Blackwolf's Redemption. Sandra Marton
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nodded. Her hair had come loose. He’d thought it was brown, but it wasn’t. It was gold. Beige. Brown. And what in hell did the color of her hair matter? Quickly, he got to his feet.
“Good,” he said briskly. “Because you’re going to have to listen closely. And cooperate, if we’re going to get down safely.”
She looked up at him. “What happened to me?”
Her voice was soft, still shocked. He couldn’t afford that; she’d be too much a liability unless she got a grip on reality.
“Lightning.”
She nodded. “I remember. It was green. How could lightning be green?”
It was an excellent question. Lightning, especially here, came in lots of colors. Red. White. A kind of electric blue. But green?
“Save the questions for later,” he said brusquely. “Right now, what matters is getting off this ledge.”
She swallowed. Ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips.
“I’m, uh, I’m not much for heights.”
That explained why she hadn’t tried to look into the canyon again. It sure as hell didn’t explain how she’d gotten herself up here—and then a thought came to him.
“Do you have an accomplice?”
She stared up at him. “A what?”
“Is there anyone with you?” There had to be. Jesse moved to the edge of their stony platform and peered down, scanning the canyon floor as he’d once scanned for the ‘Cong. Nobody. Nothing. Only Cloud, swishing his plume of a tail and munching on the leaves of a shrub.
“Yes,” the woman said slowly. “Of course!” She stood up, keeping her eyes on the mountain, but she wobbled a little. Instinctively, Jesse moved quickly to her and gathered her against him. “Jack. Jack and the others.”
“They abandoned you.”
“No. They’re at the foot of the mountain.”
“They’re gone,” Jesse said harshly. “They let you risk your life for nothing. There’s nothing here to steal. The guardian stones, the sacred stone itself, are too big. And there’s nothing else.” His mouth twisted. “Your people made off with whatever was up here fifty years ago.”
“My people?” She glared up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
What, indeed? She was white. So what? He was, too. Half white, anyway, and what did it matter? He’d never given a damn about anyone’s color. It was just that there was something about this woman that was disturbing.
“Okay,” he said gruffly. “Here’s the plan.” An overstatement, but she didn’t have to know that. “I’m going to link our belts together. I’ll fasten one end around your wrist, the other around me. I’ll go down first and you’ll watch every move I make. You got that? Every single move, because one misstep and…Damn it, what now?”
Sienna Cummings was shaking her head. “I’m not climbing down this mountain.”
“What will you do, then?” Jesse’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Wish yourself down?”
The look she gave him was hot with defiance.
“I’m going to wake up.”
Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m dreaming. This is a dream. It has to be. I am definitely not standing on a ledge halfway up a mountain, talking to a man who—who looks as if he stepped out of Central Casting for a movie starring John Wayne.” A curl of golden brown hair blew over her lip; she shoved it behind her ear and her chin rose a little higher. “John Wayne is dead, and I am dreaming. End of story.”
Jesse almost laughed. She was a tough piece of work. Whatever else she was, he had to admire her for that.
“I’ve got news for you, baby. John Wayne’s alive. And this is no dream.”
“Wrong on both counts,” she said. If her chin went up any higher, she’d tumble over backward. “John Wayne is history. And I am sound asleep in my tent. There’s not a way in the world you can make me think otherwise.” Her eyes—more violet than ever—narrowed. “This is not real.”
“You’re wasting valuable time. The sun’s beating straight down. The descent’s going to be tough enough without factoring in the heat.”
“No,” she said, though now there was a faint quaver in her voice, “I told you, this isn’t real.”
“It damned well is,” Jesse snarled, and he proved it by pulling her into his arms, bending his head and covering her mouth with his.
CHAPTER THREE
SIENNA gasped as the stranger’s arms closed around her.
“Don’t,” she said, or tried to say, but he was too quick, too strong, too determined. She tried to twist her face away but that didn’t work, either. All he had to do was slide one hand into her hair, cup the back of her head and bring his mouth down on hers.
There was no way to call this a kiss. It was a hard imprint of his flesh on hers, a ruthless demonstration of sheer masculine power.
He wanted to show her that she was helpless against him.
But she wasn’t.
Her work took her to places that were often desolate and dangerous. She’d studied martial arts, and her instructor’s advice—look for an opening or create one—had saved her on a dig in the jungles of Peru, as well as on the streets of Manhattan. It would save her now. All she had to do was force herself to relax. Her assailant would follow suit by easing his hold on her. Then she’d bring up her knee and jam it, hard, into his crotch.
Wrong. Nothing about him relaxed.
If anything, as soon as she stopped struggling, he drew her even closer.
Her palms spread helplessly over sun-heated skin stretched taut over hard-muscled flesh. He tilted her head back, giving him greater access to her mouth. Sienna whimpered and tried to bite him. It was another misjudgment. As soon as her lips parted, his tongue swept into her mouth.
And everything changed.
What had been cold calculation turned hot and wild. She felt the press of his erection against her belly; the taste of him on her lips became dark and exciting. She heard herself make a little sound, almost a purr. No, she thought desperately, but even as she thought it, she was leaning into him, rising to him…
With a suddenness that left her reeling, he caught her by the shoulders and put her from him. She knew her cheeks were flushed, but when she looked at him, his face was expressionless. That frightened her even more than the way he’d kissed her.. .and the way she’d reacted.
Except, she hadn’t. She hadn’t! She wasn’t the kind of woman turned on by displays of macho male power. She was a woman of the twenty-first century and behavior like this had gone out decades ago.
Still, for that one, heart-stopping instant…
Sienna forced the thought aside. She looked up at the stranger. Deliberately, slowly, she wiped the back of her hand over her lips and then against her jeans.
“Do that again,” she said in a low voice, “and I’ll kill you.”
“Give me a hard time again,” he said in mocking imitation of her, “I’ll leave you up here and the only life you’ll take will be your own.” His mouth twisted. “Do you get it now? This is reality. You’re not dreaming.”
“Is using force the way you generally make a point?”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Only when there’s no other choice. A man does what he