Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) (13 page)

I trusted myself to slide closer to her, to lean in close. “Isn’t that what trust is? Opening yourself up to chance, to possibility?”

Adrenaline pulsed in me still. Chemical courage. I would bathe in the stuff if I could. Danger always made me feel more alive, more in control.

Something else pulsed in me now, too, also making me feel. Danger and excitement of a different kind, triggered by the warmth of Dee’s hand, the nearness of her body to mine. By her sensibility and her courage. “Take the chance,” I urged.

I waited a moment for the
no
that didn’t come.

Then I took my chance and laid my lips on hers.

Was I really kissing Chris Corsair? Hollywood idol, dream lover of women the world over? My heart raced, feeling the pressure of his smooth lips against mine. It seemed absurd that someone who had actively rejected his advances was now in the very position millions fantasized about.

And yet…

It wasn’t Chris Corsair I was kissing. It was the man who’d challenged a leopard, who’d raced through fire with me, who’d come face-to-face with lions, and who’d trusted me enough to give his trust to them. That was the man I could kiss, the man I wanted to kiss, the man I could dream about kissing.

That was the man I kissed now.

My lips slid over his, chaste and cool at first, warming quickly under the intensity of his. Yes, he deserved more than a quick peck of thanks for all he’d done. And as our lips moiled over each other and he captured my bottom lip and shook his head gently from side to side, my breath quickened.

Then his hand was at my neck, cradling my head as the tip of his tongue ran its way around the inner circle of my lips.

Far more than a kiss of gratitude now, it was a pendulum swinging between the choices of my next move. Retreat, and honor some principle already crumbling in the face of his heroic actions. Or sound the advance, and allow myself the full pleasure of being kissed deep by Chris Corsair.

I caught his tongue and sucked it in.

He paused only a moment in surprise before adjusting himself for a better angle, bracing my head as he thrust in, his lips grinding now against mine with bruising force.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I kissed back as his tongue tickled my throat. I didn’t even know I had a G-spot there until an electric jolt shot into the muscles deep behind my pelvic bone.
God
.

Chris’ other hand cupped my breast as he ran his thumb over the cottoned peak. Then he was pressing me back till my head was lying on the seat by the open door.

He shifted over me, his tongue still thrusting deep, swearing a promise of more to be. The hard length of him against my thigh echoed that promise.

Of its own, my body arched into his.

It was that reflexive move that decided me.

I pushed him away, gently but firmly. “No.”

He looked genuinely hurt. “I wasn’t planning on hitting a home run. My condoms are in the tent with everything else. What do you say we just make it to second or third base?”

“Second base, home run—what, are you 12?” I teased.

“Most guys are.”

“It’s not how far we go. It’s that…” I wasn’t tongue-tied, although I was a bit tongue-tired; I just wasn’t sure how to express myself.

“You’re not ready,” Chris prompted.

“Oh, my body’s ready. Too ready. And that’s the problem. Because I don’t think I’m ready
here
.” I placed a hand over my heart, so close to where his own hand had just been.

“Don’t think, or you know you’re not?”

That was a great question. He and I both deserved an honest answer to it. “It’s not like there’s this visible line between the two.”

“What will it take to get you to
yes
?”

“First, you not being so preoccupied about whether I get
there
or not. Is that the only destination for you? Because it’s got to be more than just about the sex for me. Otherwise, I’ve done without help in that regard for quite a while now.”

“Of course it’s about more than the sex. But you’re looking at it backwards. The sex is the easy part, the appetizer. It whets your senses for the main course to come. Sure, some people make a meal out of appetizers alone. I’ve done it myself—and way too often, I won’t lie. But here I’m looking for an entrée—I just want a taste of you first, to heighten the hunger, not appease it entirely. Not yet. So Deidre Young, I’m asking you now, let me whet my tongue with you.”

Truly, I wanted to whet a lot more than just his tongue. Pushing that magnificent body away had not been easy. There were muscles in me still shuddering in disappointment. “In my restaurant,” I murmured, “sex is the dessert. And we don’t serve dessert until after the entrée’s been enjoyed. Dessert’s the sweet aftertaste, to be lingered over—One. Bite. At. A. Time.” I nipped his ear, deliberately provoking the beast.

I swear he growled at me as the passion in those oh-so-direct blue eyes rekindled like flames on the veldt. His response was swift, his mouth on mine hard as he sucked the breath right out of me. For one heady moment I returned his passion, matching it in insistence and intensity, letting it burn through me from bruised lips to curled toes.

Then he was gone. His face hovered still mere inches from mine, but the distance between was a cold and endless abyss, my body derelict and abandoned.

Stretching that talented tongue, he gave the top of my nose a final swipe, the tingle of it echoing deep within. “If you like the appetizer, wait’ll you get to that dessert. I guarantee it to be…extra filling.”

Never had I wanted dessert so badly.

“In that case,” I whispered, not trusting my voice louder, but not needing to in the intimacy of the backseat, “let’s split an entrée so we have plenty of room after.”

“Mmmm. I’m game. What do you suggest?”

“I was thinking a hero sandwich with a side of crow.”

“A bold yet flavorful pairing.” He circled an arm around and pulled me into his side. Maybe I’d been alone too long, with no one to count on, relying only on my own instincts, my own strength, because that arm around me where we snuggled here in the backseat like two awkward teens was like a wall of protection I hadn’t even known I was missing.

God, it felt good. Comfortable. Secure.

Resting my head on that impossibly broad chest, I closed my eyes and waited for the sun.

We were still wrapped together mid-morning, entertaining ourselves with another bold choice—talking. Chris told me all about a privileged childhood of private schools and summer camp, trips to Europe and ski resorts on winter breaks. A solid, upper-middle-class life, a life without want or struggle. It had all been easy for him, except for parents who spent more time
making
a life for themselves than living that life. Always stressed, always on the edge of a fight.

“I took a year off after high school just to get away from that. To center myself. I went to a modeling agency in LA on a lark. When they signed me, I had no expectations. Until I went on my first shoot—the people, the cameras, the attention—I figured I’d found Nirvana. I got an agent, took some acting lessons, cut my teeth in a failed sitcom, then picked up the lead in a little sleeper film that exploded two weeks after release and pegged me an action hero forever after. Since then, life’s been a battle to keep that star riding high.

“That was 12 years ago, and 12 years in Hollywood World is like 50 in the real world. People forget you. Maybe not the fans, but the directors and casting agents looking for the fresh, hot faces. I certainly wasn’t a has-been yet, but that star was looking a little rough around the edges. When you’re signing reality show gigs instead of feature films, it’s time to kiss the gravy train goodbye. My Atlas role came along just in time. If those movies do anywhere close to the money that’s being talked about, that should have me set for a while. But I’m getting older, and if those movies bomb instead, then it’s back to reality shows and celeb appearances on game shows and dance contests, pretty much for the rest of my life.”

He tilted my head up with a gentle hand beneath my chin so my eyes met his. “I’m not looking for commiseration or advice. It is what it is. I’m only telling you this to…” His face twisted as he struggled to come up with the reason.

I grinned. “Women have a secret name for what you’re doing. We call it
sharing
.”

Chris’ eyes widened in mock-distress. “No. No, you’re wrong. Real men don’t share.”

“More bad news for you—
sharing
often leads to
bonding
.”

Horror fluttered across those too-expressive eyes. “No, not bonding! Or”—his expression melted into a leer—“did you mean bond
-age
?”

“Like being spanked, do you?” He apparently didn’t notice my tone had cooled—a lot.

“I may be a traditionalist when it comes to men and sharing, but in the bedroom, I’m liberal all the way. I’m happy to spank or be spanked. Equal opportunity fun.”

When he saw my disappointment, his mouth fell immediately into a sincere frown. “You know I’m kidding, right? A little light kink, maybe. I’m open to that. If you ar—” He caught himself. “If whoever I’m with is too. But it’s not a requirement.”

I sighed. “You really don’t have an internal filter that keeps you from saying inappropriate things, do you? Look, I’m not a prude. And yes, I happen to like a little light kink to spice things up every now and again. It’s just… We were having a good moment there. An important moment. But you had to take it too far. Turn it all into a joke—a risqué joke at that. Why do you do it?”

Chris fell quiet. I’d either struck a nerve or he was reconsidering ever being attracted to me. After a long moment, he said, “It’s a defense mechanism, I guess.”

I gave him credit for really thinking about his behavior and taking my questions—me—seriously. Still, I shook my head. “Your whole Chris Corsair persona is a defense mechanism. It’s just you and me here, and a pride of lions who don’t care who you were before you came. Can you put aside Chris Corsair for just one day and be who
you
are? Isn’t that what you said you wanted? If you can’t do it here when no one else is around, how do you expect to ever be able to do it out there?” I waved a hand to encompass Hollywood, America, the world. “Besides, if I’m ever going to have dessert, it needs to be with the real Chris. The Chris in there.”

He trembled under the hand I laid palm down on his chest.

No act that.

“Darnelle,” he whispered.

I blinked my confusion.

“My real name—Christopher Darnelle.”

“Well, then, Christopher, let me share something important with you. I really wasn’t kidding awhile back when I said I needed to pee. Now I
really
have to go.”

The moment over, usurped by that ever-more-demanding call of nature, I scrambled into the driver’s seat. Chris hauled in the tripod, and I backed us up about a quarter mile out of camp, stopping under the privacy of a tambotie tree. Blackened veldt in the rearview mirror was a grim reminder, along with the stench of lingering smoke, that Nature could also be more than inconvenient to deal with.

After Chris and I had taken turns behind the tree, I drove us back into camp, parking us in the middle of the triangle of tents, beside the camp stove and chairs.

The commotion lured Brutus back our way. Nana followed him as he crossed our front bumper and my viewfinder with typical regal grace. They paused to sniff at the Rover’s front grate and the tires, Brutus giving a casual toss to his dark and luxurious mane, which had aged better than the rest of him. Not that he wasn’t still a beautiful lion—simply thinned out and a bit bonier with age. Scars and deep jowls added to a weary, wise warrior impression.

Of the two of them, though, Nana was the one who better deserved the title of warrior. She was the Amazon of the pride, covered with the scars of a lion’s life well-lived. Together they made a comfortable pair.

“I only hope to have as comfortable a life as full of memories as them in my senior years,” I confessed.

“They do seem to have figured out life is all about sleeping. Don’t they sleep like 20 hours out of the day?”

“Not the sleeping. The dreaming. But that’s not what I mean. Look at them. Don’t they seem awfully content?”

“Like an old married couple.” Chris had slid into the passenger seat when he’d returned from whizzing behind the tree, all zipped up with a resigned look in his eye. Resigned about me or our situation? I wondered. When he took my hand in his, I realized he hadn’t given up on me. Yet. “Is that what you mean?”

It wasn’t when I said it. But now with my fingers cradled in the warmth and security of Chris’ hand, I allowed myself a waking dream of what my future could be.

What I saw made me giggle. Not at all the reaction Chris expected. “Spill.”

I couldn’t, not something so personal, something I could only see myself sharing with my best—
Oh
. Hadn’t he shared earlier with me? Wasn’t I obligated to share something back?

“When I think of being old, I think of sitting on a porch somewhere in the bush, holding hands with my hubby and watching lions parade on by.”

I was beginning to enjoy that damnably sexy grin of his. “So you’re saying you’re already that old lady. That of all the futures you could dream about, where you’re at now is where you want to be for the rest of your life?”

“Well, some of the details might be different, but essentially, yeah.”

“You mean that, don’t you?”

Another question that deserved honesty. “I’ve lived in the world. I grew up in St. Louis and went to Caltech for a handful of years before transferring to Berkeley for my MA before coming to Africa. I’m not some agoraphobic introvert, but I have… I don’t know—a simple soul. Your life—paparazzi, travel, entourages—that’s not even remotely tempting. I’m just not built for that kind of life.”

“I think you’re remarkably well-built—for anything you want to do.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “What about you?” I asked before I could embarrass myself further. “What does a senior Christopher Darnelle look like?”

Before I could answer, my attention was caught by Brutus and Nana on a deliberate path toward the rest of the pride lazing by the stream. I sat up straighter, praying there wouldn’t be a confrontation.

Sheba swiped an ineffectual paw their way from her prone position. Not so much a threat, I thought, as a warning that she was watching.

Ignoring her, Brutus and Nana strolled directly up to Caesar. I held my breath. Brutus briefly touched noses with the cub, and Nana ran her cheek along his in truce and welcome. She moved to Portia next, head-butting her daughter affectionately before settling down beside her on the grassy bank. Brutus deliberated a moment about where to sit his royal haunches, deciding away from Sheba and Caesar might be best, finally stretching out on Nana’s far side, squeezing his bulk between her and the water’s edge.

Our pride, at peace again.

Only… There was that word again.
Our
.

My hand being squeezed was an echo to my thoughts.

“You know,” Chris said, his voice quiet in the cab, “your vision of the future isn’t half bad.”

“No? I bet those pesky intervening years of yours look a lot different from mine.”

He turned his face from the lions then to fix me with a blue stare that melted every bit of me. “You’d be surprised.”

First it was dessert my body had craved. Now it was surprise my heart desired. Coupled with that sensuous grin and those melting-blue eyes, I was fast in danger of saying the one word I’d never thought I’d say to Chris Corsair.

Yes
.