And no matter how much he’d hurt her, and even if he wasn’t in love with her, Max would never have let her wander the woods alone. He was a little chauvinistic—well, a lot chauvinistic—but he was also a very sensitive, caring man. He acted tough on the outside, but inside he was gentle and loving. Leslie sighed again. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was write Max Darkwood a letter and tell him he wrote wonderful stories, and that if he was, in actuality, the hero of his books, there was a good chance she was deeply in love with him.
Somewhere nearby a twig snapped. Leslie’s head popped up. There was silence, except for the normal night sounds that she had grown accustomed to. Just to make herself feel better, though, she tucked her hand under the sleeping bag she’d wrapped around her legs to feel the reassuring presence of Joe’s handgun. She was more familiar with the shotgun, but it was too heavy to pack around for very long. And she was sure the principles of firing the handgun were the same as the shotgun. She felt safe with it cuddled close to her side.
Again there was an odd noise, a rustling of leaves that sounded different from when the wind rustled them. And another snap. Leslie’s fingers curled around the gun. She heard a low, throaty growl and more rustling and snapping. The gun came up and went off in one fluid movement. A rock seemed to burst explosively in front of Leslie’s wide, frantic eyes, spraying fragments in all directions. The loud, sharp clap echoed through the tree tops and then there was silence. And only then did Leslie realize that she was frightened out of her wits and on the brink of being killed by some wild beast.
A long string of expletives and some of the dirtiest swearwords Leslie had ever heard began to filter through the trees and into her fear-soaked consciousness. They ended with, “Dammit to hell, Leslie, put that damn thing down before you kill me!”
It was Joe. Joe had come after her. Even as angry as he’d been with her and as disgusted as he was with her selfishness, he’d come after her. Her heart was racing wildly and beating an erratic rhythm as she watched him stumble out of the bushes and into her small camp. She tried to go to him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him until he wasn’t angry anymore, but her legs felt like jelly. She wanted to say something, anything, but her tongue turned suddenly spastic, tying itself in knots. So, she had to let Joe do all the talking, and he didn’t exactly have Max Darkwood’s vocabulary.
“Are you out of your mind? You could have called out and warned me you had a gun. And you never shoot at rocks. Bullets ricochet, you idiot. And what the hell are you doing out here anyway? Feeling sorry for yourself? How come you didn’t stay put and hit me with something when I walked through the door? Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in out here all alone in the middle of nowhere?” He started walking toward her as he shouted, “People with more brains and know-how than you have been known to die up here. Taking off like that was a damned stupid thing to do. I ought to wring your neck,” he said as he landed on his knees beside her, his eyes wild with fury and passion. His hands cupped her face, and she swallowed hard, thinking he might very well carry out his threat. But she didn’t move. “I ought to … and I will, if you ever leave me again.”
His words slowed and softened, and the passion began to consume the ferociousness in his gaze as he cast it wondrously over her face. Without warning, he lowered his head and his lips covered her mouth. His tongue was unyielding as it drove between her teeth and took possession of her senses. Joe’s kiss was long and fiery and heartfelt. It shook the mountain and made Leslie tremble with its power and depth. Her world began to reel out of focus, and her hands automatically reached out to Joe for support. Joe winced and sucked in a sharp breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked through the haze of her jumbled emotions.
“Nothing. Kiss me again,” he murmured, his lips moving against hers, hardly losing contact as he spoke. “Forgive me and kiss me again.”
“Oh, Joe.” She sighed, her spirits soaring. Her hand passed along his shoulder, enjoying the feel of the power he possessed. Then suddenly her fingertips encountered a warm stickiness, and she instinctively pulled them away. A soft cry of shock escaped her as she stared at her fingers in horror. “You’re bleeding,” she said with a gasp.
“I’ll live. Kiss me.”
“What happened? Why? My God, Joe, your shirt is covered with blood.”
“You shot me. Kiss me, and I’ll forgive you.”
“But—” He silenced her with his mouth.
“No, Joe. You’ll bleed to death,” she said, pushing him away, trying to calm the sick terror that beset her as she began to unbutton his shirt. “I can’t believe I did this. I finally fall in love with somebody, and then I shoot him. I need to get into therapy.”
“Relax. It’s a flesh wound, a scratch. I’m going to die a much worse death if you don’t kiss me again. … What did you just say?” he asked, his grasp stilling her hands, his demanding look dispelling some of the confusion and agitation in her mind with its insistence.
Leslie hesitated. “When?”
“Just now.”
Mentally she had to rewind her recording of the past few minutes. When it came back loud and clear that she’d actually said, out loud, that she loved him, it was almost as big a shock to her as it was to him. Well, maybe not quite as big, she decided. Hadn’t she felt all along that there was something special about him, about him and her together. There was most surely a devastating attraction between them, but there was more. She’d never cared what someone else thought of her, not enough to want to please him. She’d never really wanted to make anyone but herself happy. But she wanted Joe to be happy. With or without her, she wanted him to be happy. She wanted to know him in every sense, wanted to please him in any way she could, wanted to be with him indoors or out, in the city or on the mountainside. There was a sense of rightness about her feelings. Joe was the man she’d waited all her life for. She had no proof, no facts, no specific reasons, she just knew it to be true.
With all the confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing, Leslie looked into Joe’s deep green eyes and whispered, “I said I love you.”
A slow gentle smile crossed his lips while he sat looking at her as if she were a miracle worker.
She gave him a quick, self-conscious peck on the mouth as she rose up on her knees to peel away his shirt. She felt his hands working the buttons along the front of her own shirt and tried to ignore him as she pulled his T-shirt away from his wound. “I’m so sorry,” she said anxiously, slipping her fingers into the tear in the cotton and making it larger. “I didn’t mean to shoot you. I thought you were an animal.”
“I feel like an animal,” Joe said as he removed the flannel shirt from over her arms. “I want you so much, Leslie. I need you so badly.”
Leslie pulled on the material of his T-shirt until it began to tear. Through her own T-shirt, she felt Joe’s mouth cover the tip her breast and begin to suck. A weakening wave of ecstasy rolled over her, again and again, until she was hard put to keep from falling limply over his shoulder. “Oh, please,” she said, moaning. “Let me finish this. I think it’s stopped bleeding, but you really ought to have something over it to protect it.”
Joe stopped only long enough to remove her T-shirt, while she ripped his in half and off his body. He was cupping her breasts and pulling her closer before she could find a clean corner of the cloth with which to bandage his wound. Feebly she pressed the shirt to his shoulder and was vaguely relieved to see that he had, indeed, stopped bleeding. Joe’s lips moved lower, teasing and calculating. His fingers played with the buttons on her jeans until he could slide them down over her hips. Leslie slipped her fingers into his thick dark hair and pressed him closer to her as he laved her navel with his tongue. With her other hand, she fought valiantly to keep the dressing in place on his shoulder, while she tried not to lean too heavily on it for balance. His hands gripped her waist as he moved lower and lower to wreak havoc on her senses.
Intuitively her body seemed to know what to do. It moved closer to Joe, knowing he’d protect her and keep her safe in her mindlessness. Her heart matched its rhythm to his, and they shared their life’s breaths as they fell together into a parallel world, where only ungovernable desire and delight existed and profound pleasure reigned supreme.
Leslie’s hand roamed slowly over the rolling knolls and valleys across Joe’s chest, and she traced the trail of coarse, dark hair all the way to its end. Joe’s soft groan rumbled in her ear as it lay pressed against his chest. His arms tightened around her naked body, and he rolled toward her, out of the path of her nomadic fingers.
He came up on one elbow and looked down into her face. She’d never seen an expression quite like his now. He looked almost boyish, full of happiness and hope and contentment. She recognized the emotions easily, as they reflected her own like a mirror.
She shivered briefly when he lifted the covers away and revealed her body to the glowing firelight. She was warmed again as his gaze caressed and cherished every visible inch of her. Wrapping the blanket around her, shielding her from the cool night air once more, he let his hand slide from her neck to her belly in a most proprietary way. “This body was made for loving. So soft and responsive,” he uttered as if in awe.
“Joe,” she said, urgently needing to make everything between them as perfect as their lovemaking had been. “I did read your books. All of them. I smuggled them out every afternoon and read them cover to cover.”
Joe frowned and gave an amazed little chuckle. “Why’d you feel you had to sneak around to read them? I wanted you to read them. I wanted your opinion on them.”
“That’s just it. I couldn’t give you an opinion, aside from the fact that I thought you wrote wonderfully. I knew nothing about the things you wrote about. I mean, not enough to have an opinion on them anyway. You were right this morning. I’ve had my head buried in the sand, in my own little world for so long, I had no idea of what was going on around me. I was ashamed to let you know or even have you guess at the truth. I didn’t want you to think badly of me.”
“Humph. I’m surprised you cared what I thought at all. I’ve been such an ass to you. And it doesn’t matter that you and I don’t have the same interests—”
“But that’s not the point, Joe. It wasn’t just your respect I was afraid of losing. I had to get some of my own back. I always thought I was so smart, that I had everything figured out and under control. And all along I was standing knee deep in confusion and chaos. I was just too stupid and selfish to open my eyes and see it. I can’t tell you how awful it is to wake up one morning and discover you have no life, that nothing you’ve been doing means anything.”
“But Leslie, honey, that’s not what’s important. What is important is that you did wake up. Some people never do.”
She thought over what he’d said in silence, aware of the solidness of his hand on her stomach and of the words he spoke. He might speak gruffly and show a hard exterior, but inside he was stable and understanding, caring and gentle and giving. “You know,” she said, tracing his cheekbone with the tip of her finger, “I like you very much when you act like this. In some ways you remind me very much of Max Darkwood.”
Joe laughed. “You really have a thing for him, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s not as big as the thing I have for you, but he certainly finishes a close second place. He’s sweet and gentle and tender. He’s honest and loving and faithful. Max is someone you know you can trust.”
“Yes, but can Max kiss you like this … ? Or touch you here … or here … or make you feel that? No? What about this?” Joe proceeded to stir her emotions and drive her senses wild with a need only he could satisfy. “If you were to ask me,” he murmured against her throat, “I’d have to say you made the best choice. Max could never love you like I do.”
Long after dawn had pledged itself to the day, Leslie and Joe lay under the warming rays of the sun, oblivious to their nakedness—except when it suited their whims. Then it was very handy. For hours they did nothing but lie in each other’s arms and talk. Sometimes their chatter was nonsensical, but more often than not, it was autobiographical as they tried to encapsulate their lifetimes into small doses for the other to ingest. They felt an urgency to know all there was to know about the other, to share secrets and dreams, to bond deeply and irrevocably.
All the while, Joe didn’t seem able to keep his hands off her. Always touching, always stroking, his hands were reverent and indulgent. Leslie had never felt so cherished or adored. He was as free and familiar with her body as he was with his own. Deprived of such closeness in the past, and not realizing it until now, she soaked it up thirstily like a dry sponge, wanting more.
Leslie leaned over Joe and kissed him softly, simply because she wanted to. “Do you suppose we should get going? Or shall we sleep here again tonight?”
“Did we sleep here last night?” Joe asked with a yawn. “I don’t remember sleeping.”
Leslie laughed at her own recollections of the previous night. “Let me rephrase that. Can you afford any more time away from your work?”
Throwing his arms around her and rolling over on top of her, Joe looked down at Leslie with regret in his eyes. “No, I can’t. But I’d much rather stay here with you. Although,” he said, his mood lightening, “there’s a lot to be said for beds and food and some of the other comforts back at the cabin.” He pulled a dry leaf from Leslie’s tangle of dark hair and grinned at her.
“Does your shoulder hurt much?”
“No. I’ve been too distracted to pay much attention to it.”
From overhead, came a high-pitched screech that resounded for miles over the valleys and mountain-tops. The sky was a clear, true blue, empty, but for a lone bird that stretched and soared across the vast openness as if it were lord paramount over all other living creatures.
“I guess we’ll have to go now. Archibald has found us,” Joe said, leaning back on his arms to watch the bird circling above them, climbing higher and higher with every rotation. “And he doesn’t look happy to see us.”