Master of the Mountain

Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca checked the sausage and the egg dishes in the oven. Almost time for the biscuits to go in.

“How can you do this alone when everyone else needs help?” Logan asked, tucking an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

His deep voice and firm touch made a shiver run down her spine right to her toes. “Lots of practice feeding starving frat boys.”

He kissed the juncture of her shoulder, his day-old whiskers scratchy and his lips warm. “Barefoot and in the kitchen. A man's favorite dream except there's too many people around to toss you on the table, put your legs over my shoulders, and take you before breakfast.”

She quivered inside and outside, turning her head to glance at the big kitchen island table. “Ah, right. Way too many people.” Her voice came out husky.

Pushing aside the top of her flannel shirt, he bit her shoulder, then squeezed her bottom, reminding her of what had been inside her last night. How it had made her feel. She almost moaned.

Logan chuckled. “I'll get out of your way, unless there's something you'd like me to do.”

“No. I have it handled.” She finished frying the sausage for the gravy, enjoying the sizzling sound, before turning around. He'd taken a stool by the island, all big male in a dark blue T-shirt. When he moved, his biceps stretched the sleeves in a way that made her mouth dry. So darned gorgeous, but… She frowned. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, darker. “You look tired. Did you have trouble sleeping after your nightmare?”

He winced and then gave her a faint smile. “With you in my bed, I sleep far too easily.”

Was that an answer or not? Didn't like talking about his nightmares, maybe? She sure could understand that.

The smell of the sausage forced her attention to cooking. By the time she'd started the gravy and popped biscuits into the oven, chatter and laughter drifted in from the dining room. Jenna and Brandy came in for dishes to set the tables, chattering about their night, giving Rebecca and Logan sidelong looks as if they wanted to ask about their night also.

Like Rebecca would talk about the stuff she'd done, let alone what he'd done to her.

Even before Logan had showed up, her abused nipples and clit had tingled and ached with each brush of her clothing. And having Logan in the same room somehow made every inch of her skin more sensitive.

Trying to ignore her body, she pulled the egg casseroles out of the oven and put the bacon onto a platter. The biscuits went into a covered basket.

With a low hum of pleasure, Logan nudged her to one side so he could snag himself a couple of biscuits. After kissing her cheek-and nipping her earlobe-he retreated back to the table. She grinned and shook her head. The jerk. Now her body was really awake. If the man didn't leave her alone, she'd start wailing and rubbing on everything like a cat in heat.

Concentrate, girl. Eyes on the food, she poured gravy into another bowl just as people streamed into the kitchen. She pointed out the bowls and platters and stood aside as they carried the food away. When Mel peeked in the door, Rebecca lifted her hands. “That's it. Go eat.”

“Great,” Mel said, patting his ample belly. “It looks fantastic, Rebecca. You're a hell of a cook.”

“Thanks.” She grabbed the bacon she'd saved and treated Thor, who waited patiently at his spot inside the door. A hug and lick later, she joined Logan at the island. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“In a minute,” Logan said, not looking up. Her eyes widened when she saw what occupied his attention. She'd left her sketchbook on the table. Damn.

When her hand snaked out to pull it back, his fingers closed on her wrist, holding her in place with an ease that made her panties wet. Darn it, he shouldn't be able to affect her like this, especially with some macho, strong-man tactic.

His steel blue gaze met hers, and her stomach took a ride down an elevator without a bottom floor. Never mind the strength…his effect on her was born from his sheer competence, the authority in his gaze, and his easy assumption that she'd obey.

His lips curved. “Are you one of those creative types that doesn't share her work until it's finished?”

She wet her lips. She tried to tug her arm and got nowhere except to increase the heat sizzling through her veins. “Ah, right. I don't share.”

His eyes narrowed. “You've never lied to me before, sugar. Don't start now.” He rose and towered over her, taking her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Truth, please.”

“Damn you.” And damn her telltale coloring, which had undoubtedly turned red. “I drew stuff that…that's embarrassing, okay?”

“Ah.” The devil probably had a grin just like that. “Now I definitely have to look.” He curved an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him as he sat back down on the stool, flipping the pages.

Landscapes at first, Paul and Amy sunning on the rocks at the lake, scenes from Yosemite, the waterfalls. One of Jake squatting at the edge of a creek, lecturing about fish. Logan behind his desk, cold and implacable, just like the first time she'd seen him. He grinned at that, flipped the page, and let out a shout of laughter.

Ashley with tits so big she had to hold them up and a bladelike nose over collagen-gone-wild lips. “Remind me to never piss you off, sweetheart.”

Another of Logan in his Dom mode, power almost shimmering off the page. A deer with a fawn peeking from behind its legs.

Logan sighed and took her hand. “You can draw like this, and you do advertising instead?”

His question increased her resolve to think about her life, but he didn't harass her or try to talk her into something, just raised the question and let it drop.

Two pictures of Thor-one drawn how she'd originally seen him as a growling, terrifying monster, and one she'd done yesterday with his happy grin, tongue lolling half out. Logan tapped that one. “Sell me this.”

Finally something she could give him back. Reaching across him, she tore it out of the pad. “It's yours.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Consider it payment for the…lessons.” Okay, she'd started blushing again.

He pulled her between his legs, trapping her between unyielding thighs. His hands tightened around her waist, sending a tremor through her. “You think I need payment for what happened between us?” Brows together, eyes narrowed, obviously displeased.

“Uh. Nope, guess not.” Her legs wobbled when his hands slid up to graze her breasts. “How about it's a present because I…” Enjoyed the sex? She slammed her mouth shut and tried again. “Because we're friends?” But more than friends. Really. Weren't they?

“That will work, little rebel,” he murmured. His lips curved up. “If you don't want to try out the table, right here and now, I suggest you go eat your breakfast.” His jeans bulged with a thick erection.

It took a major effort to pull back, and another one to make her shaky legs go in a straight direction.

Logan had disappeared into his rooms for part of the morning, then reappeared and talked Rebecca into helping with trail repairs. But they'd had to stop when a storm hit, whipping the trees and whistling around the lodge. Rain poured down in what the frat mother from Texas would have called a gully-washer.

Logan asked if she wanted to drive into town with him, but she'd been too enchanted by the storm, so she and Thor had huddled together on the lodge porch while the tempest raged. After the rain stopped and Thor had trotted away, undoubtedly to investigate some doggy thing, she'd spent a lovely few hours painting, trying to capture the eerie sunlight sliding through the dark clouds overhead.

The quiet time gave her a chance to think over what had happened yesterday…and last night. Logan had tied her up. And she liked it. He'd punished her, and she didn't like it, but even that had aroused her. Logan had let Jake see her naked, and okay, that still bothered her. But not enough for her not to have come, obviously, since she had. She'd think she'd gone insane, except Logan said an amazingly high number of people got off on dominance and submission. And bondage. The whole BDSM route.

She scowled. Logan, the man, made her hot. Logan, the Dom, turned the heat to incandescent. Just the thought of how he restrained her and took her, not giving her any choice in…in anything, made her wet. Really wet.

Okay, Rebecca. Paint. Don't think. Just paint.

When she finally put her art supplies away, she realized she was smiling. All the nerves from her job-and from the swingers-had been silenced, and she simply felt content.

But she needed to start supper. Tonight she'd planned a simple Italian menu: spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread. She pulled the sausage out of the refrigerator and started it to brown, then opened the back door for Thor.

No Thor.

She stepped outside and inhaled the fresh air, looking around for the dog. How odd. He always waited at the back door, well before every meal. Logan hadn't taken the dog, and Jake had led some club members up an easterly trail to snap pictures of rainbows. When Thor left after the rain, the dog had gone up the trail to the west.

Where could he be?

After turning the sausage, she checked the door again. And again. And again. By the time the spaghetti simmered in a giant pot, she couldn't stand waiting anymore. Jake said Thor never missed a meal…ever. Something must be wrong.

She went into the main room. Almost empty except for three men playing cards.

“I call,” Mel growled.

Paul scowled at him and then glanced up at Rebecca. “Something wrong?”

“Maybe. Thor hasn't come back, and he's always here for meals.”

“Thor?” Christopher's brows drew together. “We don't have anyone named Thor.”

“It's the dog, idiot.” Mel patted Rebecca's arm. “He's probably out chasing a deer or something. I wouldn't worry.”

“But Jake says he always-”

“Let's see what you've got, you bastard.” Mel tapped the table, and the men's attention turned to the cards. She'd obviously been dismissed.

Kicking over the table won't help. Might be satisfying but won't help. She walked to the front door and onto the porch, scowling at the surrounding mountains. Miles and miles of forest. Sunset arrived in about two hours. That didn't leave her much time, but she could at least walk up the trail a ways.

Okay, then. She crossed the clearing and the rutted dirt road, her sneakers squishing noisily in the mud. When she moved into the forest, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees, and the moist pine needles added a sharp scent to the clean tang of the air. Stopping only to call Thor's name, she followed the trail as it switched back and forth, climbing steadily upward. Stillness surrounded her, with only an occasional creak of overhead branches accompanied by a spatter of rainwater, the cry of a distant hawk, and the rushing sound of a nearby stream. Was this what peace sounded like?

Her heart and lungs had adapted to the higher altitude over the past few days, so her body felt good, like a well-functioning machine. And the machine had lost the feeling of coiled tension. As she thought of returning to work on Thursday, to meetings and pressure, to power plays and pissing contests, her stomach twisted.

She reached a small rocky outlook and stopped to enjoy the warmth of the sun and catch her breath. Over the higher mountains in the east, dark clouds lingered, the sheeting rain a glorious golden from the setting sun. A tiny question poked up inside her, a tendril of a thought. If she didn't like the thought of returning to work, was that an indication of vacationitis or something deeper?

She turned and glanced at the sun. No time to stop and think. “Thor!” she yelled, then listened. Nothing. She repeated it twice and then started back on the trail, still heading up.

Okay, she didn't particularly like the people aspect of her job. No, actually, she hated the people aspect. With that thought came another. Why the heck did she want to be a senior art director and be stuck with managing people? That made no sense at all. Duh, Rebecca. The American dream-advance or die, make more money or you're a loser-had sucked her right into its maw.

She had been more satisfied cooking meals here than almost anything she had done at her high-paid job. But she loved painting. Drawing. Sketching. The sheer creative moments. Taking a concept and making it flow. If only she didn't have to deal with inane subject matter and clients and… Face it, given a choice, she'd far rather draw for herself than for an advertising team.

She stopped dead and scowled at the winding path. What was this, Revelation Trail? She needed to get the heck off it before her entire career got flushed down the drain.

Too late. She pushed a branch up and ducked under it, receiving a shower of raindrops. Interim plan. Return to work with open eyes and see if she still felt the same way. Maybe this was just some weird mountain effect.

But if she still felt the same way. Well. She'd start looking for something closer to what she liked. The relief and anticipation that washed through her with that decision surprised her. Had she been ignoring her feelings all these years?

She startled a deer-mutual startlement really, considering she'd almost jumped out of her sneakers-and stopped at a viewpoint that made her fingers itch for her paints. Then she noticed the slant of the sun's rays. She frowned. How long had she been hiking? She needed to be able to get back by dark. “Thor,” she yelled. “Thor!”

Was that a whine? She tilted her head and listened, hearing winds rustling the branches high overhead, a stream rushing somewhere below, and a whimper. God, it was him. “Where are you, guy?”

The whine came from downhill. She left the trail, heading toward a greener area, which indicated a streambed. Pushing through damp vegetation, she reached the water and stopped. “Thor. Say something.”

A whine came from the other side. She spotted a hint of brown fur in a bunch of logs and branches. Oh great. Just how could she get over there? That damn water moved faster than miniature rapids. She scowled, checking up and down the stream. Did they forget to put in bridges? After a minute, she saw how the boulders poking out of the rushing water might form a traversable path…if she hopped from stone to stone.

She marked the pattern in her head and then started across. Slipped and recovered. Darn it, she was so not an athlete. Another rock, this one slimy with moss and spray. Another. Finally only a long leap to the bank remained. Piece of cake.

She jumped and exhilaration soared through her as she came down clear of the water, but then her foot landed on a piece of wood and skidded. Her ankle twisted, and she fell hard onto her hip and shoulder.

Dammit. Once she recovered the breath knocked out of her, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Well, how graceful.”

But she'd made it over. Yay, team. As she stood, her weight came down on her left foot, and pain seared through her ankle like someone had attacked her with a carving knife. Without knowing how, she ended back on her butt. “Well, dammit again.” Pulling her knee up, she fingered her ankle and hissed. Swelling already. Pain throbbed through it in a heavy beat. Just a twist, surely. She'd be able to walk on it. A chill ran through her as she checked the sun. Not quite down to the treetops, but it sure seemed to have sped up its descent. Damn, damn, damn.

Her ankle twisted the minute she put weight on it, and red and black danced in front of her eyes like a checkerboard of pain. This was so not good. The dog's whine recalled her to her mission. “Okay, baby, I'm coming.” She'd try to help him, even if she had to crawl.

Crawling sucked.

“Sheesh, Thor, couldn't have found an easier place to get trapped?” she asked as she got closer. Caught in a tangle of debris, he'd obviously fallen through the mass of downed branches. She edged onto the pile and reached down to him.

He covered her hand with dog kisses before she got him to settle down. She surveyed the situation. If she pulled away that branch and that one… She broke branches and yanked away others, giving him room to move.

He didn't.

Why? She shoved her good foot under a log and, headfirst, edged farther down into the prison of branches. A sharp, broken-off stub was jammed into Thor's paw, pinning it. Major owie. Rebecca reached down and broke off more branches until she reached the one stabbing into his paw. No way to move it without hurting him. Her muscles tight, she whispered, “Don't bite me, okay?” She yanked the branch away from his paw.

When he yipped, she cringed, yanking her hand away.

Thor didn't even snarl. Tail wagging, he clambered out of the debris pile, doing much better on three legs than she did on one.

She crawled back off, groaning each time her swollen ankle bumped a branch. A little ways from the streambed, she sat down next to a tree and leaned against the trunk. “Let's see that paw, guy.”

Thor trotted over and actually held his paw up for her. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the jagged gash. Great. “I cannot believe I'm going to do first aid on a dog,” she said to him. “You won't hurt me. Right?” She pulled off her shirt, then took off the chemise underneath. Nice and stretchy. She wrapped it around his paw, whimpering with him, and tied it in place with the shoulder straps. “There. All better,” she said and received a wet lick over her cheek.

Ugh. Next job, teach him how to give verbal thank-yous.

He sat next to her, lifting his front leg with a whine.

“Yeah, me too.” She ran her fingers through his soft, thick fur. “We're quite the pair. How are we ever going to get back?” She eyed the stream. Without two good legs, she couldn't jump, and even if she tried to wade, with water so fierce, she wouldn't be able to keep her feet. She sure couldn't crawl across. Damn, damn, damn.

Thor dropped down beside her and laid his head in her lap. His sigh joined hers.

“We are so screwed.”

Logan carried an armload of groceries into the kitchen and looked around. Paul and Mel were putting dishes into the dishwasher while Christopher scrubbed pots in the sink.

Something smelled good, and he'd missed it. Damn. “Spaghetti?”

“Yes,” Mel said. “It would have been really good except Rebecca bailed out, and Ashley cooked the noodles into mush.”

“What do you mean, Rebecca bailed?”

Behind Logan, the kitchen door opened, and Jake walked in with the last sack of groceries. “I saw you were back. Is this it?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Logan started unpacking the goods and putting things away. “Have you seen Rebecca?”

Jake's hand stalled over a loaf of bread. “I thought she went into town with you.”

A chill slid up Logan's spine. “No, she wanted to paint.” He turned to Mel. “You said she bailed. Where to?”

“Ah.” Mel exchanged glances with the other two men. “She was worried about the dog, but I told her it probably took off after a deer. I-”

“I don't remember seeing her after that. 'Bout an hour ago?” Paul said, frowning at Christopher. “We didn't think too much about her not being here, since she isn't hanging with the group.”

Logan rubbed his jaw and glanced at Jake. “If she was worried about Thor, she'd go after him.”

Jake nodded. “That's how I read it.”

Logan glanced at the swingers. “You people stay here at the lodge. I don't need anyone else lost.” He didn't wait for an answer, just headed into the main room, stopping long enough to grab a heavy-duty flashlight and his backpack from the hook on the wall. Jake followed right behind him.

Outside, Logan checked at the sun, his gut tightening with fear. “Got less than an hour.”

Jake grunted an answer, then walked over to the west edge of the clearing to check for tracks. Logan did the same on the east side. At the road, he found tiny tracks with shallow indentations. Sneakers on little feet. “Over here.” He followed the shoe marks first, then the muddy streaks leading to the east trail.

“Nice that we've got a place to start,” Jake said, following Logan into the forest. “God help us if we didn't have that.”

Logan didn't bother to answer but broke into a jog. Little rebel, what the fuck were you thinking? But he knew. She'd thought only of the dog, not her own safety.

Dammit, she wasn't stupid. Not in the least. She'd have seen the sun setting and would have turned back. If she could. As he ran, his eyes skimmed over the forest, checking for signs of her passage. And he couldn't help but see all the ways she could be hurt. Or killed.