Safari Moon (24 page)

“You were wrong.”

Nyssa’s reply was crisp but she made him
smile. “Then I can count on your company and assistance.”

“I told you I’d help.”

“Oh, and Nyssa.”

She sat back on her knees.

“Perhaps you could be willing, able, and
eager.”

“If that’s what you want in an
assistant.”

***

“What on earth happened?”

“The storm on our wedding day must have
washed through here with a vengeance.” Solo kicked at the charred
remains of a campfire before he turned his attention to the
dilapidated tent. The wind had picked the stakes out of the ground
and sent them hurtling through the air until they landed yards away
from the structure they were meant to hold down. The tent itself
was pinned between two boulders and a fallen tree.

“I suppose we’ll have to sleep under the
stars.”

Solo smiled, the first since seeing his
demolished campsite. “A romantic thought,” he said. “But no. I can
salvage enough so we have a roof over our heads. Don’t think for
one minute I’ll take you back to the cabin. Whether or not you like
what you see, you’re here for the two days or however many it takes
to get the necessary shots.”

“I’m tougher than I look, Solo St. John. Now
tell me what needs to be done and we can get this show on the
road.”

“See if you can find all the stakes. If you
can’t, I’ll have to make whatever we need.”

A few hours later, Nyssa straightened and
brushed her hair from her eyes.

“There’s a cute charcoal smudge on your
nose, pumpkin.”

The smile vanished to be replaced by a light
that surely looked like retribution to Solo. He liked that
look.

“Do you call me pumpkin to make me mad or
infuriate me?”

“Both.”

“Do you want to fight it out now or
later?”

“Now.” He pounded the last stake into the
ground with one hard blow and whirled to face her.

“I was joking.” Nyssa backed up a step then
turned to run, a prudent action under the circumstances.

Solo wasn’t sure what he’d do if he caught
her and held her in his arms again. After this morning, he’d
decided once again he couldn’t be close to her without losing
control. Even with that thought at the top of his mind, he
followed. Masculine pride, the need to possess her once, he wasn’t
sure what made him go after her, but he did.

Solo caught her easily. She was where he
wanted her, in his arms, her face tilted to his--ready. He swept
her off her feet and carried her back to the fire.

“Queen of the wolves.” He set her on a
stump. “Coffee?”

“Queen?” She laughed and the sound was
infectious. “Of course I’d like some and since you’re waiting on
me, I’d like--”

“To eat dinner and after that see if we can
get one perfect shot. One good enough to go on the front
cover.”

“Is that why we’re here?”

Solo nodded. “I’ve got enough pictures for
the story, but I don’t have that one perfect shot. The one that
will make the readers remember the story forever. The one people
will save.”

“I wondered. I knew from experience you had
enough good pictures.” Nyssa sipped the coffee Solo handed her.

“I’ll stay out every night until I
get--”

“The picture.”

“Yes.” God, she was beautiful. Her hair was
pulled back in a ponytail, a red scrunchy holding the long ends
together. Although she didn’t have shorts on, her jeans molded to
the length of her legs, leaving little to the imagination. More
than the way she looked, he liked the woman she had become. She
laughed often, her lips tilted into a smile rather than slanting
down with worry. When she looked toward the hills, her profile
haunted him and he wondered what she thought, what she
wanted--needed now. He had to know if he meant anything to her
other than an unwanted distraction, and he had to know if she
understood his need to stay here until he was satisfied with the
job he’d done.

If one of his friends, male or female, would
understand, Nyssa would.

“I want to go with you.”

And he knew the truth then. Nyssa did know
what made him tick, what made him happy and she wanted to be a part
of his life.

“Good. Let’s eat and we’ll see if we can get
a few more good shots.”

“Do you think the wolves will trust
you?”

“Don’t have a clue. But we’ll be far enough
away that I hope our presence won’t matter.”

***

Three long uneventful nights passed.

Nyssa was due back at the bike shop, so they
used his cell to call the trading post and have the owner call
Candace.

All those long hours in the shelter
together, yet unable to read each other’s mind, left Nyssa confused
and frustrated. She didn’t know what to do with her hands when they
brushed Solo’s arm. She didn’t know what to do with her legs when
he shifted position and they touched. Through all this Solo acted
oblivious to her. With binoculars perched on his nose or camera to
his eye, he didn’t know she existed. Oh, they spoke once in a while
and he ate when she handed him food.

Silence had never bothered her before, now
she wanted to talk, not a lot, maybe one word every hour or two.
Since they arrived Nyssa had lost count of the number of pictures
Solo shot and the number of times she'd downloaded the pictures
onto her laptop. Somehow the number didn’t matter anymore. Solo had
huge circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and if she looked
in a mirror she decided she wouldn’t look much better. If he didn’t
get the photograph he wanted in the next ten hours, she would
demand he take her to the cabin for a good night’s sleep.

So immersed in complaining to herself, she
missed the sudden stiffening of Solo’s muscles. The subtle hush he
sent her way although she hadn’t said a word for hours.

The rapid fire click of the camera alerted
her and she waited. High on the hill in front of them the leader of
the pack paced back and forth. The moon was covered by thin
filaments of clouds and the sun was a sliver on the eastern
horizon. Still dark but the hint of a new day rose in eerie
precision. The wolf was met by his mate. They sniffed and the male
sat back on his haunches. Slowly, he tilted his head to the moon, a
mournful wail filling the night so all could hear. The scene was
poignant, a reminder of what the earth had been like thousands of
years before man covered it with cities. Holding his breath Solo
pressed down on the button and the shutter clicked.

This was the picture Solo had waited so
patiently for. They were through now and she’d never forget this
night.

As if nothing had happened Solo packed his
cameras, the tripod--everything.

To Nyssa, “Let’s go home.”

“All right.” She wasn’t sure what home he
referred to, but she understood his need to leave. She stretched
her cramped muscles before she followed him down the hill to the
tent.

As she stared at the tent, she knew this was
the end and she knew too, she didn’t want the adventure in Alaska
to end this way. Tomorrow they’d be home--really home and without
Solo, the rooms would feel so empty.

She’d wanted Solo St. John for ten years,
and this was her last chance. He had already called the trading
post to arrange a plane out. In the morning they’d no longer be a
couple. Her heart sped up. Her face flushed with love and desire.
Damn the consequences, one way or the other, she meant to seduce
him. Even if she never saw him again, she’d have this night to
remember and hold close to her heart forever.

“Solo?”

“What?”

Nyssa lifted the camera from around his neck
and set it in his bag.

His eyes darkened, she hoped with desire. “I
can take care of my equipment. You don’t have to wait on me.”

“I’m tired of watching you work, sick of
doing nothing but stare into the dark and think about you.” She
crawled into the tent and held the flap open for him, an
invitation, she prayed, he wouldn’t refuse. He followed.

She patted the sleeping bag. “Would you make
love to me if I asked you to?”

He sat down beside her but didn’t
answer.

“I’ll understand if you say no,” she said
quietly, her fingers clenched tightly together. She moistened her
lips as she watched the change of expressions on his face and
wondered what he thought of her. “I won’t make any demands on you
after this.”

“What if I want demands.”

“I won’t,” she said. “You don’t have to
worry about me.”

“Nyssa.” He whispered close to her ear.
“What if I want to worry about you.”

She shrugged not really sure what he
meant.

“Do you want me?”

She nodded.

He touched her cheek, the length of her neck
then gathered her closer until they were side-by-side on top of the
makeshift bed.

His mouth was so warm and persistent. He
framed her face with his hands, and he dropped desperate little
kisses on her cheeks and her forehead, on her eyelids.

She’d dreamt of this so many times, never
believing for a minute he’d make love to her. For so long, she’d
watched him give his affection to other women and never notice
her.

For so long, she’d wanted to let her
feelings for him show. But she’d kept those emotions bottled up
inside her, so deep she’d forgotten they existed.

She didn’t want him to leave her, but he’d
risen and his fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt then hers.
He must have heard her gasp and saw the hint of panic in her
expression because he slowed, tenderly brushing the sleeves of her
blouse off her shoulders.

“Do you want me, Solo?”

“Oh, God, Nyssa,” he said tenderly. “I’ve
never wanted anyone so much. That’s all I can think of--holding
you--touching you. I’m shaking.”

With those words, and under his bold gaze,
she felt more desirable than she’d ever thought possible and she
gave herself over to his reckless and desperate love making.

Solo covered her hot, fevered flesh with his
mouth and his hands, cupping her breasts, teasing her, leaving her
trembling with need.

She had dreamt of this moment, a moment
where nothing else mattered. His fingers and his lips moved over
her in exquisite gentleness patiently tormenting her until she
arched toward him, begging.

But he didn’t listen to her pleas.

She tried to pull him closer, to touch him
too, but he held her hands away, still teasing her with subtle
promises.

Her fingers laced with his, quivered with
the need to slip along his back and explore. Her breast ached for
his touch, for his lips and her nipples stiffened, tightened into
tight little nubs. Solo edged closer but not close enough to
touch.

“Solo, please.”

He covered her with his lips, gently bit
down, and she moaned softly, thinking she’d died and gone to
heaven.

She pushed off the sleeping bag, rubbing her
jeans against his, desperate for the hard, heavy feel of him
pressed to her. Intemperate with need, she didn’t care, out of
control and in a mindless daze of heat and passion she knew only
that this was Solo, her knight in shining armor, her hero.

She meant to find out all she could about
herself and the man she loved before this night ended.

“Take these off,” he said, his voice a husky
whisper in the dawn shadows.

He let go of her hands and she pushed and
tugged at them wishing they weren’t so difficult to remove. He
struggled out of his own and when they were naked, she absorbed the
full masculine picture of Solo St. John. Hard, breathtakingly
wonderful. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted to lay there
forever and drink in the sight of him.

Tall, slim, handsomely muscled, Solo had a
devil-may-care look of mischief and delight etched on his beautiful
face. She ran her hands up his arms, marveling in the sleek taut
texture of his skin. She filled her mind with the memory of the way
he felt, held the thoughts captive so she could pull them forth in
the cold lonely nights that lay ahead of her after this.

“I want to look at you,” she said her voice
a soft whisper.

“Hush.” He nipped at her lower lip,
wrestling her around until he was on top. His rigid arousal brushed
her thigh, and she arched upward, needing the feel of him against
her. But he angled himself away and held her hands so she couldn’t
reach him.

“Solo.” Her voice was a strangled plea. If
this was going to be their one and only time together she wanted to
know the feel of him, run her fingers along his length. The bottom
line--she wanted to know every inch of him.

But he wouldn’t allow her to touch. “I want
to look at you.” His voice was trembling and husky as if he could
barely speak the words. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this
moment with you, how much I love your hair, the way you smile when
you say something silly, the blush that heats your cheeks when I
act outrageous or when I kiss you? I love the sounds you make when
I stroke you, here.”