Look Before You Bake (7 page)

"Set up your tent," says Arthur. "I'll gather some firewood."

So I do just that. I'm good with things like tents, just as I am with recipes. Soon I have my little two-man sleeper set up, a jaunty, cheerful orange, and I inflate my air mattress and unroll my sleeping bag and dig out my little night lantern and by the time I'm done, Arthur has a fire crackling and dancing in the ring of stones. I sit just inside my tent flaps and watch him as he slowly feeds more branches into the flames. It's grown dark surprisingly quickly, and already the trees around us are just shadows, and the fire lights Arthur's handsome face in cheery hues of orange and yellow.

His eyes, however, seem to catch the light occasionally, much like a cat's or a dog's will when headlights pass over them in the night, reflecting the light sharply in a way that I've never seen. I sit and watch him. I've only known him for a little more than twenty-four hours, and already I feel a connection to him that surpasses that which I've felt for any other man. Arousal and desire, yes, of course, but more. There's a depth to him, like a well or a still pool, that's both comforting and intriguing. Quiet men have often interested me the most, and Arthur has a core of mystery and strength that I know I've yet to sound. I watch as he snaps a branch as thick as my wrist without effort. Who is this man? Why does he choose to live alone, out here in the wilderness?

I emerge, and drag out the one pot that I've brought. I wanted to bring three, but managed to convince myself that would be foolishness. I pour one of my big water bottles into it and carry it over.

"Here. Can we get this to boil?"

Arthur rises to his knees, nodding confidently, and pushes several of the rocks close to the flame on which we can precariously balance the pot. "What's on the menu for dinner?" His voice is an amused rumble. "I'm guessing it's not oatmeal?"

"Oatmeal?" I laugh as I sit down next to him. "Only if I had brought cranberries, cinnamon, brown sugar, and had time to roast the oats beforehand. No. Just a little something to give us strength for tomorrow."

I settle down, and then freeze as I realize I've plopped down right next to him, our hips touching. Arthur doesn't seem to mind, even though there's a whole bunch of other places I could sit that don't involve being this close. The smoke rises into the night, almost invisible, but I can smell its rich, cottony aroma. The wind whispers through the treetops, causing the shadows to sway, and already I can see the faint pinpricks of stars appearing overhead.

"Why do you live alone, Arthur?" The question escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he prods and pokes at the fire a little, doing things that cause the flames to leap higher. "I had a reason, once." His voice is quiet, pensive. "And there's a completely new reason for it now. But to be honest, it's mostly because of habit. I've grown used to being alone."

"What was your reason? The old one?" I feel nervous at prying. But something tells me I'm allowed.

Arthur frowns gently. "I had my heart broken. The woman I had hoped to mate with proved untrue. With, of all people, my best friend."

"Your best friend?" My eyes go wide. "That's awful."

Arthur smiles ruefully. "I thought so too. She'd promised to be my mate. I was going to be the leader of our – group – and as all future leaders must do, I went on a vision quest. It took me far away, right up into Canada. When I finally returned, it was to find my best friend the self-appointed leader, and married to Selune. He'd declared that I must have died, and taken the position without going on the quest."

I listen, spellbound. I don't understand half of what he's saying. Vision quest? Mates? But I don't want to interrupt.

"Many urged me to challenge Rorsk and become the rightful leader. But my heart was broken. I was young. Idealistic. Seeing Selune by Rorsk's side was too much. So I cursed my people for having allowed him to become their leader, cursed Selune for being fickle, and cursed Rorsk for his evil. I swore to never return, and since then, I have lived alone, up here in the mountains."

It's like a story of old, a legend or myth. Curses, exile, betrayal. I feel like I shouldn't believe him, but I do. Absolutely. It's in the slow, sad way he tells his tale, undercut by his bitter smile.

Arthur rouses himself. "But that was many years ago. The pain has faded. I no longer feel that anger. Rorsk wasn't a monster, he was just young and ambitious. Selune wasn't a whore, she had simply done what she thought was best for herself and her future children. And my people? There are leaders for a reason. I should have led them, not abandoned them."

"Why don't you go back, then?" My voice is small.

A slow, rolling shrug is his response. "As I said, I've grown used to being alone. Used to the silence. The simplicity. Or so I tell myself." He frowns and tosses his branch into the fire. "But to be honest, maybe I don't deserve to go back. That was my moment of truth. When I returned. My moment to be a leader, and I failed. I ran away. While I may have forgiven Rorsk and Selune, I don't think I could live under their rule. But by what right would I challenge him now, so many years later? No. That life is an old one, and no longer mine."

I shiver a little and nod. I don't know what to say, so I stay quiet. I want to ask what his new reason is for living alone, but I feel like I've pried enough for now. That, and the water's boiling, so I go to my pack and pull out the two cases of ravioli. "I didn't make these," I warn. "They're store bought. But they were so expensive they better be amazing, and, like, one serving is over three thousand calories, so they'll give us plenty of energy tomorrow."

Arthur laughs. "I'm sure they're great."

I dump them both into the pot, give them a stir, and sit back down. I've got two jars of homemade tomato sauce in my pack that I know will elevate the ravioli to my culinary standards.

"What about you, Anita?" His eyes flash in that strange way as he turns to me, like a cat's. "Why is a beautiful woman like yourself still single?"

"Beautiful? Me?" I laugh. "Hardly. You've been out here in the wilds too long."

Arthur frowns. "How so? You
are
beautiful."

I blush furiously, glad of the dark, and stare fixedly at the fire. "You're a gentleman for being so polite about it. I'm happy with my body, but I know I'm not 'beautiful'. I am who I am, and that's fine with me."

"Anita." He reaches out and takes my chin with two fingers, turning my face to his. "You're fucking gorgeous."

The way he says it sends a surge of heat right through me, and my heart can't decide if it wants to stop beating altogether or race at a hundred miles an hour. His voice is so matter-of-fact, so adamant, that my protests die on my lips. The firelight dances over his face, making him seem primitive, sinfully hot, a primal mountain man with burning eyes that are staring right into my soul.

"The ravioli," I say weakly. "I have to – um – drain the water – before –"

Arthur lowers his fingers, but none of the intensity leaves his eyes. I get up, grab the kitchen towel I brought, and lift the pot from the fire. Stagger away a few steps, and then carefully pour out the steaming water till the ravioli are sitting in just a little of it. That'll help heat the sauce. I set the pot back down on the rocks, grab the jars, and pour both of them over the pasta. Stir them around, and then reluctantly, almost afraid, sit back down. Not quite next to Arthur, however. I don't dare that much.

Arthur is just watching me from across the fire. That comfortable ease we were sharing is gone. Something predatory has come close to his skin, and I don't feel like I can relax. I don't want to run away, either, though. It's a strange sensation – arousal, nervousness, a touch of fear, and more excitement than I can imagine. I can't meet his eyes. Does he really think I'm beautiful?

I watch the sauce, and when it begins to bubble I remove the pot from the fire and serve two big bowls. The smell is divine, and the tension abates a little as we sit and eat. For a few moments there's nothing but the sound of us slurping and chewing. The ravioli is wonderful, so filling and heavy after the daylong trek, and the sauce, I'm happy to note, isn't too shabby either.

"My god," says Arthur. "How am I going to go back to trail rations after this?"

I laugh, simply happy again. "I love a man who enjoys good food."

Arthur lifts his fork, three raviolis impaled on its tines. "You'd have to be inhuman not to love this."

"You'd be surprised. Some people just aren't into food."

"Fools," says Arthur, chomping down. "Crazy people wasting their lives."

I smile as I chew. I couldn't agree more. I have two full plates, and Arthur has four, cleaning the pot and looking like he would lick it were it not for my presence. When we're done, I feel absolutely content, my tummy full, my legs achy, my mind drowsy. I haven't felt such a rollercoaster of emotions and exercised so hard all in one day in forever.

We sit companionably again in silence, watching the fire die down. The stars overhead are indeed amazing, and it feels so natural to rest my head against Arthur's shoulder. Again he drapes his arm around me, and I snuggle in, loving his smell, the mix now of wood smoke and masculine scent. He's warm, hot like an oven, and with the fire right before us and the chill wind blowing, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Part of me is hoping that he'll return to telling me how hot I am. The muscles of his shoulder and chest where my head rests are large and thick, and I idly think about him naked, but it's impossible to hold on to the thought. My mind drifts. I'm exhausted. I'm well fed. I'm happy and warm and comfortable. Arthur holds me close, and I drift off to sleep.

Chapter 7

It comes to me as I sit there, Anita snuggled into my side, the fire warming my boots, my stomach filled with good food, the night sky glorious overhead, that I haven't been this happy, this content, in forever. The only sound is the occasional snap or pop from the fire when sparks shoot up into the dark. I don't know what I expected of tonight. Whether my simmering desire for Anita would prove too much for me to control. I knew she was interested, no, more than interested. I could read it in her face, could smell it in her scent whenever I came too close. And I almost lost control. I close my eyes and remember how her face went pale then flushed a deep red when I told her just how beautiful she is. Can she really not know? Can she really be oblivious to the kind of bombshell she is? Petite and curved and wickedly innocent?

Her body is soft and molds just right to mine. As if we're two puzzle pieces that have finally found each other, and now interlock perfectly. I look down at her face. She's still wearing her glasses. I reach over and carefully take them off. She wrinkles her nose in just about the cutest way I've ever seen, and snuggles in closer to my side. The fire paints her cheeks in dusky rose and dusty orange hues. There are blue glints deep in her black hair. Her lips look so kissable. There's a tigress hidden under this quiet exterior. I can sense it. Years of passion have been repressed, held back. When that passion is finally allowed to escape, it won't be a trickle. It won't be a slender river. It will be a torrential flood, and it will wash away the years of timidity and pain.

My heart is starting to speed up. These thoughts won't lead anywhere good. I can see just a hint of cleavage above her top button. I swallow and avert my eyes, staring into the depths of the fire. But my imagination is heating up. In the dancing flames I can see two naked bodies coming together, sinuous and alive, mating with the energy that I know flickers between us.

My bear growls deep in my chest. I may be holding back, but he doesn't understand human restraint. He just knows that the perfect mate is lying against my side. He knows that she would welcome my advance. He wants her. He wants her on all fours, looking over her shoulder at me, a wicked smile on her beautiful face.

I shift my hips, my cock growing hard and constrained within my jeans. Holding her this close is becoming a torment. I can feel my own skin growing flushed, warm, beyond that which the fire can provoke. Would she be able to take all of me? She's strong. This day of hiking showed me that. She's got surprising reserves. I'm sure she'd welcome every inch. How many years has it been since I've mated? How many solitary winters, lost in the depths of winter, alone in the dark and the cold, warmed only by fading memories of my few times with Selune?

My bear is rising to the surface. If I don't move, it will take over. So, carefully, I shift up onto my knees and scoop Anita into my arms. Hold her against my chest. She's so light. She nuzzles against me, rubbing her cheek against my shirt. I rise and move to her tent. Kneel by the front flap, and gently duck into it so as to lay her on her sleeping bag. She sighs contentedly, and her eyes open for a moment before closing again, her lips moving into a smile. Is she asleep? Awake? I can't quite tell. She moans and cups my cheek, before dropping her hand to her breast. I watch, my eyes going large as she squeezes it, and then slides her hand down between her legs. She rubs herself there before turning onto her side, trapping her hand between her thighs, and drifting off to sleep.

My heart is a sledgehammer, pounding at the walls of my chest. Each thud leaves cracks in my resolve. My mouth is dry. My bear roars within me, wanting out, wanting release. Wanting Anita.

Carefully, slowly, I withdraw from her tent, and shaking, stand tall under the stars. I feel feverish, unhinged. The contentment from before is gone, burned away by the forest fire of my lust. My desire. I've had plenty of opportunities over the years to mate. To take any number of willing human females who fall for my looks, my reluctance. Something about my reserve seems to draw them on. But none of them have tempted me, because I've always wanted more than just sex. I've wanted communion, a connection, to bond with a mate who loves me for my soul, just as I love her for her own.

And in Anita, my bear tells me, I've found her. The human side of me may still be figuring things out, but my bear knows when it's found what it wants. A woman strong and soft, a woman whose passion is betrayed by her cooking, a woman innocent of her own seductive whiles, her own wickedly sexy body, her curves, her lips, her breasts –