Agitation mixed with anxiety. Christiaan fought the urge to scream.
“The situation, if handled incorrectly, could end badly. If you’ll—”
Oh, yeah. He’d forgot. The seismologist.
“Chuck, I have to go,” Christiaan said into Baz’s phone. “I’ll have Mr. Yager call you to discuss it further.”
“Of… of course. Thank you.” The seismologist hung up, and Christiaan set both phones down on the table.
Lost in a mental fog, he traced a finger over his coffee cup.
Baz slipped into the booth, wet spots on his shirt.
“Sorry I lost it.”
“No problem,” Christiaan offered. “Believe me, I understand your frustration.”
“Yeah.” Baz focused on putting sugar into his coffee. “So, who was that on the phone?”
“Lou. He still doesn’t have a fix on this Vicky Golden.”
“International terrorist? Professional assassin?” Baz laughed. “More like corporate whistle blower or alcoholic looking for a new start.”
“Or eco-terrorist in hiding from sabotaging an oil rig to protect the whales or blowing up a housing project to save the owls.” Christiaan tapped the side of his cup. “Anything like that would explain her keeping such a low profile.”
Baz smiled as the waitress returned with a bottle of ketchup. “Sorry about the mess,” he offered.
“Don’t worry.” She waved a hand. “Accidents happen. Can I get you anything else?”
“The check and your number—” Baz winked. “Phoebe.” She giggled and walked away.
Christiaan let out a slow, impatient breath. False accusations and innuendo were tarnishing his name, damaging his reputation, and insulting his wife’s memory. Yet here he sat, waiting for something, anything concrete enough to fire back with dignity. He felt as effective as a eunuch at an orgy.
“You know what you need?” Baz asked between bites of cheeseburger.
Christiaan raised an eyebrow. “If you say thirty seconds with Phoebe, you’re fired.”
Baz laughed. “No, you need to go for a run.”
Not a bad idea. His knee and his ribs were feeling better. Obviously, nothing significant was going to happen this afternoon. An hour or two of sweat and uninterrupted thought could be just what he needed to clear his mind and focus on the problem.
His problem. And possibly his obsession.
Vicky.
“Sounds good.” Christiaan stood, tossing his napkin on the table. “I could use a break from the phone calls and emails.”
Baz put his hand out. “Then leave your phone with me.”
“Okay.” Christiaan gave him the device. Baz slipped it into his pocket.
“By the way, here’s yours.” Christiaan slid Baz’s phone across the table. “I saved it from the coffee bath.”
“Thanks.”
The waitress walked by with a huge tray of food and dropped off their lunch ticket.
“You’ll get that, won’t you?” asked Christiaan.
“And then some.” Baz grinned and held the check out to show Christiaan the scribbled signature—complete with a heart instead of the “o” in her name. Her phone number and “I get off at 5” were written underneath.
Baz growled a low, sexy sound. “Then I’ll get her off about 5:15, 5:30, 5:45, 6—”
“I get it, I get it.” Christiaan held up a hand. “Have fun. I’ll see you back at the penthouse.”
He headed out the door humming that stupid pop tune and cursing Baz for putting it in his head.
Ten kilometers ago, the last place Christiaan planned on ending up was Mineral Springs. Yet, here he was, running down the rough-hewed access road they’d cut into the property. Maybe while he was here he’d stop by the site office and see if that report the seismologist had mentioned was lying around.
The seismologist! Christiaan had forgotten to tell Baz the guy had called. No problem. He’d call Baz from the trailer. A quick sprint had him there in two minutes.
Problem. The site office was locked. Wow, talk about efficient. Baz must have called everybody as soon as Christiaan had left the diner.
In the stillness, the distinctive sights and sounds of nature echoed around him. Crickets chirping in the tall grass. Cicadas humming from the pines. Deer rustling in the bushes, feasting on honeysuckle blooms. The deep rhythmic tenor of Christiaan’s breathing blended in.
The more time he spent around Mt. Shasta, the more he appreciated Vicky’s passion for it. Development of this property would allow others to appreciate the mountain, too. All it would take was compromise.
Not Vicky’s strong suit.
A piercing scream stole Christiaan’s attention. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk soared. Wings extended, the bird rode the wind, swooping down to within a few feet of him. The creature circled twice then disappeared over the trees.
Christiaan envied the bird. Go where it wanted, when it wanted. A freedom he never enjoyed. Being born into nobility and privilege meant being born into a world of archaic rules of behavior, dynastic family obligations, and scandal-loving media. A world Baz had always yearned to belong to. A world Brianna had trouble fitting into. A world Christiaan could never escape from.
His thoughts jumped to Vicky. A woman who fought passionately for her beliefs. Christiaan laughed. She’d set his world on fire. Evidenced by how she’d lit his kindling last night while they danced.
He’d taken her into his arms, and it felt incredible. Like she belonged there.
He’d instantly hardened. Vicky either didn’t notice, didn’t care, or didn’t mind. No denying that when he’d kissed her, she’d kissed him back with equal ferocity.
The memory aroused him, forcing him to slow his pace. A guy could get injured running in this condition.
Christiaan checked his watch. He’d sweated for close to two hours. Time to head back. He turned around and set out toward the highway.
The hawk he’d seen earlier swooped down, inches from his head. A mother protecting her nest? He ducked and waved the bird off.
It wasn’t fazed. The hawk charged again, squawking loudly. Scenes from Hitchcock’s The Birds flashed through Christiaan’s mind. The hawk swirled around him, making it impossible to leave the property. The nest must be somewhere in that direction. Christiaan headed the opposite way, past the drilling rig, toward the mountain.
The angry momma finally left him alone as he neared the rock face. He sat down on a boulder to noodle a way out of his predicament. Momma Hawk blocked his only known access point. Follow the old railroad bed into town? That would require knowing exactly where the old railroad bed was.
Mental note: Study the property maps a little more closely next time.
Christiaan shivered as his body started to cool down. Great. Getting sick would be par for the course. Cursing, he picked up a small rock and threw it into a near thicket.
“Mamma Mia, here I go again. My my, how can I resist you?” A woman’s voice, singing at the top of her lungs—and dreadfully off key—echoed above him.
Christiaan looked up the rock face but couldn’t see anything.
“Okay, Mr. Bear. I’m gonna just keep singing until you go away. Mamma Mia, does it show again? My, my just how much I’ve missed you.”
Potverdomme! The woman couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it across the street.
“Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted. Blue—”
“Mr. Bear promises to go away if you promise to stop singing.”
“Chr— Christiaan?”
“Vicky?”
A faint groan answered him.
“Vicky! Are you okay?”
Another groan, this one painful.
She’s hurt! Christiaan pawed his way up the stones. He lost his footing several times and banged his knees, but finally managed to reach the ledge where she lay, covered in thick rock dust.
“You okay?” he asked.
Blood dripped from a cut above her eye. Bruised skin peeked out from a tea
r at the shoulder of her shirt. One arm looked scraped up pretty bad, and the other disappeared behind a large boulder.
“Just peachy.”
That particular American quip was unfamiliar. Her tone hinted of irony. Her grimace, ashen cheeks, and quivering confirmed pain.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“Nothing serious...” Vicky shrugged her shoulders. “Except that this damn rock is squeezing the life from my hand!”
Christiaan squatted to get a better look. Her wrist was compressed to about half its normal thickness. Judging from the pale grayness of her hand, circulation had ceased. She was right. The rock was squeezing the life from her hand.
“Can you feel anything?” he asked.
Vicky took a deep breath, like she was gathering any remaining energy to answer. “Not now. It hurt like hell a couple hours ago. Now, nothing.”
Christiaan slipped his hands under the boulder and tried lifting it. It didn’t move. He repositioned himself and tried pushing the rock. It didn’t even budge. The boulder was wedged under a five-inch shelf of granite right above Vicky’s head.
Refusing to move.
Christiaan ground his teeth in frustration. Of all the times not have his phone to call for help.
“It’s no use.” Vicky tilted her head back against the rock face. “Unless you’re carrying something in your running shorts that’s long, hard, and strong enough to lift a rock, I’m screwed.”
Christiaan arched an eyebrow. He hid something long and hard, but nothing strong enough for this particular situation.
“That’s not what I meant.” She tried to laugh, but managed only a weak smile.
Christiaan studied her. A single tear slipped down a beautiful cheek. He knew what had her worried. If circulation wasn’t restored soon, she’d lose the hand.
He squatted down to cup her chin and brush away the tear with his thumb. A knot rose in his throat. He decided to do whatever possible to ensure not another one fell from those perfect platinum eyes.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. She didn’t believe him.
“What are you doing here?” Her brows rose skeptically.
“Planning my assault on the environmental degradation of the sacred, natural world, the destruction of wildlife habitats, and the despoliation of wild places. If I can somehow accelerate global warming, kudos to me.” Christiaan grinned. “Actually, I was trying to work out my stress with a long run. Now I’m saving you. Something I seem to be doing a lot of lately.”
“It’s only fair...” Vicky eyes glazed over. “I saved you first.” She began shivering.
Shock? He needed to free her... now.
“Hold on, Vicky. Hold on.”
None of the branches or logs lying around would be strong enough to lift the rock. He eyed the axe in her free hand. Not long enough for leverage. Where, in the middle of these woods, would he find something strong enough to lift Vicky’s jailer?
The drilling rig. Christiaan scrambled down the rocks and hit the ground running. He sprinted to the machinery. Come on, come on. There’s got to be something laying around here that would work.
Yes! Propped against the rig was a long steel shaft. What it was used for, he had no idea. But, for now, it was a magic wand.
He grabbed the pole, raced back to the rock formation, and clambered up to Vicky.
Her face was as white as the clouds above, obviously on the verge of passing out. He needed to keep her awake and talking.
“Hey, you’re still here,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Like I’m going anywhere.”
Good sign. Sense of humor intact.
Christiaan thrust one end of the metal pole between the boulder and rock face and pushed on the other end with all his weight. The rock inched forward. Vicky’s arm dropped free. He released the makeshift lever, and the boulder rolled back to its original spot.
The arm hung limply by her side. She hadn’t even noticed it was free.
He kneeled down. Vicky seemed to be sleeping. He touched her face. The skin was cold and clammy.
“Vicky, you with me?” he asked.
“Always, Christiaan.” Her eyes fluttered briefly. “Always.”
He inspected the limb. No broken bones. No broken skin. Only two deep compression marks showing where she’d been pinned.
“Can you move the fingers?”
The hand remained motionless.
“N... n... no.”
Hopefully, there was no permanent damage.
First obstacle overcome. Now, to get out of here.
“Is your truck nearby?” Christiaan asked.
“No... hiked... in.”
Of course. Fate wouldn’t want to make this any easier.
“I could run back into town, but I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Radio,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Radio... backpack... fell… somewhere.” Vicky bobbed her head back and forth.
Christiaan looked around. A red backpack lay behind a bush below them. He retrieved the bag, found the radio, reported their location then scrambled back up to Vicky, now shivering.
He covered her with an emergency blanket from the backpack, sat down, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Hang in there. Help is on its way.”
“I’m... sorry...” Vicky laid her head on his shoulder. The contact sent shivers up and down his body. “So... sorr... ry.” Her voice trailed off.
“Stay with me, mijn liefste.” The Dutch words for “my love” flowed off his tongue before he could stop them.
“Hmm...”
“Hey, let’s sing your bear song until help arrives,” Christiaan said. “How’s it go?”
“What...?”
“Mamma Mia,” he began singing. “Come on, I don’t know the rest of the words.”
“Here I... go... again. My, my...”
Christiaan hummed along.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vicky stood underneath the hot shower in her lodge, the pulsating spray kneading her sore muscles like the practiced hands of a masseuse.
If only the water could reach inside to soothe her troubled, confused heart.
Physically, she was fine. The ER doc had declared her lucky. No broken bones. No muscle or tissue damage. No lasting effects from shock. Just minor cuts and bad bruising. He’d sent her home with a shot of Demerol, a bottle of Vicodin, and a word of caution to take it easy for the next several days.
Mentally, she swam through a haze of feelings and desires that no amount of painkiller could clear. Annoyed Christiaan caught her trespassing. Grateful he’d found her. Furious he’d seen her so vulnerable.
Touched he’d stayed with her.
The problem was she didn’t want to feel annoyed at him. Or grateful. Or furious. Or touched. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.
Christiaan’s concern for her safety had melted her defenses. He may see her as a stranger, but she saw him as the loving, gentle man she’d married fifteen years ago.
Vicky caressed her belly.
And conceived a son with.
She closed her eyes and let the water slip down her mature, lithe body. Hands slid across silken skin, and she shuddered in surprise. The touch was light and teasing. Heat rippled under her skin as she recognized the flush of desire she hadn’t known in years.
Warm water flowed over her breasts, and Vicky leaned her body back until the spray hit her nipples. The stinging intensity made them harden.
Christiaan.
She leaned further against the cold tile and gave herself up to the moment. A small growl filled the small space.
Oh how I’ve missed you.
Her breath quickened as a finger traced the outline of her lower lips then found a home between them. The slow, gentle stroking sent intense sensations through her body.
Vicky’s legs grew weak as the fingers thrust fast and deep. Waves of euphor
ia began to throb through her. Her hips bucked to meet the fingers, stroke for stroke.
Almost at once, moans of ecstasy escaped her throat as a burst of sensations filled her. The release was tormenting, yet pleasurable. Exhausting, yet invigorating. Everything she remembered.
Gradually, she regained her composure. Vicky turned off the shower and pushed open the glass door, shuddering as the cold air hit her warm skin.
A shadow darkened the bathroom. Christiaan stood there, holding a towel, and staring. A series of emotions played across his face. Shock. Curiosity. Lust.
He’d watched her! He’d seen everything! Her chest tightened, and a unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks.
Vicky tore the towel from his hand and wrapped it around her body. Embarrassment flashed to anger. “What are you doing here!”
His lips moved, but not a sound emerged. Total discomfort now covered his face.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“I— I was worried. You were taking too… um… too long. I thought maybe something had happened.”
“I’m fine.” Vicky stepped out of the stall.
“I promised the emergency room doctor that I’d keep an eye on you for several hours. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
“Am I speaking English?” She took a step forward. “I’m fine!”
He retreated. “I’m only here because I wanted to see you’re okay.”
Vicky continued her advance and rant. “You’ve seen enough—way more than enough—to see that I’m okay. So instead of prancing around like you own the place, why don’t you just go home?”
“I’m sorry but—”
“You will be if you don’t get out of here.” With a hard shove driving him backward then a slammed door, she ended the conversation.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he said. “But before I leave, let’s make one thing very clear.”
“What!”
“I’ve never pranced in my life.”
Vicky couldn’t help but laugh. Christiaan was certainly not a man who pranced. He might mosey. Maybe amble. But never prance.
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the door. How much more could she take before her mind snapped like a taut rubber band?
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