Chains of Ice (14 page)

She drew back slightly.

He sighed as if her retreat disappointed him, but did nothing to stop her.

So she kissed him again. This time when his eyes closed, her eyes closed, too. That changed the kiss, made it more intimate, less comfort and more sex. It was man and woman now, lonely adults who explored cautiously, afraid of revealing too much of themselves.

He opened his lips and touched his tongue to her lower lip, the flavor of inquiry.

Would she allow him more freedom?

She would . . . she offered him a shy sample of herself, and the pleasure he gave her in return was warm and profound, primitive and sensual. As each moment passed, as he led her deeper into passion, it became increasingly clear that the time he’d spent in the wilderness had stripped away any semblance of civilization. Until this moment, she had never tasted pure, unadulterated masculinity.

No wonder women lusted after him.

He allowed her to take the lead, yet she sensed intensity, need . . . passion. Power, his power, hummed beneath her fingertips, feeding the small, shy, hidden bit of wildness within her.

He went to her head like a shot of distilled virility, and she kissed him more deeply, sinking onto his knee and against his chest. He seemed to be allowing her all the choices, but the way he kissed, as if she were the first, the best, the most important . . . the only. It was flattery and ardor and, oh, the way her body felt against his! The slow thrum of passion moved from his skin to hers, from his heart to hers, from his loins to . . .

Deliberately, leisurely, allowing her time to protest, he tilted her to lie in his lap.

Dimly she realized that he was drawing her in, a hypnotism of her body by his, but she didn’t protest.

Why should she? He held her with one arm beneath her head, the other embracing her waist, and she felt, not threatened, but safe as she had never felt before. And cherished. And worshiped. A firestorm ignited in her, burning away any wariness, taking her out of herself and into him.

With him, she was whole.

Giving a small moan, she wrapped herself around him, drew him down to her, opened her lips, and breathed in his soul.

This wasn’t the John Powell of her dreams. He was not forceful, not arrogant, not relentless. Avni’s friend Halinka had claimed he did everything according to the
woman’s
desire.

Right now, Genny believed it. Every movement, every touch was designed for
her
.

On the periphery of consciousness, she knew the sand was warm beneath them. She heard the river rippling across rocks, the kittens riotously gamboling. She smelled the sun-warmed pines, and felt the brush of the wind. She was alive as she had never been before . . . and when he lessened the kiss, loosened his embrace, she said, “No,” and tried to bring him back.

But he took a long breath, and lifted her to sit straight.

“Genny.” He brushed his lips across her cheek, pushed the tousled strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Genny.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him, dazzled by the sunlight and dazed by . . . by the lack of oxygen to her brain. Because that was the only explanation she could give for her reaction to what she had intended to be a comforting kiss.

And while she still teetered on the edge of sensual oblivion, he looked serious and concerned. “You need to take your pictures,” he said in his deep, calm voice.

“Right. Sure.” With a bump, she slid off his knee and groped for her camera. Retrieving it, she focused randomly and shot photos of Mama Cat, who posed at the lip of rock overlooking the river. As Genny’s hand steadied, she used more deliberation to capture the kittens as they leaped around. In a voice that sounded as if it came from a great hollow within, she asked, “Would you move the twig and see if you can get them to play with it? It would direct their attention . . . and I promise not to get you in the photo.”

Picking up the twig, he knelt beside her and thrashed it across the sand, and when the babies dashed over, intent on beating it into oblivion, John asked, “Do you know why I told you the story of my youth?”

To tear my heart out.
“You needed someone to talk to, and I’m a good listener.” Every guy in college had told her exactly that.

“No. I wanted you to understand, really understand, why you can never take photographs of me. Why you can never tell them in Rasputye that you’ve met me.” He put the twig down. “That’s enough. The kittens are tired.”

As if he had read her mind, Mama Cat came to get them. She interrupted their play with a paw on the back of the boy kitten. As he lay sprawled on the sand, she picked him up by the scruff of his neck and carried him toward the den, the girl kitten dragging behind them and yawning.

Genny switched to video mode, catching the maternal concern of the lynx as she fed the boy cat into the den, then nudged the girl cat inside. Mama Cat followed her babies, slipping through the crack in the stone and leaving no trace behind.

The pictures were going to be beyond anything ever seen before, and Genny was going to win every accolade for her success. Yet it didn’t seem fair. “John, it’s you who knows the forest so well!”

“I will not be betrayed again.” Gone was the lover with power in his body and passion in his taste. This man was grimly serious.

Really, what did she expect? That he would have been as overwhelmed as she had been by one little kiss? “No one’s going to believe that I found those kittens.”

“Make them believe, Genesis. Make them believe.”

That was the second time he had called her Genesis—and most people, unless they knew differently, assumed her name was Jennifer.

She put the lens cap on her camera and tucked it away, shouldered her backpack and picked up her coat. “How did you know my name was Genesis?”

“Genesis. Lubochka’s voice carries well into the forest.” His voice faded as he spoke.

She turned to him . . . but he was gone.

Everyone stopped eating and writing and talking to stare.

“I got pictures!” Genny held up the camera as if it held treasure.

From the expression on Lubochka’s face, it did. The big woman rose slowly from her place at the head of the table and extended her arm. “Show me.”

Genny rushed to her side. They performed a silly tug-of-war as Lubochka tried to take the camera and Genny fought to get the strap over her head. Then everyone gathered around as Genny clicked to the first photo.

Lubochka took a long breath. Groped for her reading glasses. Looked hard at the small, backlit screen. And said, “Kittens? You got pictures of”—she squinted—“of Nadja with her kittens? Outside in the
daylight
?”

“Yes! Yes! It was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life!” Genny’s heart was pounding as hard as it had when she had almost taken a plunge off the cliff.

A babble broke out among the team.

Thorsen Rasmussen had not said two words to her all week. Now he slapped her on the back with such hearty goodwill she stumbled forward. “Brilliant,” he said. “You’ll be written up in the journals for this!” Turning to Mariana, he grabbed her and whirled her across the
traktir.

Avni hugged Genny, then shook her, then hugged her again. “You did it. You did it!”

Reggie lifted her hand, kissed it, and in that fabulous Scottish accent, said, “Congratulations, my dear.”

“You are our heroine.” Misha grabbed her shoulders and kissed first one cheek, then the other. Leaning over Lubochka, he kissed her in a totally different way, on the mouth.

Reggie laughed aloud at Genny’s expression. “They are an odd couple, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t realize that Lubochka and Misha . . .” Genny wished she’d never started her comment. “That is, Lubochka doesn’t seem to be the type to . . .”

“I of course cannot speak with any amount of authority on the matter.” Reggie looked wickedly amused. “But the rumor is that she puts him on and spins him.”

Genny laughed aloud at the mental picture, then laughed again as Misha and Lubochka pulled the memory card from the camera, fed it into the computer, and brought the pictures up in brilliant color on the nineteen-inch monitor.

The team gathered around and watched the video of the kittens playing, then ran through the stills Genny had taken.

“You must have been startled to see the cats.” Lubochka pointed at the first pictures Genny had taken and laughed exuberantly. “These are tilted sideways.”

“Yes . . .” Genny had been shaken, but not by the appearance of the cats. She’d been shaken by the kiss she’d shared with John and his unremitting insistence that she tell no one she knew him.

“Easily fixed. We have Photoshop! We will tilt them the other way. And crop. We can crop.” Misha pointed at the fourth picture, the one of Mama Cat posed on the rocks. “Look. Look at this one! Nadja came through the winter in prime shape.”

“She is a beautiful cat.” Lubochka worshiped with her tone. “Genesis, you must tell me where you saw Nadja and her children.”

Genny had been thinking about how to answer. She didn’t want everyone to know the den’s location. Not everyone respected an endangered species. There were people who would pay to have a coat made from lynx fur, and people who imagined owning a wildcat would be fun. And maybe no one on the team was one of those people, but the villagers of Rasputye were for the most part poor, and Genny didn’t believe in testing their integrity. So she told the truth—but not all the truth. “On the riverbed around the bend from our observation station.”

“Good.” Lubochka rubbed her palms together. “Later, when we’re alone, we’ll get out the map.”

Genny guessed Lubochka didn’t trust everyone, either.

Laughing like maniacs, Reggie and Avni grabbed Genny and danced her across the room—right into Brandon’s path as he swaggered through the door.

Genny halted in front of him and, still over the moon with delight, offered her hand for him to shake.

Brandon viewed it suspiciously. “What’s up?”

She grinned at him. “I found them!”

“She’s our new wildlife observer champion!” Reggie announced.

Brandon caught sight of a picture on the monitor, the one of Mama Cat carrying the boy cat back to the den. “Who took that?”

“Genny did!” Avni triumphantly punched her in the arm.

“Come on.” Brandon sauntered over for a closer look. “She got those photos off the Internet.”

Just like that, the celebration withered and died.

Everyone stared at the monitor, then back at Genny.

“I-it’s not true,” she stammered. Behind her, the door stood open, but not even the breeze could cool her hot cheeks. “I . . . I didn’t . . .”

“Of course it’s not true,” Lubochka said scornfully. “I know every picture of every Ural lynx there is. I took most of them. These are original. Genesis took them, and she took them today!”

“Damn you, Brandon, can’t you be human for once in your life?” If Avni stood closer, she would have punched Brandon.

If Genny stood closer, she would have
killed
him.

“He’s human, all right.” Reggie used an upper-class, derogatory tone that brought an ugly flush to Brandon’s face. “He’s jealous because he isn’t getting all the attention. He’s a lousy excuse for a human.”

“Is it the fact you sleep in the storage closet? Or the fact you forgot to bring toilet paper and you’re getting slivers from the Russian kind?” Thorsen’s laugh was a jeer.

Genny advanced on Brandon. “What is wrong with you? Why would you say such a mean thing? There’s no reason for that kind of accusation!”

“Speaking of mean things”—Brandon flicked the bruise on her cheek—“who hit you, babe?”

She flinched back. “I fell.” Then she was angry again. Angry that he’d noticed what no one else had. Angry that she had allowed him to distract her. “That’s not the point. The point is, you can’t stand it when someone else gets attention—”

“Got issues, honey?” Brandon used his most patronizing tone.

“—which I deserve for taking those pictures today!” Genny couldn’t believe she needed to rescue her reputation after a morning spent holding a lynx kitten.

“Brandon is a pimple on the face of humanity,” Avni said.

“You placed the pimple a little high and on the wrong side,” Genny snapped.

Lubochka slapped her knee and laughed with hearty enjoyment.

Brandon flung himself around to face them, and glowered at Genny. “Look, you. You don’t know who you’re trashing here. I’m Brandon Lam, and my family is worth a lot of money. I don’t have to put up with a woman like you mocking me.”

Genny grew cold. “What do you mean,
a woman like me
?”

“Let’s face it, Genesis, the thought of you stealing pictures off the Internet shouldn’t surprise anyone.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed with satisfaction as he took his shot. “I know about your dad. I know about his arrest. And now everybody knows that larceny is the Valente family business.”