Читать книгу Playing With Fire - Carrie Alexander, Carrie Alexander - Страница 6

SAVAGE WAS hunting her.

Lara sensed his presence in every cell of her body—from the prickling hairs at her nape to the heat zinging through her bloodstream to the nervousness of her dancing feet. She panted shallowly, trying to calm herself. To quell the urge to flee. If she lost her head and ran without reason, it would be as easy as child’s play for him to swoop down and snap her up.

This was anything but child’s play.

Holding her breath, she crouched in the parchment leaves to listen for him. Was he near?

She heard only the normal sounds of the forest—minute raspings and tickings and scattershot scurries of tiny claws. The wind sighed, passing overhead with a scraping of bare branches and the whispered brush of evergreen boughs.

Several orangy-gold leaves drifted to the ground. Her alert gaze followed their meandering path. A woodpecker’s rat-a-tat-tat sounded in the distance, echoing the beat of her racing heart.

She bowed her head, allowing herself to slowly exhale like a leaking balloon even as she remained on edge, every sense deliciously heightened. Her instincts had never been sharper; her reactions were hair-trigger.

A pheasant flapped through the undergrowth right beside her and she reflexively jerked forward into a ready position as if under the starter’s pistol. Her pulse escalated. A frisson of fear rippled across her skin. Savage must be near! And yet there was no sign of him….

Waiting for him to pounce was unbearable. At a sudden loud cracking sound in the forest behind her, Lara sprang forward. Knowing her flight was both precipitous and foolhardy, she raced through the stand of mixed hardwoods, dodging broad trunks and saplings alike, leaping fallen logs, her loose hair streaming behind her like a lick of golden sun-fire.

“Aye-yi-yi-yi-eee!”

The barbaric howl was bloodcurdling. Lara skidded to a stop, moccasins kicking up a flurry of dry autumn leaves. Slowly she turned toward the hunter’s call.

Savage was there, silhouetted on the crest. His legs were set firmly apart, his arms hanging relaxed at his sides even though he had to be as wired as she, consumed by the thrill of the hunt as he searched the forest floor for the sight of her.

Lara licked her lips, eyes feverishly skimming the woods to plot an escape route before being drawn relentlessly back to the man who was determined to claim her as his own. Even knowing that he would soon spot her, would descend upon her—conquering, powerful male to the core—she could not move. Her skin crawled with a tingling heat.

Savage’s chin lifted. His nostrils flared.

She swallowed thickly. He could smell her.

Ohhh. Her knees weakened, as if a swoon was imminent. It was only a matter of time before—

Stop. She gritted her teeth. Slammed shut her eyes, fighting the yearning to succumb to his strong pull, his treacherous and insidious spell. From the start, something in the man had spoken to her. And she to him. Even now, hunter and hunted, they were…they were…

They were one.

She knew the instant he saw her. Her lids flew open. Her heart gave a leap. Of apprehension…and excitement.

He did not move. Instead, he watched her, his fingers slowly curling inward, the muscles of his thighs clenched in preparation.

He cocked his head. Through the slanting rays of the low sun she could see the predatory glint in his eyes. “Lara,” he called, voice low and smooth as he dragged her name out until it merged with the sighing wind. “La-a-a-raaah…”

For a moment she was frozen. Mesmerized.

Only when he started down the hill to complete her capture did she shudder back to life with a shrill yelp. She shot off through the woods again.

The forest blurred into a tapestry of golds and grays and greens. She was as fleet as a doe, her legs flying, the hem of her red print skirt bunched in either hand, bare thighs and knee-high moccasins flashing with each scissored stride. She had little trouble placing Savage now. He was crashing through the woods behind her, no longer tracking her in silent stealth. And he was gaining—rapidly.

She had the advantage of knowing the terrain better than he. Disappearing over the top of a ridge, she slid on her heels down the steep slope opposite. Taking a few precious seconds, she camouflaged her obvious trail with leaves, scooping up crisp handfuls and scattering them over the gouges she’d made in the dark, soft earth.

Temporarily out of sight on the other side, Savage whooped again. The primal sound of it sent icy fingertips tapping up and down Lara’s spine, but this time she didn’t stop.

Finding the worn path that wound around the base of the ridge, she followed it north toward home, leaving no footprints on the hard-packed dirt. Back on the hillside, Savage scuffled through the leaves over her skid marks. She knew that at any moment he’d skirt the thicket of balsam and pine and catch a glimpse of her brightly colored dress.

She left the trail, slipping silently beneath the fragrant drooping boughs of an ancient evergreen. A pinecone crunched underfoot and she froze, not even daring to breathe as she listened for her hunter.

The electric silence was a bad sign. Very bad. Lara knew she’d run out of options. The house was less than a half mile away, but she’d never outrun him. Instead she caught a vertical limb of the nearest big elm and swung, kicking her legs up in a froth of white petticoat to hook around a branch. A few moments later she was halfway up, pressed to the trunk and trying not to pant as Savage appeared on the path, only seconds behind her.

He moved as soundlessly and swiftly as an Indian scout, ducking in and out of her line of vision as he continued past her hiding place. She let out a silent breath and relaxed just the slightest bit. Perhaps for once she’d bested him.

In her head she counted out sixty seconds, then sixty more. When she was fairly certain he’d continued on, she forced herself to move away from the relative safety of the tree trunk. Cool golden leaves, gentle as a lover’s palm, caressed her face and shoulders as she inched along the sturdy branch. Holding tight to the tree’s limbs, she ducked to peer past its foliage, scanning the empty trail and surrounding wood. Savage was nowhere to be seen.

She breathed a sigh of relief, head dropping forward in a prayerful bow, eyes closed. He was gone. Another deep breath.

She’d avoided capture.

She’d won the game. Sort of.

After a minute, an uneasy foreboding began to nibble at Lara’s triumph. Slowly she lifted her face.

And found herself staring directly into Savage’s molten pewter eyes. He smiled.

Like a wolf, like the natural predator that he was.