All Fired Up (Stardust) (6 page)

They didn’t help.

Now it looked like an old swayback horse with a couple of empty sacks flapping off its sides. Sighing, she returned to the work, lengthening this, shortening that, tightening some lines, repositioning a few stakes… Then she stepped back again and nodded with approval.

It had finally left the animal kingdom and was starting to resemble some sort of shelter. What sort was another question. She cocked her head to the side, considering.

A beach umbrella? That might be it. A large open umbrella blown over and lying askew. An old, tired umbrella. An umbrella that had come down in the world, that had seen far better days. A sad, sorry hobo of an umbrella with broken stays and lots of odd puckers and sags. Poor thing.

But this was probably as good as it was going to get. She was obviously doing something wrong, but hadn’t the energy to figure out what. She’d had a sleepless night followed by a grueling hike. With the weight of exhaustion pressing down, she felt flatter than a fallen soufflé, too flat to begin what she’d come here for – even if exhaustion was supposed to be part of the process. That was how the Native Americans did it apparently, chanting and fasting their way into altered states of consciousness.

To each his own. Roxanne decided she needed a nap first. Then she’d start the inner search for control.

Crawling into the tent, such as it was, she unrolled the sleeping bag, stretched out on top of it, and was dead to the world almost as soon as her eyes closed. An earthquake couldn’t have woken her. So neither did the bass rumble of the Harley that braked to a halt several yards away.

-------

Slo cut the engine and dismounted. He pulled off his helmet, raked fingers through his hair, and stared.

What
was
that thing? A tent, or a parachute having an identity crisis? It looked like she’d left half its struts at home and put the remaining ones in every which way but correctly. Lydia had said the girl had never been camping before. No shit. Roxanne would have been in serious trouble out here even without the approaching storm. Slo wanted to tan her backside for doing something so dangerously dumb. Out here camping was no leisure time activity. It was hardcore wilderness survival.

He grabbed up a rock and tossed it toward the tent. A six-foot rattlesnake, which had been moving in the same direction, changed course and slithered off into the scrub. Slo watched until it was out of sight, then covered the distance from the bike to the tent in several long strides. The sooner he got this babe-in-the-woods back to town, the better.

The possibility she might not want to go never entered his head. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have that option, bad weather or good. After seeing the evidence of her incompetence, his temper was rising faster than the air pressure was dropping. He assumed she was in the tent. Where else? But God only knew
what
she was doing in there. Sleeping? Hiding? Playing Tiddly-Winks? Did she know he was here? Did he care one way or the other?

No.

Stooping down, he whipped back the tent flap and ducked inside – then fell forward, cursing, as his abrupt entrance collapsed the whole damn thing.

Struts snapped.

The tent dropped down like a net.

Slo landed full-length on top of Roxanne, trapped in clingy folds of green nylon. She shrieked and shoved at him. He rolled onto his side, inadvertently pulling her with him and dragging the tent folds tighter. Roxanne tried to twist free, but her struggles only made matters worse.

He groped and grappled.

She floundered and fought.

And the hysteria continued until they were wound up in the tent, like two caterpillars snug in the same cocoon…two animals caught in the same snare. Two hearts pounding together like one.

Time slammed to a halt.

Suddenly there was only harsh ragged breathing and the electric scorch of primal instincts. Nothing but darkness and heat and the feel of another’s body crushed close. Resistance melted, minds clouded with steam. Lips touched – a feather light graze, that’s all it took – and mouth was devouring mouth in a wildfire blaze of hot, hungry need.

Slo fancied he could actually hear the crackle of burning brush around them, smell the smoke. For all he knew the gully had burst into flames. He was sure that he was about to. God help him, this wasn’t what he had intended at all. He should stop – now – before this fire flared out of control. He should—

Roxanne moved against him and moaned, sounding sexy as sin to his ears. Her thigh pressed into his groin…

Aw hell, he should kiss her some more.

His mouth claimed hers again just as the storm broke, hitting hard and fast, like someone had unzipped the sky. Lightning cracked, thunder boomed, and winds wailed. Rain poured down in torrents, dousing desire’s flame, plastering the tent fabric against them.

Someone up there had a very warped sense of humor, and their timing sucked.

Shit.

Straining and swearing like a man in a sodden straightjacket, which was pretty much the case, Slo wrestled a penknife out of his pocket, thumbed open the blade, stabbed upward and sliced. With a raspy ripping of nylon, the cocoon split open, and he hauled to his feet. Then froze, forgetting the storm, staring in disbelief. All around the tatters of the tent lay blackened earth and charred brush.

Fire.

A genuine blaze.

It must have been started by lightning right before the clouds burst; that was all he could figure. If the rain hadn’t begun when it did, they would have burned for real. They’d be toast. A creepy chill slid down his spin.

Roxanne crawled out of the shredded nylon, biting her lip as though fighting back sobs.

Slo’s gut clenched with concern. “Are you hurt?” Without thinking how the gesture might appear, he reached for her.

She waved him off. “I’m fine!”

He didn’t believe her – “fine” was the last thing she looked – but he didn’t waste time arguing either. In one quick series of moves, he swung her up in his arms, strode through the storm, and deposited her on the back of the bike before she could holler “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Mind you, she hollered it anyway. Slo wasn’t sure why he kept rushing to her rescue. She never showed the least bit of gratitude.

“What the hell did you think
you
were doing? Playing Daniel Boone?” He climbed on in front of her and revved the engine. “I’m taking you out of here. Now shut up.”

“You don’t have to yell!” she yelled. “I’m only deaf when I’m not wearing my hearing aid.”

“Good. Because you and I have some serious talking to do.”

Vroom—

-------

It was the worst ride of Roxanne’s life. The worst part being that it lasted barely a minute. To her, “out of here” had meant a trip back to town. To Slo, it meant racing down the gully a short way, then up a rocky incline and braking to a sharp stop in a cave. A small cave, just large enough to keep two people and a motorcycle out of the elements. But only if the people were on very friendly terms.

Gulp.

She slid off the Harley onto shaky legs. “We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t stay there either.” He slid off, too, and jerked a thumb at the weather raging outside the cave’s entrance. “Make yourself comfortable. We may be stuck here a while.”

Like a jungle cat settling into its lair after a long night on the prowl, Slo leaned back against the wall opposite the entrance and sank down to sit cross-legged on the earthen floor, all in one lithe, wickedly sensual motion. Pure predator, Roxanne thought, lowering her gaze – but if she was his quarry, he was in for a very rude awakening.

Moving as far away from him as possible in the cramped confines – not nearly far enough, a scant few feet – she stood in clinging wet clothes, hugging herself and studying him through her eyelashes. Why was he here anyway? Was it a coincidence he’d shown up when he did? Had he just been out joyriding, or had he deliberately been hunting her? She suspected the latter, but couldn’t be sure. His mind was closed to her at the moment. There were no sultry smoke signals filtering from his head into hers. Thank God. It was going to be difficult enough to ignore the rest of him until the storm blew past; if she had to deal with his thoughts, too, it would be impossible.

As if to illustrate that point, a torrid rush of visions suddenly swamped her, flooding in then out again like a riptide. Old memories, but not hers. They seemed to come from the cave itself. She saw Slo – a younger Slo, seventeen or eighteen maybe – with a raven-haired beauty. No, wait, it was a blonde…no, a redhead… Oh hell, it appeared he’d had a gazillion girlfriends back in high school. And he’d brought them
all
to this cave.

Terrific. Roxanne really needed to know that. She felt the dangerous red burn of a blush, tinged green at the edges with something that might almost be called jealousy – but she couldn’t imagine why. Even if she were normal and could pursue a normal relationship, she wouldn’t pursue it with someone like Slo. She shouldn’t care how he lived his life, provided he stayed out of hers.

A claustrophobic bundle of nerves, she inched closer to the cave’s opening, trying to put more space between herself and him.

Watching her, Slo breathed a rusty sigh. “Stop. Don’t make me have to haul you out of the storm again. You’re already soaked.” He shrugged off his vest and handed it to her. “Here, this is still pretty dry on the inside. Put it on before you freeze.”

Roxanne stared at it in horror. For godssake, she
wanted
to be cold – colder than she was now. More warmth was the last thing she needed. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. That won’t help me any.”

Too bad
, Slo thought. A little extra covering on her sure would have helped him.

“You can sit on it then.” Laying the vest leather side down beside him, he smoothed it out for her.

Roxanne’s horror increased. Sitting on it – sitting next to
him
– would be worse than wearing the damn thing. “That’s okay. I like standing. I’m fine.”

Slo heaved another sigh. Yeah, she kept saying that. Why didn’t he believe her? “Roxy, sit down before you fall down.”

He reached forward, gripped her wrist and pulled. Roxanne locked her knees and leaned backward. The tug-of-war ended with a soft thud as a female fanny hit the vest.

“Relax,” Slo ordered. “You are perfectly safe here. Safe from the storm” – the hand on her wrist drew her back when she tried to scramble away – “and safe from me. What happened in the tent was…a mistake. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a child molester. I—”

“Wait!” Roxanne jerked her hand free from his, removed a small object from her ear, blew on it, then replaced it. “Excuse me, but I was afraid my aid might have gotten some rain in it,” she explained, glaring. “I thought I heard you say something about child molesting. You think
I’m
a child?”

The second the words were out she realized her mistake.
Damn.
Here he had actually been intending to leave her alone – exactly what she wanted him to do – and she had just shot the whole thing to hell. Because of an ill-timed flash of pride. Because, until she’d moved to Star, people
had
always treated her like a child – like an idiot – and she was damned sick of it.

But it was too late to take back the words. Now Slo would rethink the matter. He was thinking right then, thinking fast. Roxanne still couldn’t read his thoughts, but she saw it on his face, could almost hear the wheels of his mind cranking. He was thinking about lovely Lydia Jones and her daughters, all of whom looked years younger than their ages. It was an inherited family trait, and Slo must have had enough contact with the Joneses to be aware of it. He would realize now that she, too, had inherited that youthful quality.

“How old are you?” he asked, a sudden interested gleam in his eyes.

Too interested.

“Twenty-seven,” she confessed. Reluctantly. Bit by cautious bit, she started to scoot away.

A muscular arm snaked around her waist, holding her in place.

“Twenty-seven?” Slo sounded vastly relieved.

Roxanne was glad someone was – but not very.

“That’s only a year younger than me. I guess I should apologize for making it seem I was calling you a kid. Obviously” – the gleam in his eyes heated – “you’re not.”

There was trouble in that gleam. Roxanne’s heart stuttered. The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer. There was trouble in that, too. The man was playing with fire. Literally. But if she warned him, he’d probably think she was insane.

That could be a good thing.

Hell, why not? The truth had gotten her into this mess. Maybe some more truth would get her out.

She forced a laugh. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I am a child in some respects.”

“You don’t feel like a child,” Slo said. But just to make certain apparently, his hand began a roving exploration of her ribcage.

This was not helpful.

“What I meant,” she rasped out, “is that age is a relative thing. It’s not how long you’ve lived, but how much. And I haven’t. Lived much, I mean. I’ve spent most of my life in an institution.”