She didn't know Rick well enough to feel any of those things for him, but she felt desire. This man, this stranger, had awakened her on a level beyond normal consciousness. He had slipped into the darkest recesses of her mind. A place where there was no right or wrong, but only need—a burning hunger that must be fed.
Maintaining reason was like clutching air. She had no control over her limbs, felt as if an invisible force propelled her mouth toward his. His lips felt warm, firm… and unresponsive. She pulled back to look at him.
"You don't know me," he said, his voice low and husky.
"I know I want you," she countered, surprising herself.
He glanced away as if he couldn't stand to look at her. "You're not making this any easier."
"No. I'm not," she agreed, then turned his face toward hers and kissed him again. With a groan of defeat, he surrendered. He claimed her lips without a hint of gentleness. Rather than being frightened by the intensity of his ardor, she reveled in the taste, smell, and feel of him. Her fingers clutched his thick hair.
His hands slid down her back, pulled her hips up firmly against him. Her breath caught in her throat at the solid proof of his desire for her, but again, she felt no fear of him, or shame over her own behavior, only a desperate need to feed the hunger he stirred within.
When he pulled away again, she moaned in frustration. He took her hand and led her toward the cabin. She went willingly, running to keep up with his long strides. As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door and pinned her against the sturdy wooden frame, his body pressing into hers. He kissed her like a man starved for human contact, making love to her with his mouth, teasing and nipping at her lips, probing inside with his tongue.
She couldn't breathe, felt as if she were on fire, consumed by a passion beyond her control. Her breasts ached with a need to be held, and lower, she throbbed with another need, one stronger than common sense, one that eclipsed the deeply embedded morals she'd once possessed.
Rick led her into the bedroom. A small lamp burned, casting a soft glow over the cozy room. He immediately drew her into his arms, his kisses slower, deeper. His hand strayed to the buttons on her shirt. He unfastened them with maddening slowness, the tips of his fingers brushing sensually against her burning skin.
She moaned when he cupped her breasts, his thumbs dipping inside her bra to tease her nipples. He slid her shirt over her shoulders and unclasped her bra, removing both articles in one sweep.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, molding her breasts in the palms of his hands. "So perfect."
His husky words and the feel of his fingers stroking her flesh fueled her passion and erased what few inhibitions she had left. Stephanie unbuttoned his shirt. She kissed his throat, then ran her tongue down his smooth chest. She liked the taste of him, the feel and heat of him. That was when a strange realization struck her. She stumbled back.
"What's the matter?"
"Your chest," she whispered.
Rick glanced down. "What about it?"
"T-the cut from the glass," she stammered. "It's gone."
Almost in an unconscious gesture, his hand lifted to his chest. He looked like a child trying to hide a secret. "I'm a fast healer."
Confused, she said, "That cut was fairly deep. It would take at least a couple of weeks to heal."
He took another step toward her. "It obviously wasn't as deep as you thought. Come here."
His command was difficult to ignore. With effort, Stephanie took another step back. Whatever force had driven her moments before weakened. She suddenly felt very much in control of her emotions, and totally embarrassed by her behavior. Cool air clashed with her hot skin. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts.
"There should be a nasty scratch there, even if the cut wasn't as deep as it looked," she insisted.
Rick ran a hand through his hair, bent, and scooped up her discarded clothing. "Would it make you feel better if I put one there?"
She wondered if he meant to hand her the clothes, or keep her from getting back into them. "We shouldn't have started this."
He lifted a brow. "You're the one who started it. Now you want to end it because I'm not mortally wounded?"
Reaching for her shirt, she answered, "I want to end it because it isn't right."
The lack of a cut on Rick's chest unnerved her. It was creepy. No normal person could heal that quickly. Her own behavior totally confused her. It was as if she'd become an animal. Rick stared at the hand she held extended toward him. For a moment, she thought he might not comply with her wishes. He sighed and handed her the clothing. Stephanie turned her back and quickly slipped into the shirt, wadding the undergarment into a ball before stuffing it in her pocket. She felt that she owed him some type of explanation.
"I'm not normally like this," she said.
His hands settled upon her shoulders. "You mean you don't normally work a man into a frenzied pitch and then leave him in agony?"
The warmth of his hands soaked through her shirt. She almost relented. So what if he should have a nasty gash in his chest and he didn't? So what if she hardly knew him? They both wanted the same thing. Men and women of her generation had sex together all the time without any emotional commitments. But Stephanie wasn't that type of person. She never had been. Not until tonight.
"I'm not acting like myself."
He turned her around. She expected his expression to be angry, but instead, he looked concerned. "What do you mean, you're not acting like yourself?"
She had trouble looking at him. "The old woman frightened me… and then I don't know what happened. I'm not into casual sex."
He smiled slightly. "I didn't plan on being casual about it."
Her resistance wavered. "Normally, I would never… I mean, we don't know each other that well. I really have no idea what got into me."
"You said you wanted me," he reminded.
"I wanted… something," she agreed. "But I'm not certain what exactly."
"Did you feel driven to mate with me?"
Her gaze shot up. His question made what she'd felt sound animalistic, dirty. "I'm leaving, and I think it would be best if we just stayed away from one another."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Why did you feel driven? Physical attraction alone? Because I'm strong? Because deep down, you feel I can provide for you?"
Stephanie struggled, pulling away from him. His suggestions sickened her. She had no dark motives for desiring him.
Humiliated, she shoved past him and left the bedroom. She only made it to the door before she remembered that her campsite didn't seem like the safest place to be tonight. Neither was his cabin.
"I'll go with you," he said. "Unless you trust me enough to stay the night."
She wasn't certain she could trust him, and wasn't at all sure she could trust herself.
"I'm not letting some crazy old woman scare me away from my campsite. Besides, for all I know, she's stolen my camera equipment and everything else. I need to check on things."
When he joined her, he'd buttoned his shirt back up. "Then let's go."
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Shouldn't we take something for protection? Maybe a gun?"
"I don't need a weapon." His voice held a chill. "If she's still there, I can handle her."
Glancing down, she noticed the unconscious flexing of his large hands. He could snap the old woman in two if he wanted, she imagined. The thought did not comfort her, nor did the walk to her site help relax her. She felt like a tease. What had possessed her to act so out of character?
Lust. The word wasn't a soft one. That was what she had felt for him. Lust was what she had responded to, that and his touch, his kisses—her own loneliness. She wondered if she would have responded to any other man the way she had to Rick, but she didn't think so. There was something about him she had trouble resisting. Something she sensed beneath his skin. She waited while he searched the area and checked inside her tent.
"No sign of her."
&
nbsp; She breathed a sigh of relief. "Does it look as if anything's been stolen?"
He shook his head. "Nothing seems out of place."
The news bothered her more than if the old woman had stolen her blind. Then there would at least be a logical explanation for the woman's appearance, and for her frightening behavior.
"Nothing makes sense tonight," she said quietly. "Thank you for walking me back."
"Are you sure you want to stay out here alone?"
Of course she didn't want to be alone. Tempting visions of Rick sharing a sleeping bag with her made her profess bravery she didn't feel at the moment.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I plan to drag my sleeping bag in the Jeep and lock all the doors."
His gaze met hers, and for an instant, she thought his eyes glowed again. A trick of the moon. "If you need me, you know where to find me."
That was the problem. Rick Donavon was a little too convenient. "I won't need you," she said, vowing to make good her claim. "Good night."
He didn't respond, but turned and walked away. The moment he disappeared, loss and loneliness welcomed Stephanie home. She could have been in his arms, in his bed, but she'd chosen to be rational. The absence of a cut on his chest still bothered her. Maybe the cut wasn't as deep as it had looked. Maybe he was just one of those people who healed quickly. What other explanation could there be?
She couldn't think of a single one. And suddenly, she had trouble coming up with a single reason why she should have left. Morals? Fear? What were those compared to the thrill of his kisses, the sensuous trail of fingers across flesh? She shook her head, worried she'd developed the morals of a cat in heat. Her morals were important, had always been, and she needed to get a grip.
Stephanie wouldn't throw herself at him again. Next time, she might get exactly what she asked for. She shivered, a result of worry that the old woman might come back, she told herself. But deep down, she knew that her response had been anticipation. Excitement to see him again.
Chapter Seven
For three days Stephanie followed the wolf pack. She tried to put Rick out of her mind and concentrate on her research. It worked sometimes, but mostly during the daylight hours. The old woman had not returned. She'd gotten many good shots of the pack members, and had come to identify certain animals. One individual was missing—the huge black wolf she'd saved the night she'd arrived. The same one she later suspected had crept into her tent to stare at her.
His loss saddened her. He'd obviously died of his wounds, or had fallen victim to another menace. She'd noticed there seemed to be a shortage of females hunting, which probably meant Rick was right, and a few were in dens tending pups.
Being able to film the pups would help her cause considerably. All baby animals were cute and people softened toward them. If she could keep up with the pack, she might be able to discover their dens. Rick's warning to avoid the dens resurfaced in her mind. Not only his warning, but the man himself. The sensuous feel of his hands gliding over her body, the huskiness of his voice, the way he kissed a woman completely, nothing held back.
A fly buzzed around her face and she shooed it away, along with her thoughts. She felt hot and sweaty after a morning trying to keep up with the pack. She'd taken to bathing in the stream next to her site in the early morning hours. The water was usually freezing. What she wouldn't give for a nice hot shower. She knew where she could get a shower.
Stephanie mentally cursed her inability to put Rick out of her head and lifted her camera. She took several still shots of the wolves in the distance. They were on the move, so she perched a video camera on her shoulder and followed. The camera around her neck and the one on her shoulder weren't heavy. Not unless a person had been lugging them around for three days.
She'd already traveled a good distance from her campsite, but she continued to follow the wolves until she came upon a scene that made her draw up short. In the valley below, a large herd of sheep grazed. Sheep being stalked by wolves.
In all fairness to the farmers, she knew she had to film the scene. She lifted the video camera to her eye. Keeping the pack in focus proved difficult. The wolves moved in, the sheep scattered, and the task became more taxing.
A loud snap, then a yelp of pain echoed off the mountains. Stephanie swung her camera toward the sound. A wolf was caught in a steel trap and struggled to get out. The rest of the pack lost interest in the chase and crept to where the wolf fought to free itself. They sniffed the steel, circled the trapped animal as if confused as to what they should do.
Stephanie knew what to do. She placed her cameras on the ground and ran from the scene. The trail was rocky and she slipped several times, got up and continued on. She ran until she felt sweat soaking her shirt. By the time she reached her destination, she was totally out of breath.
She stopped, her gaze darting around the area. The door to an outbuilding stood open. She heard banging noises. Racing to the shed, she glanced inside. The shed housed an old truck. The hood was up; the lower half of a man's body stuck out from beneath.
"Rick," she panted.
He jerked, hit his head on the hood and swore. With a scowl, he turned to her. His gaze flitted over her for a moment before he moved toward her.
"What's wrong?"
"A wolf," she huffed. "The farmers are setting traps."
Rick swore again. "Where?"
"I'll show you," she managed.
She still couldn't catch a normal breath, but she set out again. Not long into the race, her legs felt like rubber. Rick pulled ahead of her. He seemed to know where he was going, so she lagged back, trying to pace herself. She stumbled again, her legs folding beneath her. With a jar, she landed on the ground. She sat for a moment, took deep breaths, and struggled up.
When she came over the rise where her cameras lay in a heap, she spotted Rick nearly upon the scene below. He slowed before reaching the trapped animal. The other wolves still circled the wounded pack member nervously. Her heart started to pound wildly in her chest. He'd walked into a dangerous situation. She wondered what the wolves would do when they noticed a man approaching.
Stephanie didn't have the dart gun with her. No weapon of any kind. She searched the ground, found a thick stick, and picked it up. Luckily, the uninjured wolves melted away as Rick neared the trapped animal. Stephanie assumed he'd proceed with caution. He didn't. He marched right up to the wolf and bent, grasping the trap. She wanted to scream at him to stay back. The animal would surely attack him!
Without thought of her own safety, she hurried down the hill, the stick still clutched tightly in her hand. She was terrified for Rick and lifted the stick, ready to defend him if the need arose, and she felt certain it would.
"It's all right," she heard him say to the wolf. "I'll have you out of there in a minute."
"Rick?" she whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder, noticed the stick and said, "Put that down and help me spring this trap."
The stick fell from her hand. "Are you crazy?"
"It'll take both of us to pry it open."
"But—"
"Hurry, Stephanie," he called. "She's suffering."
She stumbled forward. The wolf stared curiously at her, but the animal didn't bare its fangs or seem aggressive. Cautiously, Stephanie bent, her gaze locked with the wolf's golden stare.
"Take hold of that end and pry the teeth open while I pull on this end," Rick instructed. "Watch your hands. We only have to get it part way open so she can get her foot free."
Never breaking eye contact with the wolf, Stephanie did as he instructed. The trap was sturdy steel. She pulled with all her strength. Rick's muscles bulged beneath the sleeves of his light work shirt. Sweat beaded his forehead. Together, they opened the trap enough for the wolf to free itself. The trap snapped back a second later. The animal tried to limp away.
"No, you don't." Rick rose and snatched the animal up in his arms. "Not until I look at that foot."
He walked away, carrying the
wolf. Stephanie supposed her mouth dropped open. The man was crazy. She'd been foolish enough to mess with an injured wolf, but at least she'd planned on tranquilizing the animal first. Dazed, she stumbled after Rick. The animal snuggled its head on his shoulder. Stephanie had never seen anything like this—a wild wolf allowing itself to be carried by a man without being drugged or muzzled? It seemed unreal, and so did the quick journey back to Rick's cabin.
He didn't enter the cabin, but moved toward another shed around the back. "Get the door, please," he said.
Stephanie stepped in front of him and opened the door.
"And the light. It's there next to the door."
She switched on the light. Bright fluorescent light lit up the room. The place looked sterile. Shelves along the walls were lined with medicines, syringes, and bandages. Rick laid the wolf on a stainless steel table.
"You want to play assistant?"
"D-don't you think you should sedate her?" Stephanie stammered.
"You obviously didn't notice her milk supply," he answered. "She has pups and needs to get back to them."
Stephanie hadn't noticed. "Why isn't she fighting you, or trying to bite you?"
He slid his hand down the female's back, stroking her fur gently. "She knows me. She trusts me."
"What is it with you and these animals?" she asked. "I've never seen wild wolves interact with a human the way they do with you."
"I fed them most of last winter," he admitted. "It was a hard one, and I knew the game in the area weren't surviving some of the bigger storms. There was a shortage of food supply for the wolves. Then and now."
Walking to the other side of the table, Stephanie allowed plenty of distance between her and the injured wolf. "You do care about them."
He glanced up, the light blue of his eyes a startling contrast to his dark lashes and brows. "Of course I do. It gets lonely out here. They're like my family. They accept me for what… who I am."
"Yet you allow the farmers to hunt them," she reminded.
Rick ran his hand over the wolf's muzzle. He smiled. "I'll tell you a secret. These wolves are a lot smarter than those farmers."
After Twilight Page 26