Gabriel's Gift

by London, Cait

  On the countertop was a stack of large glossy black-and-white photographs from one of the men. A note explained that he had developed them in the kitchen sink with a very adept student, Miranda. Several photographers had added their notes, thanking him for the best action shots they’d had in their careers. Bracing himself, Gabriel studied the photographs, one by one—just there, Miranda, looking small and helpless against the highland meadow, dotted with snow, the cougar poised on the rock above her. In black-and-white, Gabriel and Fletcher blended with the trees. Gabriel’s profile was hard, a hunter determined to bring down his prey. Miranda’s face was white with fear, her eyes rounded as he moved in front of her. The cat’s fangs were bared, muscles standing out in relief. One photograph was of the beast flying in midair with Gabriel beneath its shadow. The nightmare of the attack had been caught, and then the still body of the cat.

  He’d held Miranda so close—he could feel the shaking of her body still, the fear leaping around them. One photograph held his attention—Gabriel had tugged Miranda’s head back. The mountain wind had caught his shaggy hair, her sleek silky mass, and tossed them together, framing her fierce defiance, his primitive emotions in stark black-and-white.

  Gabriel pushed away the close-up of the dart in his backside and frowned at the pictures of Miranda working over him, the men loading him onto the makeshift stretcher. Outside his house, the tractor revved and Gabriel limped to the doorway. The sun told him it was midmorning, the long furrows in his front door told him that the cougar had come calling.

  Miranda swung the tractor and set the plow’s tines into the rich earth. Breaking ground for the new garden gave her something to do while Gabriel rested up for another round of arguing with her. Within her gloves, her hands were shaking on the controls of Gabriel’s tractor. He was limping toward her, and just as she had expected, his expression was that of lightning and thunder.

  He’d been so pale, the blood gushing from the long scores on his thigh, soaking his jeans. The image of the man and the beast rolling on the mud and the snow would terrify her forever.

  In the bright sunlight, Gabriel’s hackles were up, a scowl etched on his darkly tanned face. Clearly he was set on an argument. Well, so was she. She’d lain beside him, soothed him as he tossed in his nightmares and tried to place the quaking fear into the past. His wounds could have been much more serious, but perhaps Gabriel was part leather—at least he was strong and had protected himself as best he could. He’d placed himself between her and danger without a qualm….

  This morning, his expression said she was in for a scolding. Gabriel’s emotions were usually so tightly leashed that she wanted to tear them away into the fresh spring air, revealing the deep natural emotions of the man. Tranquilized, he had murmured the most romantic phrases she’d ever heard, and they were all for her. He spoke of his heart leaping like a rabbit at the sight of her, how her skin was pale as cream, her scent of wild roses, that she was his woman of wind and fire—How dare he hoard all that from her?

  She turned off the tractor, leaped from it and marched across the plowed ground toward him. She whipped off the red bandanna covering her hair. “Feeling better?” she asked briskly.

  Gabriel scowled down at her, erasing the image of the romantic, tranquilized man holding her hand, kissing it. Once she had bent close to hear him whisper how he felt in her arms, filling her, feeling her glove him, his body pouring into hers, the fire of his passion for her….

  Now Gabriel’s tone ripped across the crisp March morning. No ‘sweetheart,’ no ‘wild rose of my heart,’ no ‘thank you very much’ or ‘I love you.’ “When was that cat here?” he asked harshly.

  Her temper simmering, Miranda could have flung herself at him. “Before it took off the mountain after you. You’re going after it, aren’t you?”

  “Someone has to. The wildlife people will probably mark and transport it elsewhere.”

  “Just like you’d like to do with me, right?” Oh, Gabriel. Take me in your arms like you did then, let me know how much you care and that you want me so fiercely that nothing can take me away….

  “I don’t want you working my place.”

  “I’m plowing a garden, not logging. Though at this moment, I’m so angry with you that I could take down a forest and not even be winded.”

  “A man should take care of his woman.” His deep, soft voice was ragged, though he looked off into the pasture where the horses were grazing.

  “Cannot a woman take care of her man, Gabriel?” she asked softly.

  His cold black gaze swung down to her. “You don’t belong here. This incident just proves me right. You could have been killed.”

  She shrugged and nodded. “Mark another one of my choices up to your side.”

  “Be logical. You’re a remarkable woman. You belong—”

  She walked toward the house, leaving him standing in the field. She had her pride, too, and she wouldn’t ask him to reconsider. She wouldn’t argue. She wouldn’t—

  Gabriel caught the door she tried to slam behind her, just a brief release for the frustration, anger and emotions storming her. She wrapped her arms around her body, unable to move, to leave him, when so much of her wanted to hold him, to love him, to hear those dark lush whispers of his passion.

  His breath was harsh behind her, then he was tugging her back against him, wrapping his arms tight around her. His deep voice was uneven and urgent against her ear. “You think I don’t want you? You, the other part of my heart and soul? When will you hate me, I wonder? When will you see that I can give you so little?”

  “Is it only for you to give, Gabriel? Are you only comfortable in that one-way street where you are the provider and the protector? I’m a complete package now, Gabriel, and it is not in my nature to be helpless. If you can understand nature, and live with it, why can’t you deal with who I am now?” He gave her so much, that intricate, delicate part of him that no one had seen, the beauty of his soul, the gentleness of his heart.

  He spun her toward him, his expression fierce and desperate. He cupped her face within his roughly callused palms, scanning her expression. “You terrify me,” he whispered simply before taking her mouth with undisguised passion.

  She understood the need to celebrate life, to grasp it and revel in the survival of a past danger. She opened herself to him, taking from him, meeting that burning passion as his hand found her breast and cherished it softly. The fever rose between them and suddenly Gabriel stilled, the sound of tearing cloth echoing in the room. He shook, his hand trembling as he lifted it away from the flannel shirt she wore, the buttonholes torn free to reveal the dangling strap of her lacy bra.

  Gabriel paled slightly, shaking his head as if to clear it, and Miranda wouldn’t let him retreat. She reached for his cotton shirt and tore it open. “I want you just as badly now. Let me know what you really feel. Tell me with your body, if not with words.”

  He hesitated, seemingly caught between the wars of his logic, his heart and his body. The burning fever of his hand touched her breast, then with a tug tore the remaining lace away. Holding her eyes, he eased her jacket away and bent to unlace her boots, removing them. His hands skimmed up her legs, her hips, unbuttoning her jeans to slide them away with her briefs.

  Then Gabriel was carrying her to his bed, his mouth hot and sweet and hungry and urgent. He placed her onto his bed, the rumpled blankets carrying his scent. His trembling hands, the way he fumbled with his clothing, told her that he was deeply moved, anxious not to hurt her and yet driven by his own need for completion.

  This was the real Gabriel, she thought, the layers gone, his eyes burning down the length of her body, consuming her, taking away her breath with that hunter’s hungry look. He came to her quickly, his hands smoothing her body, finding her intimately, and caressing her.

  The rough gauze reminded her of his painful wound and she pushed away from him, bracing her hands against his shoulders. That quick, dark expression told her too much, that he though
t she refused him. Miranda wrapped her hands in his hair, drawing his head down, feasting upon his mouth to leave no doubt of her need. In the shadows, she briefly noted his honed features, the flush on his cheeks and the hardness of his body arched against hers.

  Then his mouth was moving over her skin, nipping, tasting, kissing. She cried out as he reached her breasts, suckling and giving her exquisite pleasure. “You’re burning,” he whispered roughly, cupping her, his fingers invading her delicately. “Soft and tight and so sweet.”

  She dug her fingers into the powerful muscles of his shoulders, her hips stirring restlessly against his touch, her legs moving along his. “Please be careful of your wound.”

  His tender smile curved along her stomach. “You would ask that of me now?” he chided gently. “When all of me is dying to fill you? When my skin is bursting with the need to become one with you? To feel your body move against me? To know that you soar with me into the fire? That the song of your release is too sweet to describe?”

  “You’re teasing me,” she whispered shakily, uncertain of Gabriel’s mood, when she had expected him to take her immediately.

  “The honey of your skin is not a taste I can forget. I’m honored that you battle to give me such joy.” His tongue flicked her naval, his hand spanning her belly. “Woman of fire and wind.”

  “Is that how you see me?” She quivered as his warm face pressed against her breasts, nuzzling them tenderly.

  “Maybe.” His answer came too lightly, tormenting her. He studied her breasts, tracing a finger enticingly over the sensitized surface, the jutting of her hardened nipples. With that, Gabriel eased to his back, his arms behind his head, and shot her a sultry, burning look beneath his lashes. “Be gentle,” he whispered in a deep tone that curled around her.

  She hadn’t suspected that he would play, when his lovemaking had been so consuming, so serious and driving. She smiled and moved upon him. She closed her eyes and gave herself to the wonderful sensation of Gabriel’s desire filling her, his hands opened and locked on her hips, caressing her. She rocked gently, bracing her hands on his chest, giving herself to the pleasure. “Oh, I intend to be very gentle and very thorough. Statistics prove that men like—”

  “Concentrate on this man, song of my heart.”

  Nine

  There is a part of any man which resists the woman selecting him as her mate, for he would like to think he has made that choice. The man’s instincts are still to hunt and bring the woman to his lair—and so it is that we sometimes let them have their way.

  Anna Bennett’s Journal

  Gabriel sat on his haunches, studying Anna’s house in the night. He was bone-tired from tracking and tagging the cougar with the wildlife agent. The animal was now in a holding cage and would be relocated.

  Gabriel’s hunting blood was too restless to settle for the night, and Miranda was not in his house. What had he expected? She was a woman to make her own decisions.

  She was still angry with him, for the years they had lost, for taking away her choice. He had felt the fine, prickling edge of her temper, though they had made love. She’d wanted to go with him, was nettled when he refused. But Gabriel couldn’t bear the thought of her near that beast again.

  What drove him to run on foot through the night, in the old way, hunting what his heart must have for peace? Though he had only run five miles, taking the paths that would bring him more quickly to Anna’s house, he would have crossed much more to have her this night.

  “‘Less than affectionate,”’ he repeated, the phrase nipping at him. He glanced at the moon, pine trees spiking silhouettes across it. A fastidious man, he smelled of campfire smoke and leather and of battle. He should have stopped at his house, showered, rested and gotten his need for her under control. And yet, he couldn’t wait to hold her. The wildfire in his blood was not in his experience, the need to capture the treasure that had escaped him.

  Gabriel rubbed his jaw, considering the yellow squares of light shooting from Anna’s windows onto the ground. The ache in his heart could not let him rest until he saw Miranda, despite the fatigue lodged in his muscles. Without turning from his view of Anna’s house, he frowned at deer moving through the brush. He recognized their sounds, understood their ways, but not his own.

  A woman’s shadow moved across the upstairs windows and Gabriel wondered if she were packing, preparing to leave. He held very still, listening to the night and to the hard beat of his heart, focusing inside himself. Lying beside him, Fletcher panted, his pink tongue dangling, and waited for his master’s command.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gabriel frowned at the locked door separating him from his quarry. His knock unanswered, Gabriel circled the house, located a big tree and began to climb. Five minutes later, he shoved open an upstairs window and entered Miranda’s bedroom. Moonlight shafted through the window’s lacy curtains, laying patterns over the quilt on the single bed, the dolls’ faces staring at him from their shelf. On the dresser were framed pictures, an array of feminine bottles and a braided rug cut from old clothing covered the wooden floor. The light rectangular place on the floor was where Miranda’s hope chest had stood, and now it was in his home.

  He noted the open laptop computer on a small wooden desk, small gold earrings gleaming beside it. Gabriel’s senses stopped as he studied the electronic tool that she would use in her work. Did the challenges of her career call to that bright, quick mind? Was she feeling the need to step back into business? How soon would she leave?

  How could he keep her? Did he deserve to have her now?

  How could he keep her? his mind repeated, while his body knew that she was his tonight—if she would have him. For he needed her like the air he breathed, like the sun that warmed the earth…. Already his blood was rushing into the fever that was Miranda.

  Gabriel carefully removed his denim jacket and hung it on the desk’s chair. The masculine clothing was at odds with the lace and ruffles, giving him the same pleasure as when he looked at their coats, side by side, her smaller boots placed neatly beside his. Those were images he would carry in his mind forever, having no need of a camera to hold them. In his mind, he was married, for he would never love another woman as he did Miranda. Pinned by a moonlit square, slipping through the window’s lace, Gabriel considered his well-worn comfortable tracking moccasins. In his heart, he was coming home to the woman of his soul, because she gave him strength and peace. The sound of the shower drew him to the bathroom, and Miranda’s body, blurred by the frosted glass, beckoned to him. Scented of her, the steamy air curled around him. Gabriel stood very still, the scent and the woman a seduction.

  Caught in the mirror, his image was that of a hunter—that narrowed look, features honed within the rough cut of his long hair, body taut and prepared to move. Gabriel glanced at the feminine lace hung on the back of the door, crushed it in his fist, holding it tightly for a moment as he would soon hold Miranda—if she would have him.

  He should have called—he should have waited.

  He smiled briefly, mocking himself. But then he couldn’t wait, could he? His need for her was too strong.

  Miranda inhaled sharply, the glass shower door sliding open and a tall, naked man dipped his head to enter. “Gabriel!”

  In the small steamy enclosure, he looked so drained and weary, lines deeper on his brow, his hair untamed and damp now against his throat. He needed care and rest, she thought, and noted with pleasure as she glanced lower, that Gabriel needed more—He filled the space, towering over her, and then shook his head as if dazed at finding himself with her.

  “Have a nice hunt?” she asked lightly, as though he were just coming home from a day’s work at the office, not the dangerous trek to hunt the cougar. He was uncertain of her now, and of himself.

  He was safe. She could have leaped upon him, taken him, burned with him and yet, Miranda wanted to savor the moment—for he had come to her, placing all else aside. She squirted herbal shampoo into her palms, rubbed them together
and lifted her hands to massage Gabriel’s hair. He lifted his head, his expression disdaining the feminine scent and then he settled into her touch. His eyes closed slightly, and she sensed the easing of that taut, wary mood riding him.

  Miranda smoothed his face and he sighed slowly, relaxing slightly. How wonderful, she thought, as this tall, powerful man gave himself to her touch. Using her sponge laden with shower gel, she slathered his shoulders, admiring the strength in them, the gentleness that came of his consideration and control. His heart pounded heavily beneath her soapy palms and Miranda smiled, working lower, caressing him, soothing that hard, taut body as she moved. She traced the healing scars on his thigh, mourning his pain, and the vision of Gabriel taking the cougar’s charge shot icily through her for just a moment. Then rising, she came against him, sleek and soft. She held that hungry black gaze as she slid her arms around him to soap his back.

  “You’re enjoying this. That I would come to you first,” he whispered roughly as the shower hissed around them. He had not touched her, his hands curled into fists at his side. His unsteady mood swept through the steam, his wariness of her an excitement that drew her on.

  “You’ve never bathed with a woman, have you, Gabriel?”

  “No.” The answer was curt and warning, yet telling her that he’d given her more intimacy than he wished.

  She strolled a fingertip down his cheek and circled that grim mouth. “Turnabout is fair play, you know.”

  Gabriel reached behind her and turned off the water. “But then, you’ve already had your shower, haven’t you?” he asked, before shoving aside the door and circling her with his arms, lifting her out.