What would it be like if he came down from that bank and splashed into the water with her? If he took the blanket from his pack and laid her down on it? She closed her eyes, shivering in reaction, thinking of his hard body pressing down on her, thrusting into her. It had been so many years, and the few experiences she’d had with Chris hadn’t taught her that she could be a creature of wanting, but with Grant she wasn’t the same woman.
Her heart beat heavily in her breast as she rinsed herself by cupping water in her palms and pouring it over her. Standing up, she twisted the water out of her hair, then waded out. She was trembling as she pulled on her clean underwear, then dressed distastefully in her stained pants and shirt. “I’m finished,” she called, lacing up her boots.
He appeared soundlessly beside her. “Sit in the same place where I sat,” he instructed, placing the rifle in her hands. “Do you know how to use this?”
The weapon was heavy, but her slim hands looked capable as she handled it. “Yes. I’m a fairly good shot.” A wry smile curved her lips. “With paper targets and clay pigeons, anyway.”
“That’s good enough.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, and she stood there in a daze, her eyes on his hands. He paused. “Are you going to guard me from down here?”
She blushed. “No. Sorry.” Quickly she turned and scrambled up the bank, then took a seat in the exact spot where he’d sat. She could see both banks, but at the same time there was a fair amount of cover that she could use if the need arose. He’d probably picked this out as the best vantage point without even thinking about it, just automatically sifting through the choices and arriving at the correct one. He might be retired, but his training was ingrained.
A movement, a flash of bronze, detected out of the corner of her eye, told her that he was wading into the stream. She shifted her gaze a fraction so she wouldn’t be able to see him at all, but just the knowledge that he was as naked as she had been kept her heart pounding erratically. She swallowed, then licked her lips, forcing herself to concentrate on the surrounding jungle, but the compulsion to look at him continued.
She heard splashing and pictured him standing there like a savage, bare and completely at home.
She closed her eyes, but the image remained before her. Slowly, totally unable to control herself, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. It was only a small movement, a fraction of an inch, until she was able to see him, but that wasn’t enough. Stolen glances weren’t enough. She wanted to study every inch of him, drink in the sight of his powerful body. Shifting around, she looked fully at him, and froze. He was beautiful, so beautiful that she forgot to breathe. Without being handsome, he had the raw power and grace of a predator, all the terrible beauty of a hunter. He was bronzed all over, his tan a deep, even brown. Unlike her, he didn’t keep his back turned in case she looked; he had a complete disregard for modesty. He was taking a bath; she could look or not look, as she wished.
His skin was sleek and shiny with water, and the droplets caught in the hair on his chest glittered like captured diamonds. His body hair was dark, despite the sun-streaked blondness of his head. It shadowed his chest, ran in a thin line down his flat, muscled stomach, and bloomed again at the juncture of his legs. His legs were as solid as tree trunks, long and roped with muscle; every movement he made set off ripples beneath his skin. It was like watching a painting by one of the old masters come to life.
He soaped himself all over, then squatted in the water to rinse in the same manner she had, cupping his palms to scoop up the water. When he was rinsed clean, he stood and looked up at her, probably to check on her, and met her gaze head-on. Jane couldn’t look away, couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t been staring at him with an almost painful appreciation. He stood very still in the stream, watching her as she watched him, letting her take in every detail of his body. Under her searching gaze, his body began to stir, harden, growing to full, heavy arousal.
“Jane,” he said softly, but still she heard him. She was so attuned to him, so painfully sensitive to every move and sound he made, that she would have heard him if he’d whispered. “Do you want to come down here?”
Yes. Oh, God, yes, more than she’d ever wanted anything. But she was still a little afraid of her own feelings, so she held back. This was a part of herself that she didn’t know, wasn’t certain she could control.
“I can’t,” she replied, just as softly. “Not yet.”
“Then turn around, honey, while you still have a choice.”
She quivered, almost unable to make the required movement, but at last her muscles responded and she turned away from him, listening as he waded out of the water. In less than a minute he appeared noiselessly at her side and took the rifle from her hands. He had both packs with him. Typically, he made no further comment on what had just happened. “We’ll get away from the water and set up camp. It’ll be night pretty soon.”
Night. Long hours in the dark tent, lying next to him. Jane followed him, and when he stopped she helped him do the work they had done the night before, setting up the tent and hiding it. She didn’t protest at the cold field rations, but ate without really tasting anything. Soon she was crawling into the tent and taking off her boots, waiting for him to join her.
When he did, they lay quietly side by side, watching as the remaining light dimmed, then abruptly vanished.
Tension hummed through her, making her muscles tight. The darkness pressed in on her, an unseen monster that sucked her breath away. No list of compulsive questions leaped to her lips tonight; she felt oddly timid, and it had been years since she’d allowed herself to be timid about anything. She no longer knew herself.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his voice gentle.
Just the sound of his voice enabled her to relax a little. “No,” she whispered.
“Then come here and let me keep the dark away from you.”
She felt his hand on her arm, urging her closer, then she was enfolded in arms so strong that nothing could ever make her afraid while they held her. He cradled her against his side, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder. With a touch so light that it could have been the brush of a butterfly’s wings, he kissed the top of her head. “Good night, honey,” he whispered.
“Good night,” she said in return.
Long after he was asleep, Jane lay in his arms with her eyes open, though she could see nothing. Her heart was pounding in her chest with a slow, heavy rhythm, and her insides felt jittery. It wasn’t fear that kept her awake, but a churning emotion that shifted everything inside her. She knew exactly what was wrong with her. For the first time in too many years, everything was right with her.
She’d learned to live her life with a shortage of trust. No matter that she’d learned to enjoy herself and her freedom; there had always been that residual caution that kept her from letting a man get too close. Until now she’d never been strongly enough attracted to a man for the attraction to conquer the caution.... Until now. Until Grant. And now the attraction had become something much stronger. The truth stunned her, yet she had to accept it: she loved him. She hadn’t expected it, though for two days she had felt it tugging at her. He was harsh and controlled, bad-tempered, and his sense of humor was severely underdeveloped, but he had gently washed the snake’s blood