Warrior (13 page)

“I’m going to look for that cougar’s den.”

“Too much honesty, huh?” asked Eden. “Want me to go back to being polite? Or would you rather I just work off my excess energy by petting you?”

The door closed very softly behind Nevada.

“If Baby gets in your way, send him back to me,” Eden called through the door. “I’ll frolic with him, instead.”

Nevada didn’t answer.

Eden went to the window and looked out. Nevada was heading across the clearing with long, determined strides. An ecstatic Baby was leaping around him.

“I think, in military terminology, Nevada just executed a strategic disengagement,” Eden said aloud. “Ordinary folks would call it a retreat.”

Smiling, she tested the water in the nearest bucket and nodded approvingly. By the time she finished breakfast, the water would be warm enough for a bath.

*

Two hours later Eden was humming softly, feeling as clean as the sunlight itself. When she went outside to check on the bedding she had draped over the woodpile to air, warm air surrounded her. She shook out Nevada’s sleeping bag and flipped it over to soak up more sunshine. The sheet she used to line her own bag was hanging from a rope strung between the cabin and a nearby tree. She touched the sheet. Nearly dry, but not quite. The lacy beige bras were still damp. The pairs of panties were almost dry, but not quite. She decided she could live without underwear for another hour. She went to check on her own bag, which was thrown over a bush in the clearing beyond the cabin. Warm air was everywhere, breathing spring into the day.

With the season’s typical capriciousness, a chinook had arrived, sending the temperature soaring into the seventies. Meltwater trickled and glittered and shone everywhere. The sunlight itself was hot. The shade was crisp. The warm wind was a transparent river of wine. The air was rich with the scent of newly revealed earth. Every breath, every instant of being alive, was a sensual feast.

When a hidden bird sang, Eden stopped in the act of reaching for her sleeping bag and closed her eyes, absorbing the piercing, unexpected song with the same intense awareness with which she absorbed the sunlight itself. The bird repeated its call, notes rippling and soaring, transforming the day with music.

There was a rush of air, the near-silent brushing of feet against the ground, and a certainty that she was no longer alone. Eden opened her eyes and turned around.

“Hello, Baby,” she said, rubbing the animal’s fur, but it was Nevada she was looking at. In the sunlight he looked both dark and fierce, the power of him apparent in even his smallest movement. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I narrowed the search area. I’ll try again after lunch. With this chinook, the snow is melting fast, even in sheltered places.” Nevada’s eyes noted the sheen of Eden’s pale hair, the delicate color of her cheeks, the subtle radiance of her skin that only health could give. He closed his eyes for an instant, trying to still the hard rush of his blood. It was impossible. “Did you enjoy your bath?”

“Yes. I heated more water for you, in case you were interested.”

“I am. Thank you.”

Nevada’s formality made Eden blink. “You’re welcome. Yell when you’re finished and I’ll make lunch.”

Nevada nodded, turned away and walked into the cabin without looking back. Sighing, Eden pulled her sleeping bag off the bush, shook out the warm folds and draped the bag over the bush once more.

Nevada’s right. Warfare shouldn’t be polite. It’s worse that way.

Warfare didn’t get any better when conducted over a meal. The hard salami and zesty mustard sandwiches Eden made lost their savor when eaten in stilted silence. She tried conversational gambits that ranged from outrageous to abstruse. Polite, dead-end answers were Nevada’s only response.

Finally Eden looked at Baby, who was begging shamelessly at Nevada’s knee, and said, “Bite him.”

Baby gave his mistress a look of lupine disbelief.

“You heard me,” Eden said. “First Nevada complains when I’m polite. Then he walks out on me when I’m honest. Then he uses politeness as a weapon against me. So make lunch out of him. Lord knows the man isn’t good for anything else.”

Baby ignored her. He rested his long muzzle once again on Nevada’s forearm just beneath the rolled-up sleeve.

“Give the man some space, Baby,” Eden said. “Can’t you see he isn’t interested? Quit begging.”

Eden winced as her own words echoed in her mind. Not bad advice. I think I’ll take it myself.

She stood up, opened the cabin door, looked at Baby and said, “Out.”

Baby trotted outside, found a pool of deep shade and flopped down. Eden stowed the remaining food in the ice chest and went to stand by the open window, letting sunlight and warm spring wind wash over her.

Nevada finished his sandwich, drank some springwater and began packing his gear and stacking it near the door, ready to be carried to the truck. As the stack grew, Eden realized that Nevada was preparing to return to the ranch headquarters – and there was no guarantee that he would be back at Wildfire Canyon anytime in the future.

The realization sent a chill through Eden. When she had decided to fight the battle on Nevada’s terms, she hadn’t considered what she would do if he simply withdrew from the field, taking her heart with him and leaving her no chance to touch him in return.

Eden didn’t know much about waging war. Nevada did. He was very good at it.

<< 9 >>

Numbly Eden began stuffing a lightweight down vest and windbreaker into her own backpack.

“Going somewhere?” Nevada asked, watching her intently.

“Cat hunting,” Eden said, her voice carefully balanced within her aching throat. “It’s something I’m good at. Obviously I’m not good at much else. Kissing, for one. Warfare, for another.”

Nevada’s eyes narrowed at the sadness Eden couldn’t wholly conceal, but all he said was, “I’ll leave a cellular phone with you. Put it in your backpack.”

“No, thank you.”

“It isn’t a request. It’s a Rocking M rule. If you’re in the backcountry alone, you carry a cellular phone in case you get into trouble. The coverage isn’t perfect, but it’s better than nothing.”

“It didn’t help you last week.”

“The phone was in my saddlebag.”

“Best place for it.”

“Don’t be pigheaded,” Nevada said impatiently.

“Why not? It works for you.”

Eden didn’t bother to put on her backpack. She just hooked the straps over her arm as she reached for the front door. She barely had the door open when Nevada’s hands shot over her shoulders and slammed the door shut again. His speed was literally breathtaking. The corded power of his bare forearms was a blunt statement of his superior strength. He was a warrior accustomed to fighting – and winning.

“I should let you go,” Nevada said, his voice husky. “God help me, I tried to. Then I saw you standing in sunlight listening to a bird sing, and your smile was sad and sweet and so beautiful it damn near brought me to my knees.”

Nevada’s hands on the door became fists, then slowly relaxed once more, revealing the fine trembling in his fingers.

“Fairy-tale girl, all laughter and golden light,” Nevada whispered against Eden. His lips brushed her hair, the curve of her ear, the warmth of her neck. “I’m worlds too hard for you, but I want you until my hands shake.”

Silently Eden lifted her own hands, showing their trembling to Nevada. When he saw, he breathed a word that could have been either curse or prayer. She started to turn toward him, only to be pinned against the door by the full length of Nevada’s powerful body.

“Think hard before you turn around,” he said, his voice rough with the violence of his blood rushing. “I’m not offering you love and happily ever after.” Slowly Nevada lowered his head, found the nape of Eden’s neck, and bit her with exquisite care. “But when I’m finished, your hands won’t be shaking anymore.”

Even as the primitive caress shivered through Eden, she found herself freed, no hard masculine torso pinning her, no powerful arms confining her, nothing but the certainty that Nevada was standing barely a hand’s breadth away, waiting for her answer. Slowly she let the backpack straps slide from her arm and turned toward him.

The look in Nevada’s eyes made Eden’s breath stop. With a muffled cry she reached for him even as he reached for her and lifted her, bringing her to his hungry mouth. She slid her arms around his neck and said his name in the instant before his kiss claimed her, taking from her the ability to talk, to think, to breathe.

Eden didn’t care. All she wanted was to hold Nevada and to be held by him, to taste him and be tasted in turn, to feel the hardness and restraint of his body against hers. Her fingers smoothed the sleek pelt of his hair and beard before finding his powerful shoulders. Making soft, approving sounds, she kneaded the bunched muscles of his arms, glorying in Nevada’s strength even as she gave him her own heat and the sweetness of her mouth in return.

Nevada took everything he wanted from the kiss and discovered that Eden had more to give, much more than he had ever found with any kiss, any woman. Eden’s response to him was as loving and generous as summer, a pleasure that increased with each heartbeat, doubling and redoubling until he was focused only in the expanding, timeless instant of the kiss. Urgently he savored Eden’s gift, tasting and caressing and enjoying her with slow movements of his tongue, luring her deeper and deeper into passion until her breathing was ragged and her arms were locked around him. Breathing harshly, swiftly, Nevada held on to Eden as though he expected her to be ripped from his arms at any instant.

Finally Nevada lifted his head and let Eden slide down his body, making no attempt to conceal the hard length of his arousal, shuddering openly with pleasure when her hips moved over his as he lowered her feet to the floor. Then he held her tightly, fiercely, while he fought for breath, for control, for the discipline of mind and body that he had learned at such great cost and had taken for granted for so many years.

“My God,” Nevada said huskily.

He forced himself to loosen his arms from around Eden. One big hand stroked her hair as he let out his breath in an explosive hiss.

“Nevada?” Eden said, hugging him hard, afraid that he would turn away from her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. You surprised the hell out of me, Eden.”

“I did?”

Nevada threaded his fingers through her pale, soft hair, tugging gently backward until Eden’s face was turned up to his.

“Yes,” he said simply. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, bit gently, and shuddered even as she did. “You wanted me.”

Shivering, Eden whispered, “What?”

“I could taste it, feel it, see it. You wanted me.”

She watched Nevada with uncertain hazel eyes. “Is that wrong?”

He looked down at her, sensing her confusion as clearly as he had sensed the depth of her passion.

“No, it isn’t wrong,” Nevada said. “It’s just

surprising. No woman has ever kissed me that way. No calculation, nothing held back, just a kiss as hot and honest as fire. Then I was kissing you the same way and you burned even hotter and so did I and it just kept on, hotter and brighter. I could have taken you right there, straight up. God knows I wanted to.” A faint tremor rippled through his body. “It was a near thing.”

Wide-eyed, still uncertain, Eden watched Nevada, trying to understand.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I didn’t come up to Wildfire Canyon expecting to have sex with you,” Nevada said bluntly. “In fact, I deliberately emptied out my pockets before I came up here so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch you. Well, that didn’t work, and now I have no way to keep from getting you pregnant. What about you? Can you protect yourself?”

Eden shook her head again.

Despite the hunger blazing in his eyes, Nevada’s mouth kicked up at the left corner. “I didn’t think so. You don’t sleep with men much, do you?”

For the third time Eden’s head moved in a silent negative.

“It’s a good thing,” he said, bending down to her mouth once more, “that there’s more than one way to skin this particular cat.”

“What?”

Nevada hesitated, lifted his head enough to see Eden’s expression, and asked, “Just how experienced are you, fairy-tale girl?”

She bit her lip and looked at him rather warily. “Are we speaking of practical or intellectual experience?”

“Practical.”

“Not much.”

“How much is not much?”

“Not. Much.”

Nevada whistled softly between his teeth, then said, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Eden said. “Every girl starts out that way.”

“My God,” was all Nevada could think of to say. He looked at Eden in a combination of disbelief and wonder.

“Don’t worry,” she said, exasperated. “Virginity isn’t contagious.”

“I’m not contagious, either,” he shot back, “but that’s not something you need to worry about.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re going to stay a virgin.”

“But I don’t want—”

Nevada kept talking. “You’ll be a very experienced sort of virgin, but a virgin just the same.”

“What does that mean?”

Nevada’s big hands came up, framing Eden’s face. He looked from her puzzled hazel eyes to her generous mouth. Her lips were still flushed with the kiss that had taught Nevada more than he thought he had left to learn about men and women and passion. He wondered what else he would learn, what he could teach, what discoveries awaited his exploration of his own private, passionate Eden.

The narrowed green blaze of Nevada’s eyes as he watched her mouth made shimmers of sensation curl from Eden’s breastbone to her knees. She felt like a tightly furled bud being discovered by the first, searching heat of spring’s potent sun.

“Nevada,” she whispered. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

“Want?” Eden shivered and laughed softly, almost wildly, wondering how she could make Nevada understand feelings that were so new, so fierce, that she had no names for them. “When I grabbed your wrist to keep you from killing that cowboy in West Fork and you looked at me