Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 (5 page)

The next thing she knew, he'd rolled onto his back, hauling her over him so she wound up straddling him.

"Hey," she protested.

"Hey yourself," he said, holding a hand up against the beam from the flashlight she'd managed to hang onto. "Don't you know better than to creep up on a guy while he's sleeping?"

"I was checking to see if you were breathing."

He grinned and settled his head back on his pillow. "Check for swelling while you're at it."

Considering her crotch hovered somewhere just north of his, her mouth dropped open and her cheeks flamed. "Ummm…"

He motioned to his face and shoulders. "The wasp bites."

"Of course," she said, sweeping the light beam across his lips, his square chin, and his chest. The swelling was down.

So why didn't she climb off him?

"What's this?" he asked, flicking the lower hem of her chemise.

"Joe Hollywood doesn't know what a chemise is?"

"I know a chemise when I see one. I've just never felt one that was a cotton blend." The backs of his fingers brushed her belly as they snagged the lower edge of her chemise. "It's like a little spaghetti strap t-shirt."

"What do you know about spaghetti straps," she said, more breathless than she meant to be.

"You're the one calling me Joe Hollywood and implying all us Hollywood types know about fashion."

She had nothing to say to that, not when a certain part his anatomy seemed to have grown closer to where the apex of her legs lingered, a part she found herself drawn to. She'd die of mortification if he was just toying with her.

"I feel like I'm being interrogated," he said, pushing the light away so it reflected off the wall between the upper and lower bunks. His grin faded in the softened light and his fingers flattened over her stomach beneath the chemise.

She sucked in a breath and his eyes darkened.

"You like that?" he asked.

"What woman wouldn't?" she asked in a shaky breath.

"You might be surprised at the answer to that."

He drew his legs up behind her, nestling her backside and erasing any doubt about what was going on in his crotch region. "You turn me on, Bright Eyes."

She squelched the impulse to remind him that just about any woman probably turned him on because she'd just discovered something about herself. For this moment, for this one night, she wanted to live the fantasy and Dane St. John was that fantasy.

His fingers spread across her skin beneath the cotton blend chemise, his voice as tender as his touch, his tone as hoarse as her need. "Just say no and it stops here."

She dropped the flashlight on the mattress beside them and leaned in. His palm found her breast and his mouth met hers. Then he rolled her, placing her beneath him, peeling off the chemise, and freeing himself from the sheets and her from her panties.

He touched her gently and kissed her in places no other man had. She arched for him, crying out as he played her body, lost in mindless pleasure. By the time he entered her, she was ready to explode with need. And explode she did. Seconds later he followed, flooding her with new sensations.

Braced over her on his elbows and knees, he kissed Kelly's eyes and nipped her earlobes. "I think I just died and went to heaven."

She'd have shushed him if she'd had the breath. She didn't want to hear any bull from him, not now, not in this glorious aftermath. But damn, he'd said just the right thing to add to the fantasy. Indeed, if she died at this moment, she'd go having known heaven.

#

Come the false dawn of a new day, though, Kelly wasn't so sure abandoning herself to the whims of her hormones had been the smartest thing to do. She'd found her panties among the sheets and donned them, but gave up on her chemise when she spied an edge of it peeking out from beneath Dane's still sleeping form. Jeans and shirt were where she'd left them, neatly folded on the foot of the upper bunk. She now sat on the bench at the foot of the double bunks tugging on one of her cross-trainers when her wayward chemise slipped over her shoulder along with a deep, nerve-ruffling voice.

"You forgot something."

She snatched the chemise from him, muttering, "You were sleeping on it. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Not even going to wake me to tell me you were leaving?" he asked, stretching out on his side by her hip.

She tugged on her shoelaces. "I have to get to work. I didn't think it would matter to you."

He ratcheted himself up onto one elbow. "You didn't think I'd care whether or not you were here when I woke?"

"I thought it might be easier if I wasn't."

"Easier?"

"Yeah. I hear guys aren't always the happiest to wake up to find the night's conquest still in their bed."

"Conquest? You think you're some metaphorical notch on my bedpost?"

She shrugged, going for nonchalance. "Maybe you're a notch on
my
bedpost."

"Maybe I am. You wouldn't be the first to bag herself this bad boy. Heck, you can even add movie star to your resume of conquests."

She went still. She'd thought to put him in his place when she'd said what she had about him being her conquest. And now, he sounded like she would have had the shoe been on the other foot. Exactly how she had felt when she was trying to escape before he woke.

He tugged on her braid. "But I'm hoping I'm not just a conquest to you, Kelly."

If only he hadn't tugged on her braid—made that teasing gesture.

She twisted around on the bench, tearing her braid free, and faced him. "And me? What am I to you?"

She regretted the words—their neediness—as soon as they left her lips. But, before she could turn away and hide how pitiful she was, he cupped her cheek in his free palm and brushed his thumb across her lips. Helplessly, she gave into his touch.

"I don't exactly know yet," he said.

He sounded sincere. Even those damn, bottomless blue eyes of his looked sincere.

Then, he smiled. In the dim gray of false dawn, his pearly whites glinted as he added, "But I am sure I'm not done carving out that notch yet."

She swatted him. "You are such a little shit."

"Little?" He sat up, the bed sheet slipping off his lap.

She groaned and snagged her other shoe off the floor. He laughed and reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.

"I have to go to work," she said. "I think it's best you lay low for another day."

He saluted. "Whatever you say, ma'am."

"If you'd been this obedient out on the trail yesterday," she said, pulling on her shoe, "you wouldn't be in this fix today."

And I wouldn't be in this fix either, Kelly thought. As glorious as their lovemaking was, she was nervous, apprehensive. What did this entanglement mean for him? For her? Her job?

"Kelly?"

"Yeah."

"I want to wake up and watch you sleeping beside me."

"Nice line," she said, lacing her shoe.

He took her braid between his fingers and twitched it at her nose. "I want to make love to you while running my hands through your hair."

She tugged her braid from his fingers even though she didn't want him to stop saying things that made her feel wanted. "In your dreams, St. John."

The next thing she knew, a strong arm was around her waist, dragging her back onto the mattress where she'd experienced the most glorious sex of her life. Braced over her, Dane's voice took on a less playful tone.

"I know we haven't known each other long, Kelly, but I think I want more than dreams where you're concerned."

There he went again, sounding so damn honest. She appreciated honesty, but she still wasn't hearing the reassurances she needed.

"I know this much," murmured Dane, his voice lowering, the humor in his tone fading. "I haven't heard nearly enough of the little sounds you make when I touch you."

He plucked at the top button of her shirt. "I know I want to experience unwrapping you myself."

She mewed.

"That's one of those sounds," he said, lowering his mouth toward hers.

She flattened a hand between them to ward off the kiss. "I have morning breath."

"So do I," he said, gently pushing her hand aside and completing the circuit between their mouths.

His kiss was so warm, so sweet, so tender she easily gave into its intoxication…for the briefest of moments.

"I have to get to work," she said, scrambling out from under him, a misguided hand confirming how fully naked he was…and ready to repeat last night's performance.

Performance. Just a Performance.

The word dogged her heels all the way to the door. He was an actor after all. This could all be nothing more than a performance—words and actions meant to seduce.

Was that her problem with him, that he was like a certain man who'd come before him long on seduction but short on commitment?

And just what kind of commitment did she want? She was a woman focused on her career. She wanted to be a career CO. She wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, prove herself worthy.

And Dane was an actor who lived in a world far removed from any she knew.

Her fingers closed on the doorknob and turned. But a large, masculine hand reached over her shoulder and flattened against the door, holding it shut.

"You are coming back tonight, aren't you?" Dane asked, his mouth so near his breath stirred against the back of her ear. She wanted to sink back into the warmth—the strength of his body, to give in to her desire for him. How easy it would be.

"You are my only means in or out of here."

Of course.
He was talking about transportation, not her, and certainly not another passionate night.

"—unless I want to hike out to the highway and hitchhike. But, I don't think I'm yet ready for any close-ups."

She glanced over her shoulder at his face, not really noting the remnants of the wasp stings but agreeing nonetheless.

His free hand slid over her hip, possessive. She shouldn't like that, but she did. Or maybe it was the heat of his breath blowing across her ear when he spoke that jumbled her thoughts.

"I'll make supper. Chicken?"

"Sure," she said, even when she meant to say no.

His fingers tightened on her hip and his lips nipped at her earlobe. "And Kelly."

"Yeah."

"Tell whoever you called last night that you won't be home tonight, either."

She tried to twist out of reach of the deft play of his tongue and lips against the back of her ear. "I don't think my staying is a good idea."

"Why not?" His arm slid around her and his hand spread across her stomach, pulling her back against his hard, muscled…naked body. "Didn't I do a good enough job last night to merit a repeat performance?"

There was that word again.
Performance.

"Let's just not mess with perfection," she said, plucking at his fingers.

"Perfection?" he asked against her neck. "You thought what I did last night was perfect?"

For her it had been, not that she was about to admit any such thing to a man with Dane St. John's ego.

"It was unprotected," she said. "Let's not tempt fate."

"You're right," he said. "We should protect each other."

"Fine. It's settled then."

"Yeah," he said, easing back from her. "When you come back tonight, bring a big box of protection."

CHAPTER THREE

Her father followed her into the kitchen, his cane tapping across the tiles. "You're part of the DNR, Girl. You have responsibilities now."

Kelly dropped her duffle by the back door, her work truck out in the driveway already packed with the purchases she'd made after her morning shift. She thought she'd made her mind up about what she was doing by the time she'd walked into the drug store over in Watersmeet. But her father had her rethinking her decision. She sighed and faced him.

"I know, Dad. You taught me well."

Her father leaned over his cane at her. "You have duties."

She almost shot back that her current duties were little more than babysitting an actor, but given the circumstances… "I can do my job from the camp just as well as I can do it from home."

"Being part of the Department of Natural Resources isn't just a job, it's—"

"A vocation," her mother chorused from where she stirred a pot of soup at the stove.

Her father scowled. "That
vocation
put food on our table and a roof over your head for better than thirty years, Alma."

"And a bullet in your leg, Frank," her mother returned, setting a bowl on the counter next to the stove.

"A poacher put that bullet in my leg," he fired back.

Her mother didn't respond, but not because of Dad's shouting. Kelly had witnessed enough such exchanges to know her mother knew when arguing with Dad was pointless. The incident that ended his DNR career, and still prevented him from enjoying the woods as he once had, ranked among the touchiest of topics.

Turning back to Kelly, he demanded more than asked, "What if the DNR needs to get a hold of you?"

"I have my company phone."

"Service is sketchy at the camp."

"Not for the satellite phone. Besides, I doubt they'd be calling me for any real emergencies," she said, stuffing a light jacket into her duffel.

"You're a rooky. You've yet to earn your way."

"Frank," her mother said, filling a glass with water. "It's time for a pain pill."

"I'm not in pain."

"Yes, you are," she said, holding the glass and a tablet out to him. "You get cranky when you're hurting."

He grumbled, but popped the pill and drank the water. But as soon as he swallowed his pill, he offered up another argument. "Your mother has enough to do without dealing with Max, too."

"I'll take the dog with me," Kelly said.

Her father's eyes softened. "He'll like getting out in the woods."

Every bit as much as her father would have. She knew. He'd lived his entire life in the Upper Peninsula. He lived and breathed the out-of-doors. He'd taught her everything she knew about the woods—taught her to love and respect nature. Their entire relationship as father and daughter had grown from their mutual love of the woods. And a poacher's bullet had taken away his mobility and what he loved most.

Her mother scrubbed a hand up and down her father's arm. "Let Kelly live her life, Frank. Right now she needs a little time to herself."

Her father frowned, but said nothing more as he limped off into the living room.

"Thanks, Mom," Kelly said, picking up her gear and taking Max's leash from a hook by the door.

As she stepped into the fenced backyard, Max came bounding up to her, leaping in the air like a pup in spite of his eight years of age. So was the nature of Golden Retrievers, and this one had been her father's constant companion on and off the job until last year when he'd been shot.

She held the gate open, knowing the truck's open door hinting of a ride to the woods would suck Max in. As expected, Max leapt into the truck, she tossed her duffle in after him, closed the door and reached for the front driver's door.

Her mother appeared on the back stoop, a covered carton in hand. "Take this."

"That's a lot of soup, Mom," Kelly said, taking the container from her mother. "You expecting me to stay at camp a long time?"

Her mother stroked her cheek and looked her in the eye. "I expect you'll stay at camp as long as you need to."

There was something knowing in her mother's eyes that suggested she understood more about why her daughter had decided to spend the night at camp.

"Thanks," Kelly said.

Mental note: Appreciate Mom more.

#

Kelly braked to a halt in front of the cabin, Max leaping over her as she opened the driver's side door. She smiled as his bushy golden tail disappeared around the corner of the cabin. She understood his enthusiasm. She felt much the same way.

Gathering up her purchases, she entered the cabin only to find it empty. Instantly, the old feelings of abandonment cut through her. She should have known. Joe Hollywood was gone. He'd gotten his jollies and run for the hills.

She set the bottles of wine she'd bought on the countertop and dropped the bag from the drug store next to them.

Pathetic girl
.

Outside, Max barked. Better see what he was into.

She stepped around the corner of the building and found Max jumping in the air for the stick Dane held over his head. Her heart skipped a beat, and not because he looked so natural playing with a dog; not even because he looked so gorgeous with his head thrown back and his cheeks dimpled with laughter. Her heart skipped a beat because…

"You're still here," she said, her voice sounding breathless in her ears.

He threw the stick, sending Max bounding off into the woods, and turned toward her. "Where'd you think I'd be?"

She shrugged, embarrassed she'd voiced her fears aloud. His grin widened and he strode toward her. Had he figured it out?

"Did you think I'd climbed up on the picnic table to get a cell phone signal and sent out an SOS?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you had. It can get pretty boring out here."

He stopped in front of her, so near her breath caught in her chest, his enigmatic blue eyes capturing—holding hers—as he spoke. "I'd never get bored here."

She nodded, wanting to believe he truly believed his own words.

Stop thinking so much.

She stroked his hair back from his face, letting her fingers get lost in his shaggy locks—letting herself get lost.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She pulled her hand back, his words having jerked her back to reality; and she masked her anxiety. "The bumps are almost gone."

"Guess that means I'm back shadowing you tomorrow."

Her heart sank at the thought of having to share him with the rest of the world again.

Where did that come from?

"Guess so," she said, satisfied she at least didn't sound pathetic.

His smile twitched. "We still have tonight."

"Yeah," she said, the suggestion he intended there to be just one more night with her twisting through her chest.

He wagged his eyebrows at her. "Did you bring
us
something?"

She blinked, thrown by the sudden change of topic. Or maybe it wasn't a change of subject at all.

We still have tonight.

Of course he expected her return to be all about another romp in the sack. When they went into the cabin and he saw what was in the drug store bag, he'd see just how pathetically easy she was…at least for him.

She started to back away. Max, with stick in mouth, bounded out of the woods and jumped on her, knocking her flat against Dane. Dane enveloped her in his arms.

She wanted to melt into his embrace—melt into him. She
was
pathetic.

He laughed, settled her on her feet as Max bounded about them, stick still in his mouth.

Dane grinned. "I think your dog is playing matchmaker."

Kelly straightened herself. "I think Max just wants someone to throw the stick for him."

Dane took the stick from the dog and flung it deep into the woods. Then he stepped past her toward the cabin.

She swayed in his wake for one mesmerized moment before reality broke through. She wanted to know where he stood regarding their
relationship
before he found the bag of condoms. But he was already through the door and halfway to the sink where she'd left the goodies she'd brought.

"You brought wine," he said, picking up the bottles and giving their labels a look. "Red
and
white."

"I didn't know which you preferred," she said.

"White with chicken," he said, returning the bottles to the countertop.

Maybe if she was lucky he wouldn't notice the other bag.

"And what's this?" he stated more than asked, picking up the package beside the wine bottles. "A bag from the pharmacy. A
big
bag."

He wagged his eyebrows wolfishly at her, the bag dangling from a finger.

"Just what you think it is," she said, reaching for the bag, hoping to regain possession of it before he saw
all
it contained.

He held the bag out of her reach. "What's in here you don't want me to see?"

Her cheeks flamed.

He opened the bag and peered inside.

She cringed.

"You make me randy as a teenage boy, Bright Eyes," he said, peeking over the rim of the bag at her and grinning. But I doubt I'll be able to use up four boxes of condoms in one night."

"I didn't know what kind you preferred," she muttered.

He laughed. "So you bought—"

"Not all of them," she cut in, hating that she sounded petulant.

His laughter faded, but the twinkle remained in his eyes as he held up one of the boxes. "I'd like to try the ribbed ones with you."

The innuendo in his tone all but brought her to her knees. When he slid a hand around her neck and kissed her, she sagged into him, her hands somehow finding their way under his t-shirt. His groan vibrated inside her mouth. She spread her fingers across the hot, hard skin of his chest. His hand slid down her back, settled on her butt, and pressed her against him. His chest wasn't the only hard thing about him.

"How hungry are you?" he murmured against her lips.

"Famished," she said, letting him back her toward the double bunks.

The edge of the bottom bunk nudged the backs of her knees. She slipped her fingers into his waistband. The box in his hand exploded, spilling packages of condoms onto the bed and floor. He lifted his mouth a millimeter from hers.

"Tell me you aren't talking about food."

"I'm not talking about food," she said, peeling the t-shirt off over his head.

His fingers tore at the buttons of her shirt and the snap on her jeans. Hers parted the zipper on his jeans, and she fell back on the bed, parting her legs with invitation. He snatched up a condom package, tore away the wrapper with his teeth, sheathed himself in the lambskin then, kneeling between her thighs, sheathed himself inside her.

"So wet, so ready," he murmured.

"More than ready," she whispered in return, lifting her pelvis to meet his thrust.

More than ready.

#

When they were sated, he rolled her with him onto their sides, still linked. She lie in his arms in mindless bliss.

So this was what lust felt like. Delicious, mind-blowing, escape. She never wanted to leave Dane's arms, never wanted him to move out from between her legs. Just the thought made her muscles contract.

He stirred, still inside her. She shifted, moving around him.

"I'll need more than a couple minutes to recover after
that
, Bright Eyes, even as hot and wet and inviting as you are."

He pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck. She hooked a leg over his hip, hugging his pelvis to hers. He pulsed inside her.

"Maybe it won't take as long as I thought…to recover," Dane said, wagging his eyebrows.

But, just as he rolled her back under him, Max jumped against the screen door, barking his head off. Dane frowned down at her. "He's not going to go away, is he?"

She shrugged. "It takes a lot of stick throwing to wear out Max."

He groaned and rolled off of her.

Kelly began to get up, but he stopped her. "I'll go throw the stick for him."

"Aren't you the gentleman," she said.

He brushed a kiss across her cheek as he sat up. "My mama raised me to be a gentlemen."

"Good for your mother," she said, watching him pull his jeans up his long, muscular legs, noting he hadn't put his boxer-briefs on yet. Hunky, handsome, and free-spirited enough to run around commando. No wonder she lusted after him?

It was just
lust
, right?

#

Kelly had dressed and joined Dane outside, taking turns throwing the stick for Max until the dog finally tired out and stretched out under the picnic table to nap in its shade. They'd eaten his roasted chicken dinner, which she'd declared delicious…though not without a note of surprise.