by Karen Anders
“Stay with me, baby. You okay?”
“So tired, Tristan.”
Before she knew what was happening, he was climbing; she could feel the elevation by the position of his body. Then she was off his shoulders and he laid her out, settling down with her. “Be quiet,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered and felt the last bits of her endurance trickle out of her body. She heard his voice and started awake, but Tristan’s hand on her chest kept her down. Her only thought was to run.
The voices passed under them, and it was clear Garza was pissed. Good. She hoped Tristan had kicked his ass but good.
Some time elapsed after the voices faded into the distance, and Tristan stood, the snow creaking beneath his feet. He picked her up in his arms and walked to the edge of the roof.
“We’re back at the cabin?”
“There are so many tracks around here because of the number of people who traipsed around here before they let us go. We can lose our tracks by walking in theirs.”
“That’s very clever.”
“Hang in there, sweetheart. We’re almost there,” he said, either a few minutes or an hour later. She had lost total track of time and her shivering was now uncontrollable.
Then she felt him descend. A grayness filled her vision, and before she knew it, he was laying her across his lap. She could feel his jerky movements as if he was trying to go fast and the sound of metal clanging and the crackle of something. Her eyes were just too heavy to lift.
He stripped her of every stitch of clothing. She felt the heat on her face, and then Tristan was covering her and enveloping her in the warmth of his body.
The darkness surrounded her and she dropped down into it like a stone into a cold pool without so much as a ripple.
* * *
It had been harrowing there, touch and go when he’d stripped down to warm her core. Garza had hurt her, more than physically. He could see that. Clamping his jaw shut, he forced himself to concentrate on other things, like how they were going to get out of this. He really didn’t have a whole lot of options. Amber was tough. He didn’t discount that, but she’d been through quite a bit of trauma already, least of all getting knocked around by Garza. The only way the man thought he could alpha her was to force himself on her.
His expression set, he went back into the cave. For his own peace of mind, he checked on her, crouched down—she had been in bad shape by the time they had got here. She was curled up on the makeshift bed, very soundly asleep, her hands tucked under her face. He rested his hands on his thighs so he wouldn’t touch her, his expression fixed as he watched her sleep.
What bothered him the most was her dull look. Her special effervescence—that rare kind of energy that could light up the whole room—was gone. It was as if her bright spirit had been extinguished, and she just looked so fragile. For that alone he was going to kill Garza. Her face and torso were beginning to discolor where the man had punched and kicked her.
Aw, God, if Amber could only be his. He closed his eyes. He’d give anything if he had the right to hold her, to wrap her up and keep her safe.
Ever since she’d appeared in his life, she had been his still center, filling the emptiness in his life. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do without her in it, but just knowing she was alive fortified him somehow.
And it would have to be enough.
Amber stirred, curling tighter, and Tristan suspected she was cold as the thermal blanket slipped off one bare shoulder and he pulled it up and over her. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail, and he very gently lifted the strands away from her face and tucked them behind her ear. His throat cramping up, he let his hand linger a moment—a brief, perfect moment before he tucked the cover under her chin. Feeling as if he’d just got punched in the gut, he turned and moved away from her.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep, uneven breath. He had let himself get too close. Too damn close and yet it wasn’t close enough.
Careful to make as minimal sound as possible, he brewed some coffee on the small stove he’d stashed there and waited for her to wake up. Glancing at her clothes, he guessed they would be dry when they were ready to get out of here tomorrow. He was sure Colonel Jacobs wasn’t sitting on his hands. That man was all about action.
He would take the shortest route down the mountain, but it was a more treacherous descent. He would have to take the risk. Garza and his hunting buddies would be searching for them, and although Tristan had the one rifle he’d managed to grab, they were unarmed and outgunned.
Amber came awake with a soft cry and he rushed across the room. “It’s okay, babe,” he soothed as she looked around, dazed and afraid. She reached for him and he wrapped her in his arms. His insides bunching up, Tristan realized that she was in far worse shape than he’d originally thought. She was running on empty.
“Where are we?” she murmured. “What happened?” Her eyes centered on his cut and she reached up, gently touched his face. “Your arm.”
“Took care of it. I’m fine.” He pulled her tighter. “We’re in one of my caves. We’re safe, sweetheart. Remember, we were kidnapped, forced to run.” He lifted one of the thawed water bottles to her lips. “Drink.” She obeyed, then took the bottle away from him and drank it all.
She gasped and nodded. “I was so cold.” She looked up at him, her face still too dazed for his comfort. “You saved me.” Seeing Amber reduced to this made him clench his jaw. For the first time in his life, he felt a murderous rage.
“You’re safe. We’re going to get out of this just like I told you at the cabin. Chief Werner is dead and so are the three men that were with him. I killed another one with the knife I managed to take off one of the guys with Werner. That leaves Garza and his other two flunkies.”
At the sound of his name, she shuddered. As though there was an enormous energy built up in her, she met his gaze, her shoulders square, her chin up. And when she spoke, her voice was shaky with emotion. “I thought he was going to kill me and I was so winded and so cold,” she said, as if trying to hold everything in. “I can’t believe you were there. For me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Her whole body seemed to radiate energy waves as she swallowed and spoke again. “You saved my life.”
His throat suddenly tightened. Unable to tear his gaze from her face, he spoke, his voice gruff. “You did great. I was proud of you for eluding him so long and for the fight you put up. You were so damn tough.”
Her expression transfixed, she stared up at him. Then suddenly she covered her face with one hand and started crying. “Tris...”
Feeling torn apart, he said, “Hey, come on.” He softened. She continued to cry without responding. “Amber, you’re killing me here, sweetheart.”
But he was sure she never heard a word he said. And in spite of all his rules concerning her, he just couldn’t stand to watch her fall apart like this.
His face contorted, he reached for her, pulling her into a tight, secure embrace. As if under enormous pressure, his heart felt suddenly too big for his chest. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard and tightened his hold, years of rigidly suppressed feelings boiling up inside him. Having her in his arms—with her entire body pressed against his—was almost more than he could handle, and he clutched her closer, grimacing as he pressed his head against hers. A dam had broken loose in him, and every single feeling he’d ever had for her came raging out.
He knew that giving in to this impulse was the worst mistake he’d ever made and he also knew he was going to pay dearly for it. Because there was no way, not after experiencing the feel of her body molded against his, that he would ever be able to beat down all those long-denied feelings. Never in a million years.
He eased in a painful breath and pressed his face against her hair, saturating himself in every unbelievable sensation. Ooh-rah, but she was a miracle. And he
loved her. With absolutely everything in him. He knew he had no business feeling that way, but he did. And nothing—nothing—was ever going to change that.
His throat tight and his eyes burning, he held her head against him, clenching his jaw. If he could, he’d take her right inside him and keep her there forever. She was everything to him. Absolutely everything.
As if unloading some terrible stored-up pain, Amber finally cried herself out and she turned her head against his shoulder. She pressed her hand against his shirt and whispered, “I got your shirt all wet. That’s bad for the cold.”
He couldn’t resist the urge to hug her, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. His voice was low and rough when he answered. “I’ll give you a pass this time, baby.”
Loosening his hold, he swallowed hard and rocked her gently against him. He wanted her to get that spunk back, but he understood how it felt to be devastated. Amber never did what he expected. Instead, she nearly knocked his feet right out from under him when she slipped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder and stayed exactly where she was. She released a long sigh, as if expelling the last of her tears.
With her warm and soft against him, Tristan locked his jaw and made himself take a deep, slow breath, the heat from her body making his blood thicken. Ah, but it felt so good to hold her—so damned good.
He tried to move away from her as he felt her body slackening in sleep, but she tightened her hold on him. “Tristan,” she murmured softly. “Don’t leave me.”
He melted. All barriers down, he was raw to the bone.
He couldn’t refuse her.
* * *
Amber didn’t awaken—she was torn from sleep. In the middle of a dark, disturbing dream, cold, frantic hands had reached into her psyche and pulled her out of slumber. She emerged with a terrible sickening sensation only to find Tristan wrapped around her. She was disoriented and weak. Her body ached in several places. Her face throbbed, her ribs protesting and her hip aching. But the feel of Tristan’s strong, hard body was all she needed, the anchor in her storm.
She looked up to find hard, dark rock above her, the smell musty. Her eyes roamed over the walls, with a cache of supplies tucked up against a far wall. The ceiling was high, the space almost as wide as the length of Tristan’s living room and dining room combined.
She was reclining on a sleeping bag, with several thermal blankets over the top, keeping in all that delicious body heat that was not only being generated by her naked body but Tristan’s, as well.
The air around them was warm and moist, coming from a portable heater that was running on what looked like a small propane tank. Memory surfaced. It was just like the one she had used to warm up and save her life.
Everything was still, a stillness that held something other than simple quiet. Heart bumping hard against her breastbone, she tangled her hand in his hair, reveling in the feel of him. His soft, even breathing soothed her. She hadn’t been sure she’d ever see him again.
Memories came flooding back like a cascade of terrorizing nightmare images. Garza... Oh, God. Tristan had come out of nowhere. Simply nowhere. He’d killed another man with a knife.
He’d rammed into Garza, who had been... Amber closed her eyes, thinking about what he had been about to do. He couldn’t cow her, couldn’t get her to back down, and she’d fought like a madwoman. Used every ounce of training she’d possessed, but she’d been running for so many hours on fear and adrenaline, cold, hungry, parched. He’d had all the advantage.
Her hand tightened in Tristan’s hair and she made a soft sound. His eyes popped open and he had that ready look on his face again. “Amber, are you all right?”
“Tristan, please make love to me.”
He rose up on his elbow, his face caught between tenderness and desire. “Amber, you’ve been through so much... Maybe that’s not...”
She tightened her hand in his shirt. “I need you, please. I need to get the memory of his hands on me out of my head. I need you, Tris,” she pleaded.
“Amber—”
She cut him off with her mouth settling over his. He made a soft sound as if he could find no way to resist her. Already the memory of Garza was fading, fading away with the heat of Tristan’s mouth. “Kiss me, Tris,” she commanded on a phantom breath.
His deep midnight eyes locked on hers, his gaze lethally intense, her body so aware of his. For a moment they just breathed, their lips barely touching. Every time he caressed her, she felt cleansed, pieces mending and returning back to being whole, the shattered part of her healing. She shivered at what she saw there in the depths of that ocean of blue. Then he lowered his mouth a fraction of an inch and kissed her softly, gently. His lips, firm and smooth and oh-so-clever, moved against hers, rubbed over hers, seduced her as she softened and responded.
“Yes, Tristan, like that,” she whispered. “Just like that.”
He slid his body closer, pushing her onto her back with the force of his kiss. As he deepened it, he groaned at her surrender, his hand sliding along her face. She winced and whimpered at the pain. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, gentling his hand, caressing her temple as his fingers delved into her semi-bound hair.
She wanted him. It was a litany that played over in her head. The terror, the uncertainty of whether he was dead or not, the agony of not knowing all dropped away at the heat of his mouth.
She slipped her hands under his layers of shirts and he reached back and grabbed the neck, wrenching everything over his head and off. Then his mouth was back to hers.
She sent her hands over his wide chest, the muscles flexing as he kissed her, exploring the smooth planes and ridges of his body, marveling at the strength there, drowning at her response to his fever-hot skin. She saw the white bandage stark against his arm, brushed her fingers over it, so thankful it was a minor wound.
She couldn’t get enough of touching him, feeling his solid strength under her hands when she had thought maybe she’d lost him. Her own life hanging by a thread.
She needed the life that pulsed in him, rubbing over his heart, feeling the hard, rapid thud, his erratic response to her, her heart matching his beat for beat. She pressed against him, needing that power and warmth against the length of her body, to absorb him through her pores. He trailed fire down her throat and over her breasts as she arched her back, his mouth burning her nipple, sucking on her until everything in her twisted with the pleasure of it, what was left of her breath vaporizing.
Tristan growled low in his throat as he sucked powerfully on her, tracing his hands down her back, exploring every graceful curve, every plane and hollow. He pressed and arched her more as she cried out when he used his teeth.
Then both his hands were on her butt and he lifted her into him, pressing her hips to his, showing her how badly, how urgently, he wanted her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, mirroring his actions over the smooth material of his alpine pants.
“Too many clothes,” Amber groused, making a soft protest when he pulled back from her. But her gaze fastened on his, and she watched, breathless and intent, as he discarded his boots. Everything in her focused on the man as he shimmied out of his protective layers.
He was a work of art, the way a man should look. Everywhere on his body were ripped muscles, cutting into his abdomen, his chest, his thighs and his arms. He’d carried her for miles when she could no longer walk. Had sheltered and protected her with everything he had, every ounce in him.
Because of him, she’d survived. Because he was a master at knowing what to do, a master of the cold, a master at being prepared—her master defender all the way to his core.
She was in love with him. In love for the very first time in her life. A feeling that she couldn’t encompass because it was too large, too full, too overwhelming.
It was amazing and it hurt, but she was going to
take what he could give because love was about giving, not receiving. If she had to leave here after feeling all that she was feeling, it would be enough.
She had to make it enough.
“Tristan, omigod, I thought I had lost you,” she said between heavy kisses, lingering kisses, rapid kisses.
He was broad shoulders and lean hips. Taut muscle on graceful limbs. He was the man who had against all the odds come back for her. Risked his life to save her. A man who was completely and beautifully aroused, his thick erection jutting out from his body.
He had given her a good fight and she had wrestled with her own feelings for him, but not anymore. She was done in by hot blue eyes, integrity as tough as granite, a heart both strong and tender, and a character that was rare and special.
He held her at bay because he didn’t want to hurt her. Was sure that going back to the corps and active combat was what was right for him. All these years, he’d been fighting that consulate battle, was still fighting it, and until he realized that, he wouldn’t...couldn’t let go and make a commitment to her.
She still offered him everything she was, everything her heart could hold. Without words. Without strings.
Her gasp was audible when he moved and covered her. His eyes locked on hers as he kneed her legs apart with a raw, aching need, settled himself between her thighs with a very gruff, sexy male sound of his own.
Amber’s breath fluttered in her throat in anticipation. He was all hot, hard male above her, his dark expression a mask of need. She offered herself totally, opened herself, wound her legs around his hips.
And he filled her. Slowly. Inch by inch. His eyes never left her, taking in every expression on her face, sliding all that hard thickness into her. Pressing deeper, deeper until she gasped his name. When the joining was complete, he pulled out and plunged into her again and again until they were moving in tandem, fused and hot and desperate.