The wolf stood, turned and trotted off, back into the woods.
Max realized he was shivering violently and would have to return to the plane before he became hypothermic.
Using the light shining from the plane’s window as a beacon, he made his way back and climbed inside the cargo hold. He stopped, holding his position on one knee just behind the pilot’s seat. Mickey, the traitor, was curled up next to the woman. At least he raised his head and whined his happiness at Max’s return. The woman wasn’t quite so enthused.
She was scowling, huddled inside the tarp, her hands extended to the butane lantern, palms out. “Where were you? I didn’t know if you’d left me to d—”
“To die? Like I did the others?”
She had the decency to appear ashamed.
He crouched closer to the lantern and rummaged for his parka.
“You’re shivering. Here.” She drew his parka out from inside the tarp and tossed it at him. While he slipped it over his head, he spied her raising his flask to her mouth. She knocked back several swallows.
“Go easy on that,” he said, hoping she’d left some for him. But no such luck. “You drank it all?”
“I was scared. And cold.” She pouted.
Mumbling his favorite curse words under his breath, he pulled his knife from his boot.
She scooted away. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
“Dammit, lady, if I was going to kill you I’d have done it this morning and spent the day in peace and quiet.” He took the knife and cut open one of the boxes nearest him. Ah, Ireland’s finest. A prime bottle of Jameson. He’d take the price out of his fee. Arnaaluk wouldn’t mind. These were extreme circumstances.
He twisted off the cap and took a long, sweet pull. The whiskey burned all the way down and warmed his insides. He was beginning to get some feeling back into his fingers and cheeks.
“Can I have some?” She sounded so dejected he took pity on her and held out the bottle.
As she accepted it from him, their fingers touched. Their gazes met and he knew she was remembering where his hands had been. He was remembering the feel of her palm pressing against his zipper.
Glancing away, she matched his long pull on the bottle and then some. “Mmm.” She took another long sip. “I don’t usually drink hard liquor, but this stuff is delissous—delishust.” She closed her eyes. “It’s good.”
“That’s enough for you.” He tried to take it from her but she held it behind her, out of reach.
“No!” She scowled at him again, then took another sip.
He snatched the bottle from her grasp.
“Hey!”
“I don’t need you puking your guts up in my plane.”
Her face assumed a haughty expression. “I’ll have you know I’ve flown around the world and I’ve never—” she hiccupped “—puked.”
“Is that so?” Max settled against the side of the plane, rested his arm across his raised knee and took a long swallow from the bottle.
She hiccupped again and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
He shrugged. “You’ll be back in the lower forty-eight this time tomorrow.”
She frowned and her bottom lip stuck out. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to go back. I can’t.”
Despite a few slurred words, she seemed to have sobered remarkably. “Why not?”
“I’m quitting.”
Max blinked. “You’ve got this cushy job in television and you quit just so you can investigate me? You’re not as bright as you look.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “Anybody with an attractive face could do what I was doing. I want to make a difference. I want to expose atrocities, illuminate corruption and hold tyrants accountable for their crimes against humanity.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good luck with that.”
“Mock me if you want, but that’s a journalist’s job.” She jabbed her finger at the air in front of him. “To bring stories to the public that can change the world. Make it better.”
He’d never met such a naive Pollyanna. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why would you put yourself out there for people you don’t even know?”
“What does knowing them have to do with anything?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the expression no good deed goes unpunished? Live and let live.”
“That’s your philosophy? You leave the world alone and the world leaves you alone, is that it?”
“It’s worked so far.” He gave her a pointed look. “Until today.”
“Imagine if everyone believed as you do. After Katrina hit New Orleans, there were thousands of us volunteers helping with the cleanup effort. All it takes for evil to win is for good men to do nothing.”
“Right. So, you’ve trapped a murderer in the middle of nowhere. The world is safer already.”
“You’re not a murderer. But you are hiding something.”
“Just because I don’t want to spill my guts to a stranger, I’m hiding something? Maybe there’s a reason you’re only a travel guide.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. Hellfire, his barb had done more than sting. She looked as if he’d crushed her spirit. He started to apologize but her expression hardened and she tipped her chin up. “If there’s no story here, why don’t you simply tell me what happened three years ago?”
He clenched his fists, his teeth grinding. Anything was better than the expression of defeat returning to her face. He chose his words with care. “The plane crashed. People…died.” He raised the bottle of Jameson to his lips and gulped down the whiskey. Damn. His hand was shaking. “It happens.”
She was blessedly silent. But of course that didn’t last. “It must have been awful,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
The searing pain, his friends’ bloody faces, flashed through his mind, but he shoved the visions away and cleared his throat. “Can you get your job back?”
It was her turn to shrug. “My contract’s not up until July. But if I don’t show up in Buenos Aires in two weeks, I’ll be in breach.”
“If all goes well, we’ll be in Nome by lunchtime.”
“I told you, I’m not going back.” She lowered her gaze to the lantern. “Not yet anyway.”
“Do what you want. As long as you’re off my hands.”
“Couldn’t I ride with you to Barrow? I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t carry people. Only cargo.”
“Anymore.”
“What?”
“You mean you don’t carry people anymore. But you used to.”
“I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.” After taking one more swig of the whiskey, he screwed the lid on, pulled up his hood and dropped his head back, eyes closed.
As if he was really going to get any sleep with her this close to him. The cargo area was so small, he could reach out his arm and touch her. Every breath brought her sultry scent teasing his senses. He could hear her shivery breathing, imagine her chest rising and falling. Before he knew it, he was picturing her breasts naked and in his hands, imagining himself pulling off her jeans and panties…
Damn.
“Max?”
“What?” He refused to open his eyes. He’d only be tempted by deep blue orbs and sensuous red lips.
“Good night.”
He grunted, and heard the tarp rustling until she settled down. Between the lantern and the heat from Mickey and the woman, he was warm enough. But a cold chill ran up his spine at the thought of flying with her in his plane to Nome tomorrow.
He could only hope seeing the snowy owl meant the curse on him had been lifted. Maybe his wandering soul would return now.
SERENA SNUGGLED closer to the heat. The lantern had gone out sometime ago and her back was freezing. But her front was toasty warm, her cheek rubbing against something soft. The dog? She ran her hand down its side. No. It wasn’t anything long haired. More smooth and supple. Li
ke suede. Her hand came to the fur-lined edge and moved farther down, over denim and metal. Mmm. Long, hot, hard.
Her sleeping self wanted it. She cupped its length and caressed it. From under her ear a groan rumbled in its chest and a large warm hand covered hers and gripped it as he pushed into her palm.
She lifted her head and gasped. Max.
In the darkness his mouth found hers and kissed her with desperate intent. Before she could protest, he’d rolled her to her back and nudged a knee between her legs. But why would she protest? She wanted this. Wanted him. To communicate her need she clutched his head and combed her fingers through his long hair. And when he fumbled with the button on her jeans, she pushed his hand away and took over.
“Serena,” he moaned.
“Yes, oh yes,” she whispered as she helped him tug his parka over his head. Then she went to work on his jeans. His breath felt hot on her neck as he nuzzled in, nipping and kissing down the column of her throat to the edge of her sweater. But she wanted more of his hungry kisses, so she abandoned the zipper on his jeans and grasped his head again, using her grip on his hair to tug his lips back to hers.
Impatient to feel his skin against hers, she helped him tug down his jeans and hers. His callused hand stroked her stomach, and slowly his fingers slid under her panties. A needy moan escaped her as he cupped her shaved folds. She parted her thighs and lifted her hips to encourage his exploration, but he didn’t seem to need encouragement. His fingers moved in unison to caress her until one long digit slipped inside. Plunging deep and pulling back out while the heel of his hand rubbed her clit. It was a concert where all the instruments collaborated to send her soaring into an exquisite crescendo.
As she caught her breath, he began round two. Switching his weight to his other elbow, he ran a hand under her sweater and cupped her breast over her bra. He thumbed her nipple until she whimpered and reached down to yank both sweater and bra off over her head. She left her arms in the sleeves and kept them raised above her, begging him, “Lick them.”
With a raspy groan he obeyed. She felt his soft lips surround one nipple and suckle, and then his tongue teased just the tip. She moaned and wiggled beneath him, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp aching sensation that traveled straight from her nipples to the inner passage between her thighs. His hand cupped her other breast and played with its tight nipple, gently pinching and rolling it.
She was panting.
Dragging off his sweatshirt, he slid his arm around her back to lift her, and spread the soft cotton beneath her shoulders. She couldn’t help the little hum of delight. His warmth and woodsy scent surrounded her.
Lying there in only her panties, she should have been freezing, but Max’s muscular body heated her blood. Their passion seemed to warm the entire plane. Needing more of that heat, she reached for the band of his briefs.
He stayed her hand. “Say you want me. And say my name again.”
Cupping his cheek in her palm, she pulled his lips down to hers. “I want you, Max.”
Before she’d finished the sentence, he shucked his underwear and came over her. She opened for him and he fitted himself to her, teasing and rubbing her entrance before plunging in to the hilt. Her breath whooshed out with a guttural sound deep in her throat.
He groaned and stilled, and a little muscle in his jaw ticked. Maybe it was just that it’d been too much time between lovers, but she could feel every long inch of him inside her, filling her. His skin against hers felt on fire. Sensuous, intimate. She wanted to feel more and ran her hands along the tensed muscles of his arms, his chest and abdomen. Over his straining shoulders and down the slopes and planes of his back to his clenched butt.
He trailed kisses down her jaw to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. “Serena.” And then he started to move.
Slowly at first, as if savoring the feeling, he pulled out and then slid back in. With each thrust his pace in creased, his mouth still pressing kisses to her shoulder and lower. He cupped a breast and brought the tip to his mouth.
The myriad of sensations carried her to an inner zone of heightened awareness. Of the friction of his cock moving inside her, of his lips suckling on her nipple. Of his hand caressing her waist, her hip, behind her knee. Yet at the same time, blinding, primal emotions burst to the surface of her consciousness. Her body spasmed, her hips lifted to meet him, or to stop him, she wasn’t sure. She could’ve sworn she saw lights dance in her vision, blurred by tears.
He cried out and pushed hard into her one last time, and then stilled.
Her body had turned so weak she couldn’t even raise an arm to push off his heavy weight. She was breathing hard and her damp skin was cooling in the freezing temperature. He must have noticed her trying to draw a deep breath because he slid off to her side, tucked her against him and pulled their coats and the tarp over them.
Mmm, now she was snuggly warm. Max started snoring lightly behind her, his arm heavy on her waist. After the early morning spy mission, the harrowing plane landing, and the tense emotions she’d experienced all day, she should have sunk into unconsciousness. But her body hummed with energy, and her mind raced with…with what? Excitement? Happiness? She hadn’t felt that way about her job—or her life, for that matter—in years.
But her mind also raced with plans for getting to Barrow tomorrow, somehow. And with following this intriguing man to his hometown and seeing what she could discover about him and his life. She’d charter a plane if she had to.
She shouldn’t feel this way. It made no sense. But she wasn’t done with Max Taggert, the White Wolf. Not nearly.
5
THE SUN WAS STREAMING into the plane when Max awoke snuggled against a warm, soft body. And he was mostly naked.
Aw, hell.
He was stiff, and when he tried to slide his numb arm out from under Serena’s head, she jerked awake and sat up.
“Ooh,” she moaned, and grabbed her head, then cast a horrified stare his way.
The feeling was mutual.
He checked his watch. After eight already.
As he slipped on his jeans and shirt, Ms. Sandstone disappeared under the tarp and pulled her clothes underneath with her.
Grabbing his parka, he took Mickey outside to take care of business. They needed to get going. But could he risk flying to Nome with Serena in his plane? He couldn’t be responsible for one more person’s death.
He could still radio for a rescue plane. But how would he explain that to Serena? She’d suspect something fishy. And if he told her the truth, she’d snicker at his beliefs and tell him there was no such thing as a curse. That his soul had not gone wandering. And that the deaths in his life were just awful coincidences.
Damn Jameson whiskey. Damn her. And damn superstitions.
When he returned to the plane, he radioed his flight plan to Nome and fed Mickey while Serena went outside without a word. Within half an hour they were in the air. The strut held on takeoff, and they made it to Nome safe and sound. In total silence.
Wiping his temple on his sleeve, he released a long breath of relief as he left Serena in the hands of an airport ticket agent. By noon, he’d refueled his Cessna and was headed for Barrow without looking back.
The fact that he had to force himself not to was irrelevant. As was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her as he loaded the cargo into his truck and drove into town.
Good riddance.
Serena Sandstone was someone else’s problem now.
“Max. We were worried.” Arna greeted him from behind the registration desk of the North Slope Inn in Barrow. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”
“Yeah, uh…” Max set the box of Jameson whiskey on the nearest table in the small lobby and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was delayed. Can Chris make me a grilled cheese while I bring in your order?”
“Of course.”
Christopher appeared in the kitchen doorway behind the bar wiping his hands on a towel. “G
lad to see you’re all right, man.” The North Slope Inn was part hotel, part diner and part tavern and a local hangout in Barrow.
Max nodded at him. “And how about an extra one for my grandma while you’re at it?”
Chris gave a lazy salute. “You got it, two GCs to go. And I’ve got a bone I’ve been saving for Mickey.” He headed back into the kitchen.
Max returned to his truck and unloaded the other box of supplies and the two coolers of meat. As he carried each into the hotel, he remembered Serena wiggling her very fine ass as she hauled one of the coolers out of the plane. And how she’d staunchly sat between the two coolers on his plane’s wing all afternoon without complaint.
Dammit, he was thinking about her again.
He deposited the last box of his delivery in the kitchen, grabbed a soft drink from the fridge along with his brown sack of sandwiches and Mickey’s bone and headed out to the lobby.
He froze in his tracks.
“Max.” Serena stood at the registration desk, pen poised over the guest book. She clutched the strap of her humongous purse tighter and hitched it higher on her shoulder.
Aw, dammit. He was cursed.
“You two know each other?” From behind the registration desk, Arna switched her gaze between Serena and him.
“We met in Anchorage.” The bane of Max’s existence smiled at Arna. “In fact, Mr. Taggert is the reason I decided to visit Barrow.” She turned her beautiful smile on him. In the smug curve of her lips was the triumph of a cat licking the last drop of cream. “This trip was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Perhaps you can recommend a clothing store close by?”
“Of course,” Arna answered. “How long are you staying, Ms. Sandstone?”
“Oh, call me Serena. And, I’m not sure. I’m hoping to see the Northern Lights. I’ve been in Anchorage and Nome the past three weeks and still haven’t witnessed the phenomenon.”
Primal Calling Page 5