Into the Shadow Read Free Page B

narrow mountain valley, buffeting the ripstop nylon canopy that protected her—barely—from annihilation, and ringing the holy bells hung across the tent flap. Her interpreter had left behind the scent of tobacco, spices, and wool. The menacing cold slipped its cold fingers into the tent. . . .
    Karen strained to hear his footfall.
    Nothing.
    Still, she knew he was here. She could sense him moving across the floor toward her, and as she waited each nerve tightened, stretching. . . .
    His cool hand touched her cheek, making her gasp and jump.
    He chuckled, a low, deep sound of amusement. ‘‘You knew I would come.’’
    ‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered.
    As he knelt beside her cot, she breathed in his scent: leather, cold water, fresh air, and something else—the smell of wildness. He kissed her, his cool lips firm, his breath warm in her mouth.
    She hung suspended in time, in place, in an ocean of pleasure. As his kiss lingered her body stirred, her breasts swelling, the familiar longing growing deep inside.
    The night she’d arrived here, she’d come awake to the touch of a man’s kiss. Just a kiss, tender, curious, almost . . . reverent. In the morning she’d thought she had dreamed it. But the next night he’d been back, and the next night, and every night he’d taken her further into passion. And now . . . how many nights had he visited her? Two months? More? Sometimes he didn’t come for one night, two, three, and on those nights she slept deeply, worn out by hard work and the high, thin air. Then he’d return, his need greater, and he touched her, loved her, with an edge of violence sharp as a knife. Yet always she sensed his desperation, and welcomed him into her mind . . . and her body.
    This time he had been gone almost a week.
    He slid down the zipper on her sleeping bag, each tooth making a rasping noise, each noise making Karen’s heartbeat escalate another notch. He started at her throat, cupping it, pressing on the pulse that raced there. He pushed the bag aside, exposing her to the cold night air. ‘‘You wait for me . . . naked.’’ He pressed his palm between her breasts, feeling her heart beat. ‘‘You’re so alive. You make me remember. . . ."
    ‘‘Remember what?’’ He sounded American, without a hint of accent, and she wondered where he was from and what he was doing here.
    But he didn’t want her to think. Not now. Greedily he caressed her slight breasts, one in each palm. His hands were long, rough, calloused, and he used them to massage her while with his thumbs he circled her nipples.
    She made a raw sound in her throat.
    ‘‘You’re in need.’’ His voice deepened. ‘‘It’s been a long time. . . .’’
    ‘‘I’ve been waiting.’’
    ‘‘And that was my torment, that I could not be here with you."
    It was the first time he’d ever suggested he needed this as much as she did. She smiled, and somehow, in this pitch dark, he must have seen her.
    ‘‘You like that. But if you’ve tormented me, I must torment you in return.’’ His head dipped. He took one pebbled nipple in his mouth and suckled, softly at first, then, as she whimpered, with strength and skill.
    He made her go crazy.
    Yet any woman who welcomed a midnight lover was already halfway to insanity.
    She grabbed a handful of his hair and discovered how very long it was . . . and soft, and silky. She tugged at him, pulling his head back.
    ‘‘What do you want?’’ His voice was a husky whisper.
    ‘‘Hurry.’’ She was chilled. She was desperate. ‘‘I want you to hurry.’’
    ‘‘But if I hurry, I won’t get to do this.’’ He pushed the sheet down farther, caressing her belly and thighs. Lifting her knees, he spread her legs, exposing her to the cold, shocking her, making her suck in a startled breath.
    ‘‘Let me see.’’ He tilted her hips up. ‘‘Are you really ready?’’
    His fingers glided from her knees along the tender skin on her inner thighs to the dampness there.