Primal Obsession

by Susan Vaughan

  They moved together, mindless with need, with ecstasy that soared and spiraled until it could reach no higher. Until sparks bloomed within her and she rose beyond herself on a huge, pulsing rush. Until her spasms sent him body and soul into the stars, and heat burst in liquid shock waves of release.

  ***

  A long time later—how much later Annie didn’t know—she stirred. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. No, she wanted to go back to the dream. Back to the sensual dream of sultry currents of pleasure, of fluid fire radiating from his touch. Though the dream had faded, she still tingled. Sparks flared and heat pulsed from her center.

  Then she remembered. Sam. Better than a dream.

  She felt the mattress beside her. Empty.

  “Sam?”

  “Right here, sweetheart,” came his familiar rumble. He lifted his head from between her legs. “I promised you all night, remember?”

  How could she forget? You’ll be my sole focus. What I want from you will take hours. “Omigod,” she whispered as he lowered his head.

  He wedged his shoulders between her legs and spread her thighs for better access. He rained kisses on her inner thighs, spiraling closer and closer to the dark curls. “Just relax and enjoy.” He swirled his tongue around his target.

  Relax? How could she relax with his mouth shooting icy hot darts through her body? With him ravishing her senses? She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched backward. The tingling intensified and spread, focused the raw pleasure into a molten storm within her. The tempest broke, and she gave herself up to the lightning flashes.

  She was still coming down, her heart drumming, when he propped himself on one elbow beside her. He beamed that heart-stopping smile she’d resisted, and for once she could yield. Skimming her hand along his rock-hard biceps up to his neck, she pulled him down and kissed him. Zing through her body right down to her toes. Unbelievable. After he’d brought her to shattering climax twice, she wanted more of him.

  “Why do you smell so good all over? Figures the city girl brought perfume into the woods.” He fondled one breast, dipped his head to flick the nipple to attention with his tongue. “Sort of flowery but spicy.”

  She sighed as he nuzzled his way to the other breast. “Not perfume. Powder. A carnation-scented powder.” He must be able to hear her racing heart.

  “I don’t care what it is. It drives me crazy.” His hand moved lower, sliding between her legs. “Think you could go again? We’re hitting for the cycle here.”

  With his hand caressing her most tender flesh, she couldn’t think. The cycle? He could mean only baseball. She searched her passion-fogged brain. “That means hitting a single, a double, a triple--” He slid two fingers inside her, and she lifted off the mattress.

  “And a home run.” He waggled his mustache. “We hit the homer first time at bat. Well?”

  Naked, his skin gleaming in the candle’s glow, he was the sexiest man she’d ever known. He reveled in the physicality of sex with irresistible boyish enthusiasm. Physical release was only part of the enjoyment. He seemed to delight in her and her pleasure. She craved him more than she’d thought possible.

  Just sex, she reminded herself, spectacular sex, but no more than sex.

  She ignored the pang of regret.

  She wanted her turn to explore his body, to drive him crazy. “I can step up to the plate again if you can.” She levered up and pushed him flat on the mattress. “But if we’re going for the triple, I’m in charge of the bat.”

  When she closed her fingers around him, he groaned and fisted his hands in the sleeping bag. Then she straddled him, writhing against him while his hands kneaded her hips. She kissed and tasted the salty flesh of his neck, his chest, his sensitive nipples, on her way downward. But when she eased to one side to torture him further with her mouth, his fingers on her matched the torment she was meting out.

  Sam was shaking with need for her, swamped with the tumult careening through him, with the thrill of her unbridled responsiveness. Annie, Annie. He ached for her like a teenager on hormone overload. Sex for him was fun, a rush, but never before this primitive frenzy of mindless burning that swamped his entire being. He had to possess her. He had to be inside her. Now.

  “No more, no more.” He tossed foil packets to her.

  Laughing, she opened one and slid its contents slowly, slowly on him.

  “This may be a strike-out if you don’t hurry.” Gritting his teeth, he pulled her astride.

  With his hands on her breasts and hers braced on his ribs, she shimmied slowly downward until he was buried in her tight, flexing heat. “Annie, Annie,” he cried as his body thrashed and pumped out of control.

  She called his name as the first spasms of her release cascaded him into long rolling ripples of pleasure.

  After they cleaned up, he pulled the sleeping bags around them in the cooling cabin and snuggled her against him.

  Errant regrets—that soon they would part, that this interlude was all they had—ran bases in his head before he drifted to sleep.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Monday

  Sam turned his head from the sunbeam streaming in the window. He cracked one eye open. No Annie.

  The clank of a cooking pot assaulted his ears. There she was, dressed and bustling about the kitchen like one of those fairy-tale elves who appear during the night.

  Perky as hell.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake. I have a surprise. I found some coffee in a cupboard. Stale, but it’s caffeine. Ready in a few. All we seem to have for breakfast is some granola bars, though. I suppose we need to get going.”

  He buried his face in the sleeping bag’s softness and let her voice wash over him. Jabbering on about nothing. Not like her. Hard to concentrate. Too groggy to care. Except about the coffee.

  When the aroma wove into his senses, he managed to pull himself upright.

  “Here you are.” She set a steaming mug and a couple of granola bars on the floor beside him. She whisked away. “I know I’ll get no sense out of you until you’ve downed those.”

  He might have mumbled thanks before inhaling the food and half the coffee. Not certain. Could’ve dreamed it.

  “The morning after, I know men worry about a woman thinking the night means more than it does. But I’m a big girl. We wanted each other. We indulged. It was...great. That’s all.” She stood gazing out the front window, a coffee mug in her hand.

  “Mm-mm.” He reached for his pack, found his cargo shorts, sandals.

  “You know, no strings, no expectations.” To his gradually awakening ears, her voice sounded shrill and strained. “We go on as before. No relationship, just a brief affair. Like in that movie Speed, Jack says something about relationships based on intense experiences never working.”

  He couldn’t believe it. She was mouthing the same rationalizations he’d used himself. Except for the Speed one. But this time the intense experience was the most satisfying sex he’d ever experienced. Extreme sex. No, beyond sex.

  His need to protect Annie surpassed professional responsibility. His desire to possess her sprang from emotions he’d never felt. Not even in the beginning with his ex. Annie had shared. They’d connected on deep levels, and he needed—

  Whoa. She’s right. No relationship with her in store for you, Kincaid. He was forty-seven kinds of a fool if he thought she’d want more than a fling with him. A guy headed nowhere but the deep woods had nothing to offer a sharp, focused woman.

  No, they’d paddle south in the canoe stowed out back. Tomorrow they’d say good-bye, and that would be... that.

  Despite the aching void growing in his chest.

  He pushed to his feet and padded barefoot toward her. She stared out the window, her shoulders tight, still going on about how it was only sex. Was she trying to convince herself or him?

  He caught her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Shut up, Annie. Good morning.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her with all the longing in his heart for w
hat could never be. “Now, say good morning.”

  Her mouth flapped soundlessly like a fish swallowing blackflies. “Good morning,” she finally said in a small voice.

  He trailed an index finger across her full lower lip, skimmed her creamy cheek with his palm. “Enough instant replay of morning-after justifications. You’re right. Sex is all it is, all it can be. Like in the movie. The woman says to Jack they’ll have to base their relationship on sex. Now that I think of it, her name was Annie.”

  He kissed her nose and strolled away, leaving her slack-jawed. Good, let her wonder.

  “What else is there to eat?” He rummaged in the pack.

  She blinked, in apparent confusion, and crossed to the door. “Um, some... some fruit. Apples. I’m going outside.”

  He looked out the window. “Looks clear, but give me a minute and I’ll go with you.” Would make no difference if the killer had a gun, but it was all he could offer.

  “Okay.” She unlatched the door and opened it.

  He was pouring more coffee when she screamed.

  In two steps he reached her, thrust her behind him. “What the hell?”

  “There. On... the step.”

  A dead rabbit. A thin wire incised a bloody noose around its neck.

  He froze. Yanked to alertness, he listened. No movements that didn’t belong. He saw nothing unusual, but with trees so close, a man could crouch nearby and remain hidden. “He could’ve left this anytime during the night. I won’t kid you, sweetheart. I don’t know how, but he caught up to us.”

  With thumb and index finger, he lifted the wire and dumped the rabbit beside the step. Not meat either would want.

  “Why the hell doesn’t he just get it over with? What’s he waiting for?” Trembling, she clung to him.

  Damn. Too many questions too early in the morning. He needed more coffee and time to get it together. He eased one arm around her and closed the door. “Easy, hot-shot reporter. Give me a minute.”

  She nodded, watched while he strapped on his knife and multi-tool.

  He downed the second mug of coffee, growing cooler by the minute. “Maybe he has no gun or the rain ruined it. That’d make it damned hard for him to tackle the two of us. Or he just likes toying with us, like he did with the whole group. Building tension and fear. Your research into serial killers tell you if that fits?”

  She bit her lip, frowned. “Definitely. Part of his hunt ritual could be frightening the victim to enhance his sense of power and control and sexual excitement. Why wouldn’t he have a gun? Didn’t he filch weapons from the caretaker’s cabin?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to tell. What I saw was smashed with an axe. Seems logical he’d have stolen at least one. But who knows how his mind works?”

  “Sam, I have to go.” She edged toward the door.

  “Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

  Outside, birds and squirrels chattered and flitted back and forth. Leaves fluttered in the warm breeze, raindrops drained from the trees, pattering on the ground. Fresh scents of pine and sunshine flavored the air.

  The tranquil scene gave him no peace of mind. The hairs on his nape rose as if his back had a bull’s-eye on it.

  ***

  When they finished at the outhouse, Annie felt a lot better. Physical relief was only part. Although the idea of having the Hunter nearby scared the spit out of her, dealing with him gave them something to focus on besides each other.

  Inane, the way she’d handled her nervousness after last night’s incredible loving. Her cheeks heated like the wood stove. Leave it to Sam in his inimitable fashion to put an end to her blithering. He was earthy, an intensely physical man who enjoyed sex immensely. If last night’s extraordinary connection meant only sex to him, that’s the way she had to leave it.

  Sam motioned her to follow him on around the cabin. “Let’s yank the tarp off the canoe and haul her over to the riverbank. We can pack up and be on the water in minutes. Be halfway downstream before he knows we left.”

  “But what if he’s watching?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  His jaw firmed as he reached for one of the logs weighing down the protective cover. “With this canoe, we can still get ahead of him.”

  She helped him toss away the logs. Then he folded back the green tarp, revealing an Old Town canoe, similar to Moosewoods’ but only twelve feet or so and the color of muddy water.

  “With a freaking hole in its side. Damn it to hell!” He threw down the tarp and kicked it.

  “No, oh no.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. No, she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t wail and moan. She had to stay tough and act like Sam.

  Well, now wasn’t a good example.

  She examined the hole. The jagged puncture, from a rock or branch, measured as large as her fist. “Smaller, but it’s about the same location as the one Carl made. Maybe we could tape it or something.”

  “Did you bring any tape?” When she didn’t reply, he kicked the tarp again. “Looks like you get your wish after all, sweetheart.”

  “What do you mean?” What was that saying? Be careful what you wish for.

  “I hope to hell you remember 'The Most Dangerous Game' well enough to describe what traps that guy builds. If we want out of these woods alive, trapping the Hunter is what we have to do. But first we have to put distance between us and him.”

  ***

  Three hours later Annie stumbled up the riverbank behind Sam and the canoe. Gasping for breath, she fell onto the grass. Her calf muscles knotted and her back was one massive ache. Paddling was nothing compared to walking in a stream while guiding a loaded canoe.

  Sam deposited the compass in his shorts pocket. “Drink water and eat some of the beef jerky and cookies. We have an afternoon’s work ahead of us. Maybe longer.” Gnawing on a strip of dried beef, he sank to the ground beside her.

  Like their canoe, this craft held limited weight without sinking. So into it they’d loaded their backpacks and equipment from the cabin’s closet that had turned out to be trapping supplies. They’d bypassed the manufactured small-animal snares and wire traps in favor of the now illegal do-it-yourself items—shovel, wire spools, a hacksaw, and assorted hand tools. Most of the river was shallow enough so they could wade beside the canoe, but a few times they had to swim in the gentle current.

  Somewhat revived, Annie wriggled her cramped and water-shriveled toes. She chewed a mouthful of the salty beef. “Ick. You know that saying that real men don’t eat quiche? You can add for me that real women don’t eat beef jerky.”

  Around the open space stood sparse, new-growth birches. She relaxed at Sam’s warm chuckle. “What is this place? A campsite?”

  “Not a campsite, but a clearing from an old homestead that burned down. It’s open enough that we can see some distance around us.”

  “How long before the Hunter catches up to us?”

  “Traveling overland? Maybe until dark.” He flipped her ponytail. “The tangled underbrush and briars in this part of the island’ll slow him more than the rain yesterday. Traveling downriver was hard on you, but we left him way behind. Hopefully confused him.”

  “And bought the time you need to set up the traps?”

  “Not me, we.” He held up his mangled hand. I’d have a tough time with pliers and wire.”

  He’d talked the others through rigging their fishing rods and tying on the lines. At the time, she admired the clear directions he’d given them, but didn’t consider the reason. “Harder than rigging a fishing rod?”

  “Noticed that, did you?” He made a face. “This’ll be tricky. You’ll have to help big-time.”

  Uh oh. She hadn’t envisioned herself putting a trap together. Her experiences were with verbal and mental solutions to problems, his with physical solutions and action. To stop and catch the Hunter, they had to switch roles.

  She could do it. She had to do it. She pushed to her feet and brushed off the seat of her shorts. “You tell me what to do, Sam, and I’ll do it.”

&n
bsp; “A woman who’ll do whatever I say? Ah, music to my ears.” Sam pressed both hands over his heart. “Like hearing ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ No, better.”

  She swatted his shoulder with her cap. “Come on, Coach. Time’s a’wasting.”

  “I need a taste of something else before we start.” Sam lunged before she could slip away. Trapping her in his arms, he rocked his mouth across hers and made her senses spin. His mouth was salty and hot, his tongue demanding, and she gave back every sensation he evoked.

  Before they started grappling on the grass, she ended the kiss and hugged him tight, absorbing his strength and boldness, willing the fear away.

  “Sweetheart, that’ll have to sustain me while we fight this creep.” He was breathing hard and fast. “When this is over, I want one more night with you. A memorable night, a special night. In a real bed, with a bottle of bubbly and a hot tub to boot. And I mean hot.”

  “Oh, Sam, I wish...” She let the words trail off as a banner headline flashed in her mind. She squeezed shut her eyes to steady herself, willed her clattering heart to slow. The snare she’d sworn to avoid had captured her.

  She’d fallen in love with him.

  Not just because of the passion that flared between them. She loved his protectiveness and the hard strength of his body and heart. His humor and zest for life. The soul-deep connection in spite of the differences between them. Or because of them.

  And it was impossible.

  He must know because he didn’t press her to continue. With a final peck on top her head, he moved away to the far end of the canoe. “Let’s carry this to where we can conceal it.”

  Averting her face while she gathered herself, she picked up her end of the craft. They lugged it to the edge of the small clearing.

  “There are standard traps for large and small game, but I’m open to something new. Except for trapping a runner between bases, I’ve never trapped anything as large as a human. What does the man in the story use?”