Scarlet Fever (8 page)

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said.

He smiled. “I’m glad you approve. I’ve begun to explore my inner domestic.”

“Actually, it looks a lot like my apartment,” she observed. “If my apartment were bigger. And cleaner. An empty pizza box or two would add to the illusion, and maybe a few diet Coke cans thrown around, here and there, but otherwise, looking at all this is like
déjà vu.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to volunteer a couple of clothing items for curtains?” he asked.” I was thinking about some nice florals. Sort of pastelish, and summery.”

“I’ll check my luggage, but I’m not a big fan of flowers. How about a pale blue pinstripe, and some tiny white polka dots, on a beige background?”

He nodded. “That works for me. I’m sorry about the double bed, though. I was going for twins, with a discreet space between, but…Well, you know. The drastic shortage of bedding, and all that. Plus," he glanced away quickly, and Anne realized he was blushing a little, "it will be warmer."

Anne felt her face flush in return. “I understand," she mumbled. "I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He pulled the top cover back and Anne saw he'd unzipped both sleeping bags, putting one below them and the other - his heavy-duty arctic number - on top. Over that was one of the tattered blankets, almost like a bed spread. "Come on," he said softly. "I'm getting cold."

Stripping to her long johns, Anne climbed in next to him. She stretched out languorously, or at least as languorously as one could on sleeping-bag-covered moss.

"Remember," he joked. "No snoring."

Anne snorted. “More insults? Where I come from, Sergeant Cameron,
voluptuous
is a polite way of saying
fat
. And I do
not
snore.”

He smiled. “Of course, you don’t. And you don’t snuggle up to me at night, either, when you think I’m asleep.”

“Extreme cold does strange things to women, too,” she explained coolly. “Which reminds me. I’m freezing my butt. Move over. You’re on my side of the bed.”

They lay there for a while, enjoying the added warmth and comfort of the new sleeping arrangements— and watching the snow begin to fall.

“Well, it’s nice to know that you’re not perfect, after all,” she said wearily “You were wrong about what time the snow would start.”

“I wish that were funny,” he said quietly. “The problem is, if it keeps snowing like this all night, there’ll be no getting out of here, on foot. Our one snowshoe won’t be a lot of help.”

Anne closed her eyes—gratefully. “Will you get mad at me if I say I’m relieved that you won’t be able to go?” she asked softly.

“No. But it’s going to mean half-rations from here on out.”

“So, what were they before?”

He didn’t answer, but drew her closer, and pulled the top sleeping bag over both of their heads. “Stop squirming around, and keep your head covered.”

“I can’t talk with my head covered,” she protested.

Cameron chuckled. “I know.”

“Do you mind I ask you something?” she asked. “Something really personal?”

“If you want to know if I’m getting
turned on
, as you put it, the answer is yes. Now, stop kicking me in the shins, and go to sleep, if you can. We’re going to have to dig out of here in the morning.”

She moved closer, and stretched her arms over her head, in an attempt to display her breasts to their best advantage possible, under three layers of clothing.

“I’m sorry if I kicked you,” she said, turning slightly, so that their thighs touched. He froze; she could feel him holding his breath.

"Anne," he said softly. "Once I start, I'm not going to be able to stop."

She slipped her hand between their bodies, and finally satisfied herself that the bulge was real. "Once you start, I'm not going to want you to stop," she responded just as softly.

Groaning, pushing his hips against her hand, he skimmed his hands down her body and somehow - somehow got them under the long-john shirt. First his fingers found her nipples and then his mouth - that soft mouth she'd been eyeing for so many days. His beard had gone beyond stubble after more than two weeks with no razor, and when he caught her sensitive tip in a long soothing bite, she though she was going to climax without him ever going below her waist.

Not that she had to wait long for that. Before she could catch her breath, he was skimming the long-john bottoms down, and not being particularly gentle about it. "I've wanted to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you, Annie," he breathed in her ear. "I wanted to bend you over O'Brien's desk and blister your ass for being such a brat, and then fuck you right then and there. Fuck you until you screamed."

"O'Brien would have loved that."

"Should have done it anyway…" Somehow - Anne didn't know how - he'd managed to get his own long johns down. The bulge was a full-fledged erection, hot, hard, smooth against her hand and her belly, and before she knew it he was on top of her, separating her thighs with his own hard ones. "Baby, I'm sorry, I can't…"

He didn't elaborate about just what he couldn't do, but he didn't need to. With one long fluid stroke, he slid into Anne hard. She was so wet for him, it was embarrassing, but he didn't seem to mind.

For the first time in her life, Anne knew what it was like to have a man who was literally out of his mind with lust. She realized in some dimly aware part of her brain that Cameron must have been on the verge of exploding for days, and she marveled at his control. She'd picked up on a few moments of sexual tension - seen his eyes on her when he thought she wasn't looking - but the level of raw lust that was pouring from his thrusting body into hers… she hadn't seen this coming, not by a long shot.

He locked his mouth onto hers and simultaneously thrust both of his hands under her bare ass, drawing her body into him. She felt possessed… taken… like she'd never felt before, and then, although she would not have thought it possible, he slammed into even harder than before. And the man who didn't swear, who didn't use four letter words, was groaning out every obscenity she'd ever heard and a few that she hadn't.

He collapsed on her, whispering "Oh God, Oh God," over and over again.

"I think I'm smothering," she croaked out.

"Oh God," he said again, but managed to roll off of her. "I'm so sorry, Annie."

"For what?"

"For… being so… fast."

Anne laughed. "It was fine."

He rolled into her and bit her ear. "I'll make it up to you."

"No…," she started, but his hand had already skimmed down her body to her slick thighs. "Spread your legs."

She blushed in the darkness. "No, it's too…"

"Spread your legs, or I'll spank you, and then you'll spread 'em anyway."

Gasping with her own lust, she parted her thighs, and learned very quickly that there was another thing that Staff Sergeant Geoffrey Cameron, RCMP was good at. Those long fingers she'd admired for so many days deftly parted her wide, and the rough pad of his thumb found her hard clit… just so. And when she came in his arms, she started to cry.

* * * * *

She awoke before he did the next morning. It was actually quite a miracle that she woke at all because Staff Sergeant Cameron, although apparently a slow-starter, once let loose, was no slouch in the sex department. They'd made love twice more in the night, and the second and third time, he'd taken his own sweet time about it. Anne had learned several new positions, as well as some dirty words in Gaelic and, when she'd finally fallen asleep after the third go-round, she'd been so exhausted and sated and sore, her final thought had been she'd never wake again.

But she did, and discovered that the snow must have stopped not long after it started, as there were no more than three or four additional inches on the ground. She knew that the stable weather meant he’d be packing up to leave camp, after all. And to leave
her
. That was why he’d fixed up the cabin. So she’d be warmer, and safer, not to seduce her. Had that been an accident? Something he never intended?

Trying not to cry, she crawled into the front seat of the cockpit, and began sorting through the pile of bags he’d stored on the floor during the “redecorating.” She was rummaging through her smaller suitcase, hoping to find her makeup bag, when her fingers touched an unexpected item that brought a smile to her tear-streaked face. It was a minute cardboard box, labeled
Top Notch Grille, Good Food, Great Booze.
A tiny, completely-full box of matches.

Breakfast! Maybe nothing but outdated canned bacon and applesauce, but hot. And hot tea, from slightly mildewed teabags. A feast fit for a king and queen.

Under the belly of the plane, and beneath the ripped tarpaulin, she found some of the junk Geoff had removed from the back. Dry firewood, without the risk of running into Mama bear and her kids.

She had the fire going and the bacon already sizzling when he stepped out of the plane and into the fresh snow. He looked around, then stomped his feet to test the depth, and her heart sank. He
was
going to leave. Today.

When he approached the fire, he was smiling, but she knew the smile was for her benefit. He was doing his best to put a good face on a rotten situation.

“All right, what’s your secret?” he asked, pointing to the fire. “Or have you been practicing rubbing two sticks together?

She reached into the pocket of her parka and pulled out the little box of matches.

“Merry Christmas! Oh, do you say
Merry Christmas
in Canada?”

“We do, but we usually start saying it three months from now.” He took the box she handed him. “What’s this?”

“A very early Christmas present.”

He slid the box open, and grinned. “Well, that answers my
first
question. Next question, and be careful about what you say. How far did you have to go from the plane to find the wood?”

“It was under the plane,” she said brightly. “With all the crap you tossed out. It burns great, too.”

“Yes, I should think it would, but in the future, would you mind not using the furniture to cook with?”

“What?”

“That box you’re burning was going to be our new dining table. Now, we’ll have no table, and only one chair.”

She frowned. “Chair? Are you talking about that other old box? The broken one, with the?”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “So much for gracious living." He reached down and selected a wooden slat from the small pile that remained.

“I’m getting spanked for this?” she asked innocently.

“No, I suppose not. It was an accident. Besides, if that
should
become necessary, the canoe paddle will probably do a much better job.”

Anne gulped. “You don’t mean the short paddle, do you? That crummy old thing that went with the inflatable boat? With all those patches? That leaked?”

“You burned the canoe paddle, too?”

“Why would anyone need a paddle, if they didn’t even have a boat?” she asked sweetly.

He pulled her up, and used the wooden slat to deliver two quick swats to her rear end. The two blows were apparently test swats. The third one wasn’t.

“
OW-W-W! *#&$(^*$#*!
You goddamned son of a…”

“Say it, and I add another twenty,” he said. “Minus the long-johns and the black lace knickers, this time.”

“
You
…” She stopped abruptly. “You can't spank me any more."

He looked genuinely astonished. "Why ever not?"

"Because… well… I just figured it was a substitute for… the other."

"Oh," he nodded wisely. "So I was just smacking your bum because I secretly wanted to fuck you."

"Right," she responded emphatically.

Cameron nodded some more. Then with no warning he drew her into his chest and kissed her hard. "Let me break it to you, my lass. Spanking is spanking, and fucking is fucking. And sometimes the twain shall meet, but never doubt that there's room a' plenty for both in
your
life."

The kiss deepened, and Anne realized that she was going to be fucked for the fourth time in less than eight hours. And that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Then… “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That noise, from…”

They looked up at the same moment, and saw a plane overhead—a silver one, wagging its wings.

* * * * *

“When we land at Regina,” he explained, over the noise of the rescue plane’s twin engines. “I’ll leave you in my quarters, then report in, where I’m sure I’ll be asked to explain in excruciatingly tedious detail what happened to Her Majesty’s airplane, and why I shouldn’t be drummed out of the Force for burying it in the mud. In my absence, feel free to bathe, eat, sleep, read, launder what remains of your wardrobe—whatever you wish. Please try to get some rest, though, because when I get back, you and I have several unresolved issues to discuss.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“First, there’s the matter of the spanking that I was about to administer before we were rescued.”

“Was that what you were doing? Because I seem to remember it a bit differently. I don't think spanking is what you were doing.”

“Maybe not. But I'm sure you deserved one. And I'm of a mind to give you one, just for good measure. And then I'm going to make love to you afterwards.

Anne snorted, not wanting to give the least indication just how hot both his threat and his promise were making her. “Not only do you not understand women, Sergeant, but you have an amazing ego. Do you really think I’m going to be in the mood to hop in bed with you, after getting my ass set on fire?”

“No, I imagine you’ll call me quite a lot of names, first, and then sulk a bit, but before the evening is out, I believe you’ll convince yourself that it’s time to move on to the next step.”

“What next step?”

“Getting married, of course. There’s a good deal of paperwork involved in marrying

a member of the RCMP, especially for someone who’s entered the country illegally. I expect you’ll have to be investigated at some length.” He grinned. “I will, of course, volunteer to do the strip-search, should that be required.”