by Terry Spear
So why the hell was he wanting to prove she wasn't in the least bit dangerous?
He climbed out of bed and found he didn't have a stitch of clothes on, when he thought he was wearing at least his boxers and jeans when he fell asleep last night. He vaguely remembered Faith carefully removing his parka, shirt, boots, and socks like an angel to his rescue. The braided rugs were wet, too, and he wondered when that had happened. Maybe Faith had spilled water before she retired to bed.
He tugged on a pair of jeans, but didn't bother to secure his leather belt or the top button and zipped them only far enough to keep them on his hips as if he might want to shed the pants any moment, so why fasten them all the way? He walked over to the window and stared out at the bleak white landscape, wondering why he was feeling so unsettled. He wasn't feverish, yet he didn't feel right. But he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. Cabin fever maybe? Too bad the most vivid, unreal dream he'd ever experienced hadn't resolved the bizarre feelings snowing him over. Yet he kept wondering, what if the dream was true? That he'd really heard the guys in the hot tub outside the cabin last night and incorporated their ramblings into his dreams?
He let out his breath. Nah. Just a case of recalling situations he'd been in earlier in the day or past several days and mixing them up in a dream. Although he couldn't account for why he'd envision a red wolf. Then he recalled watching a program about the ones reintroduced into the wilds of North Carolina a week ago, and saw Wolf with Jack Nicholson the night before last, and then the Howl of the Wolf after that. And then? Cameron dreams he's a wolf?
He shook his head. No way had he turned into a white wolf during the night. After being attacked by the one, and seeing them with Lila, that was the reason for the surreal dream.
Man, he'd had his fill of wolves for a lifetime.
"Are you feeling all right?" Faith asked from bed, her voice silky with sleep.
He didn't look at her. Didn't want to. He hated feeling out of control, out of sorts.
"Much better." Which was the truth, to an extent. His arm did feel better, but his mind was in turmoil.
"What's wrong?" Her voice warned him she under stood him as well as he knew himself.
"Nothing. We're snowed in." He pulled the door open, let in the cold air, some part of him wanting to freeze the unwarranted emotions he was feeling now out of existence.
The snow halfway blocked the entryway except where something had run through it. He stared at the sight, trying to figure out what would have made the impression, and noticed then how wet the braided rug was next to the door. Hell, Faith must have left the cabin sometime during the night despite him telling her not to.
He attempted to see beyond the piled-up snow, but it was stacked too high to observe what had happened clearly.
The box springs squeaked, and then Faith's footsteps padded across the floor. Cameron turned to look at her and couldn't help raising his brows. She was wearing a footed one-piece sleeper contraption covered in white bunnies and pink flowers on a lilac background. Her blond hair appeared tangled from a night of restless sleep, or a lover's tryst. She looked soft and huggable in the chilly room.
Frowning, she hurried toward him. "Are you sure you're all right?"
His gaze shifted to her bunny outfit and the long, lilac zipper that reached from the neckline all the way to the pubic bone. His thoughts instantly switched from running in the wild, to pulling that zipper down as far as it would go. "Plenty of food and firewood. We'll stay warm enough."
The craving to be with her overriding the urge to leave, he shut the door and locked it.
She reached out and touched his hand. "What about your wound? We need to get it checked out."
"Feels good as new." His voice had already taken on a husky tone, and he sifted his fingers through her silky hair, wanting to feel every inch of her, to breathe in her scent, to taste her. Already, he seemed to sense more—her own interest in him—but it wasn't the expression on her face. She looked worried, not sexually ready. But it was her scent that indicated she was interested. A subtle change in the way she smelled was all it took to make him want her even more. As if the scent was a trigger of acceptance and willingness.
Not to be thwarted in her concern for him, she said, "It's still really dark in here. How can you see anything?" She turned on a gas lamp, then examined his exposed skin, her lips parting slightly, looking damned kissable.
As much as he hated to admit weakness, he explained what had been bothering him.. "I felt I needed to get out of here."
"Maybe it's cabin fever." Her eyes took in his naked torso, shifting downward to his pants, only partially zipped. Her gaze shot back up to his, but he didn't think she was shocked as much as intrigued. She touched his shoulder in a reassuring way, her fingertips leaving a streak of heat behind, then ran her hand down his arm until she reached his fingers and took hold. "I've been snowed in for a few days, but it doesn't bother me. Maybe we can play games or something."
"Or something." Despite his brain warning him to keep his distance, he wanted to kiss her and much more. He settled his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs caressing them in little circles, his gaze focused on that sensuous mouth of hers, curved up slightly.
Every nerve ending was attuned to the way she felt, the soft fuzzy fabric of her pajamas, the curve of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts rising and falling with every breath, even her nipples protruding, begging to be fondled, and the way she relaxed under his touch as if she savored his strokes as much as he did stroking her. She tucked her hair behind her ear, the motion surprisingly sensual. Nibbling her creamy earlobe came to mind. His libido ratcheted up another notch.
"I promised I'd keep you in bed longer this morning," he said, his voice deep and raspy as he swept his hands down her arms to her fingers. He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the top of her hand, and then with the same kind of appreciation, the other, her skin delicate like peach velvet.
She smiled coyly, her green eyes narrowed a bit. "Are you sure you're all right?" Her voice was husky with need, too, and he smiled with the knowledge.
"Only one thing will make me feel better." He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her closer, his body barely touching hers, yet every inch that did, sizzled with heat. He kissed her lips, gently at first.
But gentle wasn't what she seemed to have in mind as she slipped her arms around his waist, hugged him even closer, molding her sensuous curves against him, and licked her lips, making them glisten in the low lantern light. Her eyes looked deeply into his, challenging him to play with her. He would have dived right in, but he was too intrigued and let her have her way.
In the beginning.
She kissed his lower lip with just enough pressure to stir him up. And then he intended to do his part, but she kissed his upper lip, her eyes now focused on his mouth. He savored the heat and fullness of her sweet mouth, the way she teased him with her light kisses. She opened her mouth and tongued his lips, exciting his senses even more, the scent of her arousal filling him with rampant desire. But when she withdrew her tongue, her lips still parted, offering him a deeper connection, he took the initiative, licked her velvety mouth and took advantage of her offer. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasted of her, memorized the hot wetness, the softness of her tongue and lips and mouth.
She slipped her fingers underneath his waistband, her nails skimming his naked skin, dipping toward his erection. His skin on fire, his senses staggered, completely scattering what he had in mind to do next. Nothing else intruded on his thoughts—the cold room, the wet braided rug beneath his bare feet, the aroma of the salmon cooked the afternoon before still lingering in the air. All vanished as he braced for what she would do next, her touch so pleasurable he was momentarily paralyzed into inaction.
Her long nails slid deeper and she smiled when she discovered he didn't have anything on underneath the jeans. She pulled her hands free from his pants, but before he could again take the initiative, she
traced his erection hard beneath the soft denim, making it jump with her touch, the tip now exposed from the zipper riding so low and from her working him up. Despite trying to show restraint, he shuddered with her touch. He'd never had a woman work to pleasure him and the experience was astonishing.
With one hand, she dragged the zipper the rest of the way down, her fingers stroking his heavy arousal at the same time, while her other hand slid down the back of his jeans and cupped his ass. But then she pulled his waistband down and exposed him even further, the tip of his penis wet, ready to penetrate her.
Wanting to get her in bed and underneath him now, he slipped his hands down her back, intending to lift the vixen up and wrap her legs around him to carry her to the mattress, when his fingers discovered an intriguing secret. A flap at the back of her bunny britches. Quickly feeling around to determine a way in, he slipped his fingers inside, touching the curve of her naked derriere, and felt her tremble. He pulled his hands free, found the snaps, and with several pops, exposed her sweet, little ass. She smiled and slid her hands down his spine, until she reached his waistband, and slipped her fingers underneath his jeans, cupping his bare buttocks and squeezed.
Slow and easy, work her up the way she needed, he figured, but she was making it awful hard on him. And she knew it, too, the way she rubbed against his arousal, the soft flannel of her nightwear teasing him. He was hard with need, and he wasn't going to last with the slow approach at seduction. He slid his hands over her ass, lower still until he found her drenched curls between her legs. She shifted her feet so he could get better access and he obliged, stroked her deep, bringing forth a moan of uninhibited desire from her. Then he kissed her open mouth with his, speared her with his tongue, and pressed her harder against his erection, wanting to be inside her now.
She groaned and he capitulated. Lifting her off the floor, he carried her to the bed, his hands still cupping her exposed ass, her feet wrapped around his waist. But he soon had the bunny gear off, and her skin bared to him, peachy silky delight, her breasts perky and full, the nipples pebbled, her legs spread apart, offering him entrance.
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a rubber. "Let me," she murmured, her eyes hot and sassy.
He jerked off his jeans, and he crouched over her, his engorged penis reaching out to her as he leaned forward. She slid the rubber up his shaft, her hands moving it with a firm stroke. He sucked in a breath, barely able to do anything but concentrate on every touch to the nerves so close to the surface. When she was done, he threaded his fingers through her hair, then shifted his hands to her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples, pulling and pinching. She moaned in response, arching her pelvis toward him. Her eyes remained fastened on his cock as if she was ready to devour him. Just her expression of intrigue and the way her hands worked miracles on his arousal nearly sent him over the edge.
Unable to wait a second longer, he nudged the thick head into her opening. Slowly he penetrated her tight sheath, allowing her to expand to his size, and pressed deeper as she wrapped her legs around him.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, as if she suddenly remembered the injury to his arm, pausing as she touched the skin below the bruising.
He groaned in response, eliciting a naughty smile from her lips. For the moment, he felt as if he'd never been bitten, nothing was hemming him in, the world was right again.
He tilted off her a bit so he could reach her most erotic spot, loved the way she tightened her hold on his waist as he stroked her into ecstasy, her pink feminine lips wet with need. She arched into his hand, begging for more, faster, slower, harder. And then she let out a shudder, a satisfied sigh, her face and nipples flushed, her body trembling, gripping his erection with the most erotic sensation as he renewed his thrusts.
Deeper, faster, he found she was the maker of heady dreams, the one he'd been needing to sate his sexual desires since he'd had any interest in the opposite sex. But she'd aroused something more primal, something darker, something that he couldn't identify. He wanted her, craved having her for something longer-term. Crazy. The blood from his brain had slipped into his cock and that was what was making him feel so light-headed, so powerless under her spell.
Her fingers dug into his butt, and he swore she came again. And that did it, with her hands squeezing his flesh, her inner muscles wringing his erection, he came with a final thrust. Spent, satiated, the most content he'd been in forever, he collapsed on her possessively, spreading his legs over hers, pinning her to the mattress, his erection still inside her. His.
"Hmm." She skimmed her nails down his back in tantalizing caresses designed to stir him up again, like a sexy siren bent on seducing him.
But she didn't need to make the effort. She'd caught his attention the minute she'd walked in on him when he was naked, towel-drying his wet hair in his hotel room. And he'd wanted her then, the offer of dinner only the beginning.
He chuckled and kissed her lips, tonguing her tongue, already wanting more. "If you'd stayed last night, I wouldn't have seen your erotic bed wear."
She laughed and pulled at his earlobe with a gentle tug. "I'll have you know I only wear that on snowy excursions when I'm going to be alone. Or at least think I'm going to be alone. It was a gift from a girlfriend for when…" She paused and a flicker of darkness fluttered across her face. But she didn't say anything further.
Not wanting to ruin the mood, although he desired to know what she was going to say, he kissed her cheek and rolled over, pulling her with him to cuddle against his chest, her legs spread provocatively over his, his hand stroking down her back to the cleft in her sweet little derriere. "Absolutely works for me." In fact, anything she wore, or didn't wear suited him fine. "I should start a nice hot fire."
The place was much too cold, and although he was still enjoying the heat of her body, he felt her tremble from the chill in the air and chill bumps were rising on her arm. He was ready to warm up the place and take another long winter's nap with Faith since he'd had such a fitful sleep last night and having sex with her had finally settled his unfathomable desire to run off into the woods.
But she was already pulling away. He should have expected it, because she'd said she was a morning person, but he wasn't, and he wanted to enjoy her in bed a good deal longer.
She glanced at her watch. "I was thinking about running back to the trailhead and reporting Lila's wolf attack and that someone had stolen our snowmobiles. Take you in to see a doctor also."
"Since whoever it was already returned the snowmobiles, I doubt the police would care. And my arm is fine now." He held her tight, still wanting to keep her in bed, to possess her, to prevent her from leaving. "Why don't you stay here until I get the place warmed up at least?"
That's when the sound of dogs barking in the distance caught his attention.
Instantly, a new primitive need ran amok through his system. The need to dominate the pack.
Chapter 7
CAMERON ACTED AS THOUGH HE WANTED TO KEEP FAITH IN bed forever, which was a heady kind of feeling she had to squash before she got used to the idea of having him around. Already the thought of returning alone to her home in Portland seemed cold and unappealing, when normally, being alone suited her fine, once Hilson took off. But God, she'd never had a man who could send her to the moon and back like Cameron had done. And despite her usual need to get up and get to work early in the morning, before the dogs had gotten Cameron's attention she probably would have snuggled with him longer. And more, if he'd wanted more. Which she didn't doubt for a second he would have wanted.
She sighed. Even though nothing would come of a fling with Cameron, maybe there was hope she could start over again with someone new, eventually.
But as soon as Cameron heard the dogs barking, his whole demeanor changed. At once, he acted much more interested in where the barking was coming from— probably his P.I. instincts. Was it Charles Roux and his sled dog team? She imagined it had to be.
The sound of snowmobile
s drawing closer filled the air next. Before Faith could get free of Cameron and the bed, the snowmobiles parked outside her cabin, and a few seconds later someone pounded on her door, giving her a start.
"Maybe it's Charles bringing our ice for the ice box and another five-gallon container of water," she teased, not believing it, as early in the morning as it was, but if the dogs they'd heard barking belonged to Charles Roux and he'd returned home, he might be dropping by to complain if he'd discovered Cameron had fired up the hot tub without his permission.
"It's about time we got some service around here," Cameron said with a wink, although he didn't sound like he believed it either as he climbed out of bed and jerked on his jeans.
Faith hurried to get dressed. She quickly ran a brush through her hair as Cameron finished buttoning his shirt and looked over at her. "Ready?"
She nodded.
As soon as Cameron opened the door, she saw two policemen standing beyond their snowed-in entryway—Adams and Whitson. The same ones who had spoken to them in Millinocket when they'd been at Kintail's office and found the dead body. She closed her gaping mouth. With them coming all the way out here this early in the morning, it couldn't be a social call.
Officer Adams flipped through a notebook. "Faith O'Malley? Cameron MacPherson?"
"Did you learn anything more about the dead man?" Faith asked, hoping this was good news and nothing more that was bad.
"May we come in?" Adams asked, his tone more of a directed suggestion rather than a question.
This smacked of an investigation—as if Cameron and she were under the gun.
Cameron motioned for them to enter, although getting through the piled up snow for them was a trial.
Then a man appeared in a parka, his fur-trimmed hood framing his darker skin, his dark eyes focused on Cameron as he trudged into the snow piled up on their porch. "Charles Roux, owner here. I'll bring a shovel and clear the snow away. Return later to talk with you folks," he directed to Faith and Cameron.