IT WAS THIS and only this that she had lived her entire life for, Sophie thought, as Lancaster carried her through the dark cabin, illuminated only by the flickering fire, to the bed. He laid her down across it, tenderly and savagely at the same time. It seemed impossible those two things could exist together, but they did, and their harmony was perfect, shocking, like two flavors that are not supposed to mingle, but did, with amazing results.
He lowered himself over her, holding some of his weight off her with a knee and an elbow. Even then, she could feel the crush of him, the lean hardness of his chest and thigh.
He gazed at her face, and she drank in the strength of his beloved, familiar features. Then with a groan of that same savagery and tenderness, he took her lips.
The tenderness came first, the soft exquisite exploration, the gentle invitation to open her mouth to his.
And then came the savagery, the plundering of her mouth, the bruising of her lips, the demand that she answer him.
And she did. She answered him with a fury of violent softness, asking, giving, demanding, taking.
This was what she had longed to feel. This was what her heart had known the minute the plane had landed and she had set sight on him again.
That he and he alone could make her feel this way.
Helpless and powerful.
Strong and weak.
She traced the ridges of those braced muscles of his forearms with her fingertips. She felt giddy with the possession of him. Somehow, she managed to get her trembling hands free of the crush of his body, somehow she managed to squeeze her hands between them and find the buttons of his shirt.
She put her hands on both sides, and tore it open with a strength that was shocking and fabulous.
She flattened the palms of her hands against his chest, as he plundered her mouth. Her ears. Her eyelids. Her neck. Her mouth again.
“I need…” she whispered, then lost her voice, not knowing how to express the enormity of the need.
She needed more. She needed to explore every inch of him with her hands and her lips and her tongue. She needed him to explore every inch of her with his hands and his lips and his tongue.
He put his finger to her lips.
“Do you not think I don’t know what you need?” he whispered.
Doona.
And then he proved it. He proved he knew exactly what she needed. He had known all along.
* * *
Something tickled her nose, and Sophie brushed it away. She never wanted to wake up. She wanted to stay in this world of dreamlike sensation. So safe. So content. So fulfilled.
The tickle again. And then again.
She opened her eyes. Lancaster was standing above her, dressed only in his jeans, tickling her nose with a feather. She drank him in, felt the hunger blossom within her, shut her eyes against it.
He tickled her again.
She opened her eyes. She wanted to look at him. She scanned his face and saw such incredible tenderness there she had to bite her lip to keep the tears that sparked behind her eyes from falling.
“I’ve brought you breakfast,” he said. “We have the whole day ahead of us. Let’s not waste a second of it.”
Carefully balancing the tray, he came into the bed beside her, settling the tray on his thighs. The tray contained steaming coffee, a tin of biscuits and a circle of wildflowers woven with grasses.
Keeping the blanket tucked around her, Sophie struggled to sitting. He handed her a mug of coffee, and then, as she sipped it, he took the circle of flowers and placed it on her head. He regarded her crown with a faint smile, as if bemused at himself.
It was true, some barrier had come down in him, and having it down was beyond her wildest dreams.
“Where did you find flowers at this time of year?” she asked, opening the tin and selecting a biscuit. She took a bite and gave it to him. “Especially after that storm?”
“It’s a secret. One I’ll share with you after we’ve had breakfast.” He took the biscuit she had handed him, and put his lips exactly where her lips had been. It felt as intimate as anything that had happened between them last night.
After they had polished off the coffee and the tin, she hoped he would just stay in bed, but he leaped up with great energy, took the tray and tossed her clothes at her.
“Come on, lass, the day awaits us.” He went out the door.
Moments later, she joined him outside. He had packed a basket full of things, and he took it in the crook of one arm, and extended his hand to her.
She took it, and when their hands joined, just like sharing that biscuit, it felt as momentous as anything that had happened last night. It felt as if they were deeply and joyously connected.
The dew was still on the leaves as they walked through the forest. Lancaster whistled. And then he sang, his rich voice as natural in the forest as the songs of birds.
He sang in a different language, and yet there was no mistaking, by the tune, that it was a love song, a ballad of the heart, a melody of the soul.
For her.
“Tell me what it means,” she begged him.
“You know what it means,” he said, and then he threw back his head, laughed and sang more.
The forest path ended in the most beautiful glade she had ever seen. Waterfalls splashed in at the far end of it, and the distinctive scent of hot springs was in the air.
With a whoop of pure joy, Lancaster stripped off to his boxers and ran on nimble feet, scrambling up wet rocks to the top of that falls.
He stood above it and then turned his back to her. He spread his arms, and then lifted himself on his toes. He sprang up and up and up, arched his back and did a full turn, before slicing cleanly into the water.
He surfaced with a shout of laughter, shaking the droplets from his hair. This was Lancaster fully alive.
This was Lancaster in love with life.
And maybe, just maybe, a little bit in love with her.
Showing off for her. Scrambling to the top of that falls again and again, diving, flipping, twisting, plying his amazing strength to the art form of making his body do what he wanted it to do. Sophie went and stood at the edge of the pool he was diving into. She bent and trailed her hand in it. The water was so cold it took her breath away.
Finally, Lancaster’s skin pebbled with goose bumps, he left the coldness of the pool. He grabbed some items from the basket and then held out his hand to her. He led her to the hot pool that was nearly hidden under an outcrop in the rocks the waterfall cascaded down.
The same yellow flowers that were in the headdress he had crowned her with bloomed in glorious abundance around the turquoise waters.
He undid the belt that held her blouse together, and skimmed her slacks off her. He took the ring of flowers from her hair. He led her into the warm water and told her to duck under it.
When she came up, he was lathering soap between his hands. She thought it was for himself and the thought of sharing this pool with him while he bathed nearly made her swoon. But instead of using that abundance of lather on himself, he motioned her to come closer. He began at her head, working the soap deep into her hair, running the tendrils through his soapy hands, scooping water and rinsing. And he worked his way all the way down.
And then, he handed her the soap and turned his back to her.
And so she began on the broadness of his back, working the soap into his hot-springs-warmed skin until it was slick and glorious beneath her fingertips. He stood stock-still while she got to know every inch of him.
And when she was finished, he took her in his arms, and gave her the part of him she had not explored with soap.
His mouth.
He let go into this thing that was unfolding between them, and he let go into it with everything he had, every beat of his heart, every breath that he took. Every look. Every touch.
She let go, surrendering as completely as she had ever surrendered to anything.
The day evaporated as they loved each other. And chased each other. And pushed each other into the cold water, and played along the slippery banks and took long soaks in the hot springs.
The day evaporated as they fed each other small treats of biscuits and tinned oranges and salted almonds from the basket he had packed.
The day evaporated as they sipped cold, pure spring water from the one mug he had brought, and then, dispensing with that, just from each other’s cupped hands.
The day evaporated as he wove flowers into her hair, and she massaged the column of his neck, the broadness of his back, the powerful muscles of his shoulders.
The day evaporated as they shared their deepest secrets, their fears and their hopes and their dreams. The day evaporated as their laughter filled the glade and their newly discovered love filled them.
And then the day was, without warning, taken from them.
Sophie saw the second Lancaster heard something. He tilted his head slightly, listening, his eyes narrowed. He had been sitting in the pool beside her, and now, without explanation, he pulled himself from it.
It was a full minute before she heard what he was hearing.
Above the sounds of the water cascading down rocks, above the sounds of birds singing, above the sounds of their laughter and their breath, was a sound that was foreign and seemed like the most violent of intrusions.
She could hear the steady whoop of helicopter blades slicing at the air. At first the sound was faint, but then it grew closer and closer. And as that sound closed in on them, Sophie watched Lancaster change completely. From playful to warrior in the blink of an eye.
“Let’s go,” he said tersely, holding out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her from the lovely comfort of the hot water.
The change in his mood was as abrupt as her being yanked from the hot water into the cold air. It was so complete it left her feeling stunned. He quickly toweled off, tossed the towel at her and tugged clothes over his still-wet skin.
He was radiating impatience as he waited for her to do the same. He stepped up to her, and plucked the flowers from her hair. He took the crown he had made her this morning and tossed it in the water below the falls where it floated in an endless, forlorn circle.
He led the way to the trail that led back to the cabin, and went down it fast, two steps ahead of her the whole way, making her struggle to keep up.
Gone was the laughing man who had sung ballads, and dived and played in the water, and put flowers in her hair.
It seemed he was as eager to leave this day behind him as she was to hold on to it forever.