by Liliana Hart
He grabbed two beers from the fridge and entered the living room. “Alaskan Amber okay?” he asked.
She nodded, said a hurried good-bye, and set down her phone. “Thank you.”
He dropped onto the couch next to her—closer than a new acquaintance but not so close as to crowd her—and clinked his beer bottle against hers. “Welcome to Itqaklut.” One thing he could do was say the name without stumbling over the hard consonants. He grew up worshiping his cousin the half-Itqaklut. As a boy, he’d felt there was nothing interesting about being a fair-skinned, blue-eyed Welsh-American—hell, he didn’t even look Welsh, let alone Indian, like Chuck—until he visited Chuck during winter break when he was thirteen and realized exactly how difficult life was forty miles above the Arctic Circle in winter. No roads led to Itqaklut; the only way to get here during the winter freeze was by plane or sled dog. The nearest similarly sized, similarly isolated town was Kotzebue, thirty miles away.
After that winter visit, he’d still considered his cousin’s life in the far north exotic. But he didn’t want to live that life. No way. Visiting had been enough.
“I’m afraid the house is light on groceries, so it’ll be frozen pizza for dinner.”
She took a long drink of the beer, then smiled. She might be crazy, but he had to admit he liked her smile. “Sounds wonderful. I’d be happy to make it up to you by taking you out to eat tomorrow, before I catch a flight back.”
He shrugged. “If I have time, maybe I’ll take you up on it.”
She bit her bottom lip. “While the pizza bakes, do you mind if I take a shower? I’m afraid I had to get down in the dirt to change the tire, and on top of feeling exhausted, I feel grimy.”
He sprang to his feet. “Certainly.” While she was in the shower, he could get his bag from the car and get settled in. He showed her the bathroom, relieved to see two pristine towels on the rack. No need to search for the linen closet.
Her brow furrowed. “I hate to impose even more, but… my suitcase was lost in Anchorage. Can I borrow something to sleep in?”
His mind flashed on the image of her naked and pulling on one of his shirts, casually flipping her tousled light brown hair from under the collar before buttoning it, starting at the bottom and grinning as her bare breasts remained exposed to his eager gaze. A man’s hand—his hand—cupped her breast, preventing her from closing the shirt. His body flared with heat.
The strangest part was the image felt like a memory. A déjà vu so real he could smell sex—him—on her skin. And in his mind, he heard himself say, Don’t you dare get dressed. I need to fuck you again. Now.
He met her gaze. Her eyes dilated as her chest rose with a sharp gasp. Had she had the same vision? Was he naked and erect in her view?
He took a ragged breath in the here and now and said, “Uh. Sure. I’ll grab something for you.” In Chuck’s bedroom, he searched the drawers for something, anything, to offer her to sleep in. He found a T-shirt and sweatpants, both of which would be big on her, but the pants had a drawstring she could cinch tight. He considered offering her boxers, but they would be too large.
She’d have to go commando.
And like that, he was erect again.
What the hell is wrong with me? He didn’t even know her. She could have something to do with the thefts and Chuck’s poisoning. He counted to ten, willing the erection to go away, then left the bedroom and handed her the clothes. With a mumbled thanks, she disappeared into the bathroom.
Chapter Two
Sienna started with a frigid shower to cool her flushed skin. Holy hell, what had just happened? She was not the type of person to have fantasies of jumping into bed with men she’d just met. She’d actually tried it twice, and the second time had been even less fun than the first.
She’d sworn off quick pickups and one-night stands, which was all this could be. He was equivalent to a Tribal Historic Preservation Officer, for crying out loud. Sure, it was a small tribe, but still, THPOs could wield as much power as their state counterparts, and the last time her sister had a run-in with the Washington SHPO, they’d nearly lost their biggest client.
Not to mention the fact that Sienna had stolen the mask from the museum to return it to the Itqaklut, and she would need Chuck Vaughan to go to bat for her when—there was no if—her client went ballistic. Maybe he’d be willing to back her if they enjoyed a rousing night of no-strings sex, except he’d probably assume she’d initiated sex to secure his cooperation. Plus, if the sex were as miserable as her previous two pickups, he would definitely not back her when the time came.
A wicked part of her brain said the vision was real, and sex with Vaughan hadn’t been a fiasco. In fact, it had been the best damn sex of her life.
Had been?
Shouldn’t it be “would be”?
What was up with her mental verb tenses?
She turned the tap to a warmer temperature and worked shampoo into her hair, telling herself sex with Vaughan was not an option, past, present, or future.
She scrubbed the dirt and oil from her skin and tried not to fantasize about jumping into the sack with the rather hot THPO who’d given her a place to stay. She was here to return the mask. That was all. Oh, and to find out if she’d lost her mind.
Clean, refreshed, even if not quite sane, she pulled on the sweatpants and T-shirt. She had no choice but to go commando and hope Vaughan had a washer and dryer she could use, so tomorrow she’d have clean clothes.
She found a comb in the medicine chest and carefully detangled her hair, then left the bathroom, ready to face the man she’d seen naked in her mind—and who she was certain had shared the arousing vision.
That damn mask was determined to make her life hell until it was home safe and sound.
She looked freaking adorable with her damp, brown hair with reddish highlights combed back behind her ears, wearing Chuck’s oversize T-shirt and sweatpants. Her hazel eyes were brighter, more amber than brown, and those long, dark lashes glistened in the nighttime sun.
Dammit. Now that he was aware of her, he couldn’t look at her without finding features that appealed. Like that crooked eyebrow—natural, not sculpted with tweezers. His last girlfriend had plucked her brows to a thin, unnatural line. Dozens of reasons had led to their breakup, but now, looking at Sienna, he wondered if his ex’s cold, lifeless arches had been on his subconscious list. He certainly wouldn’t find her attractive now, after staring at Sienna’s organic brows.
And what was the deal with that freckle just to the right of center on her bottom lip?
Lipstick would cover it, and he found himself thankful she wasn’t wearing any. He wanted to nibble on the spot—to be certain it was a freckle and not a stray fleck of pepper.
He shook his head. This wasn’t right. Wasn’t healthy. He should be grilling her about her company and that damned two-ton featherweight mask instead of fantasizing about tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her to the master bedroom.
Crap. Now he was hard again.
“I hate to ask for another favor, but do you mind if I wash my clothes so I’ll have something clean for tomorrow?”
“No problem.” He nodded toward the utility room off the kitchen. “Help yourself.” He’d offer to start the laundry for her, but the last thing he needed right now was to know if she had sexy underwear.
She grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the utility room. “Pizza almost ready?” she asked when she returned to the living room a few minutes later.
He nodded, retreating into the safety of silence.
She wandered around the room, studying the photos on the mantel, wall, and side table. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re only in two of these. There are a whole lot of this couple, though.”
“My cousin and his wife.”
She paused before an array of photos of Jana. Then turned to him with that adorable brow raised in question. She must be wondering if he carried an unhealthy fascination for his cousin’s wife.
“She died, six months ago. Snow machine accident. My cousin was—and still is—devastated. He likes seeing pictures of her.”
“You put pictures of her all over your house for your cousin? That’s really sweet. Better than pretending the deceased never existed, which is what so many people do.”
He felt vaguely uncomfortable with her undeserved praise, but even more curious to know whom she’d lost to give her observation that painful edge.
The timer for the pizza beeped, offering retreat, which he gladly took.
They ate dinner in companionable silence, and it was clear she wasn’t faking her exhaustion. “I take it you don’t want to stay up to watch the last sunset for thirty-six days?”
“Stay up until three in the morning to watch the sun set for about fifteen minutes? I think I’ll pass.”
During her shower, he’d found bedding and laid it out on the sofa. “I’m sorry there aren’t room-darkening blinds in the living room. If the light will bother you, you’re welcome to the master bed. I can sleep out here.”
She shook her head. “I’m too tired to care how bright it is outside. Plus there will be that fifteen minutes of almost-darkness. Can’t wait.”
He smiled and fought the urge to kiss her on the forehead, a gentle and entirely inappropriate goodnight. Tomorrow, when they weren’t both dead on their feet, he’d grill her about the artifact and come clean on his identity. But now, he needed sleep.
Sienna watched him leave the room, feeling rather melancholy knowing he was obsessed with his cousin’s dead wife. Not that she doubted his story about his cousin appreciating photos of the vibrant woman, but no man displayed so many pictures of a woman he didn’t have feelings for.
It was just as well, because the Itqaklut cultural resources manager was off-limits, and not just because he was in love with a dead woman. She stretched out on the couch and pulled the blankets around her, silently acknowledging that the bright sunlit night could be a problem. The mask had prevented her from having a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and she’d been on the go for the last twenty or so hours. If there were ever a night in which she should sleep deeply in spite of the light, it was tonight.
She just prayed the damn mask would leave her alone.
She drifted off into floating ether where aches and anxieties disappeared. In a sleepy dream state, she checked in with her sisters, met the sweet woman from the photos on the mantel, visited a long-ago childhood home in Seattle, then argued with her client, the museum curator. Again. The curator was angry, yelling at her. Threatening her. Then his eyes widened with fear as he looked past her into the shadows.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. Her host, the Itqaklut CRM, stood behind her and stared down the curator with a menacing gaze. In a transition that only made sense in dreams, the curator faded and his office morphed into the small house in Itqaklut. The CRM no longer stood behind her, nor was he angry. Now he leaned against the bedroom doorway, staring at her with hot, penetrating eyes.
She stared back, aware her gaze reflected the same raw desire she saw in his.
Was this a dream, fantasy, or real?
In her mind, she tried to make him step forward. If this were fantasy, she could control everything he did.
He shook his head and said, “No, Sienna. This goes both ways.”
Okay, not a fantasy.
He peeled off his T-shirt, revealing thick, muscled shoulders, hard pecs, and six-pack abs. Okay. No tribal cultural resource manager she’d ever met was so ripped, so this couldn’t be real.
It must be a dream.
She sat up on the couch and tested the dream by reaching for the hem of her shirt, but paused, waiting for instructions. He took what appeared to be an uncontrollable step forward, his breathing shallow. “Take it off, Sienna. I want to see you.”
A small taste of reality entered her dream state. “No. You’re in love with your cousin’s wife. I won’t be a stand-in for a dead woman.”
“This isn’t my house. It’s Chuck’s house. I’m his cousin, Assistant US Attorney Rhys Vaughan, Western District of Washington. The photos aren’t mine. They’re Chuck’s.”
She wanted to be outraged that he’d lied to her, that he wasn’t the man he’d just spent hours pretending to be. But she was too hot, too aroused to care. If he wasn’t the Itqaklut CRM, and wasn’t in love with a dead woman, then she could have this dream. Or whatever it was. She could enjoy it without fear. Without guilt.
“Take off your shirt, Sienna.”
She slipped it over her head, but then she covered her bare breasts with her hands.
“No. Drop your hands,” he commanded.
She obeyed.
“Slide your hand into your pants. Touch yourself for me.”
She did. She was slick, hot, and ready, and let out a soft moan as she stroked herself.
It was a dream. The most intense, vivid dream of her life, and because it was only a dream, she could do whatever she wanted, even be submissive, without guilt. Her id could play with Rhys and her ego needn’t worry. She rubbed the slick moisture of her arousal across a nipple. He dropped to his knees before her and licked where she’d touched and groaned as he sucked on the pert tip.
Pleasure shot to her center, and she gripped his thick, light hair. They hadn’t even kissed yet, and she wanted him inside her. She wanted to let go of every inhibition she’d ever had and indulge in a wild, carefree night with this man whose name she’d just learned.
His mouth found hers. He nibbled on her bottom lip, then slid his tongue between her lips in a sweet, hot stroke. She accepted his invasion by sucking on his tongue. Intense heat shot across her nerves. He lifted his head and met her gaze. “I don’t know what this is. All I know is I want you. Now. In the same way I need oxygen.”
“We’re dreaming.” She kissed him, sliding her tongue against his, already imagining the feel of his cock in the same way. She pulled back and caught her breath. “This is a perfect, consequence-free fantasy fuck.” She couldn’t believe she’d used the word fuck like that. The word had always been a secret, even embarrassing, turn-on. One she’d never dared use during foreplay or sex. She’d never been with a man she’d been comfortable showing her raunchy side to. Hell, truth was, she’d never indulged her raunchy side. Not with a partner, anyway.
Rhys grinned and pulled her to her feet as he stood. “Well then, I’m going to fuck you and enjoy every consequence-free inch of your body.” He scooped her into his arms. “But first I’m going to suck on your clit until you come against my tongue.” He carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed, then tugged at the tie on her sweatpants.
She shook her head. “Tell me what you want. Order me to do it.” She flushed, unable to believe she’d asked for that. But it was a dream, and she could lay her deepest fantasies bare. She didn’t want pain or hardcore kink, but she wanted to be pushed to lose the inhibitions that prevented her from giving freely with her body. Those inhibitions had made her two one-night stands disastrous. Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t cut out for sex with strangers. But this wasn’t a cheap pickup. This was her consequence-free fantasy, and she wanted to cut loose and enjoy. Which she could do if he told her what to do. If he commanded her.
He could break through the reserve that held her in check.
She didn’t want Rhys to be a considerate lover. She wanted aggressive. Primal. To be fucked. Thoroughly and completely.
“You want to be submissive?”
She nodded.
“Tied up?”
“Not this…dream. Maybe…later?”
He grinned. “Okay. Take off your pants and spread your legs for me.”
Just the way he said it shot heat through her. She obeyed.
“Bend your knees. Open yourself to me.”
She’d never felt so exposed. And this was only a dream.
“Touch yourself.”
She pressed her fingers into her slick folds. She was swollen, wet, an
d ready. He bent down and licked her, and she bucked with the sharp jolt of pleasure. He grazed his teeth over her clit, and she moaned as he straddled the fine line between pleasure and pain.
“You taste so fucking good,” he said in a husky voice.
Again the word turned her on. His fearlessness in using it made her hot. Eager. Everything about him had her slick, ready, and impatient for his next command.
He scooted off the bed and removed his sweatpants and briefs. She reached for his erection, wanting to slide her hands along the thick length. He stepped back, shaking his head. “Move your head to the edge of the bed so it’s just over the side, and open your mouth.”
Her vagina clenched in anticipation as she complied. Standing beside the mattress, he slid his cock into her mouth, and she purred with pleasure at the feel of him on her tongue. She reached up to wrap her hand around the base of his cock, but he stopped her. “No. I’m going to fuck your mouth. I’m in control.”
He thrust into her, but not so far as to trigger her gag reflex, and when he pulled back, she sucked on the tip. His hand slid down her belly and into her curls, where his fingers caressed her clit, sliding inside her vagina in time with the strokes of his cock in her mouth.
It was the most intense, pleasurable sexual experience of her life, and she hadn’t even orgasmed yet.
His fingers brought her to the edge of climax, and she knew from his panting and the intensity on his face that he rode the same edge. Finally, he pulled out of her mouth. “Move up on the bed. I’m going to fuck you now.”
He settled between her thighs and groaned. “Condom. We don’t have a condom.”
“This is a dream,” she said. “We don’t need one.”
“Right. I keep forgetting. This feels too real. Too perfect.”
“You’re perfect. Exceptional,” she said. “So it must be a dream, because I’m not that lucky.”
“Neither am I, gorgeous. And you’re the one who is exceptional. I’ve never been this turned on. This hard. This desperate to fuck a beautiful woman.” The thick head of his cock pressed against her opening. She shifted and pressed down. He slid inside, filling her as her body rippled with heat and pleasure.