Her Passionate Need - ISBN #1-84360-497-3
At first, undercover cop Devin Rourke wants nothing from Ana Briggs besides the truth behind his best friend’s murder-a truth tied to Ana’s dead husband. But as his search takes them into the wilderness, isolation, loneliness, and hunger strip away their protective layers. When Ana awakens Devin from a nightmare, he takes her in more ways than one. Now nothing will ever be the same again…
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Excerpt
Prologue
The man crouched within the tangle of underbrush. He felt dwarfed by the massive evergreens that loomed over him, and although he’d never tell anyone, particularly Devin Rourke who was his best friend and soul brother. He understood why Devin had spent years avoiding this forest. It breathed and lived, whispered of danger.
Right now Aaron Powers knew danger carried a rifle and wanted him dead. But even if he was just some yokel out for a stroll, he couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable here because he knew what Devin had endured as a ten year old. In addition, he was a world away from civilization in a place untouched since the beginning of time.
No! There wasn’t time for thinking, for emotion. He was here as a hunter to hunt others of his kind.
After reassuring himself that his cell phone was still strapped to his waist next to the extra cartridges, he settled his rifle in the crook of his arm and strained to see more than brush and ferns. Sweat trickled down his back and under his arms. He was thirsty, but physical comfort would come later. First he had to get irrefutable evidence against the man, or men responsible for a rash of poachings.
As a game enforcement officer for the Forest Service, it was his job, responsibility, and passion to stop those who believed themselves above the law, whose lack of a conscience and greed made it possible to wantonly destroy wildlife. He believed in what he was doing so much, that he’d volunteered to work undercover and had gone after those heartless monsters like a dog killing rats. He believed in the law that prosecuted poachers and felt close to drawing a noose tight around them.
What he kept to himself was how vulnerable and alone he felt.
The better part of a half hour ago, he’d heard the faint echo of a gunshot. He dreaded what he’d find, maybe a bull elk carcass, maybe a dead or dying cow with calves too young to survive on their own. He’d wanted to report to district headquarters about what he was up to in case something bad happened, but the sad truth was, he didn’t dare trust anyone right now except Devin who he regularly conferred with via cell phone.
If anything felt wrong, he’d call Devin and tell him where he was. The two of them would decide what his course of action needed to be. One thing about letting Devin know his location, he wouldn’t have to spend eternity rotting out here if something happened to him. Just the same, he’d feel a hell of a lot better if he wasn’t alone.
No, not just anyone. Devin. But Devin, fearless and half civilized, was in Alaska working undercover himself.
Shit. That’s where he should be. Living on salmon and good whiskey, sharing lies with the damn fool who could give Rambo a run for his money, not out here. They were both bachelors, and Devin, despite his uncivilized looks, practically had to beat off the women. He didn’t mind being around when one of those women, horny and in heat, gave up on Devin and cast around for a man, any man to service her.
A crow suddenly took flight, half shattering his nerves as it propelled its heavy body skyward. The man waited with his back pressed against the nearest tree until his heartbeat returned to something approaching normal. Then, despite the instinct for preservation that told him to get the hell out of here, he continued moving forward. A wind-downed tree forced him to detour around the old deer trail he was on.
Because he was concentrating on sounds, he didn’t notice how close he’d gotten to the tree’s exposed roots until his boot struck one of them, and he nearly fell. He almost lost his grip on his rifle but grabbed it before making sure his feet were under him. Stumbling made a lot of noise, and he couldn’t quite convince himself that surely no one was close enough to have heard. A multitude of unseen birds squawked and chirped; whether because he or someone else had disturbed them he couldn’t say.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Who did he think he was? More than that, what insane Service policy said it was perfectly reasonable for its employees to go out alone after out-of-season hunters…armed and singled-minded killers of wildlife and maybe anyone who got in their way?
In his next life he’d-
For maybe a half second, the bullet striking his back and throwing him face first onto a thick carpet of pine needles made him think he was back in high school and had just been tackled by a defensive lineman. Then he heard the echo of the rifle shot and smelled blood, felt something beyond pain, all consuming.
He tried to get his legs under him, but they wouldn’t move. He had the vague thought that he needed to defend himself, but his rifle was under him. Someone had slugged him with a hot, electrically charged sledgehammer. And he was bleeding. Maybe bleeding out.
His vision blurred, and his head roared so loud he couldn’t begin to hear anything else. Still, he forced his hand to his waist and willed his fingers to grip the cell phone.
He couldn’t find it.
Damn! Devin…please. Help!
Chapter 1
“He’s dead.”
“I know he is.”
“For four months. And your husband was heading in that direction long before that.”
“What is this about?” Ana Briggs snapped. “To remind me of how long I’ve been a widow? Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.”
“I know,” her sister said, the take-charge tone gone from her voice and replaced with love and concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but having dinner with someone is hardly a crime. Frank’s a gentle man, quiet and clean. Besides that, he has a regular paycheck, unlike John.”
“My husband was self employed; don’t make it sound as if he was a deadbeat.”
“This isn’t turning out well, is it,” Cathy said as Ana paced from her office into the living room of the small ranch house where she now lived alone. “You’d think we’d be over fighting like kids. I’m just worried about you stuck out there in the middle of nowhere like that. Sis, you’re barely thirty. You should be living, not…”
“I am living,” Ana broke in. Thoughts of everything she needed to accomplish over the next few days made her anxious to hang up the phone. Although it was still afternoon, the horses were letting her know they expected to be fed, now if not sooner. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a ranch to run.”
“All by yourself? Sell the damn thing. Buy something other than jeans and boots and get around people.”
“I am around people. Lawyers, insurance agents, bankers, groups wanting to rent the horses. Hunting season’s about-”
“I’m not talking about smelly, beer drinking old farts,” Carol interrupted. “Think studs, and not of the horse variety.”
“I know what you’re talking about.” In truth, the thought of being near a man who might be attracted to her, and being attracted to him, nearly made her throat close down. “I’m not ready for that.”
“I don’t think you ever were, thanks to our dear mother. Look at us. I can’t commit to any man and run the other way whenever the ‘m’ word comes up. At the rate I’m going, I’ll never get married. And you…you went for safe.”
John had been safe and unassuming right up until the time cancer took him from her. “Sis,” Ana said. “We’ve had this conversation more times than either of us can count. There’s nothing we can do about our conservative upbringing.”
“Conservative? How about puritanical? Repressed. Archaic. I’m surprised Mom didn’t lock us into chastity belts. I never understood what she was so afraid of.”
Maybe, like me, she was afraid of herself. Unable to voice that even to her sister, Ana reminded Cathy that she still had a full day’s work ahead of her and only a few hours of daylight in which to do everything.
“All right.” Carol relented. “I’ll let you off the hook, for now. But the next time you come into civilization, the two of us are going out for a drink. You know, a bar, with men. Maybe we’ll get hit on.”
The thought of how she’d handle that caused Ana’s hands to sweat. “We aren’t bar crawlers,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’s going to be awhile before I get to town.”
“How come? Are you hiding from bill collectors?”
Fortunately that was nearly behind her. “I’m going to be taking a journalist or reporter or something like that into the Siskiyous. Beyond Weston Ridge to Crystal Creek.”
“Crystal Creek? That area gives beyond nowhere a bad name. I never could figure out why John took fishermen there.”
“I don’t know either. I’ve never been there.”
“But you can find it?”
“No problem. Don’t forget, I spent hours studying Bureau of Land Management topographic maps with John.”
“Hmm. This journalist guy-it is a guy, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, what does he look like?”
“I haven’t met him. We’ve only talked on the phone.”
“How does he sound? Sexy?”
There went her throat again, closing down and forcing her to struggle to breathe. Yes, Devin Rourke had sounded one hundred percent male. If she hadn’t needed the money, and been intrigued by the nature of his project, she would have never agreed to rent her horses and pack mules-and herself to him.
“He sounds determined,” she sidestepped. “I told him I really couldn’t devote that much time to this research trip of his, but he must have called his publisher because the next time we talked, he’d nearly doubled what he’s going to pay me.”
“You’re going with him? Just the two of you?”
“He says he needs a guide.”
“What’s that I hear in your voice? Anticipation? No.” Carol sighed. “Knowing you my dear sister, you’re scared witless at the prospect of being in the boondocks with someone with a penis.”
“Sis!”
“Don’t Sis me. The word’s in the dictionary, and Mom’s no longer around to punish us for saying it.”
“No, she isn’t,” Ana admitted. “I just wish I knew more about what this guy wants from me. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“Apparently his article or piece or whatever, is about wolves.”
“Wolves? In the Siskiyous? There aren’t any, at least not yet. Eventually those Idaho wilderness wolves will find their way here, but that’ll be a few years.”
“That’s what I tried to tell him, but I could tell he wasn’t listening. If he’s going to write something that’ll stir up even more controversy, I don’t want to be part of it.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Heck, you’re on both sides of that issue, aren’t you? Half wilderness advocate, half rancher determined to keep her livestock safe.”
“Tell me about it. Sis, speaking of livestock, I really have to get going. The natives are getting restless.”
She could tell Cathy wanted to renew her argument about dragging her widowed sister into the dating scene, but fortunately, Cathy also understood how hard she’d worked and still needed to work, to get the small southern Oregon ranch back in the black. She and John had bought the property at a tax foreclosure sale, and by dint of a lot of sweat and blisters, had turned it into a combination boarding stable, horse training facility, and pack animal rental operation.
John had been the expert in the rental project, using his Montana ranching upbringing to train a small herd of horses and mules for wilderness adventures. That arm of their business had been the most successful, in part because John knew the Siskiyou Forest like the back of his hand and often led the expeditions himself, but then he’d gotten cancer, and they’d nearly lost everything.
Amend that, Ana reminded herself. She had lost her husband. The bank had nearly taken the ranch. But she’d refused to give up and now, four months after burying John, she was once again current on the mortgage payments. Yes, she slept alone, but she was used to that.
Even when she and John were newlyweds, sex had been unimportant.
* * * * *
Ana was working on a tuna salad well after dark when the business phone rang. She answered with her mouth full.
“Ms. Briggs, this is Devin Rourke,” a too-deep male voice said. “Is that you?”
She swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry. I was having dinner.” She took a moment to calm herself. “Is there a problem? You won’t be hiring me after all?”
“Not at all. What made you think that?”
What could she tell him, that she’d been counting on the hefty retainer to buy a truckload of hay and the thought of having to cancel the order and scrounging for something to feed the animals had tied her stomach in a knot? “Forget I said that. What can I do for you?”
“I simply wanted to make sure you knew how much and what kind of equipment I’ll be bringing with me,” he said, the miles not doing nearly enough to blunt the impact of his masculine voice. “I don’t see how I can get by with fewer than two pack animals.”
That seemed excessive to her, but by the time Devin had told her about all the photography equipment he was bringing with him in addition to what they’d need for a week in the wilderness, she agreed with him.
“All those cameras for a creature that isn’t in the wilderness?” she asked. “At least not anywhere in the Siskiyous.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Ms. Briggs,” he said. “Let’s just say that my publisher has reason to believe that more has been going on in your end of the state than meets the eye. Policies being enacted that haven’t been made public.”
And all I’m good for is taking you into the middle of nowhere. Why the heck should I be told what I’m getting into? “If that’s the case, I’m surprised you trust me to guide you,” she said.
“I didn’t want it like that. If you’d trust me to handle your animals, Ms. Briggs-”
“It’s Mrs. Briggs,” she shot back, her meal forgotten. “And I already made it clear that I’m not letting my best animals out of my sight that long with someone I don’t know.”
“You’re married?”
“Widowed,” she said without thinking. It belatedly struck her that he didn’t sound interested in the question, almost as if he already knew the answer. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Maybe not if he’d had her investigated…but what for?
“How old are you?”
“What does that…”
“Most widows are up in years. I’m simply concerned about your ability to handle a rugged expedition.”
“I can handle it,” she shot back. “The question is, can you?”
To her surprise, he laughed. To her shock, she found herself-specifically the area south of her belly-responding to the sound. Not that she’d ever tell him, but this particular man’s laugh felt too much like a feather being run over her hips and thighs, and the area between her legs.
“Oh, I think I can survive,” he said. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mrs. Briggs. Tomorrow.”
* * * * *
Tomorrow. The word sat beside her as Ana worked her way through the now tasteless salad. It was still there when she put on her coat, grabbed her flashlight, and went out to check on the horses one last time. The damn thing even hung around when she went into the bathroom for a shower.
The mirror in the old bathroom was positioned above the sink, providing just a waist-up view. That had always satisfied her since she only used that mirror to dry her hair and throw on a minimum of makeup. If she needed to see all of herself-which she did only when dressing to meet with bankers or the life insurance agent who’d helped her collect John’s small policy-she could use the full length mirror fastened to the back of the bedroom door.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at herself naked; it must have been a couple of months after John’s death. She’d been surprised by how much weight she’d lost and the way her hipbones stuck out. Her collarbone wasn’t any better, nearly prominent enough to hang clothes on. For some reason, her breasts hadn’t shrunk.
Why she decided to take another look at herself now she couldn’t, wouldn’t say. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that she was going to spend a week with a man.
After taking off her shirt, she resolutely positioned herself in front of the bathroom mirror. Despite her admonition to herself not to do so, she dropped her gaze as she unfastened her bra.
For crying out loud. It’s your body. It’s not like it’s some horse you don’t have to buy if you don’t like its looks.
Strengthened by the talking-to, she lifted her head and focused. It didn’t look as if she’d lost more weight, something she’d already suspected because her clothes hadn’t gotten any looser. She was pleasantly surprised by the hard muscles in her upper arms. Throwing bales of hay over fences had a way of doing that. Her breasts still sat there, well, maybe not sat since there was hardly any sag to them. In fact, now that she’d committed herself to a thorough going-over, she realized the nubs were getting harder, larger.
Oh, my! She wasn’t turning herself on, was she? Certainly not! This reaction was a simple response to scrutiny, that’s all.
John had never said anything about what he thought of her breasts, but then they’d never had that kind of conversation, even on their honeymoon when they’d actually had sex twice in three days. After that…
No! She wasn’t going to think about after that! All this talk about people who barely came up for air during the first months of their marriage, well that’s what it was, talk. What about jobs and other responsibilities-life? Who had time for…for being in rut or whatever they called it?
Where was she? Oh yes, taking inventory.
In the short period she’d been caught in the past, her breasts had been undergoing even more of a change…actually getting larger. She didn’t see how that could be, but they now felt heavy and her nipples ached.
Well, not really ached. Something much more pleasant and more than casually connected to the joining between her legs.
Her breasts had felt like this when she and John had had sex, as if they were waking up and eager to take her on some fascinating journey. But John hadn’t been much into foreplay-just saying the word made her feel as if her mother was looking over her shoulder and disapproving of the word-and she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore that possible journey. She hadn’t asked for more than her husband had been willing to give because, well, because she didn’t know how.
How did someone ask for something she wasn’t sure existed and if it did, what it was all about?
Without asking herself why or if she should, she pressed the palm of her hand against her right breast and flattened it slightly. That increased her cleavage, but that’s not what held her attention. Fascinated by what was happening, she pressed some more and began a slow circular motion. She felt her breast grow increasingly sensitive. At the same time…
Well, heck, at the same time she was definitely feeling something between her legs. That, too, was a sensation she’d experienced before, a kind of warm buzzing, a softening. She felt herself growing moist up inside her opening and risked a glance down at herself. Of course all she could see was a cloud of curly dark hair, but unless she was sadly mistaken, physical changes must be taking place.
What was her sex organ called? Oh, her clitoris. Her gynecologist had said the word so matter-of-factly when she’d gone to him for a yeast infection that it had been several seconds before it dawned on her that she’d never heard her mother speak it. She’d heard other terms like cunt and pussy and even spoken them herself when she’d been with her high school girlfriends, but she’d never felt comfortable doing so and had simply parroted what she’d heard. And she’d never, never told her parents what went on during ‘girl get-togethers’ as they called them.
She and John hadn’t done much talking when they had sex, and she couldn’t imagine being that…blunt.
But John was dead, and she was alone with her thoughts and needs. Fighting back tears, she again looked at herself. This time she didn’t feel quite so hesitant. Her dark green eyes stared back at her, neither approving nor disapproving. There was no need to glance over her shoulder or listen to see if anyone was coming. She’d have to turn up the heat pretty soon, either that or stop whatever this was that she was doing and get in the shower. But she sensed, somewhere deep down inside in a place she barely understood, that the time had come to take stock of herself.
Not just stock. To learn things about her body she’d always hid from.
You did the best you could, Mom, she thought. You raised me the way you were raised. But I’m an adult now. A widow asking what’s going to happen with the rest of my life.
Not questioning what she was doing, she took her nipple between thumb and forefinger and began gently rolling it back and forth. At the same time, she used her other fingers to massage the underside of her breast. Doing that increased the sensation of heat between her legs…her clitoris.
She imagined a man doing that to her, not gentle, considerate John who’d always seemed slightly embarrassed about his physical needs, but a man who thought about her as much as he did about himself. He’d…what?
What would a sexually assured, red-blooded man do to her? With her?
Although she wracked her brain, she couldn’t come up with anything other than what she was doing, and there was more to sex than playing with breasts.
Still, this wasn’t a bad start.
She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them, felt their weight and warmth and texture, pictured work-roughened male fingers on her soft, pale flesh. The thought of the contrast of leather against velvet caused her breath to snag. She pulled into herself, became one with the fantasy.
Her fantasy man would cover her breasts with strong, competent hands, bury the tender mounds under his own flesh, bone, and muscle. He’d knead them, flick his fingernails over her nipples until they felt like small, sensitive rocks. Then he’d flatten his palms over her breasts and press them toward her rib cage, force her back-back against the bathroom wall.
She’d suck in her breath, pull her belly as far into her pelvis as possible and spread her legs, surrender, surrender…
No. Not so fast. There had to be more to sex than that dark, nameless man whispering to her to open herself to him and then driving his thing deep inside her.
She and John had always done it in bed with him on top, but there were other ways…ways that both captured her imagination and left her frustrated because her damned so-called imagination didn’t go far enough.
In the middle of trying to think where and in what position she’d most like to have sex, she realized that her hands were no longer supporting her breasts. Instead, they were now trailing down her rib cage, reaching her belly, feeling, testing, exploring everything from hips to belly button.
Lower. Do it, Ana, lower. Don’t be afraid.
But I am. I am!