Renegade Man (12 page)

Aching, she
flexed her shoulders, pulling his shirt tighter across her rounded breasts.
“That just might work.” Without thinking, she wiped at the sweat beading her
chest, her hand dipping low to catch the rivulets between her breasts. She
leaned forward and waved the wool away from her body a couple of times, trying
to catch the breeze. “But won’t you need the dredger?”

He cleared his
throat. “No. I—tomorrow I plan to spend some time dry screening. See how much
gold I come up with.”

Something in his
tone, a curtness . . . her gaze shifted to his face. There was a rapacious
glint in his eyes, which were hooded, dark with desire and focused unerringly
on her throat and the soft mounds of flesh that rose above the low buttons of
her borrowed shirt.

She didn’t know
what made her do it, but she let her head fall back, and splayed her fingers
through her tawny hair so that the hot breeze wafted it away from her face. It
was a calculated, provocative gesture. From beneath her lashes, she saw that it
had achieved more than she’d expected. The skintight wet suit did nothing to
hide his obvious arousal.

She stole a peak
at Jonah’s face. His full lips quirked in a knowing, sardonic smile. She met
the fierce, compelling stare that challenged her. His green gaze burned with a
longing so intense that a thunderbolt of desire jarred her all the way through.
Desperate to escape the tangling sexual sparks jolting between them, she
glanced down again. “I don’t know anything about that—that dredger thing.”

“I’ll show you,”
he told her, the fire of wanting roughening his voice.

A curiously
tight feeling grew within her. “That’s nice of you, especially considering the
fact you really didn’t want me here on Tomahawk Flats to begin with.”

“I still don’t.
But I know you well enough, Ritz, to know that you’ll keep at it until you’re
satisfied that what you’re looking for isn’t here.” He turned away from her and
started back toward his camp. “The quicker you find that out,” he threw over
his shoulder, “the quicker I get you out of my hair.”

* * * * *

It was the lacy
bikini panties drying on the willow bush that had done it, Jonah told himself.
Peach- colored lacy bikini panties. And the heady view Ritz had given him of
her sloping breasts. Swaying breasts that would fit perfectly in his large
hands—ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. He knew she had to be aware of the
effect her actions had on him. The telltale hard-ening beneath his wet suit
would have given him away even if his desire-thickened voice hadn’t.

A bad desire.
That’s what it was.

Even as he
turned the trout in the sizzling grease, he was aware of her next to him
peeling the potatoes, aware of the way her small hands deftly wielded the
peeler, aware of the scent he was beginning to reiden tify with her... a
woodsy, fresh scent.

They were both
tired and aching, and they worked together silently, but with the compatibility
of a married couple, taking turns with the chores—except that a husband and
wife shared the assurance that their desire would be slaked sooner or later.
Jonah knew better than to entertain that expectation about Rita- lou. He was
damned well over her, and he certainly wasn’t going to start up something that
could only mean misery later.

She hummed
softly as she sliced the potatoes pa per-thin. Sometimes she swayed against him
as she reached for another potato. He was beginning to flinch every time their
skin came in contact, every time his arm brushed her breast. He gritted his
teeth. His mind’s eyes imagined her rose-tipped breasts pressed against his
chest, her smooth, suntanned legs entangled with his hairy ones.

Her golden mane
cascaded sleekly over her shoulder blades, and he found himself fantasizing
about how the satiny hair would curl around his fingers and tickle his lips and
mingle with his mustache . . . and the hair on his chest. . . and his pubic
hair . . . and he knew he was losing the battle he was fighting with physical
desire.

Her teasing for
the past fifteen minutes had been keeping him in a state of aching arousal that
bordered on pain. He should have known enough to keep his aching memories of
her in the past, where they belonged. She had been like the mercury he worked
with. Quicksilver running through his bleak life—changeable, impulsive but
immalleable when she wanted to be—and lethal if you weren’t careful.

Frustrated,
angry with himself, he forked out the remainder of the trout he had caught that
day, wondering all the while how on earth he could keep from touching her. Just
one day, and it had been hell.

Glancing up at
him through her lashes, she smiled hesitantly. “You’re very quiet, Jonah. What
are you thinking about? Gold? That glittering prize at the end of your
rainbow?”

“No, as a matter
of fact, I wasn’t.” He dumped the potatoes into the sizzling grease and turned
to face her, damning his need for her. “What are you going to do when Chap
comes back?”

She stiffened.
“What happened between Chap and me was over years ago.”

“Was it?” He was
past the boundaries of control now. “Or are you still aching for him to hold
you in his arms—like this?” He captured her in an angry embrace, his hands
clamped on to her ass, pressing her slender body against his.

She stared up at
his face, her dark brown eyes wide, her soft lips parted and trembling, her
breath shallow and rapid. Something in her expression told him that she realized
she had pushed him too far. “Chap was there, Jonah,” she whispered. “You
weren’t. Your mind—your soul—was committed to far places and high adventure.
You had a wildness, a restless zest for living. I— you—I admit my love for Chap
grew partly from my need to escape the lure you held over me even then. Chap
was solid and real.”

“As real as
this?” he growled. His head swooped down, and he closed his mouth over hers.
Grasping her hair at her nape, he held her immobile, her mouth to his own. His
teeth ground into her bottom lip as he forced her mouth open. His tongue
slipped past the barrier of her teeth. The kiss deepened, and his tongue took
its pleasure from her sweet mouth. It was a kiss that melted the great chill in
him.

His hands
slipped under her shirt, taking the fabric with them, and moved up her ribs.
The front of his jeans scraped against her bare ribs as his thumb found her
nipple. Her heartbeat thudded wildly against his palm.

She splayed her
hands against his chest and started to struggle. When he raised his head,
releasing her lips, his glazed eyes focused long enough to catch the momentary
fear in her gaze, putting a quick halt to his passion. “Jonah,” she sobbed out.

“What is it?” In
his ears, his own breath was frayed, his voice harsh. “This is what you’ve been
wanting, isn’t it? To be treated as a woman? Or did I guess wrong about the
game you’ve been playing all night?”

She stared at
him long and hard, her breath rasping between her parted lips. “No. But not out
of anger, Jonah. Not as if you’re getting even with me for what happened in the
past.”

He dropped his
hands from her rib cage. Rage at her, revulsion at himself, tore through him. A
muscle ticked at the side of his neck. “Just what the hell do you want from
me?”

“I want you to
care!” she gritted. “I want it to be more than just sex for you!”

He frowned, and
she hurried on. Her hands were pressed against his chest, her eyes pleading.
“I’m not deluding myself. I know you’d never want to bind yourself to anyone
permanently. But couldn’t you show you care, Jonah? Is that asking too much?”

Yes! he wanted
to shout. But the smoke that began drifting from the frying pan cut short his
inner agony. He spun around and turned off the kerosene stove.

Rita-lou shoved
a flour sack at him. “Here!”

He dumped half
its contents over the grease fire, and the fire lowered, but didn’t go out.

“Make a wish and
blow it out,” she said, smirking.

“Cut the
wisecracks.” The camper was filled with gray smoke now, and he grabbed a
dishcloth, then picked up the smoldering pan and carried it outside. The cool
mountain air rushed over him, cooling his own smoldering desire.

He turned his
eyes up to the stars splattered across the black sky. He couldn’t make the
mistake of touching her again, he thought. Because he didn’t think he could
have her body without surrendering his soul.

That night he
awoke, the sheets tangled around his body and soaking wet with sweat from
wanting her. And he had thought he was over her.

Across from him,
she slept easily, unaware of the danger.

Chapter 8

“
N
o, no! Look,
Ritz, you’ve gotta keep control of the nozzle or else you’re gonna suck up
sagebrush and cow chips, even that tent stake, for God’s sake!”

She glared up at
him, squinting against the blazing sunlight. “You look, Blackbeard! If you
don’t have the patience to show me how to handle this pile of hardware, then
don’t volunteer.”

Hands on his
hips, Jonah drew a deep breath that expanded his bare chest, then slowly
exhaled as if he had been counting to ten. The burnished gold hair matting his
chest was damp with sweat. “All right, all right. Back on one knee. Okay, all
you have to do is angle the hose across your thigh. Keep a grip on the
nozzle—that’s it—and toss away any stones or driftwood that are too big.”

He bent over her
again. His arms were wrapped around her, his hands over hers, showing her how
to hold the vibrating hose steady on her thigh. She inhaled his essence, a
compound of male sweat, hormones and natural odors. She had to fight to keep
from shuddering with the overpowering sexual craving to have him inside her. It
was like craving chocolate an dknowing that it was bad for her.

With Robert, her
feelings had been precious, tender and sweet and deeply caring. Jonah made a
chaos of her feelings. She felt dust devils and hurricanes, earthquakes and
tidal waves. Feelings that were wild and uncontrollable, violent and elemental.

Dear God, was
there some flaw in her personality that made her care for a man who could
never—had never—opened himself to her? Did she have some sort of emotional
death wish? Or was she just a congenital idiot?

She closed her
eyes, but she couldn’t close out Jonah and the feel of his body against hers.
After his dry sense of humor, she liked his body next: his powerful neck and
shoulders, taut with tension; his perfectly proportioned torso; the long, hard
thighs; the strong hair-dusted hands, their palms rough enough to snag delicate
fabrics.

And if that
glorious body wasn’t enough, there was the lure of his face to contend with.
Even when he was moody, like now, his face looked ruggedly beautiful. This
afternoon his eyes and mouth were flat with petulance, but it was a manly
petulance. And when he smiled, that crooked front tooth practically gleamed
with its singular charm. How she loved that . . .

 “Damn it, Ritz!
Will you pay attention?”

She flashed him
a look of pure disgust. “I’m trying to. But how can I, when you’re muttering
like that?” He scowled at her. Beneath the brim of his Stetson, a vertical line
creased the high bridge of his nose, and his mouth flattened. “This is the last
time we’re gonna go over this.”

She listened
this time. Or tried to. Because what he was telling her was important if she
was going to regain the two weeks of work she had lost to the stampede. When he
thought she had his instructions down pat, he released her and stepped back,
arms folded, watching her work on her own. The suction of the dredger, fitted
onto his pickup bed, was powerful, and it was all she could do to hold the
jumping hose.

Magnum barked
ferociously at the animated contraption, circling around it as if it was a
coiling rattler. With her free hand, she began to dislodge the bigger stones
from the path of the hose. Once it a¬most got away from her, and she sneaked a
glance at Jonah. He pushed the Stetson to the back of his head and rolled his
eyes skyward.

“You don’t have
to baby-sit me, Jonah Jones!”

“You’ve got a
smart mouth, Ritz. All right. You’re on your own, sweetheart!”

She watched him
stalk away, a loose-jointed, rolling gait that might have been that of a sailor
but re¬minded her more of a trail-weary cowhand. The western sunlight shone
behind him, outlining his forbidding height.

The movement of
the hose against her thigh forced her attention back to the dust swirling
around her bare legs. This certainly wasn’t the delicate process she was
accustomed to in excavating.

For the rest of
the day she worked with the dredger. Even after she shut it down, every bone in
her body vibrated like a jackhammer. Her hands were scraped and bleeding from
handling rocks, and several of her fingernails had broken off at the quick.
Sweat, mingled with dirt, coated her entire body, and her hair was stiff with
red dust.

Bath. The one
word promised a glimpse of heaven.