her of avoiding all men, making the snide assessment that she should either go lesbian or resign herself to being alone for the rest of her life. She’d told her sister to mind her own business, then changed the subject, but Perry’s words had stayed with her, proving difficult to forget.
As a modern, educated woman, Chelsea knew, deep down, that her cool attitude toward the opposite sex had been born from a soul-deep fear of ever becoming like her mother. Perry had dealt by immersing herself in the party scene, earning a reputation as the girl who would try anything at least once, whereas Chelsea had simply closed down, withdrawing, just like an oyster hiding within its shell. Despite her worldly views, she had little experience when it came to male animals, especially ones like the hunk standing so close to her bus…staring at her as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle her or eat her alive. His warm, utterly male scent, a seductive blend of heat and spice and the outdoors, was actually causing drool to collect in the corners of her mouth.
Amazing.
The whole “mouthwatering” reaction never happened to her, unless she was confronted by the scent of fresh baked brownies or watching a Gerard Butler movie. Despite her skeptical attitude toward the male species, even Chelsea had found herself a victim of the Scotsman’s compelling sexuality.
But Butler had nothing on this guy. A quick flick of a glance over his body revealed a physique that was long and lean and powerfully muscled. The kind of body that would be hard and hot to the touch. That would ripple with muscle as he moved over a woman…as he moved inside her. Hard and deep and fast. Then hard and deep and…deliberately slow.
Giving herself a sturdy mental shake, Chelsea fought the urge to fan her face, and struggled to get her mind out from between the sheets and back on important things, like staying alive and finding her sister. But that was proving decidedly difficult to do, seeing as how she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. God, what was happening to her? Were her hormones revolting, demanding satisfaction after being bludgeoned into submission for so many years? And if so, the timing couldn’t be worse. Why now?
Unfortunately, she had a feeling the answer to that question was staring her right in the face.
Okay, so he wasn’t her type, but he was certainly a pretty piece of eye candy, if one went for the rugged, alpha breed of male, complete with bulging muscles, tattoos and faded scars. Which she didn’t, she reminded herself, while her body reached supernova levels of heat in an embarrassing, shocking, completely unforgivable act of betrayal.
His hard, sleekly muscled physique attested to what had to be an athletic lifestyle. Even his forearms were marked by ropey muscles and lean lines of sinew, his dark body hair lying flat against the deep, sun-darkened color of his skin. Without doubt, he was the most masculine thing Chelsea had ever set eyes on. He belonged here in the wild, rugged terrain of the forest, as if he were a part of it, completely at home within its primitive landscape.
As she watched him, he flexed his big hands at his sides, like he was working out a cramp, his arms rigid, powerful biceps stretching the seams of his black T-shirt. A fierce wave of tension emanated from him, blasting against her face like a hot wind.
And yet, despite the predatory intensity that surrounded him, all but oozing from his pores, she didn’t fear him. Was the gun in her lap giving her a false sense of safety? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Chelsea knew how she should be feeling, but there was something in his expression—something dark and uncomfortable—that said he was as wary of her as she was of him, and it bolstered her battered sense of security.
“Well?” she snapped, relieved by the waspish sound of her voice, having been half afraid she might actually purr at him when she finally located her ability to speak.
“Well what?” His voice was hard, deliciously deep and roughened around the edges.
She fought the temptation to roll her eyes, thinking they certainly grew them breathtakingly big around here, not to mention gorgeous, but obviously not too bright. “What. Do. You. Want?” she asked slowly, enunciating each word with patronizing precision.
He blinked, and then the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched, and a smooth spill of surprise warmed her insides at the fact that he’d reacted to her sarcastic tone with humor, rather than anger. Not that she wanted him angry, mind you.
No, all she wanted was for him to leave her alone, so that she could get some sleep, and then get on with her search…while doing her best to forget this fluttery feeling he’d put in her belly. It felt good, damn it—dangerously good—and that made her more nervous than his primal intensity ever could. Sexual desire was a dangerous trap that couldn’t be trusted any more than the male species could be. She had to find some way to ignore it, no matter how good the rush in her pulse felt, as if she were stretching to awareness after a long, heavy slumber.
Part of her wanted to shout So this is what it’s all about!—while the other part snarled For the love of God, what kind of idiot starts thinking about having sex with a total, behemoth-size stranger?
Apparently her kind, she realized, since she couldn’t get the thought out of her head of what it’d be like to be covered by this sexy-as-hell hunk.
Thunder suddenly rumbled in the distance, signaling an approaching storm, bringing with it the crisp scent of rain. Chelsea glanced toward the swollen sky, and then softly, in a tone completely unlike her, she heard herself say, “It looks like a storm’s coming. You wanted to talk, so talk, before it starts to rain.”
He looked up, staring at the sky…at the moon, and when he lowered his head, once again trapping her in the piercing intensity of his stare, the look in his eyes burned even brighter, as though that silver gaze was somehow glowing, fired with heat from within. Glowing eyes? She blinked, shaking her head, knowing she needed more sleep. God, she’d been pushing herself so hard, she was getting delusional.
After what seemed like forever, he finally asked, “What are you doing here?”
The gravelly sound of his voice raised chill bumps on her arms, and she resisted the urge to reach out and smooth the deep furrows between his brows, then the harsh lines of frustration bracketing his sensual mouth. Instead, she reached up to the visor and took down Perry’s picture, holding it up for him to see. “I’m looking for this girl. She’s my sister. Have you seen her?”
He glanced at the photo that had been taken on Perry’s last birthday. “No. Never set eyes on her before. She isn’t here.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until I’ve found her.”
He drew in a slow, deep breath, taking a step closer to the bus, bringing the details of his ruggedly gorgeous face into a sharper focus. The ink-black hair, cut severely short, emphasizing that spectacular bone structure. The dark, mesmerizing glitter of those heavy-lidded eyes. The strong line of his nose, as well as the shadowed hollows of his cheeks. Each detail was almost painfully beautiful, and yet, perfectly masculine.
The air seemed to crackle between them, as if something was building…growing stronger, layer upon layer upon layer, each one gaining in intensity. Something powerful and electric that you couldn’t see—that you could only feel…sense. His breathing grew deeper, his chest rising and falling as if he were exerting some kind of physical effort, when he only stood there…staring…watching.
The way he suddenly shoved his hands back in the pockets of his jeans caught her attention, and she could have sworn he was struggling for some kind of control over himself as he asked, “What makes you think your sister is here, on our mountain?”
Instead of answering his question, Chelsea returned the photo to the visor and posed one of her own. “Our mountain? What, you own it?”
He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders, and her eyes snagged on the intricate design of the tattoo swirling over his right biceps, just visible beneath the tight stretch of his sleeve. It made her heart beat even faster.
“In a way, yes. This is private property.”
A sick feeling