Authors: Ruth Wind
Her Ideal Man (6 page)
Fine lines, made by wind and weather and bright mountain sunlight, fanned over his cheekbones as he grinned. “Well, I do what I can.” With a perplexed expression, he glanced back to the place where the wolf had lain. “I really didn't think there were any wolves here anymore. It might be a mix or something.”
“Don't analyze it,” Anna said. “You'll ruin it.”
His smile was rueful. “Good advice.” He swung the pack from his shoulder. “Let's eat something and head back down. I don't want to get stuck up here if it starts to get windy.”
“Should I get some branches to sit on?”
Amazingly, Tyler actually chuckled as he pulled a small plastic tarp from the pack. “No, I was teasing. This is a hell of a lot easier.”
They ate the sandwiches and drank coffee. Without the wind, it was not terribly cold, and the view nourished something inside Anna, something that had yearned for exactly this for as long as she could remember. “You know,” she said quietly, her gaze on the blue mountains, “I used to lie in my room, and outside there were sounds like cars and sirens and people talking as they walked by. Even in the quiet, it was never really quiet, you know?”
He nodded.
“So I'd lie on my bed and remember the way the mountains smelled, that kind of spicy smell, and I'd think about sitting on a mountain, with all the Colorado sky above me, and all the colors, and most of all, the quiet.” She lifted a shoulder with a smile. “And here I am. It's like a miracle.”
“I have to be honest,” Tyler said. “I'm one of those natives who hates outsiders coming in. When I was about fourteen, we used to be pretty obnoxious to tourists. Rude, actually.” He paused to sip from the thermos. “And it really irritated me that my father built houses for them.”
“Is that why you don't work for your brother?”
“I do some work for Lance. But that isn't why I didn't work for my father.”
“What's the difference?”
“Lance just loves building things. When he was a kid, he built things out of straws, and rocks, and toothpicksâwhatever he could get his hands on. My father just wanted to make money, and he didn't give a damn about the land. Lance does. He's not going to overbuild.”
Anna felt a little hurt that he was still classing her with outsiders. Technically, she was one, butâshe just wanted his respect. “You can't stop it, you know, all the people coming here.”
His jaw was hard. “I know. But it's sad. Don't you think it is? I mean, look at thatâ” He gestured to indicate the view. “How can we let that be ruined? How can we let people build on it, and chase the animals away?”
“Not everyone is coming in here to change it, Tyler. Most people want to be here for the very thing you're talking about. We want toâ” she frowned, trying to find a way to put it into words “âbecome part of it, let it teach us. It sounds so silly, but I swear, Colorado claimed me the minute I stepped out of the car when I was fifteen. It was like I couldn't
not
come here. You know?”
not
come here. You know?”
Unexpectedly, he covered her hands with one of his own. “I didn't mean you, Anna.”
“Yes, you do. You mean people like me. I hear the natives talking about easterners coming and changing things, and I hear how bitter they are about it.”
“Yeah, there's a lot of bitterness. But you're not doing what a lot of them are. They come from big cities and from California, and they come to be part of the wild, open West, where everybody is supposed to be an individualist, and free to make his own way.” His brows lifted. “And then they start agitating to change the laws so things are just like the places they left. Like the damned PTA is running the world.”
Anna laughed outright. “So you moved up to a mountain where they can't tell you what to do.”
He slapped his leg mockingly. “Damn right, missy. Man's gotta be free.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I'll get off my soapbox now.”
“Well, console yourself with one thing,” she said. “I happen to know all of that valley is national forest, so it's protected. And I also know that more of Colorado than almost any other state is either national park or national forest, so it's safe from the kind of development you're talking about.”
He sobered. “Don't count on it, Anna. Money talks.”
She looked out to the wilderness, and listened to the stillness, and tried to imagine it being lost. It gave her a hollow, lost feeling, and she could only imagine how much worse it was for Tyler. “How do you stop it?”
“That is the twenty-thousand-dollar question.” He stuffed sandwich wrappers back in the bag and offered her another sip of coffee. “We'd better get back down the hill. Hear that wind?”
Anna stood, listening closely. “No.”
“Low, like a moan.”
And suddenly she could hear it, a distant rustling. She looked at Tyler and grinned. “I do hear it!”
He was facing her, his hair shining bright in the dark day, his eyes warm. Anna felt a shift in him suddenly, a softening, and he seemed to sway closer. For a fleeting second, she thought he was going to capture her face in his hand and kiss her. And he did touch her face, lightly, just the barest brush of a thumb over her jaw, a feathering of fingers near her ear. Then he seemed to catch himself, and straightened, pulling himself upright, away from her. “We're going to have to make quick time,” he said gruffly, stuffing the thermos into the pack. “Can you handle it?”
The deliberate push wounded no more than his warning last night about his love for his wife. Anna calmly pulled on her gloves. “Sure. Lead the way, Captain.”
He didn't bother with even a semblance of a smile. He simply tossed the pack over one shoulder, pulled up his hood and led the way back down the mountain. Just before she followed, Anna spared one more glance for the vista behind her, and touched the memory of the wolf. Not even Tyler could take that from her.
Then, steeling herself, she followed him down the hill.
Chapter 6
T
yler had been right about the hard exercise. When they got back to the cabin, both of them stripped off their coats and gloves wearily. Anna sank to the couch, where her pillow and the neatly folded quilt were waiting, and without even taking off her socks, she tipped over sideways. “Quite a workout,” she said. “Thanks.”
yler had been right about the hard exercise. When they got back to the cabin, both of them stripped off their coats and gloves wearily. Anna sank to the couch, where her pillow and the neatly folded quilt were waiting, and without even taking off her socks, she tipped over sideways. “Quite a workout,” she said. “Thanks.”
Her eyes were already closing. Tyler turned his back and stoked the fire and, without allowing himself to look at her again, stretched out on his bed. Charley trotted over, licked his hand, and sank down with a little groan next to the bed.
It felt good to stop moving, to let himself be enveloped in the warmth of the room. His body tingled with exercise and warming skin, and he felt enormously sleepy.
But his jeans were clammy and uncomfortable, and if he let himself fall asleep like this, he'd be miserable when he woke up. The same was true for Anna. Reluctantly he dragged himself upright and over to the couch. He leaned over the back to nudge her shoulder.
She barely stirred, making a low, muffled noise that meant nothing at all. He grinned to himself as she tucked her face more closely into the pillow. “Anna,” he said, poking her again. “Don't go to sleep yet. You need to take off those wet clothes.”
This time, she opened one eye and looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“Take off your jeans before you go to sleep.”
“Oh.” She shifted. “Oh, yeah.”
“You can change into my sweats again, if you want. I'll leave you alone.”
She nodded, and Tyler left her. In the small bathroom, he shed his jeans and shirt, leaving on his boxer shorts for the sake of modesty, then donned his robe for the short journey to his bed. It was odd to have to think about modesty. It had been a long, long time.
To his relief, she was already changed and covered and, by all appearances, asleep when he came through. He checked the fire in the stove and put the old cast-iron teakettle on the back so that they would have hot water when they woke up, added one more log to the fire and fell into the comfort of his bed.
He wasn't a napper, and didn't like sleeping in the daytime hours, but he did fall into a restless sleep, never very deep, filled with strange dreams about wolves and castles and chasing something vaguely frightening into the woods. He was not quite conscious, not quite asleep, and his subconscious coughed up strange, fragmented images: Kara in a red cloak, Curtis as a baby, Anna bare and beckoning.
The last one dragged him to full wakefulness. It was nearly dark, and he lay in the tangled mess of covers, staring at the ceiling, feeling unrefreshed and cranky. Flickering shadows from the fire played between the wooden beams, creating images that all too soon took shape and form, just as his dozing dreams had done. He saw the wolf on the mountain, so wild and free and noble, and Anna's shining eyes as she'd stared at him in breathless awe.
She could not know, of course, that Kara would have killed to see a wolf in the wild, and never had. Of all the things he wished he could have given her, that was high on the list. A wild, free wolf, in his own environment.
It bothered him that it had been with Anna that he saw it. He was not a superstitious man, but he did live close to the land, and he had a special love for wolves. They were what some might call his totem animal.
Silly. He knew it wasâthe legacy of his superstitious Irish Texan mother who read signs into everything that happened, and saw in feathers and rocks the answers to prayers.
And however he tried to ignore it, his gut said there was a reason he'd seen a wolf with Anna.
Quietly he disentangled himself from the covers and slipped on his jeans. He didn't bother to button his shirt, or put on socks. He simply rounded the couch and settled before the fire. Very deliberately, he faced the sleeping woman. Until he faced her, acknowledged what he needed to know from her, or learn from her, or learn about himself, he would have no peace.
A pretty face. Not beautiful, as Kara's had been. Only pretty, with soft features that would both sharpen and blur as she aged. Her coloring was the riveting thingâthe black hair and white skin and rosy cheeks made him think of her fairy tales, of Snow White.
She lay half on her side, the covers thrown off against the warmth of the fire so close by, her posture far too open for a woman asleep in a stranger's house. Silky black curls spilled over her cheek, around her neck. The V-necked sweater revealed the curve of one unbound white breast, and he had to take a breath against the power of the yearning that simple sight roused in him. A man didn't forget the way a breast yielded to his hand. He didn't forget how good that felt, or stop wishing for it, even if there was no possibility of experiencing it again. He would have liked to brush his hands, and his face, and his chest over that supple white flesh.
So much.
Resolutely, he moved on. The dip of her waist, her small, neat legs. Her stocking feet that were so small her boots looked like kid shoes.
Now that she was quiet, he was able to think about her more calmly. Her awakened self was exuberant and bright and chatty; it gave her an aura of great sexuality he was sure she didn't even know she possessed.
The fire heated his back to burning, and Tyler shifted a little closer to Anna to escape it. Now he was close enough that he could simply stretch out a hand and touch her, if he so chose.
Instead, he consciously called forth a vision of Kara. Kara, with her long blond hair, glittering all over her bare shoulders and much lusher breasts; Kara with her blue, blue eyes and clear, evenly cut features. He narrowed his eyes to focus and tried to transpose the ghostly image over the sleeping figure of Anna.
But it didn't work as well as he'd hoped. The perfection of Kara's Nordic clean blond looks could not compete with the vividness of the flesh-and-blood woman breathing in sleep on the couch in his house. The memory of long golden hair held no power over the lure of lively black curls. The faintly remembered lushness of Kara's figure had no power to rouse him as did the promise of Anna's sweet body and uptilted, nubby-tipped breasts.
The detail caught his attention. Through her sweater, he could distinctly see the peaks of her breasts, standing straight and tall. Heat touched his cheeks, and he looked to her face, to find her gazing at him with heavy-lidded awareness. She did not move even a little, only held his gaze steadily, and Tyler found he could not quite bear it. He bowed his head.
He wondered how long she had been watching him mentally undress her. He felt foolish sitting here cross-legged like a simpleton, hungrily eyeing a woman as if she were some exotic and unusual being newly come to his world. She would think he was the strangest man alive.
And yet, his gaze had roused her. The thought struck him with a fresh wave of yearning, this one so intense it flooded his thighs and chest and hands with an urgent, compelling need. He looked at her again. “I was trying toâ”
Her fingers, pressed to his lips, stopped him. “Don't explain. I liked it.”
“I don't want you to like it,” he said harshly, raisirig to his knees. “I want you to push me away.”
“I know.”
“Please, Anna,” he said, and yet his hand was reaching for her, falling into those black curls. And he didn't know if he meant please stop him or please meet him halfway.
Her eyes were sultry black pools, their expression as old as woman as she looked at him. Tentatively, she raised a hand and touched his chest. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Tyler Forrest. From the first time I saw you, I wanted to touch you.” Her fingers drew tentative marks on his chest, dragging over a flat nipple, and trailing down his belly.
He felt his heart thudding in a thick, aroused beat, and every nerve in his torso leaped alive. He swallowed, his hand moving almost of its own accord over the delicate, elfin ear, over her smooth cheek, back into the allure of her hair, hair as silky as rabbit fur. “Your hair is so soft.” He trailed his fingers over her neck. “And your skin.”
As if his touch wounded her, she closed her eyes, and it sent something hard and bright shattering through him, the sight of those long black eyelashes falling on her cheeks, as if to hide her vulnerability. What she didn't know was that she couldn't hide, even by closing her eyes. Her lips, so red and full, were parted slightly, as if in readiness for what he would offerâhis tongue, his fleshâand the faint, restless way she arched her back told him she wanted his hands on her.
One word, whispered, undid him. “Tyler,” she said, a whisper as yearning and pained as a ballad.
He swore softly. “This is a mistake,” he saidâthe last, lost protest of his rational mind as he fell under Anna's spell.
He swayed toward her, feeling his hair come free as he bent over her and very delicately kissed her. Just the lightest brush of lips, that was all he meant to do, but in an instant, he was lost. He sank deep into the seduction of that mouth, fell into the velvety promise of sensual, slow pleasure. She made a small, soft noise and her hands slid under his shirt, over his bare skin, and Tyler shuddered at the stunning response of his body after so long a drought.
Braced with one hand on the couch, the other on her face, Tyler kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her. She tasted of the earth, of the sky, of all things made by goddesses, and her full lips fit his own as if they'd been made together, something he'd never experienced. Lost, he plunged his tongue deep and drew hers back, and Anna met him fully, completely.
He lifted his head, dizzy, and looked at her. Struggling to be fair, to halt the forward tumble before it could damage them, he said, “There won't be anything but this, Anna. I don't have anything else to give you.”
The black eyes were sober and somehow shining, all at once. “I know,” she said, and, impossibly, smiled. “I know.”
And she pulled him down to her again, deep into the passion of her kisses, into the wonder that was a gypsy as free as the wolf to wander where she would and take what came, with no thought for tomorrow. And just this once, Tyler, too, would let go of everything but now. Now, in this minute, with Anna.
The position was awkward, and Tyler grabbed the quilt, and spread it on the floor before the fire, letting go of her to spread it out. She sat up, watching, and he thought, now she would come to her senses. But when he settled atop the quilt and shed his shirtâhis offering to herâshe came to him, and knelt before him, and put her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts close, putting her mouth on his jaw.
She straightened suddenly to look at him, a frown on that smooth white forehead. “What about condoms? A baby would be a disaster.”
“I'm fixed,” he said, and there was a strange, distant sorrow in him over that.
A fleeting shadow touched her eyes and was gone, and then she was against him, pressing herself close. “Don't hurry,” she whispered. “Let me really touch you.”
“No hurry,” he said roughly, pulling her tightly against him. He rubbed his hands up and down her spine, feeling the sweater bunch and grow moist with the heat of his palms as it slid over her skin. Her hands moved on him, on his back and over his waist and into his hair and, finally, she held his face between her hands, touching his brow and eyelids and mouth before she tilted her head and kissed him.
Roaring built in his blood, a pounding, furious need that threatened to engulf him. Tyler pulled back, gasping and holding on to her shoulders, and held her at arm's length. She settled easily on her bottom, reaching to put her hands on his thighs. Firelight gave a gossamer covering of orange light to her form. It swept along her cheek and jaw and the edge of her neck.
He held her patient gaze for a long moment, and realized she wanted to look at him in this fine light, too. He forced himself to be patient, to wait while the dark gaze touched him, crown to lips to chest.
But then the need grew in him, ragged in its ferocity, and with one smooth gesture, he reached for her sweater and skimmed the edges of the V downward, slowly revealing the smooth white shoulders, the sweet upper swell of her breasts and the slimness of her upper arms. His hands shook a little, and he paused in anticipation and an effort to make himself take things slowly.
She shifted, putting her hands on his thighs as if in encouragement, and Tyler found his touch steady, and resumed the exquisite torture of disrobing her. The sweater slid easily over her breasts, and she freed her arms, letting it pool at her waist, then simply lifted her eyes, utterly comfortable with her breasts bared to his gaze, to his touch, as if she knew it was too much for him, that each little step of this was no simple thing for him.
He would make it last, he told himself. So first he filled his eyes with her. He'd never seen a woman with such colors, not even in the forbidden pictures his brothers and he had smuggled out of the construction offices. Her skin was white as alabaster, and took the colors of the fire like some rare pearl, luminescent along the surprisingly rich curve of a breast, the deep-rose nipples. Her shoulders and rib cage were small, but when he lifted his hands, her breasts fit his palms exactlyâa sensation like no other, that oddly weighted flesh nestling in his lifting palms.
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