Primal Obsession by Susan Vaughan Page B

howling success.
    Speaking of headlines, maybe this caretaker they’d see tomorrow would have word of the outside world, even about the Hunter or the MCU’s progress in tracing him. All she could tune in on her tiny radio was static.
    She slipped her tablet into her tent and followed Sam.
    The path wound through fragrant cedars and came out on the west side of the spit of land. Sitting on a slab of granite, Sam gazed at the river and the green mountains beyond. His slumped shoulders and arms wrapped around his knees reminded her of Frank.
    She ought to leave him to brood. Approaching him would send the wrong signals, would make him think she cared. She didn’t care. In spite of his charm and intelligence, he was too macho and too physical. And too bound up in his problems. She should turn around and head back to camp. Still, she’d figured out something he should know.
    “You might as well come sit down, princess. Gonna be a great sunset.” Without turning toward her, he patted the flat granite beside him.
    “Don’t call me princess.” Her thighs shook like Jell-O as she eased onto the rock beside him. The rays of the lowering sun washed the few clouds with shades of mauve and rose. Odors of campfire smoke and grilled chicken drifted on the air. “How’d you know I was here?”
    He laughed, a deep masculine rumble that tingled through her. She clenched her teeth against the attraction. “Your stealth wouldn’t give old Thoreau’s Penobscot scout any competition. Too much noise. How’s the arm?”
    “Aches a bit, but the swelling’s going down. Lucky I brought the meds. I’ve learned from a lifetime of Mother Nature’s tricks.”
    He stretched out his long legs and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Look at that sky. Makes up for a lousy day.”
    “You’re wasting time brooding about that lousy day.” Dam, she liked the feel of his arm around her. She ought to remove it.
    “Who’s brooding? Now you’re a mind reader?”
    His scowl didn’t fool her. “Goes with the territory. I’m a journalist, remember?” She scooted to the side, shrugging away his arm.
    He rubbed his scarred hand. His lack of reaction to her rebuff was one more indication of his dark mood. “Damnation, how did we wander so far off course? Should have practiced more with the compasses. Did I check the calculations? Hell, I don’t know.”
    He’d shaved after washing in the river, and his smooth, strong jaw was close enough to touch. One deep dimple was close enough to explore. Sparks zipped over her skin.
    Before his clean masculine scent and the sunset’s romance reduced her to his sex slave, she’d better get to why she came. She slipped her bushwhack notes from her pocket. “I know why our navigating put us in foul territory today.”
    A grin lit his handsome face. His eyelashes lowered as he clasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His mustache tickled her palm. “Mmm, I love it when you talk baseball.”
    “Seriously, Sam.” She ought to pull away, but his big, blunt fingers felt too good, scars or no. “See the erasures in these last two compass readings? That 60 should be 100 due east, and the 100 should be 120. Someone changed them.” She pointed to the numbers that had led them to the wrong cove.
    He peered at the paper. “You’re saying—”
    She shivered at the cool air replacing his warmth. “Your guiding expertise is not in question.”
    The smile beaming from under his sexy mustache licked her with heat. She wanted to test the texture of that mustache some more. So thick, so luxuriant. If he kissed her, would it feel bristly or soft against her face?
    “Princess, you’ve saved my day.” His whisky-colored gaze perused her face, settled on her mouth. Had he read her thoughts? He pulled her against the hard wall of his chest and lowered his mouth to hers. “A quick smooch won’t do it.”
    She would’ve protested, but his tawny eyes and sun-warmed scent mesmerized her.
    His lips met hers with