Blazing Bedtime Stories (12 page)

“No sense,” he mumbled. “I shoulda hidden your clothes.”

“Like you hid one of my shoes? Were you planning to play Prince Charming and present it to me when you got back?”

“Musta come off when I carried you here, Cinderella.”

She rolled her eyes, not entirely believing him.

“I didn’t know I had to play tricks to make you stay put.”

“I had to use the freakin’ john, okay?” she snapped, unable to stand it anymore.

He stared down at her, the anger fading from his eyes. A twinkle appeared there, a twinkle of laughter. Damn. She should have let him stay mad. This was so embarrassing. Far beyond run-in-your-
hose embarrassing and into fall-on-your-ass-in-public territory. Embarrassment to the nth degree.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“I didn’t need an escort.”

“Yeah, seems like you did.” He turned his back on her, crossing to the wood stove, on which sat an old-fashioned, wrought-iron kettle. Picking it up with a thick pad, he poured water into a large ceramic basin, then carried it over.

She had no idea what he was going to do until he sat on the end of the bed and pushed her calf-length, flowing skirt up and out of the way. Then he lifted one of her feet into his warm, solid lap. Surprised, she could only gasp as he took a rag and soap from the bowl and began to wash her dirty, torn-up foot.

Oh, my God.
She loved having her feet pampered. She had a standing weekly pedicure appointment and she considered it one of her few true indulgences. But nobody—not the pricy salon she usually went to, or the massage therapist she occasionally visited, or any spa employee—had ever handled her with such tenderness and care as this man did.

She closed her eyes and settled into the pillows, a smile on her lips. His strong hands provided intense pleasure as he slowly and deliberately cleaned her wounds, just as he must have done the night before when she had been unconscious.

Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to be awake for those ministrations! Especially since she’d noticed the flecks on her chest where the glass had gone down the neckline of her blouse.

Maybe the tea’s effects hadn’t worn off after all. She was once again falling into that strange place where sanity gave way to impulse and desire overpowered common sense.

Stray. Go someplace even wilder this time.

Though she barely knew the man, at this moment, she’d gladly pull him down to join her on the bed. Well, after he’d finished the lovely foot massage.

Almost cooing with the pleasure of it, Scarlett closed her eyes and relaxed, feeling the press of his strong fingers in the arch of her other foot and around her ankle. His hands were magnificent and every inch of skin covering her bones wanted to be touched by them.

“Better?” he asked, his tone husky.

“Mmm-hmm.” She opened her eyes to smile her thanks, but he was still focused only on the task at hand.

Setting the bowl down, he reached for a jar. “This’ll help, too,” he said before slathering some kind of thick salve from her toes to her heels. It smelled unfamiliar. Nice, but not an obvious scent like peppermint or jasmine. It was earthy, spicy, but not anything she could put her finger on.

And it felt divine. Cooling and soothing, it removed any lingering sting from the scratches and blisters until she couldn’t even remember they’d existed. “How amazing,” she murmured as she stretched in physical contentment.

“It’s good stuff.”

That, too. But she hadn’t been referring to the salve. “I bet it would really help my legs.” Had that sounded hopeful or merely pathetic? “They got pretty scratched up in the accident.”

She was such a liar. Whatever the shattered glass had done to the top half of her body, her lower half had been spared by the spread of her billowing coat across her lap, and her skirt below that. She did, however, have one scrape up the side of her left thigh. Probably from where he’d hauled her out of the car.

He might have cleared his throat. Or that might have been a low rumble of laughter. Whichever it was, he scooped another dollop of the white, pasty salve into his hands and moved them to her ankle. Sliding them around her calf, he began to gently massage her, kneading the muscles there, running the tips of his fingers all the way up until he reached her knee.

That was when sensual awareness and lazy desire turned into heat. The tender skin on the backs of her knees had always been an erogenous zone, though only one of her lovers had ever been around long enough to figure that out.

This guy seemed to realize it right away. She must have gasped or something, because he shifted his gaze, watching her through half-lowered lashes as he caressed her.

She bit her lips, trying to remain still and silent, as if simply appreciating the care and not getting off on the feel of his hands on her body. Fat chance of her managing that for long, but it was the best she could do.

So tell him. Or better yet,
show
him
.

She could. But he’d proven last night that he was noble and a gentleman. He’d probably think she was still suffering the effects of the tea, or that she’d consumed more of it while he was gone.

She wasn’t. And she hadn’t. Frankly, this wasn’t even just about pure desire. It was about the edgy need she’d been feeling ever since she’d left the bookshop the evening before. The need to do something different, to veer from the path. To stray from the familiar into something dark and dangerous and terribly exciting.

Like sex with him.

He shifted, as if about to stop, and Scarlett sat up in the bed, resisting the urge to clamp her thighs together and keep his hand right where it was. Instead, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you so much,” she murmured. Then, as if simply wanting to reiterate the thanks, she leaned close, until their faces were inches apart. She let herself study the depths in those dark-green eyes—not to mention the surprise there—before pressing her lips against his for a soft, gentle kiss.

It was just a kiss of thanks. If it happened to turn into something else, well….

His form remained stiff for an instant, then, with a deep groan torn from somewhere within him, he thrust his hands into her hair.

And it turned into something else.

Cupping her head, he turned her so that their lips could part and mate more fully. It was Scarlett’s turn to groan. With pure, deep pleasure.

He tasted hot and spicy, and kissed the way a man should kiss. Forcefully. Deliberately. Their tongues met and entwined, and their breaths joined as well. Her thighs trembled and she longed to shift them apart, inviting him between them.

Before she could do it, he ended the kiss. Yanking his hands from her hair, he muttered a curse and jerked to his feet.

“Hunter…”

“What’d you see in the woods?”

He busied himself putting the salve away, not looking at her face, so he probably didn’t see her start of surprise. Though she’d lay money he knew there was one.

“Trees,” she snapped, almost choking on disappointment. He’d changed the subject, caught her by surprise intentionally. That kiss
might even have been his way of setting her up. And here she’d been priding herself on initiating it. Now she had to wonder if he’d been playing her all along.

Damn, he was good.

“Trees made you scream like that?”

She flushed, deliberately looking at her own hands. No way was she going to tell Hunter she thought she’d seen a man with amazing speed, reddish eyes and more thick, dark hair than any guy she’d ever seen.

“Scarlett,” he said, staring at her face, “I need to know what you saw.”

She waved an airy hand. “It was dark.”

He frowned, but slowly nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“I’m sure it was nothing. Just an overactive imagination.”

He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, then nodded. “You’re probably right. You had quite a knock. I’m sure whatever you saw out there was just your imagination, almost like a dream.”

A dream? Maybe a nightmare. But she didn’t say that. It sounded stupid enough in her own mind. She wasn’t about to voice the words. Especially not when the dreams she could fulfill here—inside this cabin, with this incredibly sexy man—were so much nicer to contemplate.

She only had to figure out a way to make those dreams come true.

H
UNTER NEEDED
sleep. Badly. It had been a rough week, and last night he hadn’t even tried to close his eyes. The bone-deep weariness was going to catch up to him, probably at the worst possible time—like when he finally came face-to-face with Lucas—if he didn’t do something about it.

But he didn’t know that he could trust
her.
Scarlett. His unwelcome, unwanted, unbelievably sexy guest. Despite her scare, he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t up and leave the minute he nodded off, if only to prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid to.

She could get into real trouble here. Or, at the very least, see things that would make her question her own sanity. He hadn’t been joking about that damn dwarf from up the road, whose No Trespassing signs were backed up by his ax.

God knew, the first time Hunter had crossed the border—not even sure he believed there was one, despite what his dying mother had told him—he hadn’t believed his own senses. And he’d been prepared. Scarlett wasn’t.

He should never have brought her here.

She’d been bad enough when woozy and hyped up on tea. Now, with all her faculties firmly in place, and that mouth giving back as good as she got, he found her even more distracting. More frustrating.

More damned attractive.

In silence, she was completely sexy. Conscious and aware, she delighted him.

Still, kissing her? Dumbest thing he’d ever done.

“Is my shoe really lost?” she asked, still lying on the bed, relaxed, oozing physical satisfaction as though she’d just had great sex rather than just getting her feet tended and sharing one little—all right, big—kiss.

He should have handed her the water and ointment and let her take care of herself. Then there would have been no soft whispered, “Thank you,” followed by a kiss of gratitude that had turned into one of pure carnal pleasure.

If she hadn’t set out to make it that way, he’d give up his truck. And damn, he loved that truck.

“Yeah,” he said, remembering her question. “I guess it fell off your foot when I carried you here.”

“How far did you have to carry me again?”

The softness of her query didn’t disguise the sharpness of her interest. The woman was thinking about leaving, trying to find her way out all on her own. He was never going to be able to get any sleep.

“A long way,” he told her, hoping to discourage her. And it wasn’t a lie. Maybe they hadn’t gone far in conventional distance, but metaphorically, they’d gone over the freaking rainbow. There was a dusty, gold-tinged paved road not five leagues from here that proved it.

“We went over some pretty rough terrain,” he added, “so don’t get any ideas,
shoeless
.”

Her lip curled in derision. “And somehow we left the Louisiana bayou and ended up in something resembling Carolina woods.”

She wasn’t too far off, really. Everything was smaller over here, not just time. If he walked to the next border crossing over, maybe half a day away on this side, he’d come out several states away from where they’d entered in Louisiana.

Choosing to ignore her skepticism, he said, “I’ll rig up something for you to wear on your feet when we leave.”

“You’re a cobbler too, huh?”

He shook his head, unable to resist smiling a little. The woman was just too damned cute when she was being snarky. “Actually, I think there might be something in that trunk you could use.” He crossed the small cabin, opening the big wooden chest where he, and other travelers who used this place, left the basic supplies and stuff they no longer needed.

He first found a pair of small wooden clogs. They’d probably been left here by the hunter who’d saved those two bratty kids from that crazy old child molester, whose house most definitely had not been made of gingerbread. The story had sounded scary enough
from his childhood story books…The truth, though, was a whole hell of a lot worse.

Finding a pair of rough, flat leather shoes, he figured they could be cut down to do the job. “These’ll work.”

“As
snowshoes?
”

“You’re not exactly diminutive, darlin’,” he replied, baiting her deliberately, hoping to glimpse the fire in those blue eyes.

He got it. “Are you saying I have big feet?”

“Calm down,” he said with a soft laugh, unable to help it. “I was kidding.” Because, in truth, the woman was just right. From the top of her blonde head to her pink-tinted toenails. Perfect all the way down.

He shifted a little, thrusting the image of all that naked perfection out of his head. He’d somehow managed to smooth ointment into her long legs without getting much more than a minor hard-on. The kiss had made it major. The last thing he needed was to think himself into a zipper-busting one now at the memory of how she tasted, and all that soft creamy skin covering soft creamy woman.

Determined to ignore the attraction, he turned his back on her and retrieved his knapsack. “Are you hungry?” He was. He needed food almost as much as he needed sleep.

Neither of which he needed as much as sex. But that wasn’t gonna happen. Not here. Not now. Not when he had to be alert for danger at every moment, not to mention keeping her from finding out just where on earth he’d brought her.

If this
was
earth. He
thought
it was. Sort of. Just maybe another layer…a few degrees to the right of everything he’d once considered reality.

“Depends.”

“Oh?” He glanced over his shoulder just in time to notice the way she pulled her skirt up even higher to study the sharp scratch marring the side of her thigh. Her long, silky thigh. Her smooth thigh that he wanted to feel wrapped around his hips.

Lord have mercy. So much for his plans to stay away from her. Heaven help him if she asked him to rub ointment on that thigh. Last night, when she’d been unconscious, had been one thing. Putting his hands that close to heaven when she was awake and urging him on with every heavy-lidded look?

No man alive would be strong enough to resist.

“Depends on what?” he managed to mutter.

“On whether you have a box of Pop Tarts, or you’re going to offer me some freshly slaughtered Bambi.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Well, this is a hunter’s cabin, isn’t it?”

“I’m not that kind of hunter.”

Reaching into the pack, he pulled out the rations he’d brought with him. Enough for the two of them for another day, at least. Without having to go…local. He didn’t trust anything growing wild in this place. Too many witches in the vicinity.

Though he liked having her all the way across the room, where she couldn’t mess with his head with a word or a look, or see the effect she had on him, she didn’t cooperate. She hopped out of the bed, bouncing a little on her freshly tended feet, as if wanting to test them out. He could have told her they’d be fine. The analgesic properties of the salve would have her feeling like new.

She ought to be glad she hadn’t tempted him into sliding more of that stuff higher on her legs. Some of that cool, energizing stuff on her most intimate parts would have her needing sex for ten hours straight just to gain some relief. He’d probably kill himself trying to give it to her.

But what a way to go.

She smiled. “You should open a business in foot repair.”

“I’ve got a job, thanks.” Though, honestly, having his hands on her beautiful, slender feet and luscious legs had been a whole lot more pleasant than anything he’d done at work for a very long time.

“Well, if you ever need a career change, I’ll give you a dazzling recommendation, or hire you full-time myself.”

Huh. Hired to do nothing but touch this woman?

It had its advantages.

Still smiling, she began to clear off the small, rickety wooden table, which stood in the middle of the room, setting the table for their so-called breakfast. He wondered what she was going to say when he handed her the beef jerky and trail mix.

“Thank you.” That’s what she said. Then she sat on one of the two stools, grabbed a fistful of the nuts and dried fruit and popped them into her mouth.

Hunter had to hand it to her. The woman wasn’t a complainer. And she knew how to hold her own. “Coffee?”

“I’d kill for my regular café au lait from Café du Monde, but I’ll settle for anything that comes from a bean.”

“Don’t say that.” Those were dangerous words in this part of the world. Not that she’d ever realize that. At least, God, he hoped not. “It’s growing season,” he murmured, more to himself than her, and he did a quick mental calculation as to exactly when the more daring farmers around here put in their crops.

“You got something against coffee beans?”

He shook his head, mumbling, “No. Just, some of the stuff farmers grow around here can, uh, lead to trouble.”

She coughed a little, choking on a nut. “Are you talking Children of the Corn stuff?”

“Wrong genre,” he muttered, shoving a mug of water at her before turning to make the coffee. Grabbing the small bag of grounds, he prepared them each a cup, black, no sugar, and carried them to the table.

She took one, sipped, made a face, then sipped again.

Something evil made him say, “There’s always more tea.”

Her smirk should have warned him he was playing with fire. “You sure you can handle me drinking more of that tea?”

Dangerous. But he couldn’t help responding. “You might be surprised at how much I can handle.”

She shivered lightly, though the cabin was comfortably warm. Through the thin fabric of her blouse he noted the way her skin puckered. He could tell she wasn’t wearing her bra—she must have seen the small cut on her breast and cared for it herself. Her dark nipples tightened, jutting in silent invitation as they had last night.

He suddenly wanted to drop to his knees in front of her and cover the tip of one breast with his mouth, suckling her right through the sheer material.

“So how much can you handle?” she asked.

Hunter swallowed hard, cursing himself for starting a round of verbal foreplay that couldn’t lead anywhere. Not here. Not now. Maybe in the real world?

Hell, his life was too crazy even to remember what the real world was like. Living in-between had left him sometimes unable to see clearly the difference between reality and fantasy,

Her being here…maybe that was a fantasy.

His
fantasy.

And maybe he ought to do something about it.

Forget it. You have a job to do.

“Drink your coffee.”

She leaned across the small table. So close he could feel the warmth of her soft breath against his throat. The invitation to kiss her again couldn’t have been more plain. “I might be up for tea, if you drink some, too.”

He slid back in his seat with a gruff laugh. “I’m immune.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if reading his underlying meaning—whether he was claiming to be immune to
her,
or to the aphrodisiac qualities of the tea. One was the truth. The other total fabrication.

She chose to misunderstand completely. One delicate brow rose and her tone was purely wicked. “You mean you’re immune to women? I didn’t take you for…”

“To the tea,” he snapped, knowing what she was about to say. “I’ve worked up a resistance to its side effects.”

She half lowered her lashes, disguising her amusement at getting a rise out of him, and lifted her steaming mug to her mouth. “So what kind of hunter are you?”

The subject change startled him. And relieved him. Sort of.

“What?”

“You said you’re not that kind of hunter. What is it you’re after?”

Wishing he hadn’t said anything, he admitted, “Criminals.”

She dropped her jerky. And her mouth. “Are you a cop?”

“Not anymore.”

“But you were?”

He nodded.

“In New Orleans?”

Another nod.

“Do I have to pry the words out of you with a crowbar?”

“What words?”

“You can’t just tell me you’re an ex-cop who hunts
people
and not elaborate.”

He elaborated, just a little, knowing she wouldn’t shut up until he did. “I was a detective in New Orleans until a year ago.” One
year ago—when he’d seen firsthand that the cops weren’t always the good guys, and, in fact, could be more corrupt and vile than any perp he’d ever gone after.

Finding out his own partner and two other detectives in the squad had discovered the other world along their border—and had been plundering it for their own gain—had been a shock. They’d been running drugs from one side to the other, corrupting people over here who had never heard of the kinds of pills or rocks they were pushing. And had brought back massive quantities of that crazy tea and other unusual items to sell on the streets of New Orleans.

They’d gotten away with it. At least until one innocent young girl—Ciara Wolf—had walked in on a deal, seen too much, and had been permanently silenced.

“What happened? Why’d you stop being a cop?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “One I really don’t want to get into.”

He could make it succinct. Could tell her how Lucas Wolf had come to him with irrefutable proof. Could explain that there had never been any doubt Hunter would cross the blue line to stop his former partner and fellow cops. But how to voice the frustration he’d felt when, before he could do it, all three of the suspects had disappeared? They’d melted somewhere between New Orleans and never-never land, anonymous and free to continue their reign of terror.

That was when Hunter had quit his job to go after them, doing everything within the boundaries of the law to bring them to justice.

Unlike Lucas Wolf, his dark shadow, who’d gone after them in his own fashion. Vigilante-style.

“So what do you do now?”

He thrust the dark thoughts away. “I left the force and went into business for myself.”

“Are you a bounty hunter like that blond guy on TV?”

“I’m
nothing
like that blond guy on TV,” he insisted. “But yes, I’m a skip-tracer. I track down criminals who skip out on their bail.”
As well as some who have never been caught.