Just a natural reaction, he told himself, what happened when air fanned over your skin.
He slipped his hand under the back of her T-shirt, pushed the wet fabric up as far as it would go. Her skin was cold, almost icy, against his palm.
It was not a good sign.
He should have gotten her into dry clothes right away instead of wasting precious minutes thinking about not wanting this kind of responsibility.
Quickly but carefully, he shifted her in his arms, sat her up, held her there when she started to slip back against the couch cushions. He worked the T-shirt up over her belly. The skin there was slightly warmer: that was good. The natural instinct of a healthy body was to keep vital organs warm.
The skin there was smooth, too. The fact registered somewhere in the back of his mind. It had nothing to do with getting her out of the wet shirt, but he was aware of it. Just part of his head taking inventory of her condition, he told himself briskly, as he dragged the drenched cotton up and over her breasts.
Getting her arms out of the sleeves wasn’t easy, but at last he tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it aside.
And, damn, she was beautiful.
No bra, which he’d already figured. Uptilted nipples, which he’d figured, as well. But not their color. Delicate. Pale. An innocent pink.
A lie. Nothing about her was innocent.
Jesse knotted his jaw, dragged his eyes from her breasts to her jeans. Getting them off would be a walk in the park compared to getting her out of that shirt.
Wrong.
The jeans closed with two small buttons above the fly. The buttons were tough to open because the denim was so wet, but he finally got them through the buttonholes and undid the zipper.
She made a little sound. A murmur. He looked at her face just in time to see her eyelids flicker.
“Miss Cummings? Can you hear me?”
No answer. Okay. Time to finish undressing her. He didn’t know why it was bothering him so much but it was. He’d been trained in first aid. She was probably a victim of hypothermia. He wasn’t a man. She wasn’t a woman.
But when he slipped his hands under her bottom and lifted her hips toward him, a picture flashed through his mind. Him, doing this same thing. Lifting her to him. To strip away her jeans, yes…
As part of making love to her.
His hands stilled.
He could see it all. Her face, flushed with pleasure. Her eyes, opened and hot on his. Her lips forming his name, her arms reaching for him, the jeans coming down, down, down her long legs and revealing…
White cotton underpants.
That was what they revealed. White cotton, as innocent-looking as the sweet pink of her nipples.
God, she was beautiful. Her femininity. Her face. Her hair, a mass of gold-streaked curls. And he, he was…
A groan broke from his throat. He was a no-good SOB, was what he was. What kind of man got a hard-on when he was dealing with an unconscious woman?
Quickly, he laid her back against the cushions. Dumped the now-wet quilt, grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around her. Yeah, but the sofa was damp. No good. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom. There were four other bedrooms in the house, but he hadn’t furnished any of them beyond the basics, not after Linda left.
What was the point?
He lived alone.
No woman. No friends. No guests. He preferred it that way.
His bed was big, covered with a simple black duvet. He folded it back, put the woman beneath it and drew it to her chin. She was starting to stir, her color was back.
Good.
Okay. He’d get her a heating pad. A big mug of tea. But first, he’d take care of himself, if only for long enough to get out of his soaked jeans and put on sweats. He’d stayed active, he wasn’t a likely candidate for hypothermia, but he wouldn’t do his uninvited guest much good if he got sick.
Working fast, he pulled the rawhide from his hair and rubbed a towel over his face, obliterating the stripes of black paint. The eagle talon danced against his chest as he tugged off his wet jeans, then his boxers. He yanked open a drawer, found sweats, stepped into the bottoms, pulled them up—
Sienna Cumming’s eyes shot open. Jesse breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good,” he said gruffly. “You’re conscious.”
Her eyes were blurry. Her tongue slicked over her lips.
“Who…? Where…?”
Confusion was common in cases of hypothermia. You lived in these mountains, you made it a point to know these things.
Jesse sat down next to her, tried to look reassuring.
“You’re fine,” he said briskly. “You, ah, you passed out. The rain—”
She turned her head. Looked around her, then looked again at him.
“Blackwolf Mountain,” she said thickly. “The sacred stone—”
“Right.”
“The lightning.”
“Yes.”
“Rain,” she said. “And cold. So cold…”
A shudder went through her. Enough conversation. She wasn’t warm enough yet.
“Look,” Jesse started to say, “we can discuss this when—”
The kettle shrieked. She jumped like a doe taken down by a hunter’s bow.
“It’s the kettle, that’s all. I’ll make some tea. We can talk then. Okay?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze was moving over him. He hadn’t had a shirt on when she’d first seen him and he didn’t have one on now, but it felt different, maybe because he knew she was almost naked beneath the duvet.
Maybe because she knew it, too.
Something was happening behind those violet eyes. It was like watching her watching a movie. Emotions swept over her face. Awareness. Fear. Terror.
“Ohmygod,” she said, “ohmygod…”
Enough. This was where he’d come in.
“Take it easy,” he said, his voice rough. “Just take it—”
The lights went out.
Just like that. Out. No blinking. No going off, coming on, then going off. One second, the lights were on. They next, the room went dark.
Dark? It was black as pitch.
That figured. It was midafternoon. They’d lost hours between getting down the mountain and the wild ride home, plus the raging storm had obliterated whatever had remained of daylight.
Hell.
He should have figured on the lights going out. The electric lines up this high were only marginally more reliable than the ones for the telephone.
Idiot that he was, the one thing he hadn’t installed when he built the house was a generator. He had one on order but it was a big job—it had to be specially built and it wouldn’t be ready for another few months.
Jesse blinked, waited for his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. His other senses had already gone on full alert. He could smell Sienna’s skin, that delicate lilac scent he’d noticed hours ago. And he could hear her teeth chattering.
Was she shaking again?
He reached out. Felt for her…
“Get away from me!”
“Listen, lady—”
He heard her scramble up against the pillows. She was breathing hard; the sound was raw. Just what he needed. Instant replay of what had happened an hour ago, right before she passed out.
“You’re using up energy,” he said coldly.
She didn’t answer.
Jesse stood, put his hands on his hips. Took a long breath. He had candles. A Coleman lantern. A Coleman stove. He also had a crazy woman on his hands, but maybe some light and hot food would bring her to her senses.
“Stay where you are,” he said brusquely. “I’ll be right back.”
It took him a few minutes to get the gas lantern and stove from where he stored his hunting and camping gear. Matches were easy; he grabbed a handful from a drawer in the kitchen. Got a fat candle from a cupboard and lit it.
“Okay,” he said, trying to sound cheerful as he used its wavering light to guid
e him back to the bedroom. “We’re all set—”
She was gone.
Gone? How? Where? Jesse turned on his heel, made a complete circle, the candle held out in front of him as he checked the big room. Maybe the woman wasn’t the only one who was crazy. Maybe he’d imagined her. Linda had all but accused him of being nuts.
What happened to you? she’d said. You’re a different man since you came back, Jesse. I’m afraid of you.
But no, he wasn’t crazy. His trespasser had been lying right there. The duvet was flung aside, the top sheet was missing, a strand of golden hair was on the black pillowcase.
Thunder shook the house.
“Miss Cummings?” Stupid. She was naked. He’d undressed her. What was the point of formalities? “Sienna? Sienna, where are you?”
Silence. He went to the door, checked the hall. There wasn’t a sign of her.
Another roar of thunder. Another flash of lightning. And there they were. Footprints, small, highly arched. A woman’s delicate prints, leading to his dressing room…
That was where he found her. At the far end of the oversized space, her back to the wall, the top sheet clutched to her chin.
“Sienna,” he said sharply, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I can tell you what I’m not doing,” she said. “I am not letting you rape me.”
“Are we back to that? I have no intention of—”
“Get out of my way.”
“Sienna. Listen to me. You’re not making any sense. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I am. I am thinking very, very straight.”
“You’re trembling. Do you have any idea how dangerous—”
“How dangerous you are.” Her chin came up. Or it would have, if she wasn’t having so much difficulty not sinking to the floor. “Yes. I do.”
“Damn it, woman! It’s not me that’s dangerous!”
“Yes, you are. And I’m not going to sta-stand here and—and—”
But she wasn’t standing. She was sliding down the wall. Jesse got to her just in time—and took a weak but well-placed fist to the jaw by way of thanks. He grabbed her hands in one of his as he lifted her into his arms.
“Stop it!”
Her hands flailed at his face. Her sharp teeth sank into his biceps and he growled a warning, shifted position, hoisted her over his shoulder, sheet and all, and strode into the bedroom.
Now what?
Getting some light in here would change things, but only an octopus could hang on to a struggling female and turn on a lantern at the same time. If he put her down, she’d run again. Or grab something and slug him with it.
“Hold still,” he ordered. “Hold still or so help me, I’ll get a rope—a real rope—and tie you up.”
That did it. She went limp. He waited, counted silently to ten. Then he eased her off his shoulder, set her on her feet but kept her balled fists clasped in his hand.
“I want to talk. Just talk. You got that?”
She made a sound. A snort of derision. Another good sign. Some of that toughness was coming back.
“I have no interest in you sexually.” Okay, a lie, but a meaningless one. His hormones were interested but he certainly wasn’t. That made it easy to keep his tone cold. Almost clinical. “You’re not my type. And just so we get this straight…” His lips twitched. “I don’t generally have to force women into my bed. Got it?”
An endless silence. Then she nodded.
“Great.” Carefully, he let go of her hands. “Can we talk now?”
She swallowed dryly. Her face was turning pink.
“I’m—I’m naked.”
Her voice was low. He felt a twinge of sympathy—and a twinge of that damned hormonal lust. It made his response harsh.
“Next time I’m stuck with a woman who looks like a half-drowned cat, I’ll pass on trying to save her ass. Anything else?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“My place. Blackwolf Ranch. I brought you here, remember?”
“That isn’t what I meant,” she said quickly. “I meant—I meant—”
She fell silent. Too late. He knew what she meant. That nonsense about the year. She didn’t know it, or she couldn’t remember it. Something like that.
That she was so completely confused mystified him. It had to be the after-effects of the lightning strike. He had a set of Grolier’s; he’d look it up in the encyclopedia once the power came back on. Reassure her. Reassure himself that she wasn’t—
“I’m fine now.”
His eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
“Everything just, you know, clicked into place. It was the, uh, the cold. The rain. Shock. That can cause confusion. Right?”
Her lips curved into a smile. It was about as phony as anything he’d ever seen, but he decided to pretend he’d bought into it. It would make her easier to deal with.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“So, if you’d just give me something to wear—”
“I’ll get you something of mine. Sweats. They’ll swim on you but—”
“That’ll be fine.” She inhaled, let the breath out on a long whoosh. “And thank you. For all you’ve done.”
Her smile was real this time. He felt its impact, the softness of her voice, sink into him like a caress. Something twisted in his belly; it was a feeling he’d all but forgotten, a sense of connection that he’d thought he’d never feel again. He didn’t like it, didn’t need it, and the sooner she understood that, the better.
“I only did what I had to do,” he said coldly. Her smile died and he turned away from her, grabbed the Coleman lamp and lit it. Half the room filled with its welcome light.
“Okay,” he said briskly. “I’ll get the sweats. Once you’re dressed, head down the hall to the kitchen… What now?”
Her mouth was trembling. Her eyes glittered. She shook her head; her hair fell around her face, obscuring it.
“Nothing,” she whispered—but she was a lousy liar.
Of course it was something. His coldness? Her confusion? Whatever it was, she was weeping. Soundlessly, but weeping just the same.
Don’t be a fool, Blackwolf, Jesse told himself. Just keep walking.
He wanted to. He started to. But halfway to the door, she said “Jesse?” and he went back, swung her into his arms and kissed her. For comfort, he told himself, that was all…
But when she rose on her toes, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, he knew damned well that comfort was the last thing on his mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE’D thought he was going to walk away.
That was what she wanted. If he left her alone, maybe she could figure out what had happened to her. She couldn’t do that with Jesse Blackwolf’s dark eyes watching her, judging her, trying to figure out what kind of game she was playing.
But when he really had started to leave, a terrible loneliness had threatened to swallow her up. Jesse, she’d said, without knowing she was going to say it…and when he came back and took her in his arms, she’d realized that loneliness wasn’t the reason she’d called him back.
He was the reason.
She barely knew this man…and yet, in a way that made no sense at all, she felt as if she’d known him forever.
She sighed with pleasure when his arms closed around her. His body was hard and strong, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. Of everything that had happened to her in the past endless hours, this, only this, was real.
Jesse’s embrace. His scent. The feel of him against her.
“Jesse,” she said again, and raised her face to his, willing his lips to take hers. To chase away the internal darkness that threatened to consume her.
She wasn’t a thief, she wasn’t even a trespasser, because there weren’t any No Trespassing signs around the endless acres of Jesse’s land.
Not on June 21, 2010.
Except—except Jesse said it wasn’t 2010. It was 1975, he’d said, and she’
d either stepped through the looking glass like Alice…
Or she’d lost her mind. She was moments from stepping into a darkness as deep as the canyon.
And only Jesse could save her.
His kiss was gentle, the light brush of mouth against mouth.
“Shh,” he said softly. “Shh, baby.”
He was trying to soothe her but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more and she sought his mouth again, slid her hands up his chest. Her fingers brushed over the eagle talon; it seemed hot with an almost mystical energy, but the heat of his skin was masculine and real, the muscles beneath pronounced and taut. An electric shudder went through him at her touch and sent an answering tremor of response sizzling along each of her nerve endings. He groaned; the sound made her heart beat faster. Blind to everything but the moment, Sienna rose on her toes, pressed the length of her body against Jesse’s and dug her hands into the silky hair that fell loose around his face.
His erection was instantaneous, hard and powerful and life-affirming as it nudged unashamedly against her belly. She moaned into his mouth and moved against him.
He said something against her parted lips. The words were guttural and she didn’t understand them, but she understood the urgency in his voice, the urgency in her quickening blood.
The sheet slipped and fell to the floor. Naked now, her entire body tight against his, she moaned again as he cupped her bottom, lifted her into him.
His erection felt huge. Enormous. His heat radiated through her body.
Real. Yes. Oh, yes. This was not a dream, not a hallucination. His hand was between her thighs, seeking, finding her. His mouth was at her breast, sucking her nipple deep into his mouth.
She clung to him, her hands deep in his hair as he swept her up and carried her quickly into the darkness beyond the bright pool of light. They tumbled onto the bed, mouths fused.
She needed him. Wanted him. Her heart was racing with the hot urgency of desire as he settled over her, his welcome weight pressing her down into the softness of his bed. He pushed down her panties; she felt him doing the same with his sweats.
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