Midnight Sun (Sinclair Sisters) (11 page)

Call blocked the thought that came with a stabbing reminder of Susan and Amy, the knock on the door of the condo they had rented in Lake Tahoe, the sheriff who stood grim faced, hat in hand, in front of him.

This is different, he told himself. Charity wasn’t Susan and he was going to find her. He’d brought his first aid kit. If she was hurt, he would deal with it, then get her safely back home.

He turned off the main trail, taking first one branch and then another, but so far Smoke hadn’t picked up her scent, though he had sniffed the night shirt with interest. The dog wasn’t a bloodhound, but he liked Charity, roamed over to her house at least once a day, and Call figured the animal would track her once he realized she was somewhere near.

Half an hour passed before they cut her trail. Call spotted fresh, female-sized bootprints leading off down a slightly overrun path, and he and Smoke followed in that direction. He lost track of her once and his pulse began to race, but Smoke was running ahead and he seemed to know where he was going. Call prayed he wasn’t chasing a squirrel or a snowshoe hare.

He remembered the bear that had wondered into Charity’s yard and how frightened she had been, and his worry kicked up. Then he remembered the pepper spray and the other things he’d taught her. Hell, he remembered everything about her. He’d thought of Charity a thousand times in the last three weeks. Thought of her when it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Thought of her even when he was with the redhead.

Call pushed that unwelcome memory away and concentrated on the task at hand. He studied the footprints on the trail, but they disappeared into an outcropping of granite. When Smoke trotted back to him instead of running ahead on the trail, his worry increased tenfold.

She’s out there,
he told himself.
Just stay calm and you’ll find her.

And once he did, he was going to wring her pretty little neck.

Charity aimed her camera at a darling little ground squirrel she spotted just off the trail and snapped a picture. She had almost finished her second roll of film. She had taken some really great photos today, some wonderful panoramic shots of the snow-tipped mountains and high granite peaks, some shots of the cabin in the valley below and the ribbon of water that glistened in front of it. She had pictures of the deep pine forests she was just beginning to feel comfortable hiking through and some great shots of squirrels and birds.

An hour ago, she had discovered this tiny meadow, just beginning to come alive with wildflowers, and couldn’t resist taking off her boots. The soft green grass felt cool against her bare feet as she wandered around the meadow, then returned to where the boots sat, along with her socks, in front of a fallen log.

It was time she headed back to the cabin—past time, in fact—but she only had a couple of frames left and she wanted to finish the roll. She couldn’t wait for her dad and sisters to see the photos. She knew they would appreciate the beauty of this place just as much as she did.

She was winding the film forward to the thirty-fifth frame, aiming it off toward a gnarled pine branch that presented an interesting artistic angle, when she heard the snap of a twig behind her. She jumped, then laughed as Smoke broke out of the trees and raced toward her, tongue hanging out, tail wagging.

“Hello, Smoke.” She knelt and hugged his neck, ruffled his thick, silver-black fur. “What are you doing way out here, boy?”

“I might ask you the same question.” In faded jeans and a denim shirt, Call stalked out of the woods behind his big dog. God, he looked so good. Tall and a little forbidding, unbelievably handsome though he badly needed a shave. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him. Well, maybe she had, but until now she’d been able to pretend it wasn’t all that much.

He started walking toward her and for the first time she noticed the hard set of his jaw, the little muscle bunching in his cheek. “I’ve been looking all over. Where the hell have you been?”

She took a step back, intimidated a little by the dark glint in his eyes and the anger in his face. “I-I was taking some pictures. It’s such a lovely day, so much warmer than it has been, and I-I—”

“Do you know how worried Maude’s been?” He dumped his daypack onto the ground and continued walking toward her. “She was afraid something terrible had happened. She thought you might be lost up here, or that you might be hurt. Maybe you were lying out here in pain, unable to get help.” He reached out, caught the tops of her arms, and hauled her toward him. “She was frantic. How could you be so thoughtless?”

Charity blinked at him. “I told her I was going for a walk. I might have stayed a little longer than I intended but I didn’t think she’d be upset.”

“Well, she was.” He held her immobile, their bodies nearly touching. “She was worried sick.”

There was something in his expression. Fear, she realized. Concern for her. “Maude was worried?” she said softly. “Or you were?”

Those fierce blue eyes bored into her. His arm slid down, wrapped around her waist, and he hauled her the last few inches between them, pressing his body full-length against hers. “I was,” he said, and then he kissed her.

His mouth was hard and insistent, as if he staked his claim in some way. Then the ruthless kiss softened, turned into something almost tender and in less than a heartbeat Charity was engulfed in a white-hot blaze. She moaned as she melted against him and her arms slid up around his neck. He took her deeply with his tongue and the hot, slick feel of it sent tremors crawling over her skin.

Capturing her face between his hands, he kissed her one way and then another, kissed her as if he couldn’t help himself. As if he could not stop.

“I tried to avoid this,” he said between hot, drugging kisses. “I did everything I could to stay away.” He nipped the side of her neck, trailed kisses down to her collarbone, kissed her madly again. “Christ, what is it about you?”

She didn’t know what it was, she only knew she was as wildly on fire as he was. The kiss went on and on. She had never known a man who liked kissing so much, or one who was so damned good at it. He took her mouth again, plundered it, flooding her with heat, and her knees went weak. His hands found their way beneath her sweater. He shoved it up, unfastened the clasp at the front of her bra, and palmed her breasts. She gasped at the feel of his long fingers molding the fullness, stroking over her nipples.

She heard Call groan.

Charity clung to him, kissing him as fiercely as he kissed her. One night with him—one afternoon—it no longer mattered. She had to have him. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

She tugged his denim shirt out of his jeans, began to work the buttons up the front with trembling fingers. Call grabbed the tails and jerked upward, sending buttons flying. He dragged her sweater over her head and tossed it away, slid her bra straps off her shoulders and the lacy pink cups fell into a pile at her feet.

“God, I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

Hot, wet-tongued kisses followed. Deep, erotic kisses that drove her insane. His denim shirt hung open. She shoved it off his shoulders, ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest. He was lean and solid, covered with a layer of muscle that bunched and tightened when he moved. Curly brown chest hair cushioned her fingers and ridges of muscle on his stomach went taut beneath her hand.

Call reached for the snap on her jeans, popped it open and buzzed down the zipper. “I’m taking you here. Right now. I’m not going to stop this time.”

“I don’t … I don’t want you to stop.”

Something like relief washed over him. He kissed her again and the next thing she knew she was lying beneath him in the soft green grass, protected by the shirt he’d spread open on the ground. His hands skimmed urgently over her body, but there was gentleness, too. He cupped her breasts, teased her nipples, then bent his dark head and took one into his mouth.

Charity moaned as sensations flooded through her. Call laved her other breast, sucked it deep into his mouth, and a shivery burst of heat slid into her stomach. His hand moved lower, over her belly, inside the open zipper of her jeans, beneath her bikini panties into the tuft of pale hair at the juncture of her legs. He parted the folds of her sex, began to stroke her, and she thought she would die of the pleasure.

Charity moaned.

“It’s all right, baby. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wasn’t afraid—just the opposite. She wanted to feel his hands and his mouth all over her, wanted him inside her, wanted to be so close she couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. She felt as if she had morphed into someone else, some wild creature she didn’t even know. As if her body were some alien, newly unearthed part of her that she could no longer control.

She didn’t notice when he slid her jeans and pink satin panties down over her hips, but roused a little when he dragged a small foil packet out of the wallet in his hip pocket and tore it open. She caught the sound of his zipper sliding down.

A hand she didn’t recognize as her own reached out for him, wrapped around the thick, heavy weight of his sex, held him while he slid on the condom, then guided him between her parted legs.

“God, Charity …” With a single deep thrust, Call buried himself inside her.

The moment he did, she started to come.

“Christ.” His muscles went rigid. In some vague corner of her mind, she realized he was fighting for control.

Charity cried out his name and clung to his neck, unable to believe how quickly she had reached her peak. She knew the moment he gave up his struggle to hold himself back, felt him begin to move, felt the deep thrust and drag of his shaft against the walls of her passage. She felt the power of the man above her and the deep, saturating pleasure as a second climax shook her.

Beneath her hands, hard muscle tightened and Call groaned. The sinews in his hips flexed and moved as he pumped himself inside her, then came with incredible force, his body going rigid, his shoulders glowing with a sheen of perspiration.

For long seconds, neither of them moved. The only sound in the forest was the wind luffing through the trees, their labored breathing, and the soft thud of their heartbeats.

Then Call muttered something beneath his breath. Gathering his long limbs, he lifted himself away from her and regained his feet. His shaft was still hard, big and thick and jutting forward through his open fly as if they hadn’t just made wildly passionate love. Call rid himself of the condom, zipped his faded jeans, and turned to find her groping for her sweater, pulling it on to cover her naked breasts.

Swearing, he reached down and snatched up her jeans and pink satin panties, which were tangled together and refused to come apart.

“Here.”

She blushed as he unwound the fabric, handing her first the panties, then the jeans, which she hurriedly pulled on.

She didn’t look at him. Her cheeks were hot and her lacy pink bra still lay embarrassingly on the ground. She snatched it up and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.

Charity swallowed, made herself turn and face him, tried to muster some sort of smile. “I… um … I don’t suppose we can blame this on your relief at finding me alive and safe.”

He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on her face. “I don’t think so.”

“Just lust then, I suppose.”

He shrugged those wide shoulders and she wished he would put his shirt back on so she didn’t have to remember all that smooth muscle moving beneath her hands.

“So it’s just a one-night stand.”

His head came up. Eyes as blue as the sky bored into her. “In case you haven’t noticed, the sun is still up.”

“The sun is always up in this place. What does that have to do with anything?”

He pulled on his shirt and she suddenly wished he were bare-chested again. “It has to do with the fact that the night hasn’t even begun.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re not … you’re not saying what I think you are.”

“I’m saying exactly what you think I am. If you believe what just happened is anything besides a warm-up, sugar, you had better think again. If I wasn’t worried that Maude might send the Mounties up here to find us if we don’t get back soon, we’d start over again right here.”

“B-but you said … we both said—”

“I know exactly what we said. It’s a little late to be worrying about that now.” He looked at her and his deep voice softened. “Besides, I never really believed one night with you would be enough.”

Relief trickled through her. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t over yet. She gave him a reluctant smile. “I never believed it either.”

“Come on.” Call reached out and caught her hand. “It’s Friday. We’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us. Maybe by Monday, we’ll have had enough of each other.”

“Maybe,” she said. But Charity didn’t really believe it and from the burning glance Call gave her, she didn’t think he did either.

Call woke up with the first rays of light slanting in through the ruffled bedroom curtains. He was lying on his back in the old iron bed in Mose Flanagan’s cabin. The bed was too narrow and his feet hung over the end, poking through the scrollwork at the foot of the bed. Charity lay sleeping, draped across his chest, her long blond hair fanned out over his shoulder.

With each of her soft breaths, he could feel the fullness of her breasts, remember the way they plumped in his hands. After a stop at his place to give Maude and Buck time to finish work and leave for the weekend—and retrieve the box of condoms he had purchased before his disastrous non-date with Sally—he had returned to Charity’s cabin.

As he had said, their night together had not yet begun, and when it did, he meant to make more of it than the hasty round of sex they had shared in the meadow. Not that it wasn’t good. It was, in fact, one of the hottest encounters he’d ever had. But the wild, passionate lovemaking they had shared last night made it pale in comparison.

His hand skimmed over Charity’s naked shoulder, lifting silky strands of hair away from her cheek. He let it slip through his fingers, testing the softness, admiring the shiny golden color. Though they had made love most of the night, he had awakened painfully hard, the way he always used to in the mornings.

Susan hadn’t liked morning sex. Somehow he knew Charity wouldn’t mind being roused that way, that she would enjoy the intimacy as much as he did. She stirred, made a soft sighing sound as he lifted her a little and positioned her above him. He ran his palms over her tight, round bottom, then nudged her legs apart so he could slide in.

Her eyes flew open at the feel of his hardness easing inside her, then her lids drooped closed and she kissed the side of his neck.

“Good morning,” he said, nuzzling an ear as she relaxed and let him ease farther in.

“Ummmh,” was all she said.

She was wet and warm, pliant as he started to move. He gripped her hips, eased out, and slowly filled her again. God, she felt so good. He moved out and then in, gently at first, setting up a rhythm, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Her body tightened, began to move with his, meeting each of his strokes. It took only minutes for her climax to hit. He felt the muscles of her womb contract around him, knew that she was about to come, and fought hard for control.

He had never known a woman so responsive, so quickly aroused. So easily satisfied. Funny thing was, instead of ending the interlude more quickly, it made him want to slow things down, give her even more pleasure.

He hung on through her first rocking climax, driving into her with long, deep strokes that had beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she came a second time and he allowed himself to join her. Afterward, she stayed right where she was, her head tucked beneath his chin, her arms around his neck, and slowly drifted back to sleep.

It was Saturday morning. Their one-night stand was over. He had prayed it would be enough but known deep down it wouldn’t. He wanted to make love to her in every way he could think of. It was lust, pure and simple, and yet he was afraid. He hadn’t felt nearly the same with the redhead. All he’d accomplished with her after four long years was a little sexual relief and the unwelcome knowledge that another woman wasn’t going to get Charity Sinclair out of his blood.