But then her lifelong enemy had decided to pursue her. He'd chased. She'd run. As fast and hard as she could. But still he stayed on her tail. He'd forced her to come here—away from her carefully managed life where he'd had no chance of getting through to her—and he'd done his best to break her down.
Well, he hadn't done it. She had held out against him. But the stress had been torture. And now, here they were, on top of a mountain in a pounding gale.
And she felt free and strong and full of energy and heat. She felt gloriously, utterly, completely alive.
And she didn't want to go back down, not without reaching the top, going over the crest to lakeside, and witnessing the panorama of the lake and the wild land laid out before her while the wind tore her hair and the rain beat down upon her.
"How far is it?" she shouted.
"Not far."
"Let's finish it."
He shook his head. "It's foolish. We'll be drenched."
"We already are." For the first time, of her own accord, with no reason other than to communicate, she touched him. She laid her hand on his arm.
"Lilah…" He stiffened.
"Please, Sam. I want to reach the top."
He met her eyes. And he saw what had happened to her, the wildness in her, that she'd at last let come to the fore. She let him see it, wanted him to see it, to share her excitement, catch it like a fever and be willing to go on.
"You're crazy," he breathed.
"Yes. Yes, at last."
"All the way to the top?"
"Yes. You said it wasn't far."
"No. Not far. Not too far…" He touched her face. His rough thumb slid across her lips, back and forth.
"The top," she barely whispered the words, but he caught them, in spite of the wind and the din it made.
"The top," he said back to her.
She released his arm; his warm hand left her face. He turned to the upward trail. They went on.
He'd spoken truly; it wasn't far. Fifteen minutes at most, minutes that burned away to nothing beneath their clambering boots. They cut back to the east, then scrambled up a gully that already ran with water, drenching their boots.
After that, it was bare rock faces, and blasted trees. They struggled up the last of it, on all fours much of the way.
And finally, he hoisted himself over the top, and reached down a hand. She took it, he hauled her up—and into his arms.
She landed against the hard wall of his chest. She looked up. His eyes burned into hers. The world was a wild, wet maelstrom. All rational thought had fled.
He saw what he sought—call it surrender, call it the triumph of her own secret, reckless heart. His arms closed more tightly, stealing her breath and searing her senses. Her breasts grew tender, aching, and full. She boldly thrust them forward, and his big hand came up and cupped one.
He groaned. She sighed. He held her gaze captive, as he thumbed her nipple, teasing it thoroughly through the wet cloth of her nubby thermal shirt.
She said his name. He told her yes.
She reached up, grabbed his big head, and hauled it down so she could taste him, know him, as she had dreamed of knowing him in these last agonizing nights when he lay so close and yet a thousand miles away.
The rain beat down on them. His mouth, hot and hungry, so long evaded, finally sought, closed over hers.
They moaned in sensual glee, as one. His tongue teased her lips, she let it in eagerly, as he rubbed himself against her, and she rubbed back.
The kiss, wild as the storm, went on forever. Delilah, who had never known such delight, gloried in it. He kissed her mouth for a long, drugging eternity. Then he cupped her head in his big hands, and he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her temples, the wet coils of hair that had long ago pulled out of her braid and now lay plastered against her streaming face. He sipped the raindrops from her chin, and kissed her closed eyelids and the soft corners of her mouth.
And Delilah touched him, as he kissed her. She ran her questing hands over his shoulders, found the straps of the pack and slipped it off. It fell to the rock at their feet. Neither of them noticed. She stroked his back through his soaking shirt, loving his hardness, his strength, the bulk of him that seemed such a complement to her slender suppleness.
She was bold—fearlessly sensual. She felt the narrowness of his waist, the tight curve of his buttocks. She cupped his face as he did hers, and matched him, kiss for kiss.
At last, he whispered against her mouth. "Turn. Look."
She stilled, looked in his eyes, her arousal creating a sweet, heavy languor even beneath the fury of the storm.
He smiled down at her, a smile that said everything—what he would show her, the delights they would share.
"Kiss me some more, Sam. Like that. Like you just did."
"You're greedy."
She felt a quick flush of embarrassment. He chuckled. "It's okay. I like you greedy."
"Oh…" She looked down. "Don't."
She gazed at him once more.
"Better. Much better." He glanced up, at the angry, streaming sky. "We're going to have to head down soon. If this keeps up, we could actually end up in trouble."
She nodded gravely. She remembered that gully they'd climbed, already running with its own overflowing stream.
The dirt sections of the trail would turn to mud, and mud meant the possibility of slides.
"But first…" He let his voice trail off.
"What?"
He took her by the shoulders and turned her so she fitted back against his body. "Look."
Delilah blinked away the rain and did as he bid her.
"We're in the slipper," he said in her ear. "Ladyslipper Peak, remember?" She nodded, against his shoulder, liking the feel of his body, behind her, along the length of her, caressing every inch. He explained, "From down by the lake, if you look closely, you can see where we're standing. It looks like a lady's high heeled shoe."
"You'll have to show me."
He chuckled. "Don't worry, I will. If we ever get back down there."
She smiled, and armed away the water from her eyes. Then she gazed down over the glorious panorama spread out below.
On this side, the cliff beneath them tumbled away to nothing in a series of escarpments that eventually widened out at the base to huge boulders that were lapped by the waters of the now-turbulent lake. Across the lake, she could see the clearing, but mistily, through the rain. The cabin was barely visible, and even that was mostly because she knew where to look for it.
The whole scene appeared mysterious and magical, a universe of lake and tall trees—and tucked within it, a tiny fairy glen. The veil created by the rain made the clearing seem incorporeal, as if, should she blink, she might look again to find it gone.
Lightning glared in the sky and the loud crash of thunder came after. "Sweetheart. We have to go."
"I know." She accepted his judgment, and the endearment, without debate. Somewhere on the rocky cliffs of Ladyslipper Peak, the long pitched battle had ended. He had won—or had her wilder self?
For a time at least, in this place, she was his; he was hers.
She bent and took up the pack, helped him slip it on. They turned as one and started down.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
The rock faces ran with miniature streams, the dirt turned to slippery mud, and the wind seemed to grow to gale force, screaming like a banshee through the trees.
But somehow, they struggled down the unforgiving granite ridges, into the cover of the trees, and finally down to the base of the mountain, where they followed the trails that at last led to the clearing by the lake.
Nearly two hours after leaving the crest, they fell into the cabin, shivering uncontrollably and covered with water and mud. They pulled off their boots and shrugged out of their drenched outerwear right away, and then worked together to build up the fires, Delilah replenishing the stove and filling the pots with water to boil for bathing, and S
am laying and lighting the fire in the hearth. Soon enough, the cabin was filled with soothing heat.
Delilah, by the stove, looked over at Sam. He knelt by the fireplace on the rag rug, staring into the flames.
Overhead, the rain pounded on the roof, a loud, hollow drone. But Delilah thought of silence, of the waiting stillness between them, beneath the roar of the storm outside and the crackle of the fires in the room.
She stood very still, in her muddy clothes, looking at his back as he bent before the fire. And then she went to him.
He looked up at her, his gaze taking in the whole of her. She knew he could see the pebbling of her nipples beneath her clinging shirt. The thought excited her, and she found, incredibly, that she could let herself feel that excitement, accept it, even revel in it.
The excitement had a taste to it, a sweet taste, like the taste of Sam's mouth on hers…
He said, "You want me, Lilah."
It was the same challenge he'd tossed at her more than once before. Now, strangely, it didn't even occur to her to try to deny its truth.
"Yes."
He reached up, hooked a finger through her belt loop, and slowly pulled her down, so she kneeled, as he did, before the fire. They faced each other.
His hand fell away. "As soon as the sun goes, the temperature will drop."
"I know."
"By morning, there'll be snow."
"Yes, probably."
"If we leave now, we could get out. Otherwise, we'll probably be stuck in here for a few more days."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Do you?" He reached out again, as if he couldn't help himself, and he brushed the tightened nipples of her breasts. She tensed, then relaxed, and let the pleasant, teasing sensation have its way with her body. It felt as if—the finest thread connected her breasts to her secret feminine heart. His touch tugged the thread. The feminine heart of her opened, bloomed…
With a small shrug of regret, he let his hand fall away.
"I'll take you back now," he said quietly, "if you want to go. The bargain we had is met."
She frowned, confused. "Met?"
"The deal. The bargain. I'm … satisfied. I'll take you home now, if you want."
She understood. She allowed herself a secret smile. "You'll take me home. Now."
"Yes."
"And Brendan can keep his truck."
"That's what I said." He sounded impatient; she suspected he was afraid she would leap eagerly to her feet and start packing up her gear.
She shook her head slowly, letting her secret smile show. "You have no mercy."
He didn't move. "You called me a manipulative snake the other day. And maybe I have been. But not anymore. If this goes any further, you'll never say you didn't have a choice."
She took in a shaky breath. "Okay."
He glared at her. "Okay. Okay? What does that mean?"
"Okay. Yes. I want to stay."
He made a low sound in his throat. And then he grabbed her and pulled her to him. He cupped her head in an unyielding hand. Right then, she couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted to. His mouth claimed hers, hard and hot. She answered the kiss in kind. He touched her breast again, a knowing, maddening touch, and she moaned in delight.
But then he restrained himself. He pulled back, and turned her, so she lay between his thighs. For a long moment, they stared into the hungry flames of the fire he'd built.
She thought, then, of the little pouches she'd left in the drawer at home. She murmured, "I have nothing … for contraception."
He kissed her temple, smoothed the moist hair there. Then he helped her to sit, slipped out from behind her and padded on stocking feet to his gear. He fumbled in a pocket of one of the packs and returned to her, his hand outstretched. "It's okay. I do."
She looked at the pouches that were like the ones she'd left at home.
He chuckled ruefully. "You can't blame a guy for wanting to be prepared. Just in case his dream comes true…"
"No, Sam. I can't blame a guy for that…" She reached for him, he came down to her, turning her toward the fire again.
She leaned back, so she lay across his lap. He cradled her head and began kissing her all over again, working her braid loose as his lips played with hers, then combing the wet strands with his fingers until they lay in snaky tendrils across his big thighs.
Then, very gently, he worked her clinging, still-moist shirt from the waistband of her jeans. He slid his rough and tender hand under there, and caressed her skin. Delilah sighed, and wriggled a little, eager as she had never imagined she would be to have a man stroke and touch her, and ready her for ecstasy.
He took the wet shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She raised her arms for him, so it would easily slide away. He took a moment to pull his own shirt off and away. Then he looked down at her once more.
He said, "Beautiful…" as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Once she was bare for him, he lowered his mouth and kissed her, taking her breast into his mouth, sucking first gently and then more strongly, until she writhed and moaned for more.
Delilah lay stunned with delight as his hungry mouth began to wander, tasting her, knowing her. He nuzzled beneath the low curve of a breast, a place revealed now since she lay on her back across his thighs. He licked the bottom swell of that breast; his lips trailed up, and he took her nipple in his mouth once more.
Delilah groaned and clutched his head, her fingers threading through his long, wet hair, pulling out the band that held it back, combing through it, feeling it trail in heavy, moist strands over her belly and breasts, teasing the nipple he wasn't sucking on until his hand cupped it and tormented it the more.
Then he raised his head and spanned her waist with his hands. He stood her up, before him. Kneeling in front of her, his light eyes holding hers, his wild mane of hair falling on his bare shoulders so he looked more primitive and feral than ever, he unhooked her belt and unzipped her pants and then slowly, taking her panties as well, he skimmed down her jeans. She stepped out of them. He tossed them aside.
She stood before him in her socks alone. His gaze branded her.
"Sam?"
"Shh…"
He leaned forward a fraction. And he nuzzled her belly. "Oh!" she gasped in delighted shock.
He kissed her there, then lower, parting her, and touching her most secret place with his hungry lips. She let him do that, wanted him to do that. She clutched his shoulders and pressed herself toward him, and he went on kissing the womanly heart of her until she thought she would die of pure pleasure. She flung her head back and cried her ecstasy at the rafters, where the flameshadows danced and the rain beat in hard flurries with each wild gust of wind.
And then, in an instant, he was pulling her down. She lost the dizzying torment of his intimate kiss, only to find herself beneath him. She forced her heavy lids to open.
He looked down at her, his hair touched her breast. She saw his hunger. She saw what he wanted. And she wanted it, too. She reached for his belt, slipped the tip from the loop, the tongue from the hole. She had it undone in seconds. Then she undid his heavy corduroy jeans, pulling the fly apart quickly, shoving the jeans down his hard thighs and pushing his briefs away, too.
He sprang free. She touched him.
"Lilah…" He groaned the word at the ceiling, the tendons in his powerful neck standing out with the strain.
"Yes, Sam. Yes, now…"
He looked down at her again, and grabbed up one of the condoms waiting nearby. He slid it on, with her help.
Then she wrapped her legs around him. He thrust into her.
She let out a long, ecstatic cry.
"Look at me, Lilah." The command was low, weighted with heat.
She looked at him, into his light eyes that seared through her, knowing her, in a way no other human being ever had.
He moved out. She whimpered, a wordless plea for his return. He slowly filled her once m
ore. Then he pulled back again. Her body yearned for his. He gave her what she was longing for.
And all the time, his eyes held hers, so there could never ever be a doubt of what they did with their bodies, here in the center of the storm.
"I've wanted this," he muttered, "dreamed of this…"
"Yes, oh, yes, I know…"
A squall of seeking wind hammered the rain against the little window on the west wall. Lightning crashed and thunder rolled.
Sam took her slowly, watching her build to a shattering fulfillment, holding himself on the brink until she thrust herself against him so hungrily that he knew she was nearing her final spiraling climb to ecstasy.
He levered himself up a little, and held still, so she could find her own rhythm, set her own pace. And when she pressed herself wildly against him, rubbed her soft body all over his, he knew he wouldn't last unless he did something quick.
He rolled, then, so swiftly that she cried out. And then she was on top.
"Oh, my!" She looked down at him, her hair curling in riotous coils all around her face. She looked wild and utterly free, her lips full and red from his kisses, her eyes glazed with her own need. "What is this?"
"Ride me," he instructed.
"Oh, my!" she murmured again. Then she raised herself up, experimentally. "My, my, my…" Slowly, she sank upon him again.
She let her head roll back; her wild hair fell away to expose the column of her neck. She moaned. He felt himself inside of her, sheathed by her—the most incredible creature he'd ever seen, something mythic and too beautiful to tame or possess.
And he knew, down in the deepest part of his being, that no one had ever seen her like this before. And, if he had a damn thing to say about it, no one else ever would.
This was the Lilah he had sought to free. His Lilah. His woman. Now. And from now on…
He thrust his hips upward, to give her more of him, and he gloried in the way she responded, moaning louder, thrusting back. Then she braced her hands on his chest, and she moved against him, faster and faster. Her dark eyes branded him, held him, a willing captive in her erotic spell.
WAGERED WOMAN Page 14