Black Hills (33 page)

Maybe this time the battle would be done, and that constant flame inside her finally, finally burned out.

The need rose up, riding along her skin, filling her breasts, her belly with heat. Familiar, perhaps. But more and less than what had been. Had his hands been so sure, his mouth so urgent?

She was still wound around him when he strode to the bed. The lights from the compound slanted through the slats of her blinds, thin bars of light that fell over the bed, over her when he set her on the edge. A kind of cage, she supposed. Well, she walked into it willingly.

He gripped her boot, tugged. She heard herself laugh, nervous joy, as he pulled off the other. Then he reached down to unbutton her flannel shirt.

“Unbraid your hair.” He drew the shirt off. “Please.”

She lifted her arms, slid the tie at the end of her braid onto her wrist out of habit, and loosened her braid as he took off his shirt.

“No, I’ll do that,” he said as she started to comb her fingers through her hair.

“I’d think about your hair, the way it feels and smells, the way it looks after I’ve had my hands in it. All that midnight hair.”

He wrapped her hair around his fist, tugged so that her face tipped up to his. The gesture, the flare of heat in his eyes spoke as much of temper as passion. “I’d see you when you weren’t there. Like a damn ghost. A glimpse in a crowd, a tease out of the corner of my eye, disappearing around a corner. You were everywhere.”

She started to shake her head, but he tightened his grip. For an instant she saw that anger flash, then he released her hair. “Now you’re here,” he said, and drew the thermal shirt over her head.

“I’ve been here.”

No, he thought. No. But she was here now. Aroused, a little annoyed, just as he was. To please himself, to pleasure her, he traced his fingers down her collarbone, over the subtle swell of her breasts. The girl he’d known had been a willow stem. She’d bloomed without him.

She shivered at his touch; he’d wanted her to.

Then he pressed the heel of his hand to her forehead, gave her a light shove onto her back. And made her laugh again.

“Mr. Smooth,” she said, then he was on her, his body pressing her into the mattress. “You’ve put on a few pounds.”

“You too.”

“Really?”

“In interesting places.”

She smiled a little, and combed her fingers through his hair as he had with hers. “Well, it’s been a while.”

“I think I remember how everything works. How you work.”

He brushed his lips to hers, a teasing, then a sinking, sinking until it was drowning deep. His hands were on her, reminding her what it had been, confusing her with what it was now.

Strong, hard, working hands, sliding over her, pressing, molding until her breath quickened, until past and present were one brilliant blur over her senses.

He flipped open her bra, tugged it aside, and had her—hands and mouth, teeth and tongue—so quickened breaths became gasps, gasps became moans. She dragged at his thermal, yanking it up and away, impatient now to feel him. Strong back, ridges of muscle. New and fascinating.

He’d been a boy, just a boy really, when last she’d touched him like this. It was a man under her hands now, a man whose body pressed down on hers.

In the dark, barred with light, they rediscovered each other. A curve, an angle, a new point of pleasure. Her fingers skimmed over a scar that hadn’t been there before. And she whispered his name as his lips raced frantically down her body.

She quivered when he unbuttoned her jeans, hitched her hips up to help him pull them away. Rolled with him over the bed as they hurried to strip off every barrier.

Outside one of the cats called out, a wild thing prowling the dark. He took her there, into the dark, and what was wild in her cried out, released in harsh and primitive pleasure.

She moved for him, and with him, her eyes a gleam in the shadows. Everything he’d found and lost, everything he’d lived without was here. Right here. His senses swam with her, a rush of woman, all scent and skin, all wet and warm. The beat of her heart against his hungry mouth, the slide of her skin under his desperate hands.

He pushed her over, felt her rise and break, then gather again.

His name. She said his name over and over.

His name when he drove into her. He held, held himself on that whippy edge, filled and surrounded, entrapped until they were both trembling. Then it was all movement, mad, mindless. And when she broke again, he shattered with her.

She wanted to curl up against him, just fit her body against his like two pieces of a puzzle. Instead she lay quiet, willing herself to hold on to the pleasure, and the peace that had finally come with it.

She could sleep. If she closed her eyes, let her mind shut down, she could sleep. Whatever needed to be said or dealt with could be said or dealt with in the morning.

“You’re cold.”

Was she?

Before her brain could connect with her body he’d shifted her up and over. When had he packed on all the muscle? she wondered. He tugged the sheet and comforter over her, then drew her against him.

She started to stiffen—to ease away, a little at least. Didn’t she need some room, some sort of distance? But he held her there, curled her in exactly where she’d wanted to be.

“Go to sleep,” he said.

And too tired, too undone, to argue, she did just that.

SHE WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE, stayed very still. His arms had stayed around her, and hers had gone around him in the brief hours of the night.

Why, she wondered, did something that basic, that human, break her heart?

Comfort, she reminded herself. In the end, he’d given her the comfort she’d needed. And maybe she’d given him some in return.

It didn’t have to be more than that.

She’d loved him all of her life, and there was no point in trying to convince herself that would ever change. But sex was just an elemental act, and in their case a kind of gift between friends.

Single, consenting, healthy adult friends.

She was strong, smart, and self-aware enough to accept that—and keep it that way. The first step, she thought, was to untangle herself from him and get out of bed.

She started to ease away, as cautiously as she might if she’d been wrapped around a sleeping cobra. She’d barely gained an inch when his eyes opened and beamed straight into hers.

“Sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she whispered—it just seemed the reasonable thing to do. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve got to get started.”

He kept her close, only lifted her hand, turning her wrist to look at the luminous dial of her watch. “Yeah, I guess we both do. In a couple minutes.”

Before she could react he rolled over, and was inside her.

He took his time. After that first shock of possession, he went slow. Long, lazy strokes that left her both weak and giddy. Helpless she floated up, felt herself all but shimmer. Pressing her face to the side of his throat, she let go.

She sighed, lingering longer than was wise.

“I guess I owe you breakfast.”

“I never argue with breakfast.”

She made herself turn away, made the effort to keep her voice light. “I’ll go start the coffee if you want to grab the shower first.”

“Sure.”

She grabbed a robe, pulling it on as she hurried out.

She avoided looking at herself in the mirror and concentrated on the practicalities. Strong black coffee and what she thought of as a full farm breakfast. Maybe she didn’t have any appetite, but she would damn well eat. No one would know she was sick with love. Again.

Better to focus on the positive, she reminded herself. She’d gotten more rest in four hours than she’d had in days. And surely that buzzing sexual tension between her and Coop would diminish now.

The deed was done. They’d both survived. They’d both move on.

Bacon sizzled in the cast-iron skillet while she warmed biscuits in the oven. He liked his eggs over easy, she remembered. At least he had.

By the time he came down, smelling of her soap, she was breaking eggs into the pan. He poured his coffee, topped her mug off, then leaned against the counter and watched her.

“What?”

“You look good. It’s nice to look at you over my morning coffee.” He glanced at the bacon she had draining, then the hash browns sizzling with the eggs. “Guess you’re hungry.”

“I figured I owed you the full shot.”

“I appreciate the breakfast, but I’m not looking for payment.”

“All the same. Anyway, I hope I can get that alarm system installed soon. I can’t expect people to keep guarding the place like it was Fort Apache. Everyone’s got their own to see to, including you.”

“Look at me.”

She glanced over as she flipped the eggs. “Why don’t you sit down? This is about ready.”

“If you’re thinking about stepping back, think again.”

With hands remarkably steady, she scooped out the hash browns. “Sex isn’t a ball and chain, Coop. I step where I want.”

“No, you don’t. Not anymore.”

“Anymore? I never—” She put up a hand as if to stop herself. “I’m not getting into this. I’ve got too much to deal with today.”

“It’s not going away, Lil, and neither am I.”

“You were gone for over ten years. You’ve been back for a few months. Do you think, really think, everything just picks up where you want it to, for as long as you want it?”

“Do you want to hear what I think and what I want? Are you ready to hear it?”

“No, actually, I don’t, and I’m not.” She didn’t think her heart could bear it. Not now. “I’m not interested in a discussion, debate, or rehash. We can be friends, or you can push until we’re not. That’s up to you. If what happened between us ruins our friendship, Cooper, I’ll be sorry. Really sorry.”

“I’m not looking for a fuck buddy, Lil.”

She let out a breath. “Okay, then.”

He took a step toward her, she took one back. And the door opened.

“’Morning. I wanted to let you know . . .” Gull wasn’t the quickest off the mark, but even he could sense bad timing. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” Lil said quickly. “In fact, you’re right on time. Coop was about to have breakfast. You can keep him company and have some yourself.”

“Oh, well, I don’t want to—”

“Grab some coffee.” She began dishing up two plates. “I’ve got to go up and get dressed. Everybody okay out there?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Um . . .”

“Have a seat and dig in. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.” She picked up her coffee, walked out without looking back.

Gull cleared his throat. “Sorry, boss.”

“Not your fault,” Coop muttered.

17

She didn’t come back down in a few minutes. In fact, she didn’t go back to the kitchen at all. She showered, dressed, then let herself out the front of the cabin.

Avoidance? No question, Lil admitted. But she couldn’t afford to bog down her mind, her heart, her spirit. The interns were her full responsibility until Tansy got back—and when she did, they’d have another cat.

She kept herself busy checking the temporary enclosure and working with the crew on the permanent habitat.

Sunny skies and rising temperatures meant she could work in shirt-sleeves for a change. It also meant more snowmelt, more mud. As fickle March headed for capricious April, the dawning of spring would bring more patrons—and more on-site donations.

For her morning break, she visited Baby, pleasing them both with a long play period with lots of scratching, rubbing, and petting.

“I swear, that one’s just a big house cat.” Mary shook her head as Lil came out of the enclosure, double-checked the locks. “Less arrogant than my tabby, come to it.”

“Your tabby couldn’t rip out your jugular if he turned.”

“Got me there. Can’t see that one turning. He’s been a sweetheart since day one. Pretty day, isn’t it?” With her hands on her hips, Mary turned her face up to the bold blue of the sky. “I got bulbs sprouting up in my yard. Crocus blooming, too.”

“I’m ready for spring. Good and ready.”

Lil took the path around, wanting to check all the animals. Mary fell into step beside her.

In their yard, the bobcats rolled and wrestled together like a couple of boys on holiday, while perched in her tree, the lynx watched them with what might have been disdain.

“I know the jaguar and the new security system are going to take a big bite out of the budget. We’re okay, aren’t we, Mary?”

“We’re okay. Donations were a little slow this winter, except for that whopper Coop gave us. That one put us far and away over last year’s first quarter.”

“Now we worry about the second quarter.”

“Lucius and I are brainstorming on some fundraising ploys. And we’ll start clicking along here with the warmer weather.”

“I’m worried the trouble we’ve been having will keep people away, and cut hard into entrance fees and on-site donations. Word gets around.” Reality, Lil knew, came in dollars and cents. “We’ll have two new animals, with Xena and Cleo, to feed, house, and care for. I’d hoped to be able to hire at least a part-time veterinary assistant for Matt this summer. I’m not sure we’ll be able to stretch the budget for it now.”