Part 5 (2/2)

Her pants hung around one leg. Her T-s.h.i.+rt was twisted around her waist. She stood lop-sided in one boot. Shead just had unprotected s.e.xa”oh, G.o.d, what had she been thinking?a” and his come wet her thighs.

She had never done anything so outrageous in her life.

The suns.h.i.+ne streamed down on them now. She could see him all too clearly, and questions hummed through her mind.

What now?

What if Iam pregnant?

Who is he?

And, This man is savage.

She knew it in her bones. That had been, after all, why she welcomed him to her bed at night.

Clutching the waistband of her pants, she tugged it up over her thighs in what she hoped looked like a casual attempt to dress. ”I know youave already done so much, but can you take me down to the nearest phone? Iave got to call my father, tell him what happened. Have him notify Philas next of kin. Make arrangements to pay for the rental equipment we lost.” Worries and responsibilities returned to crowd her mind. ”Do you think Mingma escaped? My cook and interpreter? She said she was going to run. She did escape, didnat she?”

”Mingma is fine,” he said without expression in his face or voice.

”Really?” She winced at her own chipper tone. ”How do you know?”

”Mingma is smart enough to recognize danger when she sees it. Which is apparently more than you can do.” He knelt before Karen, untied her boot, and tugged at it and her pants.

Karen didnat know whether he was referring to the danger of Mount Anaya or the danger he represented.

She tugged back. ”Look, I donat know what you think youare doing. . . .” Actually, she was pretty sure what he thought he was doing, but caution had reared its ugly head.

”Weare going to take a shower.” He jerked his head toward the clear, cold waterfall.

”No. Way. I washed my face in that water. Not to mention I was raised in Montana in the Rockies up by Glacier National Park. When I was a kid I stood knee-deep in a creek just like that, building a dam out of rocks. So I know what Iam talking about when I say I am not using that stream for a bath.” She backed away.

He used her momentum to strip away her pants.

”How else do you propose to get clean?” He sounded prosaic, not dangerous, like some guy shead met in college. ”If the wateras that cold, you can hardly accuse me of dire intentions.”

Mount Anaya had destroyed her last three monthsa work. Shead lost a man on the site. Shead finally glimpsed her lover and realized she wasnat mada”but perhaps he was. She didnat think she had an ounce of humor left. But now she found her mouth crooking. ”Well. Thatas true.” She looked around. They were on the edge of a lawless borderland, with the most meager glimmer of civilization at least a dayas drive away. There was no one to see them and, more important, no easy way to get cleaned up.

She looked down at herself. Her T-s.h.i.+rt was grubby. Her legs were bare. Now that he mentioned it, she felt sort of grainy.

One more hour would make no difference to the outside world.

A crisp breeze eased through the pristine mountain valley.

With a yell that echoed up the walls of the valley, she grasped the hem of her T-s.h.i.+rt, stripped it off over her head, and ran toward the waterfall.

Behind her she heard a similar shout. He ran past her, his bare feet lifted high, and he hit the stream seconds ahead of her. Icy droplets sprayed in the air. He skidded to a stop, and she plowed into him. He wrapped her in his arms and thrust her under the icy cascade.

She screamed in subzero agony, and laughed and splashed as he used his hands to scrub her entire body. She rubbed him back, feeling silly, h.o.r.n.y, free for one more foolish second.

They didnat linger; it was too cold.

But they got clean, and she knew why he always smelled so fresh and wild when he came to her bed.

First he came here to the waterfall.

He pulled her from the water and spanned her waist with his hands.

She looked up at him and laughed.

His face changed subtly, from shared amus.e.m.e.nt to a starkness, a bleakness that broke her heart.

Then he said them, the words that moved her from sorrow to rage. ”I will never let you go.”

Chapter Seven.

Karen stepped back from this man she didnat know . . . this man she knew so intimately. ”What do you mean, you wonat ever let me go?”

Relaxed, confident in his decision, he scrutinized her, his black eyes impenetrable.

”Look. You saved me. Iam grateful. But that doesnat mean I want to stay here. Iave got a job to do, and I intend to do it.” Deliberately she turned her back on him and walked to first one piece of her clothing, then another, picking them up and flicking the dust off them. She was wet and cold and she s.h.i.+vered, but she didnat lie to herself. She s.h.i.+vered because she was afraid.

What had she gotten herself into?

She jumped when he strolled past her, silent as a cat, then watched to see what he would do next. And, because she couldnat help herself, she observed the way the long, lean muscles of his back and b.u.t.t and thighs coiled and stretched beneath the golden skin.

He opened the saddlebags of his motorcycle. He pulled out jeans and donned them, Comanche-style, and pulled a T-s.h.i.+rt over his head. Reaching back inside, he dug around and pulled out another T-s.h.i.+rt and tossed it in her direction. ”Itas clean. Put it on.” He threw out another pair of jeans. ”You can roll up the legs.”

She stood still, trying to decide, for while his blunt commands offended her, her own clothes were dusty and sweaty.

Picking up his boots, he pulled them on, then reached back into his saddlebags. He turned to face her, a semiautomatic Glock steady in his hand. ”Put my clothes on.”

Her heart stoppeda”then raced. He didnat mean it. ”You wonat shoot me.”

”Because we had s.e.x? I wouldnat count on that.” Those strange black eyes watched her, and she hadnat a clue what was behind them. ”Iave had a lot of women, and I donat give a c.r.a.p about any of them.”

That she believed. Oh, G.o.d. She really believed him.

Should she fight? She held a black belt in jujitsu; in her line of work, in the places in the world that she visited, self-defense made sense. But her master was Vietnamese, a veteran of the war with the Americans, and he had taught her to a.s.sess a situation. This looked grim.

This looked impossible.

”What are you going to do? Run naked through the meadow while I chase you down with my motorcycle?” Her lover straddled the seat and placed his free hand on the starter. ”Climb the rocks while I use you for target practice?”

A recent memory blazed through her fear-frozen mind.

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