The soggy, tawny braid was the only part of Teddy that Rhys could reach. He hooked it with his fingers, grappling desperately into the long strands of hair until he had a tight, determined grip. He was fighting the current for her, pulling with all his might to hang on and beat the driving waters. He knew he had won when his savage, insistent jerk pulled her above the swirling deluge.
Hoping he hadn’t snatched the hair from her head, he hauled her to the bank and got a grip first on her collar, then her arm. Her eyes were closed when he got her clear, but she was sputtering and coughing. He knew she was alive. Taking no chances that the water might leap over the canyon wall he tugged Teddy up a rise some ten feet away and set to work pumping out the water she had swallowed. He welcomed her moans of protest as he rolled her to her stomach and pressed and lifted her back.
With her loose hair plastered to her face, she looked like a dunked tabby cat. She came to, with about as much fury as a bedraggled cat would have had. She began twisting beneath him so that she was face up instead of down. Her greenish eyes flashed like flames. Her scowl was so deep it looked as if it was there to stay. Her battered hands went to her head and gingerly felt it all over.
“Jeez!” She made a sound that sounded exactly like a growl. “Did you have to scalp me while I was out cold?”
Rhys didn’t care if she cursed him. He was too glad to be alive, too glad to have her alive and sound enough to complain. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “Your scalp is no doubt sore. I had to pull hard or lose you to the water.”
She found some gratitude then. “You caught me? By the hair?”
“Yes.” He reached out and brushed the limp, wet strands off her pale face. “The rest of you was underneath.” Her skin was cold, her face lined with scratches from the tree that had betrayed her to the water. His hands tenderly stroked her cheeks as he silently wished away the injuries. “I am sorry I had to hurt you. I would not have done so if there had been any other way. Not for the world.”
Teddy groaned softly, just then comprehending fully that Rhys had miraculously pulled her from the water. “You saved my life,” she said.
“I suppose.”
“No supposing.” She coughed, clearing the last remnant of her ordeal from her constricted throat. “If you hadn’t caught me I would be dragging along the bottom of that canyon with the rest of the debris that water is carrying. I would be dead.”
“I suppose,” he said more softly.
She recalled then that he too had been swept away by the fury of the water. He too had come close to the passageway between life and death and must feel as relieved, as buoyantly alive as she did.
Somehow he had managed to find the path back alone, and to save himself from the wild current and come to her aid. Considering the way she had badgered him, rebuffed him at every encounter, she wondered why he had bothered.
She was glad he had. Troubled as her life was, she wanted to live to know the satisfaction of having long, full decades of life behind her. She had survived her skirmish with death, thanks to Rhys. Quick as it was, the ordeal had changed Teddy, made her see that there is always another way to solve a problem, no matter the issue.
She sure had a new point of view for Rhys. Maybe her brain was waterlogged. Whatever the reason, he did not look like an enemy anymore. Poised above her, he appeared regal and proud as a pagan god who had spared one of his mortals and was waiting to be rewarded for his actions.
His eyes glittered bright as the stars that hung overhead. His taut muscles rippled through the soaked and ragged shirt that hung open from collar to waist. Her clothing had fared no better against branches and current. Her shirt was tattered, ripped away at one shoulder, hanging by a few frayed threads at the other. It covered little of her.
Teddy did not care that she was half-naked or that he was. What mattered was that they had survived a disaster and would live to see the glowing sun bring morning light. Another day.
A rivulet of water, clear and cold, fell from Rhys’s dripping hair to Teddy’s throat. It traversed the hollow between her collarbones breaking into silver droplets that flowed slowly between her softly rising breasts. Rhys watched the tiny droplets inch along, saw the dark crests of her breasts harden and rise against what remained of her shirt, felt her shudder as if the icy beads had penetrated her skin.
What had been a lifesaving posture, Rhys on his knees and straddle-legged over Teddy, became a prelude to something else in that moment. Electricity fired between them, hot and devastating, forging one strong, highly pitched emotion into another. Teddy felt as if a bolt of fire and light had hit her. Rhys felt as if he were filled with it, and had become uncontrollable heat and flame.
Rhys fought against it, told himself that he was wrong to want her, could not allow himself to do what he feared he would in another moment.
“Mon Dieu. Teddy,” he said, his hoarse voice not rising above a whisper, his breath like a flame as he bent close to her face.
The pressure of his strong thighs against her, the gentle stroke of his fingers on her skin sealed her fate. She wanted him—wanted to prove she was alive, wanted to prove she could live forever. Death be damned. She craved him as much as she had craved the clear, fresh air when he had pulled her from beneath the water.
“Oh hell,” she whispered, her arms going out to him, sliding up his broad, hard chest to lock like vines around his neck. She brought his mouth to hers, and felt his teeth graze sensuously upon her lips as his tongue shot possessively past them.
The roar of her racing blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the roar of the rushing water. A glimmer of moonlight fell across her face, a rare bedeviling red-gold light that brought her yearning for Rhys Delmar to a fever pitch. She cried out his name, with ragged cries that came in a breathless whisper as his hands tore away the shreds of her shirt exposing more of her to the magical light, more of her to his skillful mouth and hands. His fingers ran rampant and wild over silky flesh, caressing fullness and hollows, stripping away the clothing that had become as binding as chains. His mouth devoured her sweetness, tasting her as if she were luscious summer fruit, a banquet of delicacies laid out for him, him alone.
Beneath him she was soft as a cloud, sweet as a meadow of wildflowers. Her hair made a veil around her, honey and gold spun out like threads of fine silk. Softly, gently he looped his fingers in the damp golden strands, brought a soft handful to his lips, trailed it like a mass of curling ribbon across his chest, down his bare thigh.
The touch of the silken tassels brought a quiver to his hard flesh that Teddy felt beneath her delving fingers as they wove into the inky, wet curls at his nape. Whispering her name over and over, Rhys stretched out beside her as they discarded wet clothing and cast it aside as they lay upon a smooth dry stone, an altar to their passion, a bed for their mating.
Sweet. She was sweet. Her kisses rained across his face warm as summer, as laden with promise as spring. He pulled her close so that she lay against the length of him, but she would not be still beneath his questing hands.
Hot, then cold, Teddy writhed and twisted beneath Rhys, wanting him, fearing her need for him, yet powerless to turn back what she had begun. His palms cupped her breast, molding, squeezing, shaping, stroking the flushed areolae until the peaks grew tight as rosebuds. Her breath caught in her throat and her skin flushed with heat, then yielded to a sweeping chill as icy as a winter wind. A single touch of his lips, hot as a brand on her throat, melted the cold away, fusing it into a burning ache for more, more.
She moaned helplessly, pleadingly, felt she was drowning again, this time swept beneath the surface of desire and need. Raggedly, softly, Teddy whispered his name, a confirmation to herself and to him that for once she would allow herself to be carried as deep as her latent, molten passions ran, as many fathoms down as his would take her. For long, dazed moments she twisted and shivered beneath his touch, euphoric, exultant, eyes heavy with the pleasure of lazily watching the one who had brought her to this heady state.
His eyes shimmered like deep blue water. Clear, warm ocean depths intoxicated and carried her deeper, leagues beneath the surface to currents of silver-flamed passion. He moved over her and her hands were upon him, feeling the sinewy muscle in his hips and thighs as he positioned himself between her legs. His body was hard bronzed in the moonlight, perfect as masterfully hewn statuary.
He was, though, fire and blood, and his thundering need for her was imminent as he poised above her. His eyes sought hers in the instant he came to her, his manhood stabbing hard and deep, bringing a mingled cry of shock and pleasure from her lips. He sank into her again and again, filling her with searing, raging heat. She rose to meet his fierce thrusts. Her nails were savagely scoring his back. She buried her face against his shoulder, while his breath blew hot against her skin. Aflame, consumed by flame, she felt his thrusts grow stronger, faster, and her own body quicken in response. Breathlessly, unexpectedly, shuddering uncontrollably, she plunged headlong into a fiery river of ecstasy, swept along on waves of flame until all feeling was burned away by the searing heat.
Still, locked together, both reluctant to part, they lay cradled in each other’s arms until the heat of their lovemaking yielded to the growing chill of the night.
“Chér—Teddy,” he amended. “Much as I despair of letting you out of my arms, I must. We need a fire to dry our clothes and—”
Slowly, Teddy sat up and hugged her knees as he began to search his soaked clothing in hopes of finding matches dry enough to light a fire. She did not like what had come over her. Watching him, she wanted him back beside her, with his arms around her. Indifference had been her barrier, her protection. Now she had none.
“I guess I ought to have known it would feel like that,” she said.
Looking crestfallen, he left off his search and came to her. “You were disappointed? I was, perhaps, too quick on the draw?”
“No. Dammit!” she retorted, resenting his reminding her of that complaint. “I wasn’t and you weren’t. That’s what’s bothering me.”
A smile stole onto his face like sunshine after a storm. He had felt her response and known she had experienced satisfaction. He had not expected her to admit to it. “I am glad you were pleased.”
“I didn’t say I was pleased,” she spat back. “I don’t even know how this happened. Hell! That dunking must have washed all the sense out of my head.”
“Or washed some in,” he said. “Teddy, what happened between us was a beautiful thing. It happened because it had to happen, was meant to. For no other reason,” he said, softly, huskily, realizing she was not alone in feeling surprised by the depth of it, by the lingering pleasure. All along he had thought he wanted her simply to satisfy his lust. Making love to her had not ended his longing for her. Already he wanted her again. Already he feared he always would.
Briefly the look in her eyes seemed to concede that he was speaking from the heart, seemed to acknowledge he was not merely gloating over another conquest. But then her face clouded over and she was the old, combative Teddy. She crossed her arms over her chest. With her head thrown back, she huffed out a breath and said, “It won’t happen again. Now, are you going to light a fire or not?”