome, and her whole abdomen seemed to heat up and electrify and warm the water around her.
“Make love to me, dammit, Corbett,” she managed to gasp. “Not your mouth or the carving or even your fingers. Finish what we started, what you said, or so help me, I’ll sue you for breach of promise.”
“Sure you would,” he said with a light, maddening laugh. “You’d take that note to court.”
He extracted his finger from her and spun her around, and with a surge of energy and entitlement, he ducked down, grabbed her thighs, lifted her out of the water, essentially flinging her over his shoulder, and marched out of the river and onto the bank, where he lowered her down onto the rough ground.
He stood over her; the moonlight sparkled on his glistening body as water ran off his chest, down his stomach, down to the thatch of pubic hair, down his cock. So potently beautiful she nearly cried with anticipation of his next move.
“You know why this is going to happen between us, Tara. Not because of any crazy sexual agenda, not because I have an unfulfilled need to violate you, or because you have some unfinished business with my cock. But because we both want it—with each other. Because the two of us together equal more than the sum of our parts.”
The moonlight seemed to reflect off his soul at his words.
Oh…
“You’re right, Joe.” She held up a hand to him. “Come lie down with me.”
He dropped to his knees, straddling her legs, and ran his hand gently over her abdomen. The sticks and stones digging into her back just melted away.
“Right now the only thing in my head—in my life—is the prospect of what I’m going to do to you. With you.” He leaned in closer and whispered into her neck. “For you. Better than you’ve ever imagined about me, about us. And better than I’ve ever fantasized about you.”
Her mind went into meltdown mode.
“You know, I’ve imagined some pretty extreme things about you, Corbett.”
He gave her another smile of assurance. “This will be better.”
“You sound damn sure of yourself,” she observed casually.
“Because it’s real. Because when I’m inside you, I’ll know I’m there, consumed by you and you’ll know I’m there, you’ll feel me penetrating you right down into the edges of your soul…”
She shivered at the depth of this concept, and he shifted himself off her just to grab his shirt and reach into the pocket again and extract one small packet.
She lay back and willed everything to move forward as it should. As it was always ordained.
Because even more than when he’d had her bound and helpless, she now felt helpless and bound. She couldn’t move even the smallest muscle, so ready was she to let him take her over entirely.
“Rough or smooth,” she gasped, her voice tight with anticipation, “quick and hot or long and slow. Just do it.”
Corbett grinned. He gripped her thighs and jerked them apart. No teasing prod at her clitoris this time. His fingers found her entry point and spread her relentlessly open, and abruptly, ruthlessly the urgency of his cock pierced her—unyielding, scorching, adamant, inexorable—tearing away all that remained of her sanity, firing her into a dimension she’d never yet fantasized about, hurling her beyond all limits of what was even human—
Her hips jerked up to meet him, twisting, as he drove ever harder, driving her back against the ground, tormenting and surely bruising her flesh, front and back.
Exquisite. Exquisite pain. The bizarre expression held real meaning, as he inflicted exquisite pain and excruciating pleasure on her, in her. She could no more suppress a cry of anguished rapture than stop her heart from beating, as she left the earth and her brain tingled and her soul went on fire.
And she took him with her.
“Now…” he murmured, as they sat naked to
gether on the shore.
Ever resourceful—except perhaps in the matter of condoms—he had gathered some kindling and driftwood, produced a matchbook from his jeans pocket and lit a fire on the narrow beach.
He sat with his legs bent, leaning his elbows on his knees, while she lay back on her elbows. The fire shed its golden light on his skin, warmed her against the night. Their thighs just touched.
“Where do we go from here?” he said.
Good question.
“Still want me to saddle up and roar out of your life forever?” she said. “Or do we proceed to do it all over again?”
He smiled. “Later. For sure.”
…and then I never want to see you again.
Which had he meant?
For a few moments, they let the sounds of the night fill the space between them.
“Why did you come here? After all these years, what made you come out here and find me? Not, I’m guessing, because you suddenly had a yen to tie up some closure between us.”
“No…”
Now what? Proceed just as though the last few hours and considerable amount of hard and lovely sex hadn’t happened? What did she want from him now? And could she face it?
“Maybe this has something to do with it.” He groped about the ground for his jeans and produced—shit—a crumpled business card.
“I found it among the condoms after I left you.” He held it in the firelight to read it. “‘Leo Calloway. Calloway’s Fine Woodworking.’”
“Yeah…so?” Could anything on the card betray her?
“And written on the back…‘Joe Corbett, c/o King Children’s Getaway, Lavinia Creek Valley.”
She held her hand out for it. Oh so casual, like it didn’t matter. He lifted the card out of her reach.
“In Leo’s handwriting.”
Damn, he was observant. Even by firelight.
“So explain to me exactly why you’re here, darkening my doorway, apparently with Leo’s knowledge—blessing, even? Not for the sex. Leo would have your hide, and then my balls, if he knew what we’d just done.”
“Consensually,” she pointed out.
“The last time I saw Leo, he never wanted to see me again. And with good reason.”
“You mean because you left him in the lurch, or—did he find out about our little farewell party?”
“Not that I know of. And as for my leaving—he’s never said anything to you about why I went so suddenly? Why I had to?”
“Not a syllable.”
He let out a long telling breath and tossed a few more sticks on the fire. It flared up.
“And you never wondered?”
“You mean, why you vanished off the planet?” She shrugged. “I guess I thought about it now and then.”
Every day of her life for years.
“Leo said you found a better job. Left no forwarding address.”
Corbett said nothing.
“Did you?” she prodded.
“No.”
“You left of your own accord?”
“No.”
She let the silence hang there.
“I broke my parole. Also Tim Jarmin’s jaw.”
“Jarmin!” Tara’s mind replayed that time she’d come home. Jarmin—hell, she rarely gave him a moment’s thought—seemed to have had some run-in with something bigger and stronger. Like a logging truck. She hadn’t been interested enough to ask and no one had bothered elaborating. “I wish I’d seen it.”
“Naw. Not a pretty sight. I also landed a highly satisfactory blow to his gut.”
“I guess he deserved it.”
“He deserved worse.”
Really? But she left it alone. For now.
“And you went back to jail.”
“Faster than you could cut a granola bar with a chainsaw.”
They sat silent for a moment as the fire flickered and hissed.
“You know,” Corbett said, “sometimes I wonder if that was his plan. He hated me, God knows why, since he was your dad’s star worker, and I was just passing through on parole. But he made no secret that he didn’t want any scum like me around the yard, so maybe he saw his chance to goad me into attacking him, knowing I’d be back in prison like a shot, my future in ruins.”
“He took a big risk.”
“Aw, he probably thought he could handle a skinny guy like me. He didn’t know I’d learned a lot about self-defense in Fermanagh.”
“You might have really hurt him.”
“I did really hurt him. And he sure didn’t plan on the screwdriver in my hand.”
“Ouch…”
“I hadn’t realized it myself until too late. The puncture wound was pretty serious.”
“And you never explained that he’d provoked you.”
“A lot of good that would have done. I had history.”
She let her mind be boggled, as if the earth had just started spinning round the other way. Corbett’s supposed defection, her father’s refusal to talk about it, Jarmin’s eventual fall from grace. Just one thing, though.
“What did he say to you?”
“Not going there.” Door firmly shut.
But she knew, as if she’d eavesdropped on the whole event. All kinds of sickness and shame and disgust assailed her. Jarmin had said something unforgivable and gross and demeaning about her, so degrading and offensive that Corbett had broken his jaw and punctured his gut without a second thought. Or even a first.
She disembarked from that highly unpleasant train of thought and boarded another.
“The letter. The promise to fuck me endlessly, hard and merciless.” Her knees began to quiver again. So soon?
“I’d killed my chance at rehab,” he said, “any prospect I’d ever had with your father, the one man who trusted me enough to give me that chance. It was all blown out of the water, and to top it off, this was moments after I’d been handed the prize of a lifetime—you. You wanting me. I dared to believe you might even love me.
“I swear, Tara, if I hadn’t kept my head screwed on good and hard that night, fighting my urges and your pheromones with every cell in my body, I’d have had you down on the floor so fast, naked, your back covered with sawdust, hard inside you, without a condom between us.”
Tara felt her throat tighten at the lost moment that would have destroyed them both back then.
“I had condoms then, too.” She couldn’t help grinning as she said it.
“Why am I not surprised?” A smile crossed his face, as though also regretting the moment. “But hell, like I said, I was on probation and you were on the brink of life, heading off to university, where you’d meet every sort and condition of man, rich, smart, ambitious, all kinds of advantages. I knew once you got out into the big world, you’d forget about me.”
“I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I mean, yeah, of course there were other guys. Good men, smart, ambitious, loving. I had my pick of them. And I took them, because I couldn’t have you.”
“And that’s why I wrote the letter. To blow away any enchantment you might still feel over a dead-end loser like me. It worked, didn’t it?”
“It worked.” She stared at the coals in the fire.
“And yet, six years later, here you are.”
“Here I am. And no, I never forgot you. After all the nice guys and amazing lovers, I still dreamed about finding you. On bad nights, when the world is old and in danger of drowning in all the evil and hatred inflicted on it, I believe you wrote that note out of contempt and hurt. But on good nights, when the moon’s in the right phase and I’ve had just enough good pot to mellow out, I tell myself you wrote it to hide the love you felt for me, forbidden fruit that I was.”
“But you didn’t come here today to find out which it was.”
“Leo sent me.”
“He sent you?”
She stared off into the darkness, just beyond the reach of the firelight.
“Leo had a heart attack.”
“Shit! How bad? Is he—”
“He’s good. Better than we ever hoped. But of course he’s got to take it easy. Forever.”
“And my guess is he’s nowhere near ready to retire.”
“He’s fifty-one. And just hitting his stride. The business is doing better than ever, and part of it is due to what he started with you.”
“He’s still doing that? I thought after how that blew up in his face—”
“It didn’t. Yeah, you blew parole and were history, but it was still a good idea. He’s been doing it ever since. He arranges with Fermanagh, and other places, to find young people—men and women—with potential and give them a trial and training at Calloway’s. He’s had thirteen success stories over the years and three, well, not so successful. “
“But what does he want with me?”
“When he had the heart attack, he and I sat down and worked out how he could keep on going without it killing him, and out of the blue he said, ‘Joe Corbett would be the one to do it.’”
“Do it?” Incredulity with a side of hope crept into his voice. “As in, work for him?”
“Not just work for him. Work with him. Help run it. Leo works hard at running the workshop and training the trainees and making it all work out right. It takes just the right kind of guy, someone the trainees will listen to and learn from. And Leo is, well, perfect at that.”
“Yeah. I remember.”
“And he remembers you were just like that yourself. He always had his eye on you, back then.”
“Get out of here. It was never me. It was Jarmin—”
“It was never Jarmin. Yeah, he knew his stuff all right, and worked hard, and he had it in mind to move up in the business, but Leo never saw him as the right fit. For one thing, he hated the idea of having you there, on parole from Fermanagh.”
“Don’t I know that.”
“So it fits. Jarmin figured you’d get a permanent job with Dad once you finished your parole and move up the ladder. Maybe he did goad you. Except for the screwdriver, he’d have suffered some aches and bruises and come out smelling like a rose.”
“It certainly had the desired effect,” Corbett agreed grimly.
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