Stephanie stared up at the moon. Although it was no longer full, she thought it had never shone more brightly, or been more mesmerizing. In the distance, a mournful howl floated to her on the wind. The sound tugged at her heart?made loneliness bubble up inside her.
She hadn't seen Rick in two days, but he'd crept into her thoughts often. Mostly during the darkest hours of night. The time when she felt lost. Cut off from the world. The time when she longed for companionship, for the feel of strong arms wrapped around her?the touch of flesh against flesh, and the sound of another heart pounding in unison with her own.
Her attraction to the man was purely physical. At least she had believed so in the beginning. But in the past two days, the attraction had transformed itself into something else. Something beyond her comprehension. When she thought of him, desire, the hot pulsating kind, rose up inside her.
He came to her in dreams, his eyes aglow with passion. She tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, only to wake clutching air and moaning his name. In those moments of midnight madness, Stephanie fought the urge to go to him. She wanted to creep into the night, into his house, and into his bed.
A twig snapped and she glanced toward the sound, hoping that thinking of the man had conjured him before her. But it wasn't Rick who stood staring at her from the bushes, the dying embers of the campfire casting his face in an eerie glow. It was the woman she'd seen in town.
"You must kill him," she croaked. "Take his life to save your own."
Stephanie jumped up, more frightened by the woman's instructions than by her hideous appearance. "What do you want?" she whispered. "Who are you?"
"A seer," she answered, moving from the bushes. "A saver of souls. You are in danger. I see what you cannot see. What he cannot hide behind a handsome face." The hag pointed at her again. "You must send him to hell where he belongs!"
The woman was obviously crazy, and she had the kind of face that nightmares were made of. Stephanie wouldn't hang around to find out if the woman was dangerous. She took off into the woods.
"Do not run to him! He is not what you think he is! Come back and listen to me!" the woman shouted after her, but Stephanie wasn't about to take instructions from a crazy person.
She raced into the night, running faster than she'd ever been able to run, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaped over fallen logs, ducked beneath low branches, and ran smack into a tree. Or she thought it was a tree until a pair of arms closed around her. A scream rose in her throat.
"Stephanie? What are you doing?"
Her scream turned into a relieved sob. "Rick. I was frightened. That old woman, she came to my campsite."
"The one from town?"
She nodded, pressing closer to him. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear comforted her, and the solid strength of his arms made her feel safe.
"What did she want?" Rick asked.
Shivering from the aftereffects of her scare, she answered, "I'm not sure. She didn't make any sense. She said I have to kill someone to save myself. She said she could see beneath his face or something. It was horrible."
His arms tightened around her. His heartbeat increased a measure. "Whom did she say you have to kill? Whose face can she see beneath?"
"I don't know," she answered, a little of her fear subsiding now that Rick held her. "And I didn't stick around to find out."
The tenseness she felt in him faded. He sighed. "She probably is crazy. Probably harmless, too. Maybe she just wanted something to eat."
"She could have just asked. She didn't have to scare me half to death."
His hand moved up and down her back. "I'll see if she's still there. Go to the cabin and wait."
"Don't leave me." She didn't want to be left alone, and she didn't want to worry about him while he was gone. "Let's wait awhile. I'm sure she'll move on or raid my food supply."
"I don't mind," he assured her.
"I do," she responded.
They stood, arms wrapped around one another in the night. Stephanie glanced up at him. His face was close; his lips within touching distance were he to bend a little and she to rise up to meet him. Suddenly, she became very aware of his body, the way they fit against one another perfectly.
The sensible thing to do would be to break away from him, return to his cabin, and make silly small talk while they waited. She didn't feel like talking. The nights she'd spent dreaming of him, longing for his touch, caught up with her.
"We should go inside. You're trembling."
It wasn't the cold that made her tremble, but a fight with her own morality. She wasn't the type who believed in casual sex with a stranger. In fact, she didn't believe in having sex for the sole purpose of pleasure. Emotions should be involved?respect, mutual caring, most importantly, love.
She didn't know Rick well enough to feel any of those things for him, but she felt desire. This man, this stranger, had awakened her on a level beyond normal consciousness. He had slipped into the darkest recesses of her mind. A place where there was no right or wrong, but only need?a burning hunger that must be fed.
Maintaining reason was like clutching air. She had no control over her limbs, felt as if an invisible force propelled her mouth toward his. His lips felt warm, firm? and unresponsive. She pulled back to look at him.
"You don't know me," he said, his voice low and husky.
"I know I want you," she countered, surprising herself.
He glanced away as if he couldn't stand to look at her. "You're not making this any easier."
"No. I'm not," she agreed, then turned his face toward hers and kissed him again. With a groan of defeat, he surrendered. He claimed her lips without a hint of gentleness. Rather than being frightened by the intensity of his ardor, she reveled in the taste, smell, and feel of him. Her fingers clutched his thick hair.
His hands slid down her back, pulled her hips up firmly against him. Her breath caught in her throat at the solid proof of his desire for her, but again, she felt no fear of him, or shame over her own behavior, only a desperate need to feed the hunger he stirred within.
When he pulled away again, she moaned in frustration. He took her hand and led her toward the cabin. She went willingly, running to keep up with his long strides. As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door and pinned her against the sturdy wooden frame, his body pressing into hers. He kissed her like a man starved for human contact, making love to her with his mouth, teasing and nipping at her lips, probing inside with his tongue.
She couldn't breathe, felt as if she were on fire, consumed by a passion beyond her control. Her breasts ached with a need to be held, and lower, she throbbed with another need, one stronger than common sense, one that eclipsed the deeply embedded morals she'd once possessed.
Rick led her into the bedroom. A small lamp burned, casting a soft glow over the cozy room. He immediately drew her into his arms, his kisses slower, deeper. His hand strayed to the buttons on her shirt. He unfastened them with maddening slowness, the tips of his fingers brushing sensually against her burning skin.
She moaned when he cupped her breasts, his thumbs dipping inside her bra to tease her nipples. He slid her shirt over her shoulders and unclasped her bra, removing both articles in one sweep.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, molding her breasts in the palms of his hands. "So perfect."
His husky words and the feel of his fingers stroking her flesh fueled her passion and erased what few inhibitions she had left. Stephanie unbuttoned his shirt. She kissed his throat, then ran her tongue down his smooth chest. She liked the taste of him, the feel and heat of him. That was when a strange realization struck her. She stumbled back.
"What's the matter?"
"Your chest," she whispered.
Rick glanced down. "What about it?"
"T-the cut from the glass," she stammered. "It's gone."
Almost in an unconscious gesture, his hand lifted to his chest. He looked like a child trying to hide a secret. "I'm a fast healer."
Confused, she said, "That cut was fairly deep. It would take at least a couple of weeks to heal."
He took another step toward her. "It obviously wasn't as deep as you thought. Come here."
His command was difficult to ignore. With effort, Stephanie took another step back. Whatever force had driven her moments before weakened. She suddenly felt very much in control of her emotions, and totally embarrassed by her behavior. Cool air clashed with her hot skin. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts.
"There should be a nasty scratch there, even if the cut wasn't as deep as it looked," she insisted.
Rick ran a hand through his hair, bent, and scooped up her discarded clothing. "Would it make you feel better if I put one there?"
She wondered if he meant to hand her the clothes, or keep her from getting back into them. "We shouldn't have started this."
He lifted a brow. "You're the one who started it. Now you want to end it because I'm not mortally wounded?"
Reaching for her shirt, she answered, "I want to end it because it isn't right."
The lack of a cut on Rick's chest unnerved her. It was creepy. No normal person could heal that quickly. Her own behavior totally confused her. It was as if she'd become an animal. Rick stared at the hand she held extended toward him. For a moment, she thought he might not comply with her wishes. He sighed and handed her the clothing. Stephanie turned her back and quickly slipped into the shirt, wadding the undergarment into a ball before stuffing it in her pocket. She felt that she owed him some type of explanation.
"I'm not normally like this," she said.
His hands settled upon her shoulders. "You mean you don't normally work a man into a frenzied pitch and then leave him in agony?"
The warmth of his hands soaked through her shirt. She almost relented. So what if he should have a nasty gash in his chest and he didn't? So what if she hardly knew him? They both wanted the same thing. Men and women of her generation had sex together all the time without any emotional commitments. But Stephanie wasn't that type of person. She never had been. Not until tonight.
"I'm not acting like myself."
He turned her around. She expected his expression to be angry, but instead, he looked concerned. "What do you mean, you're not acting like yourself?"
She had trouble looking at him. "The old woman frightened me? and then I don't know what happened. I'm not into casual sex."
He smiled slightly. "I didn't plan on being casual about it."
Her resistance wavered. "Normally, I would never? I mean, we don't know each other that well. I really have no idea what got into me."
"You said you wanted me," he reminded.
"I wanted? something," she agreed. "But I'm not certain what exactly."
"Did you feel driven to mate with me?"
Her gaze shot up. His question made what she'd felt sound animalistic, dirty. "I'm leaving, and I think it would be best if we just stayed away from one another."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Why did you feel driven? Physical attraction alone? Because I'm strong? Because deep down, you feel I can provide for you?"
Stephanie struggled, pulling away from him. His suggestions sickened her. She had no dark motives for desiring him.
Humiliated, she shoved past him and left the bedroom. She only made it to the door before she remembered that her campsite didn't seem like the safest place to be tonight. Neither was his cabin.
"I'll go with you," he said. "Unless you trust me enough to stay the night."
She wasn't certain she could trust him, and wasn't at all sure she could trust herself.
"I'm not letting some crazy old woman scare me away from my campsite. Besides, for all I know, she's stolen my camera equipment and everything else. I need to check on things."
When he joined her, he'd buttoned his shirt back up. "Then let's go."
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Shouldn't we take something for protection? Maybe a gun?"
"I don't need a weapon." His voice held a chill. "If she's still there, I can handle her."
Glancing down, she noticed the unconscious flexing of his large hands. He could snap the old woman in two if he wanted, she imagined. The thought did not comfort her, nor did the walk to her site help relax her. She felt like a tease. What had possessed her to act so out of character?
Lust. The word wasn't a soft one. That was what she had felt for him. Lust was what she had responded to, that and his touch, his kisses?her own loneliness. She wondered if she would have responded to any other man the way she had to Rick, but she didn't think so. There was something about him she had trouble resisting. Something she sensed beneath his skin. She waited while he searched the area and checked inside her tent.
"No sign of her."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Does it look as if anything's been stolen?"
He shook his head. "Nothing seems out of place."
The news bothered her more than if the old woman had stolen her blind. Then there would at least be a logical explanation for the woman's appearance, and for her frightening behavior.
"Nothing makes sense tonight," she said quietly. "Thank you for walking me back."
"Are you sure you want to stay out here alone?"
Of course she didn't want to be alone. Tempting visions of Rick sharing a sleeping bag with her made her profess bravery she didn't feel at the moment.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I plan to drag my sleeping bag in the Jeep and lock all the doors."
His gaze met hers, and for an instant, she thought his eyes glowed again. A trick of the moon. "If you need me, you know where to find me."
That was the problem. Rick Donavon was a little too convenient. "I won't need you," she said, vowing to make good her claim. "Good night."
He didn't respond, but turned and walked away. The moment he disappeared, loss and loneliness welcomed Stephanie home. She could have been in his arms, in his bed, but she'd chosen to be rational. The absence of a cut on his chest still bothered her. Maybe the cut wasn't as deep as it had looked. Maybe he was just one of those people who healed quickly. What other explanation could there be?
She couldn't think of a single one. And suddenly, she had trouble coming up with a single reason why she should have left. Morals? Fear? What were those compared to the thrill of his kisses, the sensuous trail of fingers across flesh? She shook her head, worried she'd developed the morals of a cat in heat. Her morals were important, had always been, and she needed to get a grip.
Stephanie wouldn't throw herself at him again. Next time, she might get exactly what she asked for. She shivered, a result of worry that the old woman might come back, she told herself. But deep down, she knew that her response had been anticipation. Excitement to see him again.