Backwoods Page 20

Nathan didn’t know if she was hypothermic or having an anxiety attack. The rain had let up a little, but they were both soaked. He wasn’t cold because his muscles were working hard and his blood was pumping. He had no idea what to do, other than try to get her warm. If her condition didn’t improve after they took shelter, he couldn’t help her. Rescue services wouldn’t send a helicopter during a storm at night. He doubted the hunters—or hunter, singular—would come after them, either.

  “Mr. Papadakis, keep your hands to yourself,” she mumbled.

  Nathan focused on putting one foot in front of the other. When he finally reached camp, he didn’t take Abby to the tents. He went straight to the hot springs. It seemed easier to dump her in a warm pool than to fumble around for dry clothing.

  His shoulder screamed for relief as he set her down at the edge of the tub. He tugged his shirt over his head and removed his boots. Then he unbuttoned his pants and stripped to his boxer shorts. He took off Abby’s shoes but left the rest of her garments intact before easing her into the water.

  The heat permeated his sore muscles, making him groan. Abby started shivering again. He held her to his chest, praying she’d be okay. Praying Leo and Brooke would make it to the hospital. Praying help would arrive, come morning.

  After a short soak, she seemed to rouse. She pulled the soggy fleece over her head and flung it to the side of the tub with a splat. Then she turned to look at him. It was still drizzling and quite dark, with a mix of clouds in the moonlit sky.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  She looked and sounded lucid. He wasn’t sure where to start.

  “How did we get here?”

  “I carried you.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did.”

  “Was I conscious?”

  He shifted his sore shoulder, considering. “Sort of. You called me strange names, punched me in the ear and asked for Ray.”

  Her face crumpled at this news. She scooted away from him and burst into tears.

  Nathan regretted being flip about her condition. He wanted to put her at ease, but he didn’t know if he should reach out to her. Lydia had once told him not to touch her when she was crying. Abby stayed on the other side of the tub, weeping into her hands. Keeping his distance didn’t seem right, so he got closer. He slid his arm around her waist and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “You must think I’m crazy,” she said, drawing a ragged breath.

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe you had to carry me.”

  “It made me feel very manly, if that helps.”

  She wiped her eyes.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Abby.”

  “I don’t like falling apart...being weak.”

  “You’re not weak.”

  “I had a breakdown.”

  “So what? You were beaten and shoved into a fucking cage. There’s no wrong way to react to something like that.”

  Frowning, she touched the mark on her cheek. “I wasn’t beaten. My face hit the bottom of the crate.”

  Nathan didn’t see the difference. It was no accident, and the details of her ordeal made him furious. “The important part is that you and Brooke survived. You held it together when you had to.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and fell silent.

  He stroked her back for a few minutes, considering his own preconceptions about strength. He did equate physical power with masculinity, to some extent. His father had raised him on that belief, and Nathan had passed it on to Leo. He’d told Leo to “man up” on a number of occasions and encouraged him to be more aggressive in sports.

  After John Christie’s son committed suicide, Nathan had worried about Leo. Like many adolescents, he’d seemed sullen and withdrawn. Nathan had wanted to make sure he was okay. The conversation he’d instigated about sexuality had been sincere and well-intended, but maybe it was also an attempt to undo any damage he’d done. Nathan had known his be-tough attitude was the kind of thing that might make a boy question his self-worth. It was no wonder that Leo had felt inadequate. Nathan had meant it when he said he’d love Leo no matter what, but he’d also criticized every weakness.

  “I used to throw up before every game,” he said, remembering.

  She raised her head to look at him. “Really?”

  “It started in high school. I got sick one day when I thought a talent scout was watching in the stands. During the minors, I spent half of every pregame warm-up with my head in the toilet. The majors were even worse. I couldn’t sleep or eat before my first start in the show. And I still threw up, twice.”

  She smiled at this admission. His teammates had ribbed him about it often, but they’d respected him enough not to share his secret with the press.

  “It was just nerves,” he said.

  “Did it get better?”

  “My nausea got better, but the way I dealt with pressure didn’t.” He’d gone from throwing up before games to drinking himself into a stupor after.

  “When Leo got sick, did it remind you of those days?”

  “Maybe subconsciously. I didn’t think of it until now.”

  She slipped out of his embrace and rested her back on the opposite side of the tub, studying him. “Why did you tell me about it?”

  “Because having anxiety doesn’t make you weak. Neither does showing emotion. It’s a hell of a lot healthier than drowning your feelings in alcohol, or burying them so deep you can’t recognize them.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “I thought I was too hard on Leo.”

  “It comes from the same place.”

  She was right. Even though he’d already thought of this, it was an uncomfortable insight to hear out loud. He felt like a fool for failing to see things that were so obvious to her. Then again, she was more observant than the average person. He interpreted body language; she interpreted emotional histories.

  Nathan reached for her backpack, which held a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix. They shared both, watching the rain-splashed river rush by.

  “What else did I say when I was out of it?” she asked.

  “Suggestive things,” he said, wagging his brows.

  “Like what?”

  “You wanted to tear off my clothes and have your way with me.” He pretended to reconsider. “Either me, or Mr. Papadakis.”

  “Mr. Papadakis is ninety years old.”

  “Probably me, then.”

  Her lips twitched with humor, even though the circumstances were inappropriate for it. “What are we going to do?”

  “I can’t keep hiking.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “The trail is too muddy, and I’m beat.”

  “We can’t sit here all night.”

  Staying in the campsite wasn’t a good idea, either. “When I’m capable of moving again, I’ll grab some sleeping bags and dry clothes. I’m sure we can find a spot nearby to hide and wait out the rain.”

  Murmuring an agreement, she reached under the water and removed her jogging pants, placing them by her sweater. Then she peeled off her wet socks and lifted her foot to the rim of the tub to massage her sore ankle.

  “Is it sprained?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let me see.”

  “I’m a nurse.”

  “I know all about sports injuries.”

  Instead of disputing this exaggeration, she extended her leg to him. It looked smooth and pale in the hazy moonlight. Her skin was warm. Although her ankle didn’t appear badly swollen, she winced at his touch.

  “Did you twist it running away?”

  “No. He hit my heel with the edge of his hand.”

  His gut contracted with unease. �
��How did he get you?”

  She pulled her foot from his grasp.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, swallowing. “I saw him at the top of the cliff, pointing the rifle at the broken door. He was going to shoot you and Leo as soon as you came out. So I circled around and approached him from behind.”

  “You sneaked up on him?”

  “He was going to kill you. I had to.”

  Suddenly the tub felt too hot, too smothering. The idea of her taking such a shocking risk rattled him more than he cared to admit. He boosted himself to the edge and sat there, wiping the mist from his face.

  “I tried to hit him over the head with the rock, but I missed. It bounced off his shoulder. Then I freaked out and ran.”

  “He chased you?”

  “Yes. I didn’t get far.”

  “You got far enough to save my life. You saved Leo.”

  “I was the one who sent you in there,” she said. “I couldn’t just watch you die.”

  Nathan stared at her for a long moment. It took a lot of guts to attack a gun-toting psycho. He didn’t know if he would have done the same thing in her position. A lesser man—his former self—might have been intimidated by her audacity. He might have rejected her personal advice. But the man he was now felt only concern and admiration toward her, along with a huge amount of gratitude. She’d helped him repair his relationship with his son. She’d rescued them. “You’re an amazing woman, Abby.”

  “You carried me several miles,” she added. “That’s more amazing.”

  He disagreed. His feat required brute strength, rather than heroics. What she’d done was extraordinary.

  She moved to sit on the edge of the tub, directly across from him. Her thin cotton tank top clung to her breasts, revealing the circles of her nipples. She was braless. Her lacy panties were soaked to transparency. It would be rude to ogle her after the horrifying abuse she’d endured, so he forced his gaze away.

  Heat suffused his neck as he remembered cursing at her during their argument. He didn’t feel good about losing his temper, but he wasn’t flushed from embarrassment. His anger had faded. Thinking about their exchange sparked a different reaction in him now. Her strength of will excited him. She was a passionate woman. She might be hard to handle in bed. He assumed she wasn’t the type to fake an orgasm or stroke his ego.

  He was up for the challenge. Way up.

  Although his desire for her had intensified, so had his reasons for keeping his distance. She’d been assaulted and thrown into a crate. Her daughter had been kidnapped. There was a madman on the loose. She’d just recovered from a serious panic attack. They were exhausted and still in danger.

  This was not the time to put the moves on her. At all.

  Unfortunately, logic didn’t work on his libido. He hadn’t been with a woman in years. Most of the sex he’d had since his divorce had been emotionless and impersonal. After the traumatic events of the day, his need to connect with another person, to reaffirm life and share pleasure, was overwhelming.

  He clenched his hands into fists, aching to touch her.

  Part of the attraction between them was physical. But there was something deeper, too. He had a connection with her that transcended chemistry and evaded definition. They just fit. He liked the way she matched him. They’d be explosive together, like flint and steel. She’d give as good as she got and then some.

  He also wanted more from her than anonymous sex. Any guy could make her come, if she let him. Her coworker could clean her clock. Nathan wasn’t interested in a no-frills servicing. He wanted her begging and sobbing. He wanted to fuck the memory of Ray out of her. He wanted her complete surrender.

  He imagined her legs wrapped around him, her face contorted in pleasure. The fantasy was so erotic, he almost groaned. He blanked his mind, concentrating on the cool mist and willing his dick not to get hard.

  Her eyes trailed down his chest, where droplets of moisture had collected on his skin. Although the night air was cold, steam rose up from the hot springs to counter the chill, and his legs were submersed in warmth below the knee. When she nibbled on her lip, his cock swelled with arousal, straining against the wet fabric of his boxer shorts.

  Instead of flushing and glancing away, she moved from the edge of the tub and came toward him.

  * * *

  ABBY HADN’T CHANGED her mind about getting involved with Nathan.

  The circumstances were far from ideal. They needed to leave the area as soon as possible. She’d just had a disturbing blackout, and he was exhausted from carrying her. Initiating a sexual encounter wasn’t a good idea.

  On the other hand...they could stay here a few more minutes. The air was still heavy with moisture. If the kidnappers were smart, they’d be hiking deep into the mountains to escape the authorities. Brooke and Leo had probably reached town by now.

  Even if Abby had felt completely safe, giving herself to Nathan would be risky. He wasn’t the type of man she could manage. She couldn’t keep him on a friend shelf or hold him at a distance. If she opened this door, she’d be ceding control. Letting him in. She hadn’t done that with Jeremy. She hadn’t allowed any of the men since Ray to touch anything but her body.

  Nathan would take more.

  That was part of his appeal, if she was being honest with herself. She needed human contact and an emotional response. Just this once. The hurt that might come later didn’t matter. Right now, she had to feel pleasure.

  She didn’t care how foolish her decision was. They were alive. Their children were alive. He wanted her, judging by the erection straining his boxer shorts. He’d become aroused just by looking at her. That was a powerful draw.

  She studied him from beneath lowered lashes as she came forward. The moonlight was muted by mist, giving the night a grainy, grayish cast. Steam from the tub rose up in foggy wisps and a fine sheen coated his skin, like sweat. His jaw was taut, his eyes half-lidded. He wiped his face again, his biceps flexing.

  Her gaze trailed down his lightly furred chest and hard stomach. His upper thighs were heavy with muscle, a shade paler than his hair-dusted calves. The contrast struck her as absurdly sexy. She imagined pressing her lips to him, dragging down the waistband of his boxer shorts to take him in her mouth.

  As she stood before him, her pulse racing, his eyes skimmed her breasts and the wet fabric between her legs. Her flesh tingled at his perusal, her nipples tightening. Although her invitation had to be obvious, his fists stayed clenched at his sides. He seemed reluctant to stare at her body, let alone touch it. Maybe he was worried about taking advantage of her precarious mental state.

  She turned around, presenting him with her disheveled hair. “Can you help me?” she asked over her shoulder. She’d tried to comb her fingers through the tangled strands, but they were full of leaves.

  He didn’t respond right away. She could feel heat coming off him in waves. Her white panties were so transparent she might as well have been naked. She indulged in a vivid fantasy of him tearing the lace and bending her over the tub.

  Instead of doing what they both wanted, he removed the debris from her hair. When he tugged on a stubborn knot, she swayed toward him. Her bottom brushed his crotch. Making a strangled sound, he locked his arm around her waist and urged her down on his lap. He was rock-hard, throbbing against her.

  Abby’s pulse raced with excitement as he swept her hair aside and placed his mouth on the tender skin at the nape of her neck. Kissing her there, he moved his hands to the front of her body. One cupped her breast. The other slid between her legs.

  God. Three seconds in and he was already on third base.

  “I want you,” he panted against her neck. His fingertips rubbed the soaked fabric at the apex of her thighs, wrenching a groan from her lips. She was swollen and sensitiv
e, already aching for him.

  “I can tell,” she said, her voice hoarse. Once again, she thought of him stripping off her panties and taking her from behind. That was another intimacy she hadn’t shared since Ray. Catching him with Lydia that way had soured her to the position.

  “We shouldn’t...”

  Abby knew all of the reasons they shouldn’t, and she didn’t want to hear them. Turning in his arms, she removed her wet tank top, exposing her breasts. He was a man, and therefore susceptible. When he saw her naked flesh, his eyes darkened and his mouth went slack. Resistance was futile.

  She twined her arms around his neck. Her breasts plumped against the hard wall of his chest, making her shiver. She flattened her palm on his cheek and brought her lips close to his. They were both shaking with need. His erection nudged her belly. Her fingertips pressed into his shadowed jaw. Their ragged breaths mingled. When their mouths met, it was like a flash of lightning. She’d never felt anything so raw and sexually charged. Once he decided to go for it, he really went for it. His kiss wasn’t gentle. He was hungry and demanding, taking full possession of her mouth. His tongue plunged in and out, delving deep.

  With a low groan, he groped her bottom with big hands. She squirmed against him, kissing him back with enthusiasm. Desperate to get him inside her. His fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and between her cheeks, touching a base no other man had ever been on with her. She went still, bracing her palms on his chest.

  He stopped kissing her. His hand froze.

  Her lips tingled with sensation and a heavy beat pulsed between her legs. She wasn’t pushing him away or saying no. She was so turned on, she wouldn’t deny him anything. Her body was his for the taking.

  Instead of continuing into uncharted territories, he removed his hand from her panties. Throat working in agitation, he peeled the wet fabric down her hips. When she was completely nude, he stared at her for several seconds. Then he molded his hand to the back of her neck and brought her forward, kissing her mouth again and again.

  Abby lost track of everything after that. Drunk with desire, she focused on him. His mouth, his hands, his hair-roughened skin. Nothing existed except this pool and this moment. She was pliant in his arms. He cupped her breasts, squeezing her stiff nipples. They were still sensitive, but she preferred more pressure, even pinching when she was near climax. He had no trouble finding the perfect balance. His hand slid between her legs again, strumming her cleft with his fingertips. By the time he set her on the side of the tub and pushed her thighs apart, she was melting for him.