by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
She opened for him and finally, he moved lower and took her with his tongue. She tried to hold back, heaven help her she did, but within moments she was convulsing around him. Too fast, all of it. The speed with which he’d captured her heart and the road they were travelling on, but she couldn’t slow down, not with this man. He was everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she’d never wanted. And she would give him anything he asked.
He waited until her body was limp and her breathing had steadied before kissing his way back up her body. She smelled like sunshine, tasted like sin as he set his lips to her heart and felt it thundering beneath his lips. He moved over her, into her, and the soft, slick slide of his body in hers was almost his undoing. She kissed him then. Put her hand to his cheek and her lips to his and kissed him with emotion so pure it made him tremble. He moved against her, inside her, in a dance he knew would send him soaring.
She was in his head, in his heart, and right now, right now, she was in his arms. His to hold.
And his to love.
Chapter Ten
WHEN Erin woke the next morning she was in Tristan’s arms and it felt like heaven. She lay there, perfectly still, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was still asleep. It had been late before he’d finally surrendered to sleep. Late, or early, depending on what one called the wee hours of the morning, but when he had slept he’d done so dreamlessly. She knew because she’d been watching him, watching over him. Not all the time, she’d caught her own sleep in snatches. But enough.
He wouldn’t have wanted that. He’d hate the very thought of it.
She wasn’t about to tell him.
She came up on one elbow and eased slowly away from him, trying not to wake him, and found herself caught instead in paying attention to his face in a way that she’d never allowed herself to do when he was awake, not even when they’d been making love. Beautifully male, he was that, with a mouth that spoke of passion tempered by restraint and it mirrored the man exactly. Strength tempered by compassion, sternness softened by humour. A beautiful, unfathomable contradiction.
She didn’t know what she would find this morning when he woke. Not yesterday morning’s awkwardness, they were past that, or at least she prayed they were. Retreat was more likely; she doubted he was past that. He didn’t trust easily. He didn’t love easily either.
When he finally did fall in love, she thought wistfully, he would love hard.
She was in the bathroom, filling the kettle with tap water, when he found her. She looked up, startled by the hand that snaked around her waist, and then he was drawing her back against him and locking eyes with her in the mirror. His hair was tousled, boyish, and his eyes, as always, were intent, but it was his tentative smile that commanded her attention.
Lord but it was sweet.
‘Breakfast,’ she said gravely, ‘should be about celebration.’
‘You mean food,’ he said.
‘I mean a gluttonous abundance of food crammed onto trays in the middle of a warm bed with me on one side and a man who makes love like the devil and smiles like an angel on the other. But I’ll take three out of four.’
‘You think food will be scarce?’ His smiles came easily this morning and she delighted in them. ‘What if we ordered everything on the menu?’
‘Yeah, but what are you going to eat?’
His smile grew lazy as his lips brushed her ear. ‘Guess.’
Her eyelashes fluttered closed and her breathing grew short. ‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘You order while I shower and maybe I’ll share.’
‘You’re very generous,’ he said as he trailed his hands across her stomach. ‘There’s just one problem.’
‘You think we’re going to get crumbs in the bed?’
‘No.’
‘Spill our drinks?’
‘No, although I can see how that would be a problem.’
“What, then?’
‘You don’t really think you’re getting into that shower all by yourself, do you?’
They ordered breakfast once they were clean, and it was double servings all round of scrambled eggs and bacon on Turkish bread, with freshly squeezed orange juice to finish. They were in Branxton, less than two hours from Sydney, and would be home—if they had a mind to be—by lunchtime.
‘There’s something we need to do before we get back to Sydney,’ he said. ‘Otherwise it’s going to haunt me for all eternity.’
‘Really?’ This sounded interesting. They’d already managed a fair few things that were going to haunt her for eternity. Hot pools at sunset. Morning showers with Tristan…‘What do we need to do?’ He was sitting on the bed opposite her wearing nothing but grey cargo trousers and he was relaxed and easy and there was a teasing glint in his eyes that was irresistible.
‘We need to go and climb something.’
‘It’s called the Ladder of Gloom,’ said Erin some two hours later as they stared up at a twelve-metre-high rock face situated on the edge of Kuringai National Park, just north of Sydney. ‘It’s a lovely, fingery, sports climb and just about perfect for our purposes. Not too high, not too easy, and lots and lots of fun.’
Tristan looked up at the vertical cliff face, at the bulges in the rock, and sighed. ‘Who suggested this idiocy?’
‘You did. And when you get to the top you’ll know why.’
She showed him how to harness up, and went over the equipment with him with relaxed efficiency, explaining as she went. Then she drew him back from the bottom of the cliff face and pointed out their route.
‘The first bit’s the hardest. If you can climb the first two metres you can climb the rest, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll spot you from below to start with, then come up past you and take lead. It’s just like climbing a ladder.’
‘Although gloomier.’
‘Don’t worry if you slip. Everyone slips. We’ll be roped into ringbolts all the way up.’
‘You really like this, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘I really do.’
‘You’re an adrenaline junkie.’
‘I am not!’ And with a toss of her head, ‘I’m really very sedate when you get to know me. Ask anyone in my family.’
‘Not sure that’s necessary,’ he said dryly. ‘Erin, you’re not sedate. You move fast, think fast, and make love…fast. Even when you’re going slow.’
‘Was that a complaint?’
‘Hell, no,’ he said with a grin. ‘That was a compliment.’
Erin’s eyes narrowed.
‘You’d probably have to be male to understand the depth of that particular compliment,’ he said sagely. ‘If you’d rather a different compliment I’ll keep thinking.’ He was, after all, just about to follow her up a twelve-metre vertical rock wall that bulged alarmingly towards the top.
‘I’d rather a different compliment,’ she said. ‘Maybe a sonnet.’
A sonnet? Not in this lifetime. ‘I might be able to manage a limerick,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it on the way up.’
Up.
The first two metres were what Erin called skinny. Tristan’s interpretation was somewhat more colourful. Five-mil-deep handholds that were nothing but cracks in a rock weren’t exactly his idea of a ladder, but up he went. And after Erin had swung past him, bright-eyed and sure-footed, he went up some more. Erin was right. It wasn’t a big climb. Twelve metres wasn’t that high, but it was strenuous enough to bring a sheen of sweat to his body, and different enough to have him wondering how a climber’s arms and hands held up on longer, more difficult climbs.
He was over halfway up before it occurred to him that he, who rarely trusted anyone, had trusted Erin to take the lead. She had the skills. He didn’t. That part was logical. That he’d willingly handed over responsibility for their safety wasn’t so logical.
He always took point position in the course of his work. He always moved to protect. And here he was, clinging to a cliff face, and if Erin slipped, if she fell, there wasn’t a thing
he could do about it. He didn’t like it. He was safe. He was roped in all the way. But she wasn’t. Not until she reached each consecutive ringbolt. ‘What stops you from falling?’ he said grimly as she prepared to climb to the next ringbolt.
‘Ah,’ she said, shooting him a quick smile. ‘The mountain strikes its first blow. I wondered if it would. I probably forgot to mention that climbing’s all about trust. Trusting yourself, trusting your equipment, and trusting your lead man, or woman, to get you to the top.’
‘Don’t turn this into a gender argument. It’s not.’
‘No.’ Her gaze was oddly sympathetic. ‘In your case it’s probably not. It’s that overdeveloped protective instinct that’s giving you trouble, isn’t it? You can’t protect me from there and that bothers you.’
‘You’re vulnerable,’ he snapped. And he hated it.
‘It’s just a little climb,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Tristan scowled.
‘Apart from that, what do you think?’ she asked him as she reached for the next handhold. ‘Do you like it? What if you were leading? Would you like it then?’
‘Yeah.’ Then he would like it. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’m always careful,’ she said, stifling a grin at the glare he sent her. If he’d just relax a little he’d have a much better time of it. He was climbing well for someone who’d not climbed before. His movements were sure; he had no fear of heights. He was strong and agile and he would climb the ladder all the way to the top. She had every confidence in him. He just needed to have the same confidence in her. And that, she realised belatedly, was asking a lot of him. ‘We don’t have to keep going,’ she said, trying to gauge his feelings, but she couldn’t read him. He was doing the ‘inscrutable cop’ thing and doing it well. ‘If you’re not comfortable the best thing to do is go back down.’
‘I’m comfortable enough,’ he said gruffly. ‘Just don’t fall.’
‘It’s not part of the plan.’ She wasn’t a reckless climber, but she wouldn’t deal in absolutes halfway up a crag. Climbing was a dangerous sport. A challenging sport. Most serious climbers had a tumble or two under their harness. She’d taken a few tumbles herself although now clearly wasn’t the time to mention it. She sent him a reassuring smile before turning away to focus on the next leg of the climb, a textbook shimmy up to the next ringbolt.
She made fast work of it and then it was Tristan’s turn. He was strong, leanly muscled and in perfect control of his body. ‘Beautiful,’ she said when he was beside her once more. ‘You’re a pleasure to watch. That was a compliment, by the way. Just in case you’ve forgotten what they sound like.’
‘Don’t you have places to go?’ he muttered. ‘People to see?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m going up to the top. And I will see you there.’
The last leg of the climb was Erin’s favourite. She liked the bulge in the rock, liked the exhilaration that came with approaching the top of a crag, no matter how high or difficult the climb. She just plain liked getting there. The final move was a scrabbly toe-in and a full stretch to reach the top. She made sure that top hold was secure, that she hadn’t grabbed a handful of loose ground, and drew herself up. Her hold was secure, no problem there.
But she was eyeball to eyeball with a brown snake.
Its body was coiled; its head was raised. It didn’t look happy. And it wasn’t backing down.
She reacted instinctively, snatching her hand away, jerking away, wanting to get out of striking range. She lost her balance, lost her grip, and that was the end of coming back down gracefully.
She wouldn’t fall far, she was secured to the lower ringbolt, but she’d hit the wall hard. Better than a brown snake bite though. Much, much better.
He saw her reach the top of the climb. Saw her jerk away from the edge as if stung. He saw her let go and his world stopped. The rock beneath his fingers was hard and unforgiving, his hold on it not nearly deep enough as he reached for her with one hand, reached out to break her fall. He felt his hand brush her shirt, brush her body, but there was nothing to grasp, nothing to clasp. He couldn’t stop her. She was tumbling straight past him. And then she reached out to him and he grabbed her and held on tight.
She was falling, falling awkwardly, and it felt as if everything were happening in slow motion. She flung her hand out, looking for purchase and finding nothing, and then Tristan had hold of her, hand to forearm, in a grip that was punishing. She hit the wall, shoulder first but not hard, not nearly as hard as she’d expected to. Tristan had her. Held her.
‘Brown snake,’ she said, when her heart stopped trying to choke her and she had the breath for speaking. ‘At the top.’ She looked up at Tristan, at his position. He wasn’t secure. She looked at the wall, looked for a handhold or foothold, but there was none. They were all further down. ‘Let me go,’ she said. ‘I won’t fall far. Just a couple more metres. I’ll pick up a hold further down and come back up.’
‘No.’ His muscles screamed in protest, and his hold on the rock was perilous, but he would not let her go. It was unthinkable.
‘It’s okay.’ Her eyes were huge. She was dangling in midair, ten metres off the ground, and damned if she wasn’t trying to reassure him. ‘The rope will stop me. I won’t fall far.’
‘No.’ He would not lose her. Could not. ‘Climb.’
So she climbed, using him as her anchor, and when she was secured to the rock beside him and he’d finally released his grip on her arm, she cursed him. ‘What was that?’ she demanded. ‘Have you no concern for your own safety whatsoever? You should have let me go! You could have dislocated your shoulder! What on earth were you thinking?’
‘Shut up!’ His breathing was ragged, his face was white beneath his tan, and his eyes blazed with a temper that was raging. ‘Just shut up. Don’t you dare tell me I should have let you go! Do you have any idea what watching you fall from the top of that damned rock was like?’
That he had a temper was no surprise. That he was letting it rip on the side of a mountain was. She’d scared him, she realised. He hadn’t known that her fall would be broken and that she’d be banged up but otherwise fine. He’d only seen her fall. ‘I’m fine.’ She was starting to tremble. Reaction was setting in. She needed to get to the top before it got the better of her and turned her muscles to mush. ‘Tristan, we need to get to the top. Now.’
‘What about the snake?’ He was calming down. Starting to think ahead, which was good. She needed him calm. She needed him climbing. They needed to get to the top.
‘I’ll flick some rope up. Scare it away.’
‘Why not go down?’
‘We can’t rap from here. The top’s closer. Safer.’ Apart from the brown snake and she was going to make damn sure it wasn’t waiting for her this time. She was going to bomb that piece of dirt with enough rope and climbing hardware to persuade an elephant to move. ‘I’m going up,’ she told him. ‘Before my muscles give out.’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘Trust me. Please.’
‘Are you hurt?’ he said gruffly.
‘No.’ Yes. Her shoulder wasn’t in good shape but she could still hold, and if she could hold she could climb. ‘We’ll check for injuries at the top. You and me both.’ And up she went.
She reached the top, bombed that piece of dirt above her with unladylike zeal, and finally, finally hauled over the edge. The snake was gone. She tied off on the double ringbolt at the top and called for Tristan to start climbing.
He came up fast. He’d make a damn fine climber if he had a mind to. Not that he seemed to have a mind to, judging by the rigid set of his jaw and the stern set of his mouth. His introduction to the sport had left a lot to be desired.
She let him settle while she drew up the rope and collected her scattered hardware. When that was done and he still hadn’t said a word she sat down a little distance away from him and set about examining the damage. She’d scraped her leg, a series of long thin gouges that stung like the devil, but they weren’t bleed
ing much. It was her shoulder she was worried about. It was banged up plenty from where she’d rammed into the wall. She rotated it gingerly. She still had full movement; it wasn’t dislocated. She felt around her collar-bone, worked her way over her shoulder and upper arm. Nothing felt broken.
‘You need ice,’ he said gruffly.
‘Maybe when we get back to the suburbs we can stop by a petrol station.’
‘Or a hospital.’
‘It’s not that bad.’ She thought she saw a flash of temper in those glorious golden eyes, but then his jaw tightened and he looked away and the moment was gone.
‘It’s your call,’ he said.
She felt it then. The loss of his protection, the loss of him, clear through to her soul.
The view was superb. The snake was gone. And so was Tristan. He’d retreated deep inside himself. Not shock. She knew the symptoms of shock and he didn’t have them. His eyes were clear; he was in control. But he wasn’t with her the way he’d been before they’d started to climb. ‘I wouldn’t have fallen far,’ she said, desperately trying to reach him. ‘Our second position was still secure. You were still secure.’ He looked at her, looked away as if she hurt his eyes. ‘Tristan?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Thank you for catching me.’
‘It was instinct.’ He still wouldn’t look at her. ‘I’m sorry if you’d rather I let you fall.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. It was better that you caught me, of course it was. I was just scared for you, that’s all. We were scared for each other.’ She reached out and put her hand on his forearm and he flinched as if struck. ‘What is it?’ And with a sinking feeling, ‘You’ve hurt your arm.’
‘The arm’s fine.’
‘What, then?’
‘It’s nothing.’ He stood. ‘We should head back down.’
‘Yes. Yes, we should.’ She couldn’t get through to him. Not this time. The walls he’d built around himself were too strong. She would try again when they reached the bottom. Maybe once they were off the crag he’d come back from wherever he was. Yes, maybe then he’d be all right.