Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2)

by Phoenix Sullivan

  Trust. Apparently neither of us believed it should be freely given.

  Enthralled, I watched the elegant dance of Dee’s fingers as they touched the underside of Sheba’s aquiline jaw and began scratching her lightly under the chin. The lioness seemed as surprised as us at the touch, her expression flowing swiftly from high alert to a delicate lift of her head for better access and eyes half-closed with contentment.

  If it hadn’t been for Brutus rearing suddenly against the far door, his massive face filling the window as he peered in and growled at Dee’s head not a foot from his with only the pane of glass between, the moment with Sheba might have gone on.

  Clearly annoyed by Brutus’ antics, the lioness’ expression was back on high alert. She snarled at him, and for a moment I thought she would lunge at him across the bench seat, without care for what would happen to Dee when 300-plus pounds of lioness came crashing down on her.

  Instead, Sheba seemed to get the concept Brutus was on the other side of that clear barrier. With a priceless look of exasperation, caught forever by the camera, she backed out of the Rover and out of the open door, propelling gracelessly away and nearly toppling the tripod with her shoulder as she went.

  Clear of the vehicle, she raced around its back and leapt on Brutus, her strong forelegs circling his neck as she tried to bring him down by momentum and weight alone. For all its ferociousness, even I could tell the take-down attempt was only half-hearted, not the act of a skilled hunter but the behavior of a frustrated mate getting her point across. Brutus easily shook her off and snarled a reply, but for the second time it was clear he had gotten her meaning. Scraping his dignity together, he padded off a few yards beyond the camp as though the idea to move on was his alone.

  With a weary What am I going to do with him? look, Nana followed.

  I was torn, the emotional part of me hoping Sheba would return to us, the rational part advising Dee to, “Shut the door.”

  It wasn’t necessary. Sheba circled the Rover and headed back to the stream where the rest of the family had settled down. Portia was diligently cleaning her male cub’s wounds while Cleo snuggled next to her brother licking his ear. Sheba stretched out beside them, lazily flicking her tail as the sky began to brighten.

  It was gloriously clear—the pride had found their new home.

  Only…

  “Uh,” I pointed out, “we have a predicament.”

  Not everyone who’d almost been eaten by lions would have grinned with as much goodwill as Dee did. “If by predicament you mean a full-bore, lady-or-the-tiger, life-or-death type problem, then yeah, I agree—we do.”

  “They’re not going to leave, are they?” Brutus and Nana had taken an interest in the supply tent and were snuffling at the canvas sides, no doubt drawn by the odor of the boxed and foil-wrapped and therma-sealed packages of ready meals stacked within. “Hey, my wallet!” Everything I needed to get back to the States was in it—passport, work permits, travelers checks, credit cards. If I couldn’t get back to my tent before the lions got to it… “What if I sat on the horn? Would that scare them away?”

  “Maybe for a little while. But they’d still come back for the cub. Once he can travel, they might move on.”

  “And until then?”

  “Keep filming? It’s not like we’re stranded. We can always scare the lions away long enough to pack up the necessities, then head into town. Or since Reena’s leaving, we can wait until after Gary sees her off and have him bring in new tents and more supplies so we can set up a new camp in a less-crowded neighborhood.”

  “You seem remarkably calm about all of this.”

  “Not really,” Dee confessed. “I have to pee.”

  “I can do you one better. I really, really need to tweet about this.”

  She laughed, probably more from relief, but the fluting sound did something warm and good to me. I wanted to keep her laughing forever.

  On impulse, I worked my way into the backseat. Dee graciously scooted over behind the passenger seat that I’d neglected to slide forward so left less leg room on that side. Of course, the tripod was on that side, too, but I liked the idea of her being gracious over practical much more.

  She righted the tilted tripod while I transferred the air rifle to the front.

  “You okay?” I had plenty of witty opening lines at my disposal, but none were as sincere.

  “Are you kidding? Did you see the way Sheba defended me and came to me after? Like I was one of her own.”

  “Yeah, but Brutus…”

  “Was being a big, curious oaf. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he would have, Sheba or not. He doesn’t know how to be gentle. The lionesses kept him away from the cubs until they were big enough to get away on their own. Not because he would intentionally hurt them, but his idea of play was to maul them around, often with his claws half-unsheathed. So Portia and Sheba took away his play privileges.”

  Her expression turned suddenly serious. “Are you okay?”

  “Hey, I’m Chris Corsair. Adventurer Extraordinaire. Of course I’m okay. Just maybe not as confident that Brutus was simply being curious as you seem to be.”

  She smiled at me then and unexpectedly took my hand, her slender fingers warm against my skin. “But you stayed cool—didn’t shoot, didn’t freak. Best of all, you didn’t interfere.”

  “So you respect me for being a coward and doing nothing.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Hardly. Panicking would have been easy. Shooting easier still for some men who think guns are what give them power and authority to act. You weren’t doing nothing. You were watching, waiting, assessing. You were prepared. I knew—knew—you’d be right there if things had gotten out of hand. Sometimes trusting is the bravest thing we can do.” Her eyes glistened in the brightening dawn. “There was a lot of trust here today. And because we let that trust play out, some amazing rewards for it as well. Thank you for trusting.”

  I trusted myself to slide closer to her, to lean in close. “Isn’t that what trust is? Opening yourself up to chance, to possibility?”

  Adrenaline pulsed in me still. Chemical courage. I would bathe in the stuff if I could. Danger always made me feel more alive, more in control.

  Something else pulsed in me now, too, also making me feel. Danger and excitement of a different kind, triggered by the warmth of Dee’s hand, the nearness of her body to mine. By her sensibility and her courage. “Take the chance,” I urged.

  I waited a moment for the no that didn’t come.

  Then I took my chance and laid my lips on hers.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dee

  Was I really kissing Chris Corsair? Hollywood idol, dream lover of women the world over? My heart raced, feeling the pressure of his smooth lips against mine. It seemed absurd that someone who had actively rejected his advances was now in the very position millions fantasized about.

  And yet…

  It wasn’t Chris Corsair I was kissing. It was the man who’d challenged a leopard, who’d raced through fire with me, who’d come face-to-face with lions, and who’d trusted me enough to give his trust to them. That was the man I could kiss, the man I wanted to kiss, the man I could dream about kissing.

  That was the man I kissed now.

  My lips slid over his, chaste and cool at first, warming quickly under the intensity of his. Yes, he deserved more than a quick peck of thanks for all he’d done. And as our lips moiled over each other and he captured my bottom lip and shook his head gently from side to side, my breath quickened.

  Then his hand was at my neck, cradling my head as the tip of his tongue ran its way around the inner circle of my lips.

  Far more than a kiss of gratitude now, it was a pendulum swinging between the choices of my next move. Retreat, and honor some principle already crumbling in the face of his heroic actions. Or sound the advance, and allow myself the full pleasure of being kissed deep by Chris Corsair.

  I caught his tongue and sucked it in.

  He paused only a
moment in surprise before adjusting himself for a better angle, bracing my head as he thrust in, his lips grinding now against mine with bruising force.

  Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I kissed back as his tongue tickled my throat. I didn’t even know I had a G-spot there until an electric jolt shot into the muscles deep behind my pelvic bone. God.

  Chris’ other hand cupped my breast as he ran his thumb over the cottoned peak. Then he was pressing me back till my head was lying on the seat by the open door.

  He shifted over me, his tongue still thrusting deep, swearing a promise of more to be. The hard length of him against my thigh echoed that promise.

  Of its own, my body arched into his.

  It was that reflexive move that decided me.

  I pushed him away, gently but firmly. “No.”

  He looked genuinely hurt. “I wasn’t planning on hitting a home run. My condoms are in the tent with everything else. What do you say we just make it to second or third base?”

  “Second base, home run—what, are you 12?” I teased.

  “Most guys are.”

  “It’s not how far we go. It’s that…” I wasn’t tongue-tied, although I was a bit tongue-tired; I just wasn’t sure how to express myself.

  “You’re not ready,” Chris prompted.

  “Oh, my body’s ready. Too ready. And that’s the problem. Because I don’t think I’m ready here.” I placed a hand over my heart, so close to where his own hand had just been.

  “Don’t think, or you know you’re not?”

  That was a great question. He and I both deserved an honest answer to it. “It’s not like there’s this visible line between the two.”

  “What will it take to get you to yes?”

  “First, you not being so preoccupied about whether I get there or not. Is that the only destination for you? Because it’s got to be more than just about the sex for me. Otherwise, I’ve done without help in that regard for quite a while now.”

  “Of course it’s about more than the sex. But you’re looking at it backwards. The sex is the easy part, the appetizer. It whets your senses for the main course to come. Sure, some people make a meal out of appetizers alone. I’ve done it myself—and way too often, I won’t lie. But here I’m looking for an entrée—I just want a taste of you first, to heighten the hunger, not appease it entirely. Not yet. So Deidre Young, I’m asking you now, let me whet my tongue with you.”

  Truly, I wanted to whet a lot more than just his tongue. Pushing that magnificent body away had not been easy. There were muscles in me still shuddering in disappointment. “In my restaurant,” I murmured, “sex is the dessert. And we don’t serve dessert until after the entrée’s been enjoyed. Dessert’s the sweet aftertaste, to be lingered over—One. Bite. At. A. Time.” I nipped his ear, deliberately provoking the beast.

  I swear he growled at me as the passion in those oh-so-direct blue eyes rekindled like flames on the veldt. His response was swift, his mouth on mine hard as he sucked the breath right out of me. For one heady moment I returned his passion, matching it in insistence and intensity, letting it burn through me from bruised lips to curled toes.

  Then he was gone. His face hovered still mere inches from mine, but the distance between was a cold and endless abyss, my body derelict and abandoned.

  Stretching that talented tongue, he gave the top of my nose a final swipe, the tingle of it echoing deep within. “If you like the appetizer, wait’ll you get to that dessert. I guarantee it to be…extra filling.”

  Never had I wanted dessert so badly.

  “In that case,” I whispered, not trusting my voice louder, but not needing to in the intimacy of the backseat, “let’s split an entrée so we have plenty of room after.”

  “Mmmm. I’m game. What do you suggest?”

  “I was thinking a hero sandwich with a side of crow.”

  “A bold yet flavorful pairing.” He circled an arm around and pulled me into his side. Maybe I’d been alone too long, with no one to count on, relying only on my own instincts, my own strength, because that arm around me where we snuggled here in the backseat like two awkward teens was like a wall of protection I hadn’t even known I was missing.

  God, it felt good. Comfortable. Secure.

  Resting my head on that impossibly broad chest, I closed my eyes and waited for the sun.

  CHAPTER 22

  Dee

  We were still wrapped together mid-morning, entertaining ourselves with another bold choice—talking. Chris told me all about a privileged childhood of private schools and summer camp, trips to Europe and ski resorts on winter breaks. A solid, upper-middle-class life, a life without want or struggle. It had all been easy for him, except for parents who spent more time making a life for themselves than living that life. Always stressed, always on the edge of a fight.

  “I took a year off after high school just to get away from that. To center myself. I went to a modeling agency in LA on a lark. When they signed me, I had no expectations. Until I went on my first shoot—the people, the cameras, the attention—I figured I’d found Nirvana. I got an agent, took some acting lessons, cut my teeth in a failed sitcom, then picked up the lead in a little sleeper film that exploded two weeks after release and pegged me an action hero forever after. Since then, life’s been a battle to keep that star riding high.

  “That was 12 years ago, and 12 years in Hollywood World is like 50 in the real world. People forget you. Maybe not the fans, but the directors and casting agents looking for the fresh, hot faces. I certainly wasn’t a has-been yet, but that star was looking a little rough around the edges. When you’re signing reality show gigs instead of feature films, it’s time to kiss the gravy train goodbye. My Atlas role came along just in time. If those movies do anywhere close to the money that’s being talked about, that should have me set for a while. But I’m getting older, and if those movies bomb instead, then it’s back to reality shows and celeb appearances on game shows and dance contests, pretty much for the rest of my life.”

  He tilted my head up with a gentle hand beneath my chin so my eyes met his. “I’m not looking for commiseration or advice. It is what it is. I’m only telling you this to…” His face twisted as he struggled to come up with the reason.

  I grinned. “Women have a secret name for what you’re doing. We call it sharing.”

  Chris’ eyes widened in mock-distress. “No. No, you’re wrong. Real men don’t share.”

  “More bad news for you—sharing often leads to bonding.”

  Horror fluttered across those too-expressive eyes. “No, not bonding! Or”—his expression melted into a leer—“did you mean bond-age?”

  “Like being spanked, do you?” He apparently didn’t notice my tone had cooled—a lot.

  “I may be a traditionalist when it comes to men and sharing, but in the bedroom, I’m liberal all the way. I’m happy to spank or be spanked. Equal opportunity fun.”

  When he saw my disappointment, his mouth fell immediately into a sincere frown. “You know I’m kidding, right? A little light kink, maybe. I’m open to that. If you ar—” He caught himself. “If whoever I’m with is too. But it’s not a requirement.”

  I sighed. “You really don’t have an internal filter that keeps you from saying inappropriate things, do you? Look, I’m not a prude. And yes, I happen to like a little light kink to spice things up every now and again. It’s just… We were having a good moment there. An important moment. But you had to take it too far. Turn it all into a joke—a risqué joke at that. Why do you do it?”

  Chris fell quiet. I’d either struck a nerve or he was reconsidering ever being attracted to me. After a long moment, he said, “It’s a defense mechanism, I guess.”

  I gave him credit for really thinking about his behavior and taking my questions—me—seriously. Still, I shook my head. “Your whole Chris Corsair persona is a defense mechanism. It’s just you and me here, and a pride of lions who don’t care who you were before you came. Can you put
aside Chris Corsair for just one day and be who you are? Isn’t that what you said you wanted? If you can’t do it here when no one else is around, how do you expect to ever be able to do it out there?” I waved a hand to encompass Hollywood, America, the world. “Besides, if I’m ever going to have dessert, it needs to be with the real Chris. The Chris in there.”

  He trembled under the hand I laid palm down on his chest.

  No act that.

  “Darnelle,” he whispered.

  I blinked my confusion.

  “My real name—Christopher Darnelle.”

  “Well, then, Christopher, let me share something important with you. I really wasn’t kidding awhile back when I said I needed to pee. Now I really have to go.”

  The moment over, usurped by that ever-more-demanding call of nature, I scrambled into the driver’s seat. Chris hauled in the tripod, and I backed us up about a quarter mile out of camp, stopping under the privacy of a tambotie tree. Blackened veldt in the rearview mirror was a grim reminder, along with the stench of lingering smoke, that Nature could also be more than inconvenient to deal with.

  After Chris and I had taken turns behind the tree, I drove us back into camp, parking us in the middle of the triangle of tents, beside the camp stove and chairs.

  The commotion lured Brutus back our way. Nana followed him as he crossed our front bumper and my viewfinder with typical regal grace. They paused to sniff at the Rover’s front grate and the tires, Brutus giving a casual toss to his dark and luxurious mane, which had aged better than the rest of him. Not that he wasn’t still a beautiful lion—simply thinned out and a bit bonier with age. Scars and deep jowls added to a weary, wise warrior impression.

  Of the two of them, though, Nana was the one who better deserved the title of warrior. She was the Amazon of the pride, covered with the scars of a lion’s life well-lived. Together they made a comfortable pair.