Bound to You (One Night of Passion 1.50)

“It’s how I recognized you this morning in the forest. You were singing ‘Love in the Moonlight.’”

Her mouth fell open in amazement. “You mean . . . you literally knew it was me when you followed, not just a random woman staying with the Pierces who happened to be singing an old Sierra Gallas tune?”

“I knew it was you,” he said simply. His hands shifted lower. He began to make subtle circular motions over the swell of her hips, massaging her, but also . . . stroking her.

She felt a rush of warmth between her thighs.

Chapter Two

He liked the feel of her in his hands. He liked it a lot. She was small and slender, but far from bony. He explored firm, toned flesh, charted a delicate bone structure, and massaged feminine, curved hips.

The skin of her neck had felt like warm, living silk. When he’d touched her thick, soft hair, he’d had a graphic, uncontrollable fantasy pop into his brain of what it would feel like sliding against his cock. He’d grown instantly hard, making the rest of the massage a torture he wouldn’t have missed for the world.

When he found himself rubbing her rounded hips hungrily, however, he grew embarrassed. A woman like her didn’t want a rough man pawing her. She’d think he was scary—or worse, pitiful . . . a blind man copping a feel.

He released her hips and stood.

“The sun is shifting. I’d better go and gather some wood. You mentioned a thermos earlier? If you have some water left, drink it and then fill it up. You must have swallowed a mouthful of dirt on that fall. We don’t have to worry about running low on water.”

She said nothing, but he sensed her watching him as he walked across the cavern. He heard the sound of her unscrewing the cap on her thermos.

“So you think it’s safe to drink that water?” she asked a moment later, the location of her voice telling him she’d moved toward the waterfall. The sound of her voice—low, rich and melodious—made his skin prickle with awareness. Every other man on the planet would have said Jennifer Turner had a face to die for, but he thought something similar about her voice.

“Yeah. That spring water above is drinkable, but the trickle down here in the cavern will make it even cleaner than on the surface. That stone it’s coming through is an aquifer.”

“You never told me what you had in your pockets,” she called out a moment later. Something about the tremor in her voice made him pause in the process of gathering wood. He was reminded of a child who needed to hear an adult’s voice in a dark room. Something tickled at his memory that seemed to relate to their situation and to movie star Jennifer Turner.

He remembered in a flash. He paused for a second, his brow crinkled in concern, then resumed his careful retrieval of old wood planks and kindling.

“A small first aid kit, my wallet, a knife, half a bag of M&M’s, a lighter, the stub from an old plane ticket, a rasp, gloves and a key to the shed.”

Her choked laugh made it clear he’d spoken to her while she was drinking. “You forgot to mention the two pieces of lint. What’s a rasp?”

“A sculpting tool,” he said as he carried an armload of old wood to the center of the cave.

“Are you a sculptor?” she asked, her voice closer now.

He grunted an assent. “I do it in my spare time. I’m taking some time off from work to finish some pieces for a showing at a little gallery in St. Louis. Stay away from that debris pile, okay?” he said as he prepared a bare stretch of ground for the fire.

“Why?”

“It’s got considerable pressure behind it. I’m worried about it collapsing more.”

“How can you tell?”

“By touching it.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not if you stay away from it.”

She’d sat on the ground a few feet from where he arranged wood for a fire. He could feel her gaze on him, tickling the exposed skin at his neck. His hard-on lingered, but in a less raging form. It annoyed him that she could probably see the shape of it pressed against his jeans, but there was nothing he could do. The fire needed to be built beneath the hole above them for some ventilation, so he couldn’t escape the sunlight.

“I guess you aren’t going to light it until nightfall,” she said when he’d finished laying the wood and sat down several feet away from her.

“There’s no need to now. You’re warm enough, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Plenty.”