I do, I do, I do (41 page)

"Honey girl," he said in a hoarse voice of wonder, "if you only knew how many times I've imagined this!" Sitting beside her, looking at her like she was a banquet, he drew his fingertips down the sides of her breasts, then gently rubbed his forefingers across the stiffening buds at the tips. He filled his hands, then bent his head and kissed and licked and nibbled and sucked until a half scream built in her throat.

Dropping back on the bed, she arched her body and whispered urgently. "The drawers. Help me with my drawers."

He tore them off and sent them flying over his shoulder. Then he just looked at her lying before him naked. "You are magnificent," he breathed, his brown-bear eyes soft. Almost reverently, he placed his hand over the triangle of curly red hair between her thighs. The heat of his hand sank deep into her, like a brand.

"Come here," she said in a throaty voice, opening her arms.

The hard, hot length of his body covered her, and he claimed her lips with his mouth, his fingers in the tangled fountain of curls. He kissed her breath away, kissed her senses away. And she loved the silky touch of his chest hair on her breasts, loved how their frantic heartbeats pounded as one and their legs wrapped together and their urgent hands found the right places.

Her fingers curled around him, and he dropped his head to the pillow with a low groan. "Clara, Clara."

Stroking and teasing, she turned her head and breathed in his ear until his member jumped in her hand and she felt him trembling.

Then he rose above her and gently guided her knees up. Leaning over her, he kissed her long and deep before he entered her. Slowly, carefully, watching her, he moved within her, and she sighed and arched to meet him. Joy lit his eyes, and he paused to clasp her in his arms. "My beautiful little Clara."

If there were no other reason, she would love him because he thought she was little. She grabbed his face and pulled his mouth down on hers, putting her heart and soul into a kiss that shook her to the center.

Passion exploded between them, a passion that demanded deep hard thrusts and the oil of sweat and cries of rapture. The powerful passion of gods coupling on Mount Olympus while lightning flashed and the heavens quaked.

At the height of their ecstasy, the ropes supporting the bouncing mattress broke with pinging snaps, one after another, and the mattress dropped to the floor, spilling them out on the rug. They scarcely noticed. Clara rolled on top of him, arched her throat, and rocked her body, feeling the burn of his hands on her hips and his mouth on her breasts.

Waves of dizzying sensation shivered through her. She couldn't see, couldn't think, could only soar and fall, soar and fall, mindlessly chanting his name. When her body slumped over him, he rolled her beneath him and thrust into her so fully, so fast and deep and hard that she thought the whole earth had slipped from its axis.

But it was the cabin. As Bear shouted her name and stiffened above her, the southern corner of the cabin rocked off its piling and smashed down on the frozen ground. An enormous crash sounded from the living room as the billiard table slid along the incline and then crashed against the south wall, bringing down the rest of the trophy heads. Tables and chairs followed, breaking apart as they smashed into the pile of debris.

The broken bed slid past them and slammed against the interior wall where the bureau had been. The bureau was now in the living room. They heard it crash and shatter against the billiard table.

Locked together, holding tight, Clara and Bear rolled downhill and hit the side slat of the broken bed.

As awareness slowly returned to Bear's gaze, he lifted his head and looked around. "My God," he breathed, staring down at her. "We wrecked my cabin!" Awe widened his eyes. "Good Lord, woman. You are the most magnificent creature who ever lived! I adore you. I worship the ground you walk on."

Laughing, Clara pushed the hair out of her eyes and struggled to sit up. "Give me one of your shirts, will you? We need to see what happened and make sure none of the lamps started a fire."

"I can see that I'm going to have to build us a house set in concrete! Never in my life have I had an experience that even came close to this! My house is wrecked, I'm covered with bruises. I don't think I could survive making love to you more than once a day." Grinning, he pulled himself off the floor and reached for the clothing swaying on the row of hooks. He tossed her a shirt and pulled on a pair of trousers. Then he did a double take and bent over her. "Is that a blue ribbon?"

"I believe it is," she said, trying to sound modest. When she extended her hand, he pulled her up, and she put on his shirt.

Laughing, he shook his head and then kissed her soundly. "Honey girl, if ever I saw a bottom that deserved a blue ribbon, yours is it."

"You were pretty spectacular yourself," Clara said, fluttering her eyelashes and giving him an admiring look. When he stepped toward her with that look in his eye, she placed a hand on his big muscled chest. "First, we better check out the damage."

He gave her a lingering kiss, then dug around in the corner of the bedroom until he found his rubber-soled boots that would grip the floor and help keep him from sliding down the sharp incline.

They made their way to the bedroom doorway and peered out. All the furniture was now a pile of broken rubble in the south corner. Fortunately, the fireplace was on the south wall, and the drop had not spilled out any flaming logs. But there was a small fire growing near the bedroom door.

While Bear beat out the flames with the bedroom rug, Clara crept toward the kitchen. The stove was wedged in the doorway. She called the news to Bear.

"Don't worry. It isn't hot. I'd planned a cold supper, a fried chicken picnic. Can we get to the food?"

"I've climbed Chilkoot Pass. I guess I can climb over a stove."

The kitchen was a god-awful mess of broken crockery, shattered jars, spilled flour and sugar. The smell of pickle brine rilled her nostrils. But she came back to the living room carrying their picnic basket.

Bear was beating out another small fire at the edge of the rubble. Clara watched him, remembering that her clothes were under the pile of debris. Well, she'd worry about that problem when it was time to get dressed.

" The roof's cracked, and the chinking fell out of the walls. It's going to get cold in here. I think we have time enough to eat and then wreck the other end of the house before we start to freeze."

Returning his grin, Clara pulled herself up into the bedroom. She pushed the broken bed aside and arranged the mattress to curve up the interior wall. They could sit on one half and rest their backs against the half leaning on the wall.

Once she'd created a place for them, she took stock of herself. She'd rolled his shirtsleeves up to her wrists, and the shirttail fell past her knees. She was mostly covered, but already she felt a flow of icy wind streaming through the house. What she wanted most right now was a hairbrush. Wild tangled hair curled down her back and frizzed around her face. But there wasn't a hope of finding her hairpins in the mess of debris.

"Why are you laughing?" Bear asked, pulling himself through the bedroom door. He dropped down on the mattress beside her and opened the picnic basket.

"I'm imagining Zoe's and Juliette's expression when I come home disheveled and wearing a set of your clothes." She would never hear the end of it. "Are you going to tell people how your cabin got wrecked?"

He handed her a chicken breast and a boiled egg. "If I did, I've have to fight every man in the Yukon because every one of them would beat a path to your door," he said, laughing.

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you blaming me for destroying your house?"

"Hell, no," he said, still laughing. "I'm giving you the credit." He bit into a chicken leg. "Clara girl, I can build another cabin. I'll build us a hundred of them, and if you wreck them all, I'll be a happy man."

And now came the moment that Zoe and Juliette had spoken of, a moment of pain so intense that Clara leaned forward and gasped, placing a hand on her side.

Bear blithely and happily assumed they had made a commitment tonight. This was the second time he had referred to building a house for them. Where they would live together happily ever after.

He stared at her with alarm. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, blinking at sudden tears. "Oh, Bear. You've been open and honest with me, but I…" She halted. "Do you smell smoke?"

"Smoke?" Lowering the chicken leg, he raised his head and sniffed. "I'm sure I put out the fires."

"It's getting stronger."

"You're right. I smell it, too."

He'd just reached for a napkin when the far corner of the bedroom burst into flames. For a stunned moment, neither of them moved. They stared at the fire in shock.

"This isn't possible," Bear said, frowning. "There were no lamps in that corner."

Clara scrambled up. There was no hope of beating out this fire. It was too hot, and spreading with stunning speed. "We have to get out!" Frantically, she looked around for something to cover her bare feet.

"Here." Bear tossed her two mismatched boots, a pair of his trousers, and a vest. "Go directly to the door and get out. I'll come as soon as I find our coats in the rubble."

She glanced at the fire, then up at his face. The fire was sweeping across the ceiling. "If you don't find the coats, immediately—"

"I'll get out. Go!"

Clutching the boots and clothing to her chest, Clara stumbled to the bedroom door. "Bear! The smashed end is on fire, too!" Smoke curling in the corner burst into fire with a soft whooshing sound and flames crawled over the rubble.

"This simply isn't possible. I don't… Go, honey girl, move!"

Slipping and sliding, she inched upward toward the outside door, now at the highest point of the lopsided cabin. The doorway would be four or five feet above the ground, and she'd have to jump. That wasn't a problem. The frigid cold would be. She tried not to wonder how long they could survive without adequate clothing. Long enough to walk a mile back to the Lake Bennett camp? Not now, think about it later. Right now, all she had to do was get out.

At the steepest slant, her feet went out from under her, and she would have slid helplessly down the length of the living room and into the flames if Bear hadn't caught her. Gripping his shoulders, she watched the boots and extra clothing tumble toward the corner and disappear into the smoke and fire.

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. She was going to jump out of the burning cabin wearing only a shirt. "One thing at a time," he said, understanding. "First we get out. Then, there should be some extra blankets in the kennel."

Nodding, she turned and half crawled, half climbed to the door. All she had to do was touch the latch and the door swung inward. Instantly a rush of numbing cold raised goose bumps on her bare legs and throat.

In front of her, the shadow of the house wavered across the snow, its outline framed in flickering red and orange. She had an absurd urge to hold her nose as she jumped out of the burning house as if she were jumping into water instead of snow. The instant she hit the snow, she rolled out of the way so Bear could jump after her.

She heard him hit the ground as she pushed to her feet, feeling first an icy cold on her toes and soles, then a burning sensation.

"Clara! I figured it out. This is an ambush! Get down!"

She heard a whack and stupidly stared at a flying chip gouged out of the cabin side. Then Bear was in front of her, his big hands pushing on her shoulders.

He stiffened, his fingers dug into her flesh, then he arched backward and fell in the snow, rolling to rest facedown. To her horror, she saw blood on his back. Lifting her head, confused and horrified, she peered toward the woods.

She heard the shot just as a burning punch struck her in the shoulder and spun her around. Before she fell, another bullet ripped through her side.

Chapter 20