Trail of Desire [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 2]

by Felicia Forella

  Once she'd finished her stew, she gathered up the dishes. “I'm going to head down to the creek and clean these out and rinse some of the dust off of me, too. I don't want to stink you out tonight."

  As if on cue, the wind whipped around her, carrying her scent in his direction. She needn't worry about turning him off. The exact opposite was more likely. Where'd those damn diversions go?

  "I'll get everything tucked away in the bear bag so I'll be ready to head down when you get back."

  "I won't be long. I imagine the water is pretty cold."

  Do not think about cold hard nipples.

  Too late.

  His hands tingled as she pushed to her feet and dusted off her toned ass. Watching the sway in her step as she avoided obstacles was an effort in pure masochistic pleasure. He forced himself to gather up any foodstuffs likely to attract bears, bundled them up, and secured them high in a tree. In order to keep his mind from straying after Katrina, he made one last check of the defenses he'd set up around the perimeter of the site. They had to be safe in their sleep—they couldn't hike all day and stay up all night on patrol for danger.

  He'd just checked the connection between the wire and the box when he heard it. Not sure what it was, he backed out of the tent and listened. There it was again, coming from the direction of the water. Using the stealth he'd learned from years of special ops, he crossed the short distance to the creek.

  And stopped dead in his tracks.

  Katrina had taken advantage of the relative privacy to strip down to her practical sports bra and skimpy bikini panties. Wet white cotton sports bra and wet pale blue panties. Wet with gloriously cold water.

  Her nipples stained against the fabric, magnificently erect and very visible. He wished it wasn't so dark, making it difficult to see her areoles. He didn't have any problems making out the dark bush between her legs or the mouthwatering peek of her curves.

  Brain damage loomed in his future. No man could keep losing blood in a flooding rush to his groin without suffering some sort of brain drain. He hadn't been around her for a full twenty-four hours and he'd already lost count of the number of erections.

  She dipped her body in the water and made that sound again, the one that lured him to the brink of his own personal hell. She must not have realized how loud she was or how far sound traveled in the quiet dusk. Not being the siren/femme fatale type, he doubted she'd coaxed him down here on purpose. While she may not be every man's fantasy, she'd quickly become his own personal Delilah.

  If he wasn't careful, he was going down.

  In more ways than one.

  Chapter 4

  Katrina stretched inside her sleeping bag, her muscles protesting being cooped up inside the confined space and not being able to spread out. For two nights now, two long nights, she'd been stuffed inside a nylon and mesh prison with the sexiest man she'd ever been unlucky enough to be stuck with. She'd thought it would get easier after that first torturous night.

  Wrong.

  Her awareness of Braedon Powell multiplied until last night had been nothing short of hell. The slow deep cadence of his breathing as he slept calmed her even as it aroused her. She was wet and achy, primed and ready. His bangs teased the top of his high forehead, parting in the middle with haphazard grace, making her want to finger comb it back in place. Bushy eyebrows took on prominence without his commanding eyes to draw away the attention. The sweep of his long lashes brushed the soft skin below his eyes. Peaceful sleep wiped smooth the deep furrows that lined his forehead and mouth during waking hours. A thick sampling of beard hairs coated his cheeks and framed slightly parted lips just begging to be kissed.

  The musky scent of him permeated the thick air inside the tent, tempting her. Her gaze drifted down the length of his long body and back up again, pausing in the general vicinity of his groin. Did he hide an erection under the layers of his sleeping bag? Her limited experience told her “yes.” Her clinical knowledge of men confirmed that. Beneath the security of her covers, her fingers itched and flexed, longing to coax that hardness to its full potential and—

  Stop that.

  The command rang out loud and strong in her mind, a glancing shot off her wilder side. Too bad she hadn't managed to mortally wound the tormenting urges.

  Taking advantage of the solitude, Katrina gathered up her clothes along with her toiletries and slipped out of the tent. Now was the perfect time to freshen up in the small stream without fear of being spied upon by passing strangers, or worse, by Powell.

  Would it be so bad to have Braedon find us half-naked and wet?

  Darn, she should have known that a harshly issued demand wouldn't make her hoochie-mamma self slink back to her hiding place once the door had been cracked open.

  Yes, it would. Bad—no horrible—things happen when you're around.

  Darlin', that wasn't our fault.

  I'm not having this discussion again. Besides, he's a colleague. The Bureau frowns on relationships between Special Agents.

  Fine, pretend to be a prude, but I know better. And who'd find out about a little romp out here in the woods? After all, what happens in Vegas...

  We're not in Vegas, we're on the Appalachian Trail, in case you hadn't noticed.

  What I've noticed is the totally hot man sleeping beside us. Do you have any idea how easy it would be to zip those sleeping bags together and cuddle up next to that fine, fine body of his?

  She was only too aware, that was the problem.

  The man's a player.

  I'm not looking for marriage. I'm after some hot and heavy sex. I'm sick of vibrators. I'd be willing to bet my left tit that he delivers and then some.

  Maybe I'd like to get married some day.

  Darlin', neither of us is going to get what we want if you don't loosen up sometime soon. In case you've forgotten, the big four-oh is looming awfully close on the horizon.

  Nope, she hadn't forgotten, not for a second. That didn't mean, however, that she planned to allow either the ominous milestone or the wild side of her to dictate her actions.

  Scoping out her surroundings, she stripped down to bare skin and hopped in the cool water for the fastest bath in her history. Feeling much more in control, not to mention cleaner, she stepped into fresh clothes and headed back to camp.

  The smell of strong coffee lured her the final few steps. Powell had stirred up the fire and had a small pot perched over the low flames. Leaning over the pit, the nylon jogging shorts he slept in hid none of his ass-ets. Her mouth watered; her body suddenly in need of caffeine and a long, hard penis.

  So much for the cool water having any lasting impact on her raging hormones.

  Looking back over his shoulder, Powell smiled as she approached. “When I woke up to an empty tent, I hoped my snoring hadn't driven you off."

  "Didn't bother me any, but I think it may have kept the bears away."

  He threw back his head and laughed, a rich masculine sound that raced along her nerve endings and landed in her clit.

  Oh, yeah, he'd deliver.

  Handing her a mug of steaming coffee, his fingers brushed along hers. Time slowed, causing her already sensitized body to all but explode. Years of working with psychopaths had schooled her in not reacting. Thank goodness for small favors. She had no intention of allowing this man so much as a glimpse of how utterly he affected her.

  "Thank you.” She tipped the tin mug to her nose, the steam filling her senses with the rich aroma. “That smells heavenly."

  "I figured since you threw dinner together two nights in a row, the least I could do was rustle up breakfast."

  It was her turn to laugh when he tossed her a couple of granola bars as he sprawled on a log. “You outdid yourself."

  "Cooking is just one of my many skills.” His gaze traveled up and down her body, never lingering long enough to be classified as assessing or harassment or an invitation.

  Try telling that to her traitorous body, however.

  "I've heard stories about t
he things they teach you special ops types."

  "Didn't we already have this discussion about not believing everything you've heard?” His lips quirked up in a sensuous smile.

  He isn't flirting with me, is he?

  "So you're saying you haven't received the best military training available?"

  "That I have had. Nobody is better trained than Air Force special ops.” As she watched, his eyes shuttered and his face became unreadable. Much like hers, she imagined, when interrogating a criminal. “Okay, time for you to learn how to take our home away from home apart.” For a man his size, he pushed to his feet with graceful ease, making her wonder how he'd move over top of her.

  Fifteen minutes later, she'd tromped on unwelcome thoughts, they'd packed up all their gear and were ready to hit the trail. Powell claimed a few minutes to himself to take care of his needs, leaving Katrina to ensure they'd left their camping area in a better state then they'd found it the night before, trying to adhere to the principles of “leave no trace.” It also left her way too much time to think about what he was doing and how he looked in his underwear. And out of it.

  Braedon wished he had time to take a full body dunk in the cool water. Or at least up to his waist. Maybe then he'd turn his cock into an icicle incapable of functioning.

  Picturing Katrina wrapping those plump pink lips of hers around it, her nose buried in his pubic hair, absolutely, positively did not help the situation.

  Stomping his way back, he found her ready to start hiking, backpack in place, game face on. He retrieved his GPS device before donning his own monstrosity. Tilting backward, he shrugged the straps of his backpack over his shoulders and settled it in a comfortable position. “The third murders occurred just north of the Eckville shelter, reachable today even if we hike at a comfortable pace.” He checked his data. “If you'd like, we can backtrack a little and camp near there this evening. If I remember correctly from my research, the shelter there has showers and everything. Even though we can't risk staying in any of the shelters, we can certainly avail ourselves of the amenities. And hopefully find some hikers to question."

  As he watched, her eyes sparkled at the mention of the modern convenience. “Aren't you just a font of knowledge?"

  "That was another one of my responsibilities when Jack assigned me to the case."

  "Thank you, for being so thorough with your job. I appreciate it.” Sincerity shone in her eyes. That was even better than her saying she was sorry for trying to dump him. Well, almost better.

  "You're very welcome.” Her simple thanks made him want to beat on his chest and yodel like Tarzan.

  After a couple of hours of steady hiking, Braedon paused at a rock outcropping. His body didn't need the break, but he was still leery of pushing Katrina too hard. While she may be a skilled outdoorswoman, he doubted she had half his experience. Shit, he'd been halfway to hell and back a couple of times when he'd been on active duty. Not that she complained about the distance or the speed at which they'd moved. She kept up a silent pace at his side. In fact, he'd enjoyed the comfortable silence, soaking in the sounds of the summer woodlands. The only time they'd spoken had been to draw the other's attention to some piece of the local flora and fauna. At least she'd stopped grilling him about his history. Unfortunately, that left him unable to dig around in her past.

  With a roll of his shoulders, his backpack slipped to the ground. He dug around in a side pouch for a couple of energy bars and small bottles of water, handing her a snack. “I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a break."

  She eyed him with a healthy dose of suspicion. “You need one, or you think I do?"

  He chuckled, not sure why her astute conclusion astounded him. “Maybe I need one.” He cocked up an eyebrow, daring her to challenge him.

  Lifting her water bottle to him in silent tribute, she smiled at him and leaned back against a rock. “So, how much further do we have to go?"

  "I'm guessing at least a couple of hours. I'll check out my GPS system again before we get going.” Yeah, he was a bit of a technology geek, but those little bits of techno-geekdom had pulled his butt out of the fire enough times for him to trust them. If it was good enough for Uncle Sam, it was damn sure good enough for him. “I put in the coordinates for the crime scenes, the shelters, and our meeting points."

  "It seems I owe you another bit of thanks.” She tipped back her head and drained the last of her water. The sexy line of her throat called to him, begged him to run his lips up and down, pausing only long enough to leave his mark on the smooth flesh.

  Nonono.

  "I also owe you an apology."

  Now she had him confused. He hadn't expected an apology.

  "I was wrong to think you'd be of no use to me whatsoever out here. I was even more wrong to voice my objections. I should have trusted Griffin's judgment instead of assuming that the FNG didn't know a thing."

  "No apology necessary.” He could do magnanimous. “As far as you knew, I was some ‘Maverick’ wannabe. And all he managed to do in that movie was get his wingman killed because he was trying to be a hot shot.” The reference to Top Gun drew a laugh from her lickable lips that shot a bolt of heat through his veins. “If you need to apologize for anything, it should be for thinking I was anything like Tom Selleck."

  "Cruise.” She struggled to talk around her giggle.

  "Huh?"

  "Cruise. The actor in that movie was Tom Cruise. Tom Selleck was in Magnum PI."

  Hell, he knew that, he just wanted to hear her laugh again.

  Dammit, he had to remember to use his intellect and instincts around this woman. Not only did he have to help her stop a serial killer, he had to determine if she abused her responsibilities. Most of the bones in his body, especially the one dangling between his legs, refused to believe that she'd do such a thing. He'd been tasked to determine that she didn't do anything wrong, that she clung to the Bureau's code of ethics with as much ferocity as he himself did.

  Katrina bent her leg at the knee and pressed her foot to the rock behind her. “Dang it, Powell, I want to get a read on this guy. Why is he killing innocent couples in their sleep?"

  "Not all of them have been asleep, remember? Two of them suffered the worst possible case of coitus interruptus."

  "That still leaves two who were sleeping."

  "Maybe, maybe not. There might have been some serious foreplay going on. This creep might have some psycho-sexual bullshit going on. Emphasis on the psycho."

  "It's a definite possibility. All of the tents have been small, cozy. Neither party would have to go far to snuggle up."

  "Maybe the other couples hadn't gotten far enough into the nookie process to strip out of their clothes. Maybe the bastard watched until he finished jerking off then went in for the slice and dice."

  Shit, if he pushed the line with her...

  Her eyes flashed with something unreadable even as he hoped and prayed she wouldn't be able to read his expression. Their tent wasn't much bigger than the others. He knew only too well how easy it would have been to roll over and kiss Katrina senseless. Thank God she'd been gone when he woke up this morning or he'd have been hard—and hard pressed—to avoid a lip lock.

  "Maybe we need to review the photos with that scenario in mind."

  "I'm game if you don't mind going over crime scene photos one more time."

  His stomach might not appreciate the renewed scrutiny, but he never shirked his duty. “Sounds like a plan.” One that was guaranteed to not leave him with a hard-on.

  He was all for that.

  * * * *

  Staring at gruesome crime scene photos for two days and crawling around the scenes of the third and fourth murders hadn't cooled Braedon's ardor one little bit. Not when it meant working in close proximity to Katrina. Not when searching on hands and knees blessed him with mouth-watering views of her gorgeous ass that had him wanting to pound into her doggie style and wondering if she liked anal sex. Not when flashes of her sports bra stiffened his di
ck to diamond cutting status, something that hadn't happened since he was a horny adolescent sneaking his mother's lingerie catalog to jerk off over.

  So now he suffered in his sleeping bag, for the third night in a row, a breath away from the woman who occupied his highly imaginative erotic dreams last night. Less than a breath away, actually, since she'd escaped the confines of her sleeping bag on this sultry summer night and lay curled up next to him. With one well-toned leg draped across his thigh and her hand on his chest.

  Dear God, what did I do to deserve this particular hell? Haven't I paid enough for my sins? I never intentionally hurt or misled any of the women I dated. I was always upfront with the fact commitment wasn't an option, that we'd enjoy each other for as long as it lasted and then we'd part ways. You know better than anyone that my heart isn't mine to give away, not anymore. Haven't I suffered enough?

  I've already tanked one career. I don't want to ruin another one before it even has a chance to get started. I'm just asking for a little strength down here.

  Braedon swore he heard a chuckle rumble in the air inside the tent at the same time Katrina's slim hand and long delicate fingers slid south, straight for his aching cock.

  Sliding over wasn't an option. The cramped space didn't allow that as an escape unless he rolled out under the side of the tent. He thought about scooting her away, but that might wake and embarrass her. It wasn't worth the risk. Not when they were making forward progress with their professional relationship.

  Drawing in a shuddering sigh, he caught a tantalizing whiff of clean fresh woman and bug spray. Damn if it didn't cause him to twitch with the increased blood flow. If he got any harder, he'd explode. Turned on by insect repellent. How the mighty had fallen. Especially when he allowed himself the brief opportunity to admit that what he felt for this woman went beyond simple lust. He admired her intellect, enjoyed her since of humor, and appreciated the skills and knowledge she brought to the table to share with him.

  He hadn't felt this way about a woman since ... since...