Master of the Mountain

Chapter Sixteen

Rebecca awoke snuggled up against Logan's side with his arm wrapped around her. The time on the bedside clock glowed red in the dark room. Five in the morning. Not long until dawn. Not long until she needed to get into Matt's car and leave this place. And Logan.

God, she didn't want to leave. Not like this, with no plans to see him again.

Why did she feel this way? She certainly wasn't in love with him. No way. Not after knowing him less than a week.

Besides he would fail her perfect man list within the first few requirements.

Number one: smart. Well, okay, he passed that one.

Number two: liked the city. She wrinkled her nose. Maybe she shouldn't count that, considering her second thoughts about the city.

Then she probably needed to also drop the professional requirement. Besides, a business owner, whether deep in the wilderness or not, was a professional.

But the feminist requirement, the not macho? Fail and fail.

What did it say about her, though, that his strength gave her thrills? That she wanted him to tie her to a bed and do things to her? Heat slid through her veins, pooling in her lower half as if to illustrate the point. Sheesh.

Come to think of it, he hadn't been a macho pig when they worked together on the trail. He obviously enjoyed arguing with her and conceded easily when she had a better idea. And in the games they played that afternoon, he hadn't acted as if she didn't have a brain. Dominant in the bedroom; the rest was negotiable. All right.

She scowled. He certainly didn't dress well, and he probably didn't like Chinese either. As if either really mattered, dammit. So why wasn't this overbearing, macho man asking her to stick around or to visit, or making plans to come and see her? He sure acted as if he liked her.

She bit her lip as butterflies made loop-de-loops from her stomach up into her throat. If he wouldn't say something, she would.

Hands lock around his arms. A knife slices across his chest, fiery pain following. His blood splatters the dust-covered clothing of his attacker. Pushing the pain from his head, he wrenches free of the man behind him. Making a fist, he swings-

“Shhh, it's just a nightmare.”

Logan froze. He didn't move as the stench of sweat and blood and gunpowder drifted away, as screams faded from his hearing. Eventually he could hear the quiet breathing of someone next to him and his own rasping breaths. His hand wasn't in a fist but grasped a curvy hip. “Becca?”

A low laugh. “I never thought anyone's nightmares could be worse than mine.”

She had no idea.

Her hand stroked his chest, and she snuggled closer. “Logan. Sir. I was thinking. We're good togeth-Uh, I really like you, and maybe… I'm leaving, but I'd like…I'd like to see you again. Maybe come back here or-”

“No.” The word ripped out of him, born from the bloody haze still streaking his vision. He hadn't hurt her this time. What of the next? He sat up, dislodging her. “Becca…” He scrubbed his face with his hands-brutal hands that could kill, maim, shatter. “Our time together. I enjoyed it. But it's over.”

The cutoff breath was all he could detect of her distress, and he didn't want to see or hear more. Thank God for darkness. He had too much pain welling up inside him to take on hers as well. “Go home, city girl. Go back to your life.”

He rolled out of bed, not bothering to grab any clothing. He'd spend the rest of this god-awful night on Jake's couch and somehow manage to give her a gentler good-bye in the morning.

When the door closed behind him, Rebecca didn't move, just stared into the darkness. The candles had died while they slept.

Her side that had pressed against him slowly cooled. As his scent faded, a tear rolled down her cheek. She'd tried, dammit. She'd been a brave fucking woman and put herself on the line. And he'd shot her down cold.

Her stomach hurt, and her chest felt so squeezed by the pain that she could barely find air to cry. She wiped her face with her hands, not that it helped, considering more tears kept coming. She rolled over in the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and simply cried.

She didn't love him. No, of course she didn't. But he hadn't wanted her at all. Not even enough to speak politely. Obviously, she'd just been a convenient weekend…fuck. And after four days, he'd probably gotten bored.

She was boring. And fat.

Her stomach twisted, and she swallowed against the surge of nausea. Everything he'd said about liking her-liking her appearance-probably meant nothing. Actions counted. Did she see him here now?

Here? Oh God, get out of his bed.

Sobs hiccupped out of her as she dressed. She welcomed the pain in her ankle, something real and physical, able to overwhelm for at least a second at a time the ache in her chest. Grabbing her nightgown, she looked around the room. Nothing of hers left here.

As she stood there in the center of the room, she realized she'd hoped to hear footsteps, hoped that Logan would appear, that he'd tell her he'd been joking, or that he hadn't realized she cared that much. She roughly swiped her forearm over her eyes, and her lips tightened. That he hadn't realized she was such a pitiful loser as to cry over a man who just wanted a weekend fuck.

And yet her heart leaped when she did hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The door opened, and Matt's face appeared. When he saw her, he frowned. “You okay, babe?”

Her hands clenched, fingernails biting into her palms as she made herself smile. “I'm fine,” she said lightly. “Just having a moment. My period must be due.” Just because she'd kill any man using PMS as an insult didn't mean she wouldn't use it when she wanted to.

“Oh. Okay.” Matt ran his hand through his hair and gave her a concerned smile. “Jake let me up here so I could help you down the stairs. Are you ready to go, or do you need a minute?”

Yes. There were reasons she had considered Matt perfect. And Logan really, really wasn't. She pulled in a breath, feeling her chest quake, and put weight on her ankle until the need to cry passed. No more tears. “I want to go home now.”

Hours later, when the sunlight came in the window far enough to hit the couch, Logan woke. He took a fast shower, skipped shaving, and headed downstairs. Thor rested by the fire on a pile of blankets. Logan stopped to check him. The gash on his paw looked clean. “Idiot dog,” he said, tugging on Thor's scruff.

He nodded at the three swingers lingering over breakfast in the dining room and walked into the kitchen. Somehow, he'd have to explain to Rebecca why there would be no visits. The thought of telling her-anyone-about his nightmares turned his stomach. Maybe she'd just accept a simple “weekend is over.”

He spotted Jake at the sink, cleaning up burned eggs from a frying pan.

Logan eyed the blackened mess. “I take it Rebecca didn't cook?”

“Nope. She and Matt left at dawn.”

A punch right to the solar plexus. Impossible to inhale. Yet he must have made a sound.

Jake turned, his brows drawn. “You didn't say good-bye last night?”

“I didn't know she planned to leave so early.” She hadn't told him. Then again, why would she after he'd shut her down so cruelly last night? He'd never meant to leave such ugly words between them. Not that he could change the outcome, but he could have softened the explanation without being dishonest. He could have let her know how much he'd enjoyed her company. What a goat-fuck. “I never figured on sleeping this late.”

Jake turned his attention back to the pan. “Not surprising, considering you haven't slept more than a couple of hours in days. Then you carried her for the better part of three miles. Knowing you, you also spent the night screwing. I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep on top of her instead of on my couch.”

“I did. Next to her. That's why I moved to your couch.” Logan scowled. “I don't usually have trouble staying awake, dammit.” Since the night he'd nearly killed Jake, he'd never fallen asleep with anyone in the room.

“I know, bro.” Jake rinsed the pan and set it into the drainer. “I think this was the first woman you've trusted since your divorce.”

“You quit your job. You and your boyfriend broke your lease. And he isn't your boyfriend any longer.” Rebecca's mother paced across the parlor, her stiletto heels clicking on the marble tile.

“That's a pretty fair summary.” Rebecca selected a piece of celery from the china plate on the coffee table, then leaned back on the white love seat.

“You're too young to be going through menopause.”

“No, Mother. I mean, yes, Mother. Too young. I'm just reevaluating what I want out of life.” God, she hated celery. Waiting until her mother had walked in the other direction, Rebecca shoved the stalk into her purse for later disposal.

“Did Matthew break up with you?” Her mother turned, hands on bony hips, and frowned at her daughter. “Undoubtedly because of your weight. Just look at you, Rebecca. You need to go for surgery. After stomach banding, a plastic surgeon can-”

“Mother. I don't want surgery, thank you. And I broke up with Matt, not the reverse.”

“But why?”

“I met someone”-the stab of pain never seemed to lessen-“and I realized Matt and I aren't all that compatible.”

“Oh.” Her mother pursed her lips. “Well. You'll have to bring this new man to dinner so Vincent and I can meet him. Perhaps this Friday?”

“I… We're not together anymore. Either.” Four days, the shortest relationship in history. Weekend fuck.

“Honestly, Rebecca. You meet him; you lose him. And you don't think your weight has anything to do with it?” Her mother perched on the edge of a chair. “And why are you wearing that kind of blouse? Your breasts are so large that displaying them like that draws attention to them in a very unattractive way.”

“Uh-huh.” They called this a one-two punch, right? First Logan knocks her down, and then Mother grinds her into the dirt. But Mom had a point. Obviously she wasn't attractive enough to keep a guy.

Logan glanced over at his dog. Thor lay at the top of the porch steps, watching the road with big, dark eyes. The person he waited for never appeared. Logan understood. He kept hearing Becca's low laugh, seeing the glint of red hair, reaching for her soft body in the night.

“You two are making me depressed,” Jake said, scowling at the dog, then Logan. “Go get the girl already. If you can talk her into working as a cook, I'll spring for her wages.”

“No can do.” Body aching from the work he'd done to keep from thinking, Logan leaned back in the Adirondack chair. “She's lucky to have escaped without any scars.”

“What did she say about that?”

Logan frowned. “Nothing. I didn't tell her anything.” Oh, hey, I tend to kill people when I wake up badly. Right.

Now Jake frowned. “Seems like that might be one of those…ah, shareable facts. Who knows? Maybe she'd be willing to risk it.”

“I'm not,” Logan snapped. Not willing to discuss it, not willing to risk it. His hands fisted every time he thought of what he might have done, especially since she'd actually awoken him from a nightmare. Twice, no less.

It was amazing that he hadn't hit her or tried to… Logan rose to his feet.

“What?” Jake tilted his head.

“She actually managed to wake me up from nightmares twice without me knocking her across the room.”

“Did she now? Huh.”

Logan rubbed his jaw. “How did she do that? You never could.”

Jake thought for a moment. “Your nightmares might be mellowing, or you might trust her.”

“Might be either.

“You know, you don't yell at night anymore,” Jake said, tipping his head back against the chair. “Or sleepwalk either.”

“No, thank God.” Blood and death still reigned in his dreams, but at least he woke up in his own bed. He'd never thought much about it. “The nightmares themselves never seemed to improve,” he said slowly, “but maybe they don't affect me as much.”

“That'd be my guess.”

But could he trust himself not to hurt her? He slammed the hope down. Just because she'd survived him twice didn't mean shit. He shook his head. “No, I don't-”

“Bro,” Jake interrupted. “You didn't kill the little redhead, and she was in bed with you. Hell, I stood all the way across the room and you came after me.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. Dammit, he wanted her, wanted her with him, in his bed, in his arms. But he needed to know he wouldn't hurt her. He eyed his brother. “You feeling brave, bro?”

After forcing himself to watch a war movie, something he normally avoided because they inevitably gave him nightmares, Logan had gone to bed.

Hot, dry air and sweat tricking down his back. The rattle of the gun truck bumping along the road, soldiers on each side, facing outward. Screaming. An insurgent runs at them and is cut down by two of the soldiers. Before the body hits the ground, it blows in a ghastly splatter of red and flesh and-

A loud slam. “Die!”

Logan jerked upright.

Grinning like a jackass, his brother casually leaned against the door frame. The door still shuddered against the wall.

Logan rubbed his face, feeling the sweat. “Die?”

“Seemed like a good word to set you off.” Jake scratched his back on the wood. “Didn't work, though. Night, bro.”

“Night.” Logan dropped back onto the bed, adrenaline coursing through his veins like he'd chugged at least five cups of coffee. “Thanks.” I think.