Primal Calling (4 page)

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she laid her head on her knees.

“Okay. I think it's good.” Was that Max? Serena raised her head. He came around the nose of the plane, his stride sure and his gaze steady, a tall handsome Inuit in his fur parka and boots come to rescue her from the cold.

“Hold on.” He pulled one cooler down, then the other. His hands were red and raw. The wing started rising and he reached up to catch her as she slid off.

But her legs wouldn't hold her and she would have fallen to her knees except he caught her against him, his arms a powerful vise around her. Their lips were almost touching and despite her shivering she felt something stir inside her, in her chest and between her thighs. The heat from his body surrounded her and the heat in his eyes scorched her.

For a moment she thought he would kiss her again.

“Mags.” Why was she slurring her words?

He pulled back and scowled. “Your lips are blue. Why didn't you say something?” He swung her up into his arms, carried her to the passenger door and opened it.
“Get inside.” He set her down in the seat, then tugged his parka off over his head. “Put this on.” He tossed it at her and marched away.

“But—”

“Just put it on and crawl into the back, get on the tarp.” As she slid the warm parka on, he loaded the toolbox and crate through the driver's side door. From the crate he pulled a lantern, lit it and handed it to her. “This should heat you up. You have hypothermia.”

The coolers and boxes got shoved back into the plane. Max whistled and Mickey barked and came running. Then man and dog both jumped into the plane. But the man crawled into the back with her.

“Look at me,” he commanded as he held her chin between his thumb and fingers. His stare was intense as he examined her face. He pulled a large knife from his boot.

Her eyes widened on the knife and then on him.

Catching her look, he snarled. “It's to open a can.” He twisted around, dug into the crate and pulled out a big can of stew. “You need to eat.” He punctured a hole in the metal and began cutting it open.

Now she felt like an idiot for doubting him. Why was he being so nice? Taking care of her, after what she'd done? This was all her fault. “I'll d-do it.” Her voice, her whole body, was shaking uncontrollably. “You g-go ahead and f-fly the plane.”

He grunted. “We'll leave in the morning.”

“We c-can't leave now? I thought you s-said it was fixed?”

“The sun's almost down. If the gear doesn't hold during takeoff we could break something else. Something I really can't repair.”

Resolved to spending the night here, she nodded. She was shivering less now. She was so hungry she'd eat the stew cold. But Max replaced the top of the lantern with a flat attachment and set the can on top of that to heat. Then he reached into the crate and pulled out a silver flask.

“Drink.” He shoved the flask into her hands.

“What is it?” She unscrewed the lid and sniffed.

“Whiskey.” He stirred the stew with his knife and raised an eyebrow at her.

Giving him a fake smile, she took a swig. And gasped. She wasn't used to the hard stuff. White wine was her idea of booze. But she felt it travel all the way down and heat curled in her belly. She took another swig and tried not to make a face while she swallowed it this time.

“Thanks.” She handed the flask to him and he took a long swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing just above the collar of his faded sweatshirt. “Texas State Technical College?” She gestured to the words on his shirt. “That's a long way from Alaska.”

Glancing down at his shirt, he shrugged. “My father lives there.”

“So, you stayed with him while you got your degree?”

“Stew's hot.” Using a grease rag as an oven mitt, he lifted the can off the lantern top and poured three helpings onto metal plates from the crate. He produced two
metal spoons, handed her one and then gave the third plate to Mickey, who wolfed it down.

Wolfing it down would be a fair description of how she ate it, as well. It was good and filling. “Delicious. Thank you again.”

He nodded, gathering up the plates and giving them to Mickey, who licked theirs clean too.

“What kind of dog is Mickey?”

“Part malamute, part something else. A mixed breed. Like me.” He drank from the flask again.

“Your mother's Iñupiat?”

“You need to know that for your story?” He glared at her.

Whoa. Touchy subject. “I was just making conversation.”

“What the hell'd you think you were going to learn sneaking aboard my plane?”

“I was—” she focused on her hands and gripped the soft fur of his parka, ashamed to look him in the eyes “—following up on a rumor.” It seemed ludicrous now, wearing his parka, eating his food, to accuse him of drug trafficking. She just wasn't capable of being objective when it came to him. Or maybe she wouldn't ever be capable.

“Which one? The drugs? The murders, or the Russian spy?”

“Oh, I hadn't heard the Russian spy one.”

He snorted. “Some reporter you are.”

If he only knew. “I'm not.”

“What?”

“I'm not a reporter. I'm the hostess of a cable show called
Travel in Style
. I was filming a show on the Iditarod.”

He blinked. “You're a…TV personality?”

“Yes. You could call me that.”

“Huh.” He rubbed a palm across his beard. “So, what? You're doing a piece on how
not
to travel?”

“No.” She cringed. “Not at all. I wanted to do this piece on genocide, but the network execs won't let me and every time I try to do a real investigative report they give it to someone else and I need to find a way to make them take me serious—” realizing she'd been rambling, she looked up at him “—ly.”

He was staring at her as if she were a three-headed walrus.

“I really am sorry about all this.” She reached a hand out to cover his white-knuckled fist. “But wouldn't you like a chance to prove all those rumors false?”

“No.” He jerked his hand from hers, took the lantern and turned to crawl into the front of the plane and open the door.

“Wait.”

He paused but didn't look back.

“I, um, I need to…”

His gaze cut to hers. “Come on then.” Mumbling to himself something about troublesome females, he swung down to the ground and then as she tried to follow him out the door, he handed her the lantern, grabbed her around her back and under her legs and lifted her out. And didn't put her down.

“I can walk now.”

“The hypothermia can make you weak and lethargic.”

But truth be told, she didn't mind being snuggled like this in his arms. It was full dark out now and here in the middle of nowhere the blackness seemed to cut them off from everyone. As if they were on their own planet. But she wasn't scared at all. In fact she felt safer here, with Max, than in her condo in L.A. No way he was a cold-blooded killer. The man might be cranky, but there was grief in his dark eyes.

There was a story here. She'd just pursue it later.

His faded sweatshirt was soft and hugged his firm chest. He smelled clean and crisp, slightly of oil, but with just the right amount of musky man sweat. With a sigh, she laid her head down on his shoulder and nuzzled her cold nose into his warm neck.

He stopped midstride. “Don't.”

No doubt he intended to sound threatening. But right now all she heard was the hunger in his voice, and the promise in his tone. And her body answered with its own primal need. She raised her head.

He started walking again.

Well. That put her in her place.

He set her gently on her feet behind a short shrub, walked a few paces away and turned his back.

Mortification filled her. She just couldn't. “I have some tissues and wet wipes in my purse. Would you mind?”

“What about the wolves?”

She had to think about that. Which was worse? No contest. “I'll take my chances with the wolves.”

Before trudging off to find her purse, he grunted, but it sounded more like a covered-up laugh.

If her fans could see her now. Serena of the “make no apologies for requiring five-star accommodations” fame. Who never stayed anywhere without a spa and a pillow-top mattress. Now her nails were chipped and broken, her hair was a rat's nest of tangles and she'd just peed out in the open wilderness. And she had the hots for a scruffy-faced mountain man who'd just as soon she dropped dead.

A long, lonesome wolf's howl sounded way too close. “Max?”

Nothing.

Great. Here she was with her backside hanging out in the wind. She reached to pull her pants up and—something big rustled in the shrub right next to her then bumped into her leg. She jumped back and screamed, scrambling to pull up her jeans.

Max came pouncing into the bush, brandishing his knife in one hand and her purse in the other. “What is it?”

She threw herself against him and pressed her nose into his chest. “Something scuttled past me down there.”

Dropping her purse, he grabbed up the lantern and searched the shrubs. “Probably just a marmot or a woodchuck.”

He'd come to her rescue prepared to fight off whatever
might have hurt her. Check off number two on the sexy he-man list. She jerked her head up to look into his eyes. “I'm so glad you're here.”

His face was unreadable. He had a grease smear on his left temple. But his eyes, they gave away his true feelings.

She rose up on her toes and kissed his lips.

He pulled away, his eyes flared in surprise. Then, with a hoarse groan, he swept her up into his arms again and headed double-time for the airplane. She kissed his neck, behind his ear, along his jaw and finally covered his mouth.

The ferocity of his lips as he took control of the kiss stunned her, but only for a split second. She gripped the sides of his face and matched his passion with her own. Lips, teeth, tongue all met their equal in giving pleasure.

There was fumbling behind her and then she was set into the pilot's seat. His mouth not letting her go, he followed her in. She crawled into the back, reaching for the zipper on her coat, and he followed her.

There was a frantic tangling of arms and clothes and mouths as he yanked his parka over her head and pulled her coat off her shoulders. She reached for him, but he slapped her hands away as he lifted her sweater, tugged it off over her head and set his lips on her breast, kissing down to the edge of her bra and following the lace across the middle and over to her other breast. His hands squeezed her waist and he groaned, his breath hot against her skin.

Serena squirmed as if on fire, needing more. She ran her palms beneath his sweatshirt, caressing his pecs and reveling in the light dusting of hair. With her other hand she reached down and cupped the erection straining against his jeans.

He groaned again and pushed her hand away, panting to catch his breath. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Are you this desperate for a story?”

Her hungry mouth dropped open. “I…this isn't for a story.”

His expression hardened. “Right.” He rose off of her and jumped out of the plane into the dark.

Heart hammering, Serena stared after him. He didn't believe her. Ironically, she'd been telling the truth. She hadn't thought about the story at all. How could she have let herself get so carried away? How could she investigate him if she slept with him? Very professional, there, Sandstone. Her first real chance to make the grade as an investigative reporter and she'd almost blown it for a quick romp in the back of a plane with a coarse mountain man.

So why did she wish he hadn't stopped?

M
AX STALKED
away from the plane, slipping on the ice, and then trudged through the knee-deep snow into the blackness. Mickey barked and he yelled at the dog to stay. He had to get away from that woman before he lost whatever shred of pride he had left.

If he didn't know how dangerous it was, he'd yank off his sweatshirt and let the frigid air cool his heated body. He wanted to accuse her of being a tease, but she was doing them both a favor. Now that he could think straight again, he could admit what a mistake he'd almost made. To make it with someone like her in the fuselage of his plane? He didn't even carry a condom in his wallet.

But he still wanted her.

How the hell was he going to spend the whole night with her in that plane? Alone. With Ms. Long-silky-legs.

Long silky legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locked at his back. He groaned.
Stop it, Taggert.

If only she weren't so damn sexy, or if it hadn't been longer than he could remember since he'd felt a woman's body beneath him, he could ignore the hunger.

The farther he clomped through the snow, the cooler his lust got and the saner his thoughts became. What he should be worried about was the curse. He still had to get her safely to Nome. He avoided being responsible for anyone but himself nowadays. And that meant no passengers on his plane whenever possible.

But tomorrow he'd have no choice.

He came up on the edge of the tree line. Without a moon, he could barely see a few feet in front of him. He should go back. A low growl and a bark came from the forest. Snapping on his flashlight, he scanned the brush and then went completely still as his gaze landed on two round eyes glowing intently at him.

He'd been half kidding about wolves being in the area, mostly trying to scare his annoying stowaway. But he'd heard the howl and, sure enough, those were a wolf's eyes getting closer. The big animal moved toward him, silently padding his way out of the dense thicket of trees.

Max remained still, the weight of the knife in his boot a reassurance. The wolf was huge, bigger than Mickey. And completely white.

An owl hooted in the darkness. Max jumped and looked up at the sound of flapping wings as a large white bird flew out of the woods. The hairs on his neck stood up. It was a snowy owl.

As a boy, his grandmother had told him stories of a
white wolf lost in the wilderness and the snowy owl that would someday come to lead it home. She'd called the white owl his spirit guide. As Max stared at the gleaming eyes, now only a yard away, the wolf suddenly sat. His tongue lolled out in a shallow pant.

Frowning, Max dropped to his haunches, his forearms balanced on his knees. Where was this wolf's pack? Were they waiting for him in the forest just beyond Max's sight? Or was this guy a loner, like him? Separated from his pack for some reason. As he stared at the animal, all sense of time faded and something washed over him, filling him with unease. Change was coming. He didn't like change.

The wolf stood, turned and trotted off, back into the woods.

Max realized he was shivering violently and would have to return to the plane before he became hypothermic.

Using the light shining from the plane's window as a beacon, he made his way back and climbed inside the cargo hold. He stopped, holding his position on one knee just behind the pilot's seat. Mickey, the traitor, was curled up next to the woman. At least he raised his head and whined his happiness at Max's return. The woman wasn't quite so enthused.

She was scowling, huddled inside the tarp, her hands extended to the butane lantern, palms out. “Where were you? I didn't know if you'd left me to d—”

“To die? Like I did the others?”

She had the decency to appear ashamed.

He crouched closer to the lantern and rummaged for his parka.

“You're shivering. Here.” She drew his parka out from inside the tarp and tossed it at him. While he slipped it over his head, he spied her raising his flask to her mouth. She knocked back several swallows.

“Go easy on that,” he said, hoping she'd left some for him. But no such luck. “You drank it all?”

“I was scared. And cold.” She pouted.

Mumbling his favorite curse words under his breath, he pulled his knife from his boot.

She scooted away. “Hey, I'm sorry.”

“Dammit, lady, if I was going to kill you I'd have done it this morning and spent the day in peace and quiet.” He took the knife and cut open one of the boxes nearest him. Ah, Ireland's finest. A prime bottle of Jameson. He'd take the price out of his fee. Arnaaluk wouldn't mind. These were extreme circumstances.

He twisted off the cap and took a long, sweet pull. The whiskey burned all the way down and warmed his insides. He was beginning to get some feeling back into his fingers and cheeks.

“Can I have some?” She sounded so dejected he took pity on her and held out the bottle.

As she accepted it from him, their fingers touched. Their gazes met and he knew she was remembering where his hands had been. He was remembering the feel of her palm pressing against his zipper.

Glancing away, she matched his long pull on the bottle and then some. “Mmm.” She took another long sip.
“I don't usually drink hard liquor, but this stuff is delissous—delishust.” She closed her eyes. “It's good.”

“That's enough for you.” He tried to take it from her but she held it behind her, out of reach.

“No!” She scowled at him again, then took another sip.

He snatched the bottle from her grasp.

“Hey!”

“I don't need you puking your guts up in my plane.”

Her face assumed a haughty expression. “I'll have you know I've flown around the world and I've never—” she hiccupped “—puked.”

“Is that so?” Max settled against the side of the plane, rested his arm across his raised knee and took a long swallow from the bottle.

She hiccupped again and covered her mouth with her hand. “I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?”

He shrugged. “You'll be back in the lower forty-eight this time tomorrow.”

She frowned and her bottom lip stuck out. “That's not what I meant. I don't want to go back. I can't.”

Despite a few slurred words, she seemed to have sobered remarkably. “Why not?”

“I'm quitting.”

Max blinked. “You've got this cushy job in television and you quit just so you can investigate me? You're not as bright as you look.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “Anybody with an attractive face could do what I was doing. I want to make a difference. I want to expose atrocities, illuminate
corruption and hold tyrants accountable for their crimes against humanity.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Good luck with that.”

“Mock me if you want, but that's a journalist's job.” She jabbed her finger at the air in front of him. “To bring stories to the public that can change the world. Make it better.”

He'd never met such a naive Pollyanna. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why would you put yourself out there for people you don't even know?”

“What does knowing them have to do with anything?”

“Haven't you ever heard the expression no good deed goes unpunished? Live and let live.”

“That's your philosophy? You leave the world alone and the world leaves you alone, is that it?”

“It's worked so far.” He gave her a pointed look. “Until today.”

“Imagine if everyone believed as you do. After Katrina hit New Orleans, there were thousands of us volunteers helping with the cleanup effort. All it takes for evil to win is for good men to do nothing.”

“Right. So, you've trapped a murderer in the middle of nowhere. The world is safer already.”

“You're not a murderer. But you are hiding something.”

“Just because I don't want to spill my guts to a stranger, I'm hiding something? Maybe there's a reason you're only a travel guide.”

She flinched as if he'd slapped her. Hellfire, his barb had done more than sting. She looked as if he'd crushed her spirit. He started to apologize but her expression hardened and she tipped her chin up. “If there's no story here, why don't you simply tell me what happened three years ago?”

He clenched his fists, his teeth grinding. Anything was better than the expression of defeat returning to her face. He chose his words with care. “The plane crashed. People…died.” He raised the bottle of Jameson to his lips and gulped down the whiskey. Damn. His hand was shaking. “It happens.”

She was blessedly silent. But of course that didn't last. “It must have been awful,” she whispered. “I'm sorry.”

The searing pain, his friends' bloody faces, flashed through his mind, but he shoved the visions away and cleared his throat. “Can you get your job back?”

It was her turn to shrug. “My contract's not up until July. But if I don't show up in Buenos Aires in two weeks, I'll be in breach.”

“If all goes well, we'll be in Nome by lunchtime.”

“I told you, I'm not going back.” She lowered her gaze to the lantern. “Not yet anyway.”

“Do what you want. As long as you're off my hands.”

“Couldn't I ride with you to Barrow? I'll pay you.”

“I don't carry people. Only cargo.”

“Anymore.”

“What?”

“You mean you don't carry people
anymore
. But you used to.”

“I'm going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.” After taking one more swig of the whiskey, he screwed the lid on, pulled up his hood and dropped his head back, eyes closed.

As if he was really going to get any sleep with her this close to him. The cargo area was so small, he could reach out his arm and touch her. Every breath brought her sultry scent teasing his senses. He could hear her shivery breathing, imagine her chest rising and falling. Before he knew it, he was picturing her breasts naked and in his hands, imagining himself pulling off her jeans and panties…

Damn.

“Max?”

“What?” He refused to open his eyes. He'd only be tempted by deep blue orbs and sensuous red lips.

“Good night.”

He grunted, and heard the tarp rustling until she settled down. Between the lantern and the heat from Mickey and the woman, he was warm enough. But a cold chill ran up his spine at the thought of flying with her in his plane to Nome tomorrow.

He could only hope seeing the snowy owl meant the curse on him had been lifted. Maybe his wandering soul would return now.

 

S
ERENA SNUGGLED
closer to the heat. The lantern had gone out sometime ago and her back was freezing. But
her front was toasty warm, her cheek rubbing against something soft. The dog? She ran her hand down its side. No. It wasn't anything long haired. More smooth and supple. Like suede. Her hand came to the fur-lined edge and moved farther down, over denim and metal. Mmm. Long, hot, hard.

Her sleeping self wanted it. She cupped its length and caressed it. From under her ear a groan rumbled in its chest and a large warm hand covered hers and gripped it as he pushed into her palm.

She lifted her head and gasped. Max.

In the darkness his mouth found hers and kissed her with desperate intent. Before she could protest, he'd rolled her to her back and nudged a knee between her legs. But why would she protest? She wanted this. Wanted him. To communicate her need she clutched his head and combed her fingers through his long hair. And when he fumbled with the button on her jeans, she pushed his hand away and took over.

“Serena,” he moaned.

“Yes, oh yes,” she whispered as she helped him tug his parka over his head. Then she went to work on his jeans. His breath felt hot on her neck as he nuzzled in, nipping and kissing down the column of her throat to the edge of her sweater. But she wanted more of his hungry kisses, so she abandoned the zipper on his jeans and grasped his head again, using her grip on his hair to tug his lips back to hers.

Impatient to feel his skin against hers, she helped him tug down his jeans and hers. His callused hand
stroked her stomach, and slowly his fingers slid under her panties. A needy moan escaped her as he cupped her shaved folds. She parted her thighs and lifted her hips to encourage his exploration, but he didn't seem to need encouragement. His fingers moved in unison to caress her until one long digit slipped inside. Plunging deep and pulling back out while the heel of his hand rubbed her clit. It was a concert where all the instruments collaborated to send her soaring into an exquisite crescendo.

As she caught her breath, he began round two. Switching his weight to his other elbow, he ran a hand under her sweater and cupped her breast over her bra. He thumbed her nipple until she whimpered and reached down to yank both sweater and bra off over her head. She left her arms in the sleeves and kept them raised above her, begging him, “Lick them.”

With a raspy groan he obeyed. She felt his soft lips surround one nipple and suckle, and then his tongue teased just the tip. She moaned and wiggled beneath him, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp aching sensation that traveled straight from her nipples to the inner passage between her thighs. His hand cupped her other breast and played with its tight nipple, gently pinching and rolling it.

She was panting.

Dragging off his sweatshirt, he slid his arm around her back to lift her, and spread the soft cotton beneath her shoulders. She couldn't help the little hum of delight. His warmth and woodsy scent surrounded her.

Lying there in only her panties, she should have been freezing, but Max's muscular body heated her blood. Their passion seemed to warm the entire plane. Needing more of that heat, she reached for the band of his briefs.

He stayed her hand. “Say you want me. And say my name again.”

Cupping his cheek in her palm, she pulled his lips down to hers. “I want you, Max.”