Vicky dropped her head so he couldn’t see her smile. Actually, the folklore said that a couple that made love under the drawings was guaranteed good luck. She and Christiaan had done it twice, but the double insurance hadn’t translated into extra good luck.
And whose fault was that? Mine. All mine.
Christiaan walked over to the opposite wall. “Hmm… look at this one.”
She followed him to a much larger petroglyph. This one illustrated the mountain with wavy lines around it and many figures lying down.
“This one must be about the great earthquake in the late 18th century that killed thousands of Shasta Indians. Until then, they’d lived in these caves. But after that, they never did again.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a once-in-lifetime kind of thing, right?”
“Are you kidding me?” Vicky gave him an incredulous glare, the fire to protect her mountain flared. “This entire area sits on a plethora of mapped and unmapped fault lines that string out throughout the western part of North America. Why do you think environmentalists were able to hold back the government and people like you for so long?”
Christiaan simply stared at her.
She continued. “Mapped faults that intersect with the Pacific, Juan de Fuca, and North American plates cause minor ground fluctuations all the time and, occasionally, a big one. But it’s the hundreds of minor, unmapped faults that could cause the really big one everyone has been predicting.”
“Yeah…” Christiaan’s eyebrows furrowed. “I think someone told me something about that once. But it’s not a problem because we’re using vibration trucks to test potential drilling sites.”
She crossed her arms. “Vibration trucks don’t use blasting caps.”
“No, no they don’t. But if we don’t get any decent readings, we may need to do some old-fashioned blast testing. Baz assures me the risk will be minimal.”
“Yeah, well, he assured Rainbow that you guys hadn’t started drilling,” Vicky snapped. “Yet the maps in your office said otherwise.”
“Again with the maps.” He shook his head.
“They were there! I saw them! Undeniable proof that you’re forging ahead with this project, environmentalists be damned! Why here? Why this project? What’s your damn hurry?”
“Vicky, let’s not do this again.” His voice was low, but full of intensity. Despite herself, she found the inflection arousing. She tried to shake the feeling off.
“Why not? We’re not going anywhere any time soon.”
“And neither is the project. I already told you, it’s on hold.”
“On hold, but not abandoned, right?”
He let out a long sigh and merely stared at her. Again, the long-silence tactic.
She forged ahead, unfazed. “But not abandoned, right?”
Again, that infuriating-yet-seductive silence.
“How long, Christiaan? How long until you decide that there’s more to life than business? That money isn’t everything—”
“Potverdomme!” His face twisted as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
“Time?” Vicky leaned in, literally and fugitively. “You don’t have time to do everything within your power to ensure that a landscape and a people that have been here for eons remain safe?”
“No, I don’t!” He shoved his face to within an inch of hers. “I’m broke!”
She blinked, stunned as the reality of his words soaked in. A van Laere? Broke? How could that be? They had more money than God.
Christiaan stepped back, took a long breath, and slumped down onto the closest boulder. “If I don’t get this project moving within a year, I can kiss millions of government incentive money goodbye. I need that money to shore up my company and, in turn, my family.”
“Oh, my God. What happened?”
“I really don’t feel like going into all the details,” he answered with staid calmness. “Let’s just say my golden business touch never fully recovered after Bri’s death.”
Her chest tightened as the array of emotions she’d sifted through in the last twelve hours all hit her like the rocks that had fallen in the cave earlier. He’d suffered, too. In the last eight years, he’d suffered.
They’d both suffered. Because of me.
“Shortly after Bri died, I lost some business over the whole ‘he’s a murderer’ thing. But that was peanuts compared to the millions I lost in the ethanol futures market. Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve lost money on speculation before. But then shortly after getting the Mineral Springs project moving, it started bleeding money like crazy. Add to that my father’s and stepmother’s usual crazy spending, and before I knew it…” He steepled his fingers under his chin. His face bleak with despair. “My family… my employees… my company depends on me. And I’ve failed them.” He took a deep, pained breath. “Just like I failed Bri.”
Her eyes blurred with tears. No wonder he was balls to the wall to get the project moving. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Everything he’d ever cared about was falling apart.
Thanks to me.
The full impact of her mistake hit Vicky like an avalanche. Because she hadn’t trusted him or their love, she’d… he’d… they’d lost everything. Her shortsightedness had created a miserable situation for the man she vowed to love “‘til death us do part”.
Worse yet, somehow he blamed himself for her death.
“I’m so sorry, Christiaan.” She moved next to him, and he dipped his head forward to rest it on her belly. “So very… very… sorry.”
She brushed her fingers through his hair in a clumsy effort to comfort him. He responded by wrapping an arm around her legs and nuzzling deeper. The spot below her belly clenched, and her breath become short and sharp. A savage moan escaped her throat before she could stop it.
Christiaan stood to his full height and gazed down into her eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Vicky smiled, remembering the first time she’d seen that involuntary sexual tell. Six hours after meeting for the first time.
He’d talked her into joining him for dinner in Paris while they were still sixteen-hundred miles away in Stockholm. On his private jet, she’d spied that tick after they’d had several glasses of champagne and before he’d kissed her then initiated them both into the mile-high club.
She swallowed hard, remembering that first time.
In the cave, Christiaan dropped his head to nuzzle at her neck. Another moan—this one bordering pornographic—erupted from her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her even wetter. “So beautiful.”
Vicky arched against him, yearning to get as close as two people can. She was back on that plane to Paris. She was back in her husband’s arms. She was back—
He stopped, and she gasped. Before she could beg him to continue, he slid a hand to each side of her face and forced her to look deep into his eyes.
“Do you want this?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she breathed in deep his familiar scent. Yes!
“Mijn minnares,” he purred then softly kissed her lips before repeating the question. “Do you want this?”
Breathless, all she could manage was to nod yes.
Christiaan kissed her deeply, as if he wanted them to share the same breath. His tongue pushed through her lips to dance an exotic ballet with hers. Desire stronger than anything she’d ever felt before flared from a place she didn’t even know existed. Catching his bottom lip between her teeth, she tugged gently. The bulge in his pants jumped a bit, and he began to grind his hips against hers.
Her breasts tingled against his chest, the nipples hardening and screaming for escape from their confinement. Like a child at Christmas, Vicky tore off her pullover and sweatshirt. Christiaan slipped a hand behind her back and unhooked her bra. The garment fell to the ground, and he took a step back.
“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
She reached fo
r him and jerked his shirt up. Spreading her hands across his naked chest, she savored the texture of hard muscles and hot flesh. When her fingers brushed the wedding band hanging from his neck, Christiaan moved to remove the chain, but she shook her head no. For this brief interlude, let the symbol of their love remain between them.
Teasing his nipples first with her hands, then her tongue, Vicky then slowly followed the soft patch of hair leading down to his manhood. A primal sound escaped Christiaan’s lips. Kicking away some rocks, he retrieved the abandoned clothes and carefully placed them on the cave floor. He then stretched out and reached for her, pulling Vicky down next to him on the makeshift bed.
Lying on her back, she watched his face while he rolled over and savored her nude breasts with his teeth. His eyes never left hers, and the power she felt knowing that the raw passion she saw in those blue pools because of her was intoxicating… shameless…. empowering.
Vicky ran a hand along his bare arm, tracing the peaks and valleys of his muscles, remembering how it felt once to have them wrapped around her nakedness. Her body leapt at the memory. He must have sensed her growing hunger and placed his hand between her legs. She drowned in the sensation, moving so her body bucked against his palm, the seam of her jeans rubbing perfectly against her clitoris. Damn these jeans!
“Move your hand,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“Not yet, mijn minnares.” Christiaan nipped at a painfully hard nipple. “Not yet.”
“Yes! Now!”
“Not. Yet.” He removed his hand, and Vicky gasped for air. No! Before she could breathe out another protest, he’d tore off her jeans and panties and plunged a finger deep into her. She clenched around it and cried out.
“Already so wet. For me,” he whispered before dropping his head to her crotch.
Oh. My. God! She sucked in a breath then shifted her hips to press hard against him. His tongue drove deep inside while his lips sucked on her clit. Over and over, she bucked against the erotic onslaught. Just as she was about to go over the tantalizing edge, Christiaan stopped and peered up.
No… No!
“Not. Yet.” He grinned and slowly licked his glistening lips.
Vicky stared, wordlessly. Sex had never been like this between them. The Christiaan she’d married enjoyed lovemaking, but bed play had always been relaxed… traditional… basic. No talking. No teasing. Just two people simply sharing a bond and enjoying one another.
This Christiaan was like a man possessed, eager to have her, willing to tell her, and determined to make her his own.
Eagerness seized her body, and in one swift movement, she sat up and rolled Christiaan onto his back. An expression somewhere between surprise and desire crossed his face. He reached for her breasts, and she pushed his hands away.
“Not. Yet.” She teased then palmed his crotch. Two can play this game.
The muscles in his belly drew up, and sweat dotted his forehead. Vicky rubbed until a pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Pulling him free from the bindings of his jeans, his moan mirrored hers as she took him into her mouth. He tasted of salt, musk, and man.
Just like she remembered. Like licking a melting ice cream cone, she worked her tongue around his shaft. The quick intake of breath told her he enjoyed being her special treat.
But he wasn’t going to have all the fun. She straddled his leg and rubbed herself against his thigh, letting her body move in unison with the movement of her mouth. Then she shifted her weight enough to make direct contact with his knee.
Yeah, that’s it.
Eight years without sex had turned her into a brazen hussy. Each moan, each cascade of pleasure pushed her past previous barriers of acceptable behavior.
Damn! It felt good to let go.
Christiaan whimpered like a lost boy when she stopped stroking him to remove his pants. He tried to pull her forward, on top of him, but she shook her head, mouthed no, and returned to driving him—and herself—crazy.
Her power was intoxicating. His powerlessness, an aphrodisiac.
Her lips slipped up and down. Repeatedly she welcomed him to feel the back of her throat, slowly increasing the pressure and rhythm of her lips on his shaft. Christiaan lifted his hips to meet her. His panting told her he was near. But as much as she wanted that, she wanted more to hear him beg. She stopped everything.
“Potverdomme! You’re killing me!”
She grinned. He was hers… once again.
With a primal howl, he hauled her on top of him and sank into her. She tried riding him, but he held her hips fast. A whimper escaped her lips.
He grinned. “My turn, again.”
Vicky shrieked with pleasure as Christiaan rubbed her swollen clit with his thumb, drawing tight, hard circles around it. She arched her back and pressed against his fingers. Did he really expect her to remain still with him already deep inside of her?
Sweat beaded between her breasts as she struggled to maintain her sanity.
“Dammit, Christiaan! You’re killing me!”
He shook his head, mouthed no, and returned to driving her crazy with each penetrating thrust.
She gritted her teeth, unable to take any more of this sweet, maddening torture. Vicky bucked against her husband, her body begging for release. Christiaan matched her pace with his own, and together they found their familiar rhythm. Separation hadn’t doused their bond.
Both cried out as simultaneous orgasms rocked their bodies and souls to the core. They clung to each other for what seemed like eternity until their breathing returned to normal.
Then they did it again. And again.
Christiaan didn’t know it, but they had years to make up for, and Vicky refused to waste another second. For hours, they made love, stopping only long enough to gather strength for another round.
Eventually, both exhausted, they began to doze off. Lying warm and satiated in her husband’s arms, Vicky’s thoughts on the consequences of what had just happened barely registered.
Tomorrow. She yawned. I’ll worry… about… that… to…mor…row…
“Je hoort bij mij en mij alleen, mijn minnares,” Christiaan mumbled as he nuzzled her ear.
Hmmm… Vicky entwined her leg with his and settled into his shoulder. “Welterusten, mijn liefste. Spreek je morgen.”
Christiaan’s body seizing like he’d been electrocuted jerked her awake. “Potverdomme!” He pushed her away, pain and recognition etched sharply in his face. “Potverdomme!”
Damn.
“You’re alive!”
Christiaan couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.
His precious Bri was alive?
The first thing he thought of every morning and the last thing he hoped for every night.
She was alive?
The reason he’d punished himself for eight years with long hours, long runs, and celibacy.
She was alive?
He’d lost her. He’d buried her. He’d mourned her.
She was alive?
Welterusten, mijn liefste. Spreek je morgen. One of the first Dutch phrasings he’d taught her. She’d gotten into the habit of telling him that every night right before they fell asleep. Even when he traveled, Bri would leave him a voice message in Dutch saying, “Good night, my love. Talk to you tomorrow.”
When she was still alive.
Is she?
Hands shaking, Christiaan gently reached for her head. At a young age, Bri had had her protruding ears pinned back. She’d been worried their child would inherit the same trait and that his father and stepmother would insist on the same painful surgery. Tenderly, he folded one of Vicky’s ears forward to reveal a thin white scar. Just like his precious Bri.
Potverdomme!
Bits and pieces of the last several days washed over him like a tsunami. Her reluctant confession to being a recovering alcoholic… Dean’s slip of the tongue regarding her former fear of heights… The undeniable and inexplicable connection Christiaan had felt from the moment they met.
Bri wa
s alive!
How could he have not known? Cupping her chin with his hand, he stared at her. How could he have not seen it?
Because she looked different.
She sounded different.
And she was supposed to be dead.
Tears welling in his eyes, Christiaan enveloped her into his arms. His precious Bri was alive. Alive and in his arms.
“Bri… where have you been? Why didn’t you contact me? What happened to you?” The questions came so fast he could barely breathe.
“I… I…”
“Oh my God, you don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed you’d turn up alive.” He hugged her tighter, if that was even possible. “That somehow, some way you had escaped the explosion and were back safe in my arms.” This… Christiaan glanced around the cave and laughed. This had never entered his mind.
“I mfmfmfmf brmfmf.”
Her warm breath on his chest caressed him like a lover. His lover. Mijn minnares. “What, my love?”
“I mfmfmfmf brmfmf.”
“What?” He carefully laid her back onto the pallet of pullovers.
“I can’t breathe.”
Christiaan chuckled. Oh, the irony. Discover your wife alive after eight years only to smother her to death with pure joy.
“I’m sorry, Bri, but I’m just so… so…” He struggled to find the right word to describe his emotions. Nothing in English or Dutch suited. “I don’t know what to say! Tell me everything! I want to know everything! Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
She wiped a hand through her hair and bit her bottom lip.
“The hair thing! How did I not see that before?” You did see it. You just didn’t make the connection. She was dead, remember? “Don’t cry, mijn minnares.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek to catch the moisture. “Alles zal goed komen. Everything will be all right. You’re alive, and we’re together again.”
“It’s not what you think.” She shook her head sharply. “I’m not… I’m not…”
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