Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (41 page)

Before twilight descended, they drove upriver in his truck to retrieve the Suburban. By the time they returned, the sun was behind the mountains and long shadows stretched across the beach. Dinner consisted of sandwiches, fruit and cookies that Rick always purchased from a bakery on the first floor of the building housing Wild West Expeditions.

“Not exactly Maxim's,” he remarked, leaning his back against a large boulder and stretching his legs in front of him.

“You complaining?”

“Me? Never.”

“You could have bought the deluxe trail ride and rafting trip,” she said. “The one with caviar, champagne, Thoroughbreds and a yacht.”

His mouth lifted at the corner and he said lazily, “My brother's too cheap.”

“Are you two close?” she asked, and was rewarded with silence. Only the swish of water and drone of insects disturbed the silence. The sky, as if painted by an invisible brush, was layered in bands of pink and lavender. Above the darkening peaks, the boldest stars glimmered seductively.

Chandra, leaning against a log, drew her legs to her chin and wrapped her arms around her shins. “It's gorgeous up here, don't you think? The first time I saw this place, I
knew
this was where I had to stay.”

“Where're you from?” he asked. She turned to find him watching her so closely that her breath stopped for a second. For the first time since the river run, she realized that she'd be spending the night with this man—all alone in the wilderness. Though it wasn't a new experience—she'd led more than her share of trail rides and camping excursions—she could feel in the air that this night would be different. Because of Dallas. There was something that set him apart from the other men she'd guided along the river—or was there? She edged her toe in the sand, unwilling to admit any attraction for a man she'd met so recently, a man who could, for all she knew, be married.

The scent of water filled her nostrils and the night seemed clearer than usual. The evening air was warm, its breath laden with the scents of spruce and pine.

“I take it you're not a native,” he pressed, those inscrutable eyes still staring at her.

“No, I'm originally from Idaho,” she admitted. “Grew up there. My dad was a real outdoorsman, and since he
had no sons and I was the oldest daughter, he spent a lot of time showing me the ropes of canoeing, horseback riding, swimming, rafting and mountain climbing.”

“And you made it a profession?”

Picking up a stick, she nudged over a rock, exposing a beetle that quickly scurried for cover. “With some stops along the way,” she admitted. “Why are you so interested?”

He looked at her long and hard. “Because I've never met a woman who, with a few first-aid courses, could so quickly and accurately diagnose a patient as you did. You were right on target, Ms. Hill.”

“Chandra. Remember?” she said, and considered telling him the truth. He deserved that much, she supposed. “And you're right,” she admitted, though she couldn't confide in him, not completely. There was too much emotional scarring that she wouldn't reveal, at least not yet. So she hedged. “I've had more training than basic first aid. I was in medical school for a while, but I dropped out.”

“Why?” he asked. The word seemed to hang between them in the night air. The moon had risen, and dusk, like a familiar warm cloak, closed them off from the rest of the world. The river rippled by, shimmering with the silvery light of the moon. The mountains, craggy and black, loomed toward the twilight sky.

“I didn't think it was right for me,” she lied, cringing inwardly. Why not tell him the truth and get it over with? But, though she tried, the words wouldn't pass her tongue. Standing, she dusted her palms on her shorts. She felt a chill, though the air still held warmth from the afternoon, and she didn't know how much she should tell Dallas.

He was leaning forward, hands clasped, watching her every move, but when she didn't explain any further, he stood and walked toward her, his gaze still fastened on her face. He stopped just short of her, and she was all too
aware that he was standing inches from her, his sleeve, still damp, brushing the crook of her arm. She tried not to notice how close he was, how intimate the night had become. Dry leaves fluttered in the wind, rustling and whispering as the breeze moved along the course of the river.

Lifting her head, she focused on the straight line of his chin, his square jaw, the way his hair ruffled in the wind. As if he understood her pain, he didn't ask another question, just took her in his arms and held her. Her throat burned with his sudden gentleness, and tears threatened her eyes. She didn't try to break away, just let his arms and the sounds of the river envelop her. How long had it been since someone had held her?

His breath whispered across her crown, and his body was warm, a soothing balm for all the old wounds. Her arms wrapped around his as if of their own accord, and he groaned. “Chandra,” he whispered, and his voice had grown husky.

Good Lord, what was she doing, embracing this…this stranger, for crying out loud? And why did she feel the need to tell him her life story? This was all wrong. Even if his arms felt right, he was a client, a doctor, for God's sake, not a man she could get involved with. He could be married, for all she knew! She tried to break away, but his arms, strong as hemp, wouldn't budge. “I think…this isn't right…. I don't know anything about you.” She gazed up at him steadily. “Look, Dallas, I don't fool around. Especially with married men.”

“Then you're safe.”

“You're not married?”

The muscles surrounding her tensed. “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” She didn't know what to say.

She tried to slip out of his arms, but his grip tightened. “I still don't think this is very smart.”

“I know it isn't.”

“I don't get involved with
any
men,” she clarified, her voice unusually low, her pulse beginning to race wildly. They were talking about a very serious subject, and yet she felt that there was an undercurrent in their conversation, and she couldn't concentrate on much more than the feel of his hard body pressed so close to hers.

Embracing him was crazy! Downright insane. She didn't even know the man—not really. All she had were impressions of an honest, overworked physician, who at times could be cuttingly harsh and other times as textured and smooth as velvet.

“I know you were right on the money with the baby,” he said, his breath fanning across the top of her head. “I've seen you handle Alma Lindquist and Bob Fillmore. I know for a fact that I couldn't put you off when you demanded to know about the infant's condition. And I've seen you navigate one helluva river. My guess is that you do whatever you set your mind to, Ms. Hill.”

“Chandra,” she reminded him again, but the words strangled in her throat as his night-darkened gaze locked with hers for a heart-stopping instant. She knew in that flash of brilliance that he was going to kiss her and that she was unable to stop him. He dropped his head then, and his mouth molded intimately over hers.

It's been so long…
she thought as a river of emotions carried her away. The smell of him was everywhere—earthy, sensual, divine. And the feel of his hands, so supple against her skin, caused tiny goose bumps to rise on her flesh. He locked one of his hands around the back of her neck and gently pulled her hair as his tongue traced the rim of her mouth.

Her breath was stilled, her heart beginning to pound a cadence as wild as the river rushing through this dusky canyon.

This is a mistake!
she told herself, but didn't listen. She heard only the drumming of her heart and the answering cadence of his. Warm, hard, primal, he provoked a passion so long dormant, it awoke with a fury, creating desire that knew no bounds. He shifted his weight, drawing her down, and her knees gave way as he pressed her slowly, intimately, to the beach.

Cool sand touched her back, and he half lay across her, the weight of his chest welcome, the feel of his body divine. She didn't protest when his mouth moved from her lips to the slope of her chin and lower, against her neck. She was conscious only of the feel of the coming night, the cool sand against her back, the whisper of his lips against her skin, the firm placement of his hand across her abdomen, as if through her clothes he could feel the gentle pulsing at her very core.

He moved slightly, and his hand shifted, climbing upward to feel the weight of her breast. Chandra moaned as her nipple, in anticipation, grew taut and desire caused her breast to ache.

Dear Lord, this is madness!
she thought, but couldn't stop. She gripped his shoulders and sighed when she felt him push aside the soft cotton of the T-shirt until his flesh was nearly touching hers and only the simple barrier of white lace kept skin from skin.

“Chandra,” he groaned, as if in agony, against her ear. “Oh, God…” He tugged off her T-shirt then, as the first pale glow from the moon filtered through the forest. He stared at her, swallowing hard as his gaze centered on the dark nipple protruding against filmy lace.

Chandra shivered, but not from the coolness of the night so much as from that critical gaze that seemed to caress the border of tan and white flesh across her breast, below which the white skin, opalescent and veined with blue lines, rounded to a pert, dark crest.

Dallas closed his eyes, as if to steady himself, but when he looked at her again, none of his passion was gone. “This is crazy,” he whispered, and she couldn't reply; her mouth was dry, her words unformed. But she felt him reach forward again, slowly push down the strap of her bra, peel away the gossamer fabric and allow her breast to spill free.

“You're beautiful,” he said, and then, as if he knew the words were too often spoken in haste, looked her straight in the eyes. “It's probably as much a curse as a blessing.”

Beautiful? She wasn't blind and knew she was pretty, but beautiful? Never. She felt herself blush and hoped the night hid the telltale scarlet stain creeping up her neck. “You don't have to say anything,” she replied in a voice that sounded as if it had been filtered by dry leaves.

His arms surrounded her, and he drew her close, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that drew the very breath from her lungs. No longer tenuous, he pressed his tongue into her mouth and explored the wet lining, one hand surrounding her back, the other softly kneading her breast.

Chandra melted inside. Heat as intense as a fire burning out of control swirled inside her, through her blood and into her brain. She wrapped a leg around him and arched upward. He slid lower, then snapped the fastening of her bra, letting both breasts swing free. He captured one nipple in his teeth and sucked as if from hunger, his tongue flicking and massaging the soft underside of her skin.

Her passion igniting, Chandra cupped his head and pulled him closer, crying out in bittersweet agony when, as he breathed, his hot breath fanned her wet nipple.

“Please,” she whispered, caught in this hot whirlpool of desire and unable to swim free. “Please.”

He found the fastening on her shorts, and his fingers brushed against her abdomen and lower still.

Somewhere in the trees high above, an owl hooted
softly, breaking the stillness of the night. Dallas's lips stopped their tender exploration, but the breath from his nostrils still seared her sensitive skin. He jerked his head away. “This is a mistake,” he muttered, swiping a hand impatiently through his hair, as if in so doing, he could release the tension that was coiling his muscles. He rolled away from her. “Damn it all to hell, Chandra, I don't know what got into me.”

Embarrassment crept up Chandra's spine at his rejection. Silently calling herself a fool, she scrambled for her clothes.

“Look, I'm sorry—”

“Don't apologize,” she interrupted. “There's nothing to apologize for. Things just got out of hand, that's all.” She wished she felt as calm as she sounded, but inside, her heart was pounding, and she wanted to die of mortification. She'd never played loose and fast. Never!

She'd been the butt of cruel jokes while in medical school. Doug's friends had wondered aloud and within her earshot if it were possible to light a fire in her or if she, so conscientious with her studies, were frigid. Doug had stood up for her, if feebly, and they had married, but she'd never forgotten how wretched those remarks had made her feel.

Nonetheless, she didn't see herself in the role of femme fatale, and this little escapade with Dallas was certainly out of character.

“This doesn't happen to me,” he said.

“And you think it does to me?”

His lips compressed into a hard line, and Chandra nearly laughed. What did he think of her? She should be incensed, but she found his confusion amusing. She smothered a smile as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. “Well, what just happened between us is usually not part of the expedition, not even the most expensive trips,” she
teased, hoping to lighten the tension. Dallas wasn't in the mood for jokes. “Don't worry about it,” she said, though she could think of nothing but the touch of his hands on her skin, the smell of him so close, the taste of his lips on hers. She turned back to the campsite. “Come on. We should start dinner, and if you think just because I'm a woman that I'm going to do it all myself you've got—Oh!”

He caught hold of her wrist and spun her around. She nearly tripped on a rock, and he caught her before she fell. Strong arms surrounded her, and his face, not smiling, but as intense as the night closing in on them, was pressed to hers. “I just want you to know,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him above the wind soughing through the pines, “I don't play games.”

She gulped. “I wouldn't think so.”

“So when something like this…happens, I can't just take it lightly and shrug it off like you do.”