Just Until Morning, An Enemies-to-Lovers Novel (Carrington Cousins Book 3) Page 4

  She shuddered involuntarily. That was what being married to Gerald had been like. No control. The smiling, handsome man with the dignified demeanor and the full head of distinguished silver hair that she’d met at the altar seemed to have no relation at all to the cold, impersonal monster she’d been forced to live with. It had taken a long time to learn to accept that, and finally, to deal with it. But on the whole, maybe the experience had been to her advantage. After all, Gerald had taught her to distrust surfaces. People never showed what was really going on underneath. That was a valuable lesson, one that had protected her ever since.

  She heard Brett returning before he came into sight. Neither of them spoke as he threw down his pack and began to unroll his sleeping bag. Kendall drew her arms in around her body, wishing she’d brought along a heavier jacket.

  “Maybe it won’t get cold tonight,” she said hopefully.

  “No,” he agreed cheerfully, pulling the open sleeping bag close to where the fire would soon be. “It won’t get too cold.”

  She hesitated, then couldn’t help but ask. “How cold does it get up here?”

  He cocked his head, considering. “Think of the meat section of your supermarket,” he said.

  She shivered. “That’s cold.”

  He made a face. “Naw. It’s not even freezing.”

  Temper flashed through her. “Then you sleep out in it.”

  His blue eyes were laughing again. “Why should I? I’ve got a sleeping bag.”

  He came over beside her and they both stood staring at the down bag. It didn’t look all that wide to her. The sun had disappeared and the air seemed to thicken ominously with darkness around them.

  “I’m not getting in there with you,” she muttered at last.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He’d gathered sticks and a few larger branches on the way up and now he began to arrange them for the fire.

  She watched him, feeling that she should be helping more, but also feeling resentment that he was so casual about this awkward situation. “Wait a minute. I hired you for this trip. I should get the sleeping bag.”

  “Oh no. You’re welcome to join me in it. But you don’t get it alone.” He struck a match, and after a moment of reluctance, fire flared up, lighting their campsite.

  She had to admit the campfire had a cozy feel to it. Now that darkness was closing in around them it was a respite, a safe spot in an uncertain wilderness. They were all alone here, miles from people, miles from civilization. She frowned, thinking about that. From what she’d been told, there wasn’t even cell phone coverage in case she needed to call for help.

  She felt tired and sore from her fall. She wanted to be home and in her own bed, with Chelsea safe and Brett Carrington gone from her life. Just a few more hours to get through and that could become her reality again.

  “What about food?” she said to him, stirring from her seat on the rock. “Can I fix something for us to eat?”

  He looked surprised that she’d offered to help, which made her feel guilty, but only for a second or two.

  “In the backpack,” he said, motioning toward it. He stood and watched as she began to rummage in the bag. “Actually I think the good stuff went over the cliff with your pack.”

  “Really?” She pulled out a pair of commercially packaged freeze-dried preparations and squinted at them in the campfire light. “What do you consider the ‘good stuff’?”

  “Skillet lasagna.” He sat back, head tilted, awash in nostalgia. “I’ve had some great skillet lasagna out in the wild.”

  She hid a reluctant smile. “Well, what have we got here?” She held the packages up and read them off. “Spanish hacienda omelet and freeze-dried lemon meringue pie.” She shuddered. “Who bought these things?”

  “I did. We’d better save the eggs for breakfast. See if there’s anything else. Dig deep.”

  She dug deep, coming up with a pair of small bundles. “Two sticks of teriyaki beef jerky and a bag of seven-grain trail mix.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose you can’t starve in one night, can you?”

  They sat side by side on his sleeping bag to eat, right next to the fire. The flickering light lent an eerie quality to the night. Kendall felt jumpy and wasn’t sure why.

  “Do you like it?” he asked suddenly.

  “What?” she returned, staring down at the half-eaten stick of jerky in her hand.

  “Not that.” He packed away the last of his food. “The wilderness. Being out here where living is real and basic, far away from computers and television and the sound of car horns.” He leaned back, stretching out on the sleeping bag. “How does that feel to you?”

  She glanced at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. Just like anything else. Something I’ve got to get through—and get away from tomorrow.”

  He was silent for a few moments. Kendall moved on the bag, forcing down the tough, salty food and wondering what he was thinking about. She couldn’t seem to get him and his presence out of her mind. He was there all the time. She felt him even when she wasn’t looking at him. The cool distance she liked to maintain was ebbing away and she wasn’t sure how to stop that from happening.

  Suddenly he was singing, his voice soft, the words in Spanish. She swallowed and looked toward him, then away again. But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on the distant darkness, and his low voice was strangely provocative at the same time it soothed and comforted her. She listened for a moment and then found that she had a strong urge to stretch out beside him and close her eyes and let his voice carry her away. Instead she sat nervously fiddling with the zipper on the sleeping bag and wishing she were a hundred miles away—anyplace else.

  And then his song was over.

  “That was nice,” she told him, and she meant it. “Where have I heard that before?”

  He looked up as though he’d almost forgotten she was there. “You’ve heard the English version, probably. About Spanish California before the Gringos came.” He leaned all the way back, his arms behind his head. “How the Don won his bride in a card game and carried her home across these South Coast hills, how he grew to love her, how she went out riding and her pony stumbled into a landslide.”

  “And she died, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “Broke his heart,” he said softly.

  Kendall tried not to meet his eyes but they were strangely compelling in the shadows. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” she said.

  His grin looked like a slash of danger in the campfire light. “Romance and adventure go hand in hand,” he told her softly. “And I’ve always been an adventurer.”

  Kendall drew breath deep into her lungs and forced herself to turn away from his smoky eyes. Like a rough magician, he was conjuring emotion from her she didn’t know she had and she didn’t like that. Anger was a safe emotion. So was wariness. She wished she could think of a way to return to those.

  But even as she thought that, she heard herself say, “That’s why you love it out here, I guess. It’s part of your lifestyle.”

  He stirred. “And you don’t like it out here, not even a little bit?”

  “No,” she said too quickly. “No, I... I’d rather be in my nice soft bed at home.”

  He laughed, looking up at the stars. “Yes, I guess you are a zoo lady instead of a wilderness woman, aren’t you?”

  That was better. Now he’d insulted her again and she had a right to get mad. The funny thing was, anger just wouldn’t come to her. “You don’t have all the facts,” she said weakly.

  He closed his eyes and spoke softly. “You choose your facts, I’ll choose mine.”

  She put the jerky carefully back in its package and tried to ignore him lying there so close, but it was impossible. “All right,” she said at last, impatient with herself, with him. “What are these facts you’ve supposedly chosen?”

  He opened one eye and looked at her. “You’re building a zoo,” he said. “Plain and simple. You’re destroying the natural habitat, bringing in
animals that don’t belong here, taking up precious space that the indigenous animals could use.”

  She wasn’t sure why it was so important to make him understand, but suddenly it was, and she tried hard to get through to him. “You obviously don’t understand at all.” She hesitated, picking her words carefully. “As you know, there are plenty of places where you can go with a sick dog or cat, or an injured farm animal. But exotic animals, wild animals, tigers, wolves, monkeys, that people try to keep as pets, until they begin to realize they’ve let a monster into their homes, those have very few places to turn to when they need help. Zoos usually won’t take them because they’ve been spoiled by their upbringing, or because they’re injured or sick in some way. Mountain Shelter is going to be a refuge for these animals, a place where they can recover and be prepared for zoos or to be set free, if that is at all possible.” She tried to see his reaction but his face was in the shadows. “Don’t you see how necessary this is?”

  When he turned toward her, he still looked skeptical, but at least he didn’t laugh in her face. “I think you’re a dreamer,” he said at last. “Your heart’s in the right place, but...” He shrugged. “What you want to do is a rich woman’s idealistic dream. I don’t think you’ll make it.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to react to him angrily, but she held it back. He seemed to have dropped his harsh opinion of her motives anyway. That was something.

  “You’re not alone in that view,” she said instead. “I’m already having more than my fair share of problems with others who agree with you.”

  “Oh? What kind of problems?”

  “Neighbors complaining. You probably know the Johnson brothers.”

  “Hiram and Bill? Sure, I know them. A couple of mean old boys. You’d better keep your distance from them.”

  “Mean old boys” was putting it mildly. The Johnsons looked like everyone’s worst idea of a redneck. The two of them talked in four-letter words and spit tobacco a lot. Kendall had been seized with a wild compulsion to take a shower after a session talking with them. She glanced down at Brett and then away with the trace of a smile on her face. “I thought they’d be your best friends. They’re just like you, aren’t they? Hunters?”

  It was a calculated insult. He knew it. She knew he knew it. So she wasn’t surprised when he moved forward with a growl and took hold of her arm in a mock effort to make her pay, but the bruises from her fall got in the way, and when she reacted, the teasing fell away immediately.

  “What is it?” His face was hard, unreadable, but she could sense his anguish for having hurt her, even inadvertently.

  “My... it’s just where I fell on that landslide.”

  “Let me see.”

  “Oh... no, I’m okay...”

  He pushed her sleeve up so that he could take a look. She heard him swear softly. “You should have told me it was this bad,” he muttered. “Where does it hurt?”

  “Mostly on my back.”

  He turned away to get something out of his pack. “Take the shirt off,” he said shortly.

  She hunched her shoulders protectively. “No.”

  He turned back, a tube of salve in his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “If you won’t take it off, I’ll have to do it.”

  She didn’t doubt he meant what he said. Her hands went reluctantly to the tie that held her shirt closed. He went down on his knees beside her and waited. She couldn’t meet his gaze. She pulled the shirt open and turned so that her back was to him. He eased her shirt off, moving carefully around the scrapes. She was only in her bra now, but she still had her back to him, so she hunched over and pretended it didn’t matter.

  “You should have told me,” he said again. She could hear the barely leashed anger in his tone, but she knew he was more angry at what had happened to her than at her for keeping it from him.

  She closed her eyes. She could feel the heat of the fire on her face, but his hands on her skin seemed hotter. He began to rub on the salve.

  “Tell me if I hurt you.” His voice was low, husky.

  She nodded, but there was no need. The touch of his fingers was magic on her skin, soothing, hypnotic. There was no real pain, only a slight sting here and there.

  “You’d better see a doctor as soon as we get back,” he said. “To make sure these get cleaned up right.”

  She nodded again. There was something blocking her throat and she didn’t dare try to talk. His hands ... she’d forgotten how a man’s hands could feel. It had been so long since she’d had any sort of human physical contact. It had been even longer since a man had touched her like this. Electricity was beginning to kindle in her blood. She should make him stop right now. But she didn’t have the strength.

  All of that was ebbing away, like the last ripples of an evening tide. Tension was going too. All thought, all fear. She was relaxing, dropping into a dream that she didn’t want to disturb.

  Drifting. And it felt like heaven.

  Brett was trying hard to concentrate on the wounds. There were a couple of bad scrapes— nothing that wouldn’t heal right away, but bad nonetheless. He rubbed in the salve as gently as possible, hoping he wasn’t hurting her, and trying to ignore the silvery-violet straps that kept getting in his way.

  Grow up, he told himself fiercely. Quit acting like a hormone-crazed teenager. But words couldn’t quiet the buzzing in his ears, and when he shifted his position, coming beside her so that he could better reach some out of the way areas, suddenly he could see around her shoulder, and words were forgotten anyway.

  Lord, but that was the sexiest bra he’d ever seen in his life. The lace was sculpted into tiny rosebuds that formed a pattern and led the eye straight to the tips of her breasts, tips that were tight and dark and completely visible beneath the gossamer-thin fabric. His heart was beating very fast. It was no use. Mind over body was not working today.

  His teeth closed down on his lower lip as he worked, forcing concentration. But all the elements of the situation were against him.

  Her skin was the color of clover honey in the firelight. It was so smooth, so soft, so creamy to his touch. Wisps of her black hair hung down over the nape of her neck like clouds of ebony smoke. Her shoulder blades were perfect, like angel’s wings, and he found his hands flattening over the ridge of her spine and following it slowly down to where it disappeared beneath the belt of her khaki slacks. She stirred, but didn’t protest, and he held his breath as his hand came slowly back up, moving now for a different reason, avoiding the scrapes. Something was uncurling inside him.

  Kendall was drifting in a netherworld of numb reaction. As she’d relaxed, she’d begun to sway with the rhythm his hands created on her back. Back and forth. Slower and slower. And this time when his lips touched her neck, a small gasp went through her, but she didn’t pull away, and she didn’t open her eyes.

  It was as though, by keeping her eyes closed, she could deny to herself the reality of what was happening. His hand slid beneath the strap of her bra and then he was moving it aside, his large hand cupping her bare shoulder, then sliding down to push aside the lacy cloth, and Kendall did nothing to stop him. Her eyes were tightly closed and the heat of the fire must surely be what was bringing the hot flames to her cheeks, the hot surging flow inside her.

  His hand began to undo the clasp on her bra and suddenly she came awake, realizing where this would end up if she let it go on. She jerked away from his touch.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, as though she’d only just now noticed.

  His eyes were dark and he took her chin in his hand. “Nothing,” he said softly, but his lips came down to meet hers and his mouth opened, and hers opened beneath it, and hot, liquid sensation poured into her, setting off her pulse and sending a quiver through her.

  “No.” She finally managed to pull away. “Don’t.” She grabbed her shirt and pressed it to her chest, looking at him from beneath her tousled hair.

  He stared back at her, not saying a word.
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  She glared at him. “Thank you very much for rubbing salve on my bruises,” she said evenly, attempting to get back the distance they’d once had between them like a wall. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he said at last. He started to turn away, but suddenly he swore and turned back. “Don’t try to con me, lady,” he said softly, his eyes too knowing. “We both know you were enjoying that. Don’t pretend I’m some big bad wolf taking advantage of you.”

  “I didn’t say any such thing.” Though he was right, she’d been pretending exactly that, even to herself.

  “Ah.” The humor was back in his eyes. “My mistake.”

  “Yes,” she said primly. “Exactly.” But then she was smiling too. How could she help but smile? There was something about this man that was fast worming its way into her good graces, despite all her best efforts at keeping it at bay.

  He watched her for a moment, studying her face. Then he shook his head. “You take the sleeping bag,” he said gruffly.

  She turned her violet eyes toward him questioningly. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Go ahead. Get some sleep.”

  She hesitated, looking from the bag to him and then back again. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I... no...”

  Groaning, he turned away. “Take it,” he ordered roughly. “I’m going for a walk. You be asleep by the time I get back.”

  She watched him disappear into the darkness. She was all alone again. Glancing up, she could just barely make out the cave where Chelsea lay with her new babies. Suddenly she felt more lonely than she’d ever felt before.

  Why was she here in this wilderness? She felt herself in uncharted territory and she didn’t like the feeling. Staring up at the velvet sky, she waited for him to come back.