Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds

by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo

  ‘I am not afraid.’

  ‘You just admitted you were. And—’

  ‘It’s not a fear, it’s a phobia.’

  ‘Much more impressive. But I’m not interested in a discussion of phobias right now. I just want to see you get your butt up that tree.’

  Brionny folded her arms. ‘Well, you’re in for a long wait. I’m not going to do it.’

  To her surprise, Slade shrugged. ‘OK. Have it your way. Sleep on the ground, if you want. It’s your choice.’

  She nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Just try not to make any noise, will you?’ He brushed past her and gave the tree an assessing look. ‘The wild pigs have sharp ears.’

  ‘What wild pigs?’

  ‘Of course, you can’t do anything about your smell.’

  ‘What smell? I don’t—’

  ‘They have such damned good noses. They can pick up a scent miles away.’

  He’s just trying to frighten me, Brionny told herself firmly.

  ‘That’s nonsense and you know it,’ she said. ‘Pigs won’t—’

  ‘Oh, and if you should hear any roaring—’

  ‘Roaring?’ she said weakly.

  ‘We passed a stream a couple of miles back, remember? It wasn’t very big but I’d bet it’s got a fairly healthy caiman population. Once the frogs and the cicadas shut down for the night, you should be able to hear the big guys staking out their territory.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘It’s mating season.’

  ‘I don’t think—I mean, caimans don’t—’

  ‘Roar? Sure they do. They’re like ‘gators and crocs. Nobody’s sure if they roar out of passion or because they’re in a bad mood.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the rotten mood part you might want to remember.’

  Brionny swallowed hard. ‘None of this is true,’ she said with determination. ‘You’re making it up to scare me.’

  Slade grabbed a vine, put his foot on a knot of wood, and climbed a couple of feet before he paused and looked down at her.

  ‘As for the jag—he should be done hunting in another couple of hours. With any luck at all he’ll have found a capybara or two to fill his belly, and he won’t be the least bit interested in you as an entrée.’

  ‘I don’t think this is funny, McClintoch!’

  ‘Oh, by the way—if the guys who play the drums should stop by to say hello, don’t wake me. I’m not much on conversation once the moon goes down.’

  ‘Damn you,’ Brionny said furiously. She stomped toward the tree, her face uplifted and angry in the waning moonlight. ‘You win. I’ll climb this miserable thing.’

  Slade chuckled softly, dropped to the ground, and held out his hand. ‘Ah Stuart,’ he said, ‘your eagerness to sleep with me is overwhelming.’

  Flushing, she lunged at one of the tightly wound vines and began to climb.

  ‘I hate this place. I hate you. I hate—’ Her hand slipped, but before she could slide backward Slade caught her around the waist.

  ‘Easy,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.’

  ‘And one fine recommendation that is,’ she snapped.

  But he did have her, his hands firm and steadying, his murmured reassurances helping to guide her, until, at last, she was sitting on the forked branch, trying to pretend the ground wasn’t a million miles away.

  ‘Relax,’ Slade said as he scurried up behind her.

  ‘I am relaxed. I am completely relaxed.’

  ‘If you spend the night sitting like a statue, you’ll be stiff in the morning.’

  ‘Listen, McClintoch, maybe you can pretend this is a four-poster bed, complete with feather quilt and soft pillows, but I—’ She gasped as Slade’s arms went around her.

  ‘Come here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Stop struggling, Stuart. There’s nothing personal in this.’ He laughed softly, his breath stirring the damp curls at her temple as he drew her back against him. ‘Just think of me as your seat belt.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to think about the branches above us?’ she said, trying not to notice how closely she was plastered to the hard male body behind her. ‘When you were having such a good time describing the wildlife on the ground, you forgot about the wildlife in the trees. How do you know there aren’t snakes up here with us?’

  Slade sighed. ‘Do us both a favor and try and relax, OK? I promise you, we’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  But there was, Brionny thought uneasily. There was the way it felt to be held so tightly in Slade’s arms, with the beat of his heart against her back and the heat of him surrounding her.

  ‘Will you loosen up, Stuart? Take a deep breath. Good. Now let it go.’ He shifted his weight so that she was lying back in his arms. ‘If you were really a hotshot scientist you’d know that a tense body falls at double the rate of a relaxed one.’

  It was impossible not to laugh. ‘What?’

  Slade laughed too. ‘You don’t buy that, huh?’

  ‘You must have slept through general science, McClintoch.’

  He smiled. ‘Something like that.’ What was the point in telling her that he’d slept through most of his high school science courses because practical experience had by then taught him at least as much as any of his teachers knew? ‘Just take it easy. You’re not going to fall.’

  ‘My head agrees. But my stomach doesn’t. It’s doing loop-the-loops at the thought of being up this high.’

  ‘You flew to Peru, didn’t you?’ Brionny nodded. ‘Well, how did you manage to survive the flight? Tranquilizers?’

  ‘No. I don’t like taking stuff like that.’ She hesitated. ‘It’ll sound silly—’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Well, I made myself fall asleep. It’s what I always do when I’m up in a plane.’

  ‘You make yourself fall asleep?’

  ‘I told you it would sound silly,’ she said defensively. ‘But it works.’

  ‘How do you do it?’

  She sighed. ‘I tune out my surroundings. You know—I pull down the window shade so I can’t see out, I get the flight attendant to bring me one of those little pillows so I can put my head back, I burrow under a blanket, and I tell myself I’m really not up in the air but that I’m—’ She made a little sound of distress as Slade turned her in his arms. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m putting you across my lap,’ he said in a no-nonsense voice, ‘and there’s no point in complaining because, believe me, I’m only doing it for our safety.’

  Brionny felt the heat of his body encompass hers. Her nose brushed his cheek; her hand slipped across his chest.

  Safe, she thought. Safe?

  ‘That—that makes no sense. There’s no reason to—’

  ‘There’s every reason,’ he said firmly. ‘If you don’t get any rest, I won’t either. And tomorrow we’ll both need our wits about us.’

  ‘Yes, but this—’

  ‘Look, we don’t have a window shade to pull down, nor a pillow. But you can put your head against my shoulder and close your eyes.’ His hand came up, his fingers warm as they tunneled into her hair, and he brought her cheek to his chest. ‘Now. Where shall we pretend we are? Do you have any preferences?’

  Brionny gave a little laugh. ‘Anywhere but a mile up in a tree.’

  ‘OK. I’ve got it. It’s summertime, and we’re sitting on my aunt Bessie’s wooden swing.’

  ‘Come on, McClintoch—’

  ‘The swing is very old. And it needs to be oiled. It creaks when it moves.’

  ‘Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it won’t—’

  ‘The moon is up.’ Slade’s voice whispered against her skin. ‘It’s a warm night, and the wind’s coming in soft and easy from the south. We’ve been sitting out here for hours, just talking and counting the stars. Now we’re both getting sleepy. “I’m tired, Slade,” you say, and I say, Well, why don’t you just put your head on my shoulder and close your eyes?’

  ‘McClintoch, really. This is interesting, but—�
�

  ‘A second ago you were calling me Slade.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘Sure you were. “I’m tired, Slade,” you said, and I told you to put your head down and close your eyes.’

  She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Nice try, but that wasn’t me talking, it was you, speaking for me.’

  ‘Me? Putting words in your mouth?’ He smiled too, and drew her closer. ‘Come on, give it a shot. Put your head on my shoulder, take a deep breath, and relax.’

  With a little sigh, she did as he’d asked. Amazingly enough, she felt the tension begin easing from her body. Gradually she became aware of Slade’s scent, sweaty and male. And exciting—but how could that be? What on earth could be exciting about the smell of sweat?

  The way he was holding her was exciting too. She had never imagined feeling so safe in a man’s arms—and yet feeling so aware of herself as a woman. Her skin felt so sensitized, and so hot where his touched it.

  Her hand lay against his chest, her fingers lightly curled into the damp cotton of his shirt. His cheek was against her temple. He needed a shave, she thought suddenly; she could feel the faint abrasion of his shadowy beard against her skin. What would happen if she put her hand to his cheek and let her palm play softly over the light stubble? Her heart gave a thud, then another, and she shifted a little in Slade’s arms.

  ‘Comfortable?’ he whispered.

  Brionny nodded, although that wasn’t quite the way she’d have described how she felt. Slade’s throat was inches from her mouth. What would his skin taste like? she wondered. And his lips—how would they feel on hers? His kisses this morning had seemed as hot and fiery as the sun. Now, with the moon slipping from the sky and the blackness of night settling around them, would his kisses taste of coolness and of the dark?

  Brionny shut her eyes. She could imagine going down into that darkness with Slade, letting him carry her into a bottomless whirlpool where there was nothing but him and the night and the feel of his body against hers…

  ‘Bree.’

  She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, as deep and green as the jungle. His hand stroked her cheek.

  ‘You’re tensing up again,’ he said softly.

  ‘This isn’t working,’ she said shakily. ‘I think—’

  ‘You’re not supposed to be thinking.’ His voice was husky, but it sounded as if it was somehow shot through with silver. ‘You’re supposed to be relaxing. That was the whole point of this, remember?’

  The truth was that she was having trouble remembering anything.

  ‘McClintoch—’

  His mouth brushed lightly against her temple. ‘My name is Slade.’

  She swallowed. ‘Slade. Please—’

  He smiled. ‘I like the way you say my name,’ he whispered.

  Their eyes met again, and what she saw in his made the breath catch in her throat.

  Slade murmured her name, tilted her face to his, and kissed her.

  Chapter Six

  IF ONLY Slade had kissed her with passion, or even with anger—with any of the fiery emotions they’d sparked in each other since they’d met—Brionny knew she could have handled it. She could have shoved him away, slapped his face, done what women had always done to humiliate men who took advantage of a woman’s momentary weakness.

  But he was kissing her with a sweetness that was almost unimaginable. His lips moved gently on hers, silk against satin; his hands cupped her face, his thumbs gently tracing the delicate bones. An unpredictable kiss, she thought hazily, from an increasingly unpredictable man.

  She knew the kiss was meant to be a distraction, a calculated assault on her senses to divert her from reality. And it was working, she thought as he drew her closer. She could feel her fear slipping from her, falling away into the night. The trouble was that something just as dangerous was replacing it. Her mouth was softening under Slade’s, her pulse-rate was quickening. Her hands were spreading on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt.

  With a little moan, she twisted her face from his. She waited, struggling for composure. When she thought she’d regained it, she looked at him and managed a strained smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, as if he’d given her some aspirin for a headache. ‘I’m OK now.’

  Slade stroked damp tendrils of hair back from her temples. ‘You’re not afraid?’

  ‘No, not any more.’ She smiled again, a little less tremulously. ‘Your diversionary tactic worked. I feel much calmer.’

  It wasn’t true. She felt anything but calm. He was tracing the lobe of her ear, his finger moving lightly along the tender flesh, and, though she’d tried to put some distance between them, how much distance could you manage when you were sitting in a man’s arms?

  His fingers dropped to the neck of her T-shirt and traced a path that encircled her throat.

  ‘Do you?’ he said softly. ‘Feel calmer, I mean.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Brionny cleared her throat. ‘And you were right about this branch. It’s so wide that I can’t possibly fall.’

  ‘No, you can’t.’ He looped both arms around her. ‘I’d never let it happen.’

  His arms were a strangely welcome fortress. It took effort not to lean back in his embrace.

  ‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I—I don’t even feel woozy about being so high.’

  Slade chuckled. ‘All that reassurance from one kiss? I’m flattered, Stuart.’ His smile tilted, grew soft and lazy. His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘Just think how reassured you’d feel if I kissed you again.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice breathy and high-pitched. She cleared her throat again. ‘I mean—it’s not necessary. Really.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’m willing to make the sacrifice.’

  Her eyes flashed to his. ‘Don’t make fun of me,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Me? Make fun of you?’ He wore the angelic expression of a choir boy with a frog tucked in his back pocket. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  Brionny ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Was he flirting with her? If he was, he was wasting his time. She wasn’t into that kind of male-female banter, not on the ground and certainly not here, in the branches of a tree in the Amazon with a man like Slade McClintoch.

  He touched his forefinger to her mouth, drawing it gently along the curve of her lips, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  ‘I was just thinking, Stuart…an experiment always has to be repeated before it has validity. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘If you expect me to find that amusing—’

  ‘I expect you to treat this with scientific detachment.’ He laid his finger against her lips again. A tremor went through her as he began to trace their outline. ‘Such a sweet mouth,’ he whispered. Her lips parted slightly. His fingertip slid inside and moved gently over the damp inner flesh. ‘Just think of this as our treehouse lab,’ he said. He was still smiling, but his voice had grown thick, the words softly slurred. ‘I have no personal stake here. It’s all in the interest of science.’

  ‘It isn’t. You know it isn’t. And—and—’ She caught hold of his hand as if she were catching hold of reality before it slipped away completely. ‘Slade. You aren’t listening.’

  ‘Of course I am.’ His fingers curled around her wrist. He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss against the palm. ‘I’m listening harder than you can imagine.’

  ‘You’re not,’ she said, trying not to tremble at the feel of his lips against her skin.

  ‘Of course I am.’ He turned her hand over, kissed the inside of her wrist. There was no lightness in his voice now, no teasing tone at all. ‘I’m listening to everything, sweetheart, even to the things you’re afraid to say out loud.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ she said shakily. ‘Slade, please, you have to stop.’

  A murmuring sigh of pleasure whispered from her lips as he kissed her.

  ‘Is that what you really want me to do, Bree?’

  Her head fel
l back as he pressed his mouth to her throat. What did she want? Not this, she thought desperately. Surely not this. Even if Slade wasn’t lying about the headhunters—and that was a damned big ‘if’—he was still the sort of man she knew better than to trust, a man dropped into her path by a fate with a bad sense of humor…

  But what happened to all that logic when he kissed her?

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispered, but it wasn’t really a question for he was already kissing her deeply, hungrily, and she was kissing him back.

  Her lips parted and his tongue slid against hers. He tasted like spring mornings and summer rain, like the first cool snowflake dropping from a winter sky. He tasted of fire and of flame, and when he drew up her shirt, baring her skin to the soft night air and to his caresses, Brionny moaned against his mouth. Heat pooled between her thighs as his thumb rolled across her nipple.

  ‘Slade,’ she whispered, ‘Slade, please…’

  He groaned, lowered his head, put his mouth to her breast. His tongue laved her skin, and she cried out as his teeth closed lightly on the aching nub of flesh. He drew it into the warmth of his mouth and she felt her last hold on reality slipping away.

  What was happening to her? She had never felt like this before. Hers was a world of cool scientific thought and careful investigation. There was no room in it for madness—and surely what she felt now was madness. Pull back now, she thought desperately; pull back before it’s too late.

  Instead, her hands swept into Slade’s hair. She grasped his head and dragged his face to hers, her mouth hot and open against his. He was trembling too—she could feel it—and the realization sent a lightning shaft of pleasure curling through her blood.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered.

  She was—but it was such a pathetic way to describe her that Slade almost groaned with despair. Words had never been his strength; he was a man whose thought processes ran to problem-solving, not poetry, and those rare times when mathematical formulae hadn’t worked, muscle always had.

  Now he cursed the moments he’d read Euclid instead of Shelley. A perfect sunset was beautiful, or a warm summer morning. But the woman in his arms was much more than that. She was everything female, as mysterious and as lush as the jungle that surrounded them, yet she had a clever mind, as agile as any he’d ever known. She had a face a man dreamed of, a body that was perfection. Her lips were soft and yielding, tasting of honey, and she had set him on fire. He burned as he never had in all his years; he knew that only the exquisite sweetness of her body closing around his could ease his pain.