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  He spun away abruptly and sloshed through the water toward the shore. He squeezed his hands in fists, felt his pulse pounding at his temple.

  “Right. Walk away. Just like last night. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  Her taunt shattered the tenuous hold he had on his temper. Turning, he crossed back to her in three long strides.

  “Damn it, what do you want from me?” he shouted.

  “Nothing! Just leave!”

  He was shaking. To his core. Ready to fly apart.

  And there she stood. Wet. Trembling. Nearly naked.

  Sexy as hell.

  His temper morphed into something far more dangerous to them both. Reckless desire.

  “You sure as hell wanted something last night. You’re pissed because I didn’t kiss you. Aren’t you?”

  She made a face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He edged closer, and she shifted back a step, eyeing him warily. “What are you doing?”

  “We have unfinished business.”

  Her eyes widened. “Unfinished…business?”

  “Yeah.” He captured the base of her skull with one hand and tugged her up to meet his mouth.

  Teeth clicked, tongues battled, lips clung. He tasted the stream water on her skin, and a hunger that matched his in her eager response. Minutes later, when he lifted his head and sucked air into his oxygen-starved lungs, she raised dazed eyes to his.

  “If you want to stop, you have to be the one to walk away this time,” he rasped.

  She stared at him for one heartbeat. Two.

  Then looked down at her feet. “Hmm.” Challenge lit her eyes. “I’m still here.”

  He needed no further invitation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jackson captured her mouth again, his kiss gentler this time but no less mind-numbing. Perfect, because Lauren didn’t want to think. Not about her lost friend. Not about the danger they were still in. And not about the mistake she was making, giving in to her sizzling attraction to this man. Right now she only wanted to feel.

  And Jackson was certainly making her feel…

  His hands were warm against her water-cooled skin. Ribbons of tingling heat unfurled inside her as he stroked his palms down her back and cupped her bottom, squeezing. When he tugged her closer, the steely length of his erection pressed into her belly. Her breasts grazed his shirt, teasing her sensitized nipples and firing sparks in her veins. His fingers massaged her scalp while his lips molded and tantalized hers.

  She felt everything, all her nerve endings charged like live wires. And still it wasn’t enough.

  Rising on her toes, she strained to press closer until the thundering of his heartbeat echoed in her own chest. Her hands weren’t satisfied clinging to the back of his shirt. She wanted skin, wanted to explore his chest, his buttocks, his masculine heat.

  Impatiently she bunched his T-shirt in her fingers and tugged it up, mewling her approval when his broad chest was bared to her questing hands. While she explored, Jackson eased the shirt off his bum shoulder then tossed it on the rock behind her.

  She scraped her thumbnails over his nipples, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Fire leaped in his eyes, and he worked her T-shirt off in return. Her breasts swelled and peaked, begging his attention. When his mouth closed over one nipple, the sensation of his lips tugging at her, his hot tongue flicking the aching bud shot liquid heat to her core.

  He backed her against the sheer rock wall, lifting her and holding with his good arm under her bottom. She hooked her legs around his hips, glorying in the juxtaposition of his rock-hard penis against the spot that wept for his touch. With trembling hands, she unfastened his pants while he continued suckling first one nipple then the other. A pulsing need lashed at her, building and coiling inside her. When he shifted slightly to allow her to shove his pants down, a cascade of water, streaming off the rock, struck her breast. The cold water shocked her feverish skin. And tantalized. She thrust her chest out, writhing and allowing the rushing water to lash her nipple.

  Jackson raised his head from her other breast, watched the erotic show a moment. A growl rumbled from his throat. “God that’s sexy. You are sexy.”

  He pulled at her panties, but rather than sliding down her hips, the fabric tore.

  When he winced, she grinned. “Ripping my clothes off, McKay? Now that is a turn on.”

  He returned a devilish smile and chunked her shredded panties in the stream. “Glad you approve.”

  With his free hand, he skimmed down his boxers, and his erection sprang free.

  Her mouth went dry, and moisture gathered between her legs, ready for him. But first she wanted to touch.

  Wrapping her fingers around him, she slid her hand to the hilt, learning his girth, his weight, his heat.

  Jackson shuddered, his breathing ragged. She felt him pulsing as she drew her hand back to the tip, felt the moisture beaded there and spread it with her thumb to glaze the heart-shaped head. He groaned and grabbed her hand.

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, clearly fighting for control.

  “Give in, Jackson,” she whispered in his ear, rubbing her body against his in a slow grazing of skin on heated skin. “Live dangerously. Lose control.”

  Lifting her, he thrust. He filled her, burying himself fully, stealing her breath.

  “Dangerous enough for you?” he rasped.

  She tilted her hips, pressing him deeper. “More.”

  Growling, he framed her face, made her look him in the eye. “We don’t have a condom.”

  She closed her eyes, sighed, then met his gaze again. “What’s your phrase? Judas Priest?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He was still inside her, his gaze probing her as deeply as his body did. Neither of them moved. She could barely breathe for the burning need and disappointment twisting inside her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

  “Lauren, we can’t. It’s too risky.”

  “But a calculated risk. Our situation might suggest otherwise, but I’m not promiscuous. I can count my previous lovers on one hand and still have fingers left.”

  “Lauren…”

  “You were faithful to your wife, right?”

  “Yes, but that’s not our only consideration.”

  She swiveled her hips, grinding against him. “Please, Jackson. I promise it’s okay. Wrong time of the month.”

  He hissed out through his teeth. “Lauren, damn it, you’re…killing me.”

  “Please, Jackson.” She ran her fingers through his damp hair and kissed him, her tongue darting playful into his mouth to taunt his.

  His hold tightened around her, and he returned a desperate, ravenous kiss.

  And pulled out.

  She tore her mouth away from his. “Jackson?”

  “Someone has to be responsible.”

  “And heaven forbid you leave that onus for someone else.” She couldn’t keep her bitter disappointment from her tone. She shoved against his chest, wiggling free of his grasp.

  “Hey.” He caught her arm. “It doesn’t have to mean we’re finished.” He insinuated a hand between her legs, stroked her. Blinding starbursts waylaid her, and she was instantly teetering on the edge again. The anticipation was like sitting in the open door of a plane at three thousand feet, waiting to jump. Breathless. Exhilarating. Frightening.

  Someone has to be responsible.

  Arrogant ass.

  She knocked his hand away and shouldered past him. “Fine. If we’re being responsible, we might as well be sane too. And this was definitely an insane mistake.”

  “Lauren—”

  Spinning to face him she added, “You know, I’m no stranger to risk, to danger. But there’s a difference between recklessness and taking a calculated risk for something worthwhile.”

  She sloshed across the stream, her body still throbbing, her heart aching, her mind spinning.

  “Lauren, wait.”

  She didn’t. All she’d wanted was an
escape, but Jackson’s hyper-responsibility and need for control denied her even a few minutes of earth-shaking oblivion.

  And it would have been that good. That wonderfully cataclysmic. She knew it from the bone-melting prelude he’d allowed. Fresh tears burned in her eyes as she snatched her fire pants up from the ground. Quivering with rage, with passion, with cold, she stomped through the woods and back to their campsite.

  I’m no stranger to risk, to danger.

  A tremor raced through Jackson that had nothing to do with the heated desire still licking his veins. Lauren was a smokejumper, for God’s sake. What was he thinking? Getting involved again with a woman in a high-risk career was insanity. Not that one session of no-strings-attached, mutually satisfying, stress-relieving sex could be considered getting involved.

  Except that he had a bad feeling having sex with Lauren once would only whet his appetite rather than work her out of his system. Even the cold water he stood in was having little effect on the fire in his blood, the need pulsing through him.

  He wanted more. He wanted Lauren. So much that he hurt. And the center of the ache was about twenty inches north of his groin. How sobering was that truth?

  Damn it, he’d been an idiot to kiss her like that, to start something he knew he couldn’t finish. Something he had no business initiating in the first place.

  Did he really want to get emotionally tangled up with a woman who jumped out of planes into burning forests? A woman who battled wildfires in the middle of nowhere? God, the anxiety factor for her family had to be off the charts.

  Jackson slogged back to shore, his jaw clenched in self-reproach. He’d hurt her, insulted her somehow without meaning to. He seemed to be good at that. The woman was an enigma. A confusing mix of steel nerves and a fragile heart.

  All the more reason to stay away from her. He didn’t need any more complications in his life. He didn’t want to cause her any unneeded pain.

  After redressing in his wet pants, he approached the campsite and he watched Lauren jam the few possessions they’d unpacked back into the PG bag with jerky thrusts. Oh, yeah. She was ticked.

  “Lauren, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She whirled around, throwing her hand up. “Don’t!”

  Right. Her distaste for platitudes. But they weren’t just empty words. He was sorry. For more than he even understood himself. More than he knew how to express.

  Her chest rose and fell, drawing his attention to the way the wet fabric of her shirt clung to her breasts. Reminding him that she no longer wore any underwear—in addition to her lack of a bra. Yikes.

  He lifted his palm in acquiescence. “All right. I won’t say it. But it’s true.”

  A deep ridge of consternation furrowed her brow. “It’s not your fault. I started it. I all but dared you. I practically begged you to ravish me on the rocks without—”

  “Lauren, please!” With a long stride, he closed the distance between them and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Stop there. The mental picture is…making me more than a little crazy.”

  Her green eyes latched onto his. Seared him. One more memory he knew he’d never shake free from his brain. When she nodded, he removed his hand, stepped back.

  She hitched up a corner of her mouth. “Yeah, you gave me a few steamy mental images to ponder today too.” Her gaze slithered down his naked chest to his wet trousers and back up. “Whew.”

  Jackson’s libido kicked hard, and he struggled to quiet the chaos rioting inside him.

  Lauren carried a small cup over to the river, dipped up some water and poured it on their campfire. “Grab a stick and stir the coals. We’ve got to make sure this fire is completely out before we leave,” she said then returned to the river for another cupful.

  “Sure.” Whether she intended the double meaning or not, Jackson couldn’t have said it better himself. He had to get this wild attraction under control so he could concentrate on what mattered. Getting off this mountain. Getting help for Emily. Seeing that the authorities stopped Rick before he killed innocent people.

  Once every ember of the campfire had cooled, Lauren scanned the terrain. “So is that watch of yours waterproof?” She hitched her head toward his wrist.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “‘Cause our compass was in the pack we lost, and the map got ruined in the river. The watch working?”

  Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

  She wiggled her fingers at him. “Hand it here.”

  He sent her a puzzled frown but complied. “What are you going to do?”

  “Get us back to civilization, I hope. I can’t say for sure how far we are from the highway now, but…” She looked to the sky, turned her body, checked his watch, then held the watch out on the flat of her hand like an offering to the gods.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Homemade compass. When you point the hour hand toward the sun, due south is half the distance between the hour hand and the twelve.”

  “That’s…” He was about to say crazy, but he paused and thought about it.

  Locations on navigational charts were demarcated by degrees, minutes and seconds of longitude and latitude for a reason. Time, the position of the sun, and directional navigation had an intricate interwoven relationship.

  Genius. That’s what her idea was. Intellect and inspiration. He was the sailor, the scientist. He should have thought of it. He gave himself a mental kick.

  “Our best bet is to follow the river back the way we came then head west.” She handed him back his watch.

  Jackson considered her suggestion then frowned. “No, we should just head west now. Or northwest. The shortest distance between two points is still a straight line.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes and growled. “Why can’t you trust me? You always have to contradict me, don’t you? I know what I’m doing!”

  Jackson picked up the PG bag, which she immediately grabbed from him. Great. They were going to fight over who carried the small supply pouch now. Fine. Let her carry the thing if it got them started sooner. “It is just more logical to cut straight across to the road.”

  She waved a hand toward the high cliff on the far side of the river. “You really want to scale that? We don’t know for sure how far the road is that way, or what other obstacles are between here and the road. If we stay along the river, not only will we have water, but we are more likely to be spotted by a rescue helicopter. It will be easier hiking, and we can get back to the spot where we knew the road was. Sounds more logical to me that we do things the way I suggested.”

  She marched several feet up the bank of the river, stopped and looked back at him. “Coming?”

  He stared after her. “You’re going out of the way. I know you are. It just makes sense that—”

  She turned and kept walking. He could follow or get left behind.

  Jackson sighed, gritted his teeth. And followed Lauren.

  A rough hand jostled Cara, waking her.

  “Get up. It’s getting late, and we gotta talk.”

  Cara peered through sleep-hazed eyes at Montego’s glower.

  “About what?” she croaked.

  Beside her, Emily shifted, snuggling closer and hiding her face. Yeah, honey, Montego scares me a little too.

  “Rick’s not back yet. He should have been here hours ago,” Montego said.

  “He’s not that late. It’s not time to panic.” Cara rolled over and tried to pull the covers over her head and Emily’s.

  “Get up!” Montego yanked the blanket off her, and cold air snatched away the remnants of sleep.

  “Sonofa—What’s the matter with you?” She grabbed the blanket away from Montego and sent him a glare. “He’ll be back. Just be patient.”

  “I’m through being patient. Rick and Vince should have been back with McKay last night. They were going straight to McKay’s lab and coming straight back. That shouldn’t have taken more than sixteen hours tops. It’s been twenty-one.”

  “Oh, for th
e love of God,” Cara grumbled and swung her feet to the floor. Even through her socks, the wooden floor felt icy, and she shivered as she shoved off the bed.

  Turning, she covered Emily back up and stroked the girl’s golden hair. Such an angel.

  Glancing up, she met a dark look from Montego.

  “You’re too attached to the kid. She’s our bargaining chip, don’t forget. The mission comes first. Your allegiance must be to our interests.”

  Cara bristled. “I know my priorities.”

  Montego shoved his nose in her face. “Do you? Seems to me you’ve taken far too much interest in the kid. Well, time’s up, Cara. It’s time to move, and we aren’t taking the kid with us.”

  A chill, unrelated to the nip in the morning air, skittered through Cara. She crossed her arms, raised her chin. “Rick said to wait here. We go nowhere.”

  “Something has happened. He’s not coming.” Montego’s eyes flickered with dark emotion. His obsessiveness had always worried Cara. This morning it frightened her. He looked crazed.

  “He’s only a little late!” She tried to keep panic out of her tone, but she felt years of work and planning unraveling because of Montego’s restlessness. “Give him time!”

  “My gut is saying something’s happened. We should disperse. Disappear. He knows where to find us when things are ready to proceed.”

  She took a deep breath. “Where’s Kenny? What does he say?”

  “He’s loading the van.”

  Cara’s heart dropped to her toes. If Kenny had lost hope…

  Montego stalked toward the door then turned. “You can come with us or we can leave you. But we’re going.”

  “This is a mistake. Rick will be back! We need to wait!”

  “Five minutes, Cara.”

  “But—”

  He stormed outside, slamming the door, and the room filled with a heavy silence.

  “Cara?” Emily whispered.

  With a forced smile, she sat back down on the edge of the bed and patted Emily’s legs. “Good morning. Sleep okay?”

  “Where are we going?” The child’s mahogany eyes bored into Cara with their haunted pleading. “How will my dad find me if—”