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He clenched his teeth, thinking of the way her mouth had closed around his seeking tongue. God, she tasted good. He’d wanted to go on and on, thrusting his tongue inside her, sending it a little farther into her mouth each time, until he decided exactly what it was she tasted like. It would be an impossible task and therefore endless— because she had her own unique taste.
He should have known better than to kiss her—not even for the sake of fooling the old man. Who had been fooling whom? he asked himself derisively. He had kissed her because he’d wanted to and he had known better. He had suspected that one kiss wouldn’t satisfy him and now he knew that for sure.
What the hell? Why was he being so hard on himself? He was sleeplessly randy because she was the only woman around. Yeah, that was it.
Probably. Possibly. Maybe.
But the fact still remained that she had a knockout face. Sexy-as-hell hair. A body that begged to be mated. Breasts that were created for a man’s enjoyment. A cute, squeezable derriere. Thighs that inspired instant arousal. And what lay nestled between them—
No! his mind warned him. Don’t think about that or you’ll have to do what you have miraculously, and with considerable self-discipline, refrained from doing tonight.
All right, that’s enough. Finis. No mas. The end. Stop thinking like a sex-crazed kid at worst and a redneck sexist at best, and go to sleep.
He closed his eyes and concentrated so hard on keeping them closed that at first he thought the whimpering sound that issued from the other bed was his imagination. Then Rusty sprang up out of the covers like a jack-in-the-box. That wasn’t his imagination. Nor was it something he could ignore by playing possum.
“Rusty?”
“What is that?”
Even with no more to light the room than the dying fire, he could see that her eyes were round and huge with fear. He thought she was having a nightmare. “Lie back down. Everything’s okay.”
She was breathing erratically and clutching the covers to her chest. “What is that noise?”
Had he made a noise? Had he failed to camouflage his groans? “Wha—”
But just as he was about to ask, the mourning, wailing sound came again. Rusty covered her ears and bent double. “I can’t stand it,” she cried.
Cooper tossed back the covers on his bed and reached hers in seconds. “Wolves, Rusty. Timber wolves. That’s all. They’re not as close as they sound and they can’t hurt us.”
Gently he unfolded her and eased her back until she was lying down again. But her face was far from restful. Her eyes apprehensively darted around the dark interior of the cabin as though it had been invaded by demons of the night.
“Wolves?”
“They smell the—”
“Bodies.”
“Yes,” he replied with regret.
“Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands.
“Shh, shh. They can’t get to them because I covered the graves with rocks. They’ll eventually go away. Hush, now, and go to sleep.”
He’d been so miserable with his own problem that he’d paid scant attention to the barking of the pack that lurked in the woods surrounding the cabin. But he could see that Rusty’s fear was genuine. She clasped his hand and drew it up under her chin as a child might hold his teddy bear to help ward off the terrors of a recent nightmare.
“I hate this place,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I’ve tried to be brave.”
“You have been.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, I’m a coward. My father saw it. He was the one who suggested that I return home ahead of schedule.”
“Lots of people can’t stand seeing animals killed.”
“I broke down and cried today in front of you. You’ve known all along that I’m useless. I’m no good at this. And I don’t want to be good at it.” Her voice was defiant, incongruous with the tears that washed her cheeks. “You think I’m a terrible person.”
