Reid's Deliverance (8 page)

Ari wouldn’t just call the police. She’d demand a search party. “Yes, Mother.”

“Stop being a smartass, Blondie.”

The line disconnected prematurely. The joy and pain of solitude and spotty cellphone reception.

Lauren rolled her luggage up the stone walkway. Fatigue weighed on her shoulders. The last few miles from civilization to nowhere were brutal. The promise of sleep had kept her going. She’d get plenty of rest in between cleaning out her father’s things. The Realtor had said listing the cabin as furnished would help it sell. That meant she didn’t have to worry about moving larger items. She had two weeks, and she’d allotted a week to sort through his things. The final week, she’d enjoy the uncomplicated beauty of the woods.

She took a deep cleansing breath and walked inside. Particles swirled in the late evening sunlight. As a child, she’d always rushed past her parents to get through the door. Nostalgia crept in along with a pang of sadness. After her parents’ divorce, the annual summer treks had ended. She’d come back with her dad to the cabin a few times, but it wasn’t the same. A joint custody agreement had given both of her parents equal legal guardianship over her. Army deployments, new duty stations overseas, and remarriage had taken him away. Before he’d died, her father had made an effort to reconnect. She’d spent last Christmas with him and his family in Denver. She’d gotten to know her stepmother and stepsister. They’d talked about spending a few weeks together in Mazree.

Rumbles of thunder and a darkening sky set her into motion. She returned to her car and got the rest of her things. Lightning broke up the gray shadows. A cool, pine-scented breeze seeped through her blouse and jeans. It pushed her into the cabin. She stowed her luggage in the master bedroom and put away the few items she’d brought in a cooler. As the rain pounded, she poured a glass of merlot and leaned on the marble-topped kitchen island.

Deep brown wood flooring spanned the living room and into the bedrooms. A stone fireplace complemented the blue sectional, matching side chairs, and a wood coffee table. Her father had recently updated the kitchen. He’d also added spa-like touches to the bathrooms and remodeled the deck. The Realtor had said all of the modern upgrades had increased the cabin’s value. The added footage of the loft made the property even more attractive. Lightning flashes lit up the loft. She noted the boxes. He’d dropped them off just weeks before he’d died. He’d joked about the cabin becoming his man cave. He’d planned to enjoy more leisure time there, painting the landscape. Her mother wanted no part in sorting through her ex-husband’s possessions. Grief still overwhelmed her stepmother to the point where she couldn’t. Whatever he’d left in the cabin had meant something to him. Throwing it away without taking a look seemed wrong.

Lauren peeked through the curtain covering the French doors. No stars were visible. Zigzagged lightning lit up the loose covering over the built-in grill. One side of the vinyl sheet flapped and fluttered wildly in the wind. Crap. So much for keeping dry. She found a rain poncho in her bag. After turning on the deck lights, she squinted against the blowing rain and ventured out. On the second try, she snagged the cover and tied it to the metal loops. On her way past the long wood table with benches, lightning illuminated the partially covered deck. A man clad in pants and boots lay on his side at the bottom of the steps. Instincts trumped caution. Lauren hurried down and knelt in the grass. A tattoo circled above where she grasped his arm to turn him over. Chilled skin cooled her fingers. On his back, his eyes remained closed. Blood dripped from his temple. Mud streaked his face.

Lauren put her ear to his chest. He had a heartbeat. “Hey.” She shook him. “Can you hear me?”

Rain fell harder. A crack of lightning hit in the woods. They had to get moving.

She leaned down to his ear. “Please get up. I can’t carry you.”

His low groan spurred her heart rate. He lifted his head, then his shoulders. His torso shook with the effort.

Lauren shifted partially behind him. “That’s it.”

The stranger towered over her as he swayed. Not only tall, he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. If he fell, he’d easily take her down, too.

She caught him around the waist. “Whoa. Hold on. Take it slow. Put your arm around me, but grab the railing.” He followed her directions and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His musky, masculine scent mixed appealingly with the clean fragrance of earth and rain.

They made it up the stairs and across the deck. Finally, they stumbled inside the cabin.

He sagged heavily.

As they fell near the coffee table, both of his arms tightened around her. He shifted, taking the brunt of the fall. They hit the wood floor with a solid thunk.

He blinked woozily and clumsily caressed her back. “Are you okay?”

A pleasurable shiver of déjà vu waved down her spine. Soothing, familiar, he made the perfect pillow. Wait. What was she doing? He needed her help. “I’m fine.” She slipped from under his arm. “Can you make it to the sofa?”

He lifted up and slumped back down. “I just need to lie here a minute.”

Lauren whipped off her poncho and tossed it aside. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s okay.” She patted his shoulder. The tattoo. Someone she knew had that same design, but who? “I’m just going to see if I can call for help.”

“No.” His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t call anyone.” The hint of desperation in his hazel eyes softened the command. “Please. I just need you.”

Instead of fear, trust and protectiveness came to life. No. This was crazy, and why didn’t he want medical help? The urge to comply outweighed her reservations. “Okay. Let me get blankets. You’re shivering.”

He released her and sank back down.

Lauren ran to the linen closet in the hall for blankets and then to the bathroom for a first aid kit. Starting with his head, she cleaned the blood from his temple. The tiny cut was clotted over, not the massive gash she’d expected with all of the blood. She checked him over. Grass and dirt dotted his hair, faded almost down to skin at the sides. No major injuries, just small cuts marred his muscular chest. A car accident? A fall while hiking in the woods? What had happened to him? “Your jeans are soaked. We need to take them off.” She removed his heavy black boots. A boot knife was sheathed at his ankle. Not unusual to see one. Her father always carried a knife in the woods. She removed it along with his socks. If this guy was hunting, hiking or camping, where was the rest of his gear?

He reached for his waistband, but his fingers kept slipping away.

“Let me. I’ll do it.” A sprinkling of damp hair tickled her fingers.

He exhaled and his abdominals formed into tight ridges.

She popped open the rivet and slid down the zipper. His black boxer-briefs formed to the distinct curve of his sex. Her breasts tingled. A vivid image popped in of straddling his hips and riding him to climax. Lauren met his hooded, semi lucid gaze. Awareness rippled. She cleared her throat. “Lift your hips.”

He complied.

Working together they tugged the wet, muddy denim down his muscular legs. She spread the blankets over him.

He exhaled. “Just need to rest.” His eyes fluttered closed. “Lauren…I found you.”

She jerked back on her heels. He knew her name?

Blind or drunk off her ass. They qualified as the only reasons she wouldn’t remember him, but they didn’t fit. Her eyesight was fine, and she hadn’t gone over the limit with alcohol since college.

Could he be a setup for a date or maybe a strippergram gone wrong? No way. Not even her craziest friends would send her some random guy without a warning. Was he someone interested in buying the cabin? That didn’t fit either. She’d talked to her Realtor, Jan, that morning. Prospective buyers wouldn’t view the cabin until after she’d left. Who was he and why had he come to find her? Stalker scenarios emerged, but her instincts brushed them off.

Thunder boomed. Rain fell in sheets on the windows. Dark roads didn’t mix well with storms, so driving to town wouldn’t happen tonight, and emergency crews probably had their hands full. He’d have to spend the night. She picked up his jeans and searched the pockets. No keys or ID, just a piece of blue paper with numbers. Wetness had washed away the last two digits. A phone number? Lauren set it aside.

In the master bedroom, she changed into sweats and a fitted tee. As she searched through her suitcase, her hand brushed against a small weapons case. For snakes or human intruders, the semiautomatic gave a boost of confidence. Thankfully, she’d never had to fire it in self-defense. Lauren listened for movement. She tucked the gun in the nightstand. For some reason, she felt even safer with him in the cabin. If anything changed, she had a stun gun holstered to her purse.

She threw their clothes in the wash and cleaned up the living room.

He slept.

Her stomach demanded food. She made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and devoured it. If he woke up hungry, she didn’t have much to offer. She’d planned to shop in town. Is that where he’d come from? Who was he? Where had they met? Careful not to wake him, she pressed her hand to his face. A light tan had replaced paleness, and he felt warmer.

He released a low groan, and his legs tangled in the blanket. Lines etched into his forehead.

“Shh. You’re okay.” She smoothed his brow.

He calmed.

She started to head back to the kitchen.

Half-awake, he frowned and clutched her hand. Lauren tilted forward. She planted her hand near his shoulder and flattened the other on his chest.

“No.” He rasped out. “Don’t go.”

“It’s all right. I’m here.” She eased back.

His grip tightened, and he wouldn’t let go.

Now what? She stretched out beside him and rested her head on the crook of her arm. The steady rhythm of his heart beat into her palm. His breathing slowed. In a few minutes, he’d relax. She’d move to the sofa and keep an eye on him.

She’d envisioned spending the night looking through boxes. The loft would have to wait. Not a bad idea. All the excitement had left her drained. Waking up to a new day would energize her for the task. Before getting started, she’d sit on the porch with a cup of coffee. A childhood recollection from the cabin curled into the present. She used to sit on the kitchen counter and watch her father set up the coffeemaker. When it finished brewing, he’d pour straight coffee in a mug for him. The next had coffee with cream for her mother. The last he’d prepare for her, warm milk with a touch of coffee and sugar. She’d felt like a grown-up. Her mother would halfheartedly admonish him for giving it to her. A kiss would lighten her mother’s mood. Love, happiness, her parents’ smiles, the warmth of the mug in her hand. It was if she could feel it again.

Lauren drifted awake snuggled against heated skin. Her cheek and palm rested on his chest. Her leg covered both of his on top of the blanket. His hand curved to her hip, holding her in place. He snored softly. Reality slapped her fully alert. What was wrong with her? Why in the world would she practically crawl on top of a stranger? She moved her leg.

He exhaled sharply.

Lauren leaned back. Damn. Even with small traces of mud on his face, he still nailed the hot, ruffled, just-woke-up look.

His heavy-lidded gaze narrowed on her mouth.

Move!
Kissing a half-naked guy she’d found on the steps. Insane. Irresponsible. His lips brushed hers. Irresistible. The burn of desire kindled. Following his lead, she lay on top of him. His erection pushed through the blanket. He cupped her ass and she molded against him. Slow hip movements accelerated to a sensual, tortuous grind. Thrusting. Circling. Mimicking all she could have if layers of cloth didn’t separate them.

Her moans blended with his groan. “Lauren, I need you.”

Cold logic burned through passion. She rolled away and stood. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

* * * *

Disorientation and a hard-on challenged his brain function. “My name is Reid.” They were about to have sex. Hadn’t they done the name exchange already? He sat up and waited for the logic to fill in. Where were they? How had they met? A sense more than a memory trickled in. He needed her. But why? A vision emerged. Lauren’s arms looped around him. Her legs wrapped low on his waist while he pumped into her. Her passionate cries urging him on as her pussy clutched around him. An exhale sat hijacked in his chest. “Where did we meet?”

“Technically, we didn’t.” She frowned. “Don’t you remember?”

Voices whispered in his mind. He couldn’t make out the words. “No.”

“I found you unconscious on the steps outside.”

A vision whirled in, stumbling out of the trees. Rain cooling a fiery sensation on his arm. Relief in spotting the cabin. Willing his legs to move forward. The image disappeared. Whispers merged into white noise. His head started to pound. He closed his eyes. “The last thing I remember is coming out of the woods.”

She sank down on the sofa. “Could you have been attacked?”

Someone getting the drop on him? Not likely. But what else could explain feeling like some angry motherfucker had kicked him in the head? “No. I don’t think that happened.”

“Well, what did?”

What was going on? Had someone drugged him? “I told you. I don’t know.”

Her shoulders snapped straight. Some of the compassion leaked from her gaze. “You know my name. You asked for my help. I have every right to ask questions.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just as frustrated about not having answers.” When he’d awakened with her soft luscious curves pressed against him, it had felt like heaven. Then it had come crashing down to this. He didn’t want her anger. He wanted her under him with a drive he couldn’t comprehend. More frustration pushed air from his chest. Reid stood and wrapped the blanket around his waist. “Everything is fuzzy, and this damn headache isn’t helping.” Images hung on the fringes of his mind. More images of them having sex mocked him. He raked his fingers through his hair, scraping hard over his scalp.

“Any double vision or nausea?”