Black Hills

But I’m looking at you, Lil, and I know we’re not done. You know it, too.”
    He sat on the bench with her, sipped his wine, and poked at the photos she had fanned out beside the files. “Is this South America?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s it like going places like that?”
    “Exciting. Challenging.”
    He nodded. “And now you’ll write a story about going to the Andes to track cougar.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then where?”
    “Where what?”
    “Where will you go?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t have any plans right now. This trip was the big one for me. What I got out of it personally, professionally, what I can generate from it with articles, papers, lectures. The research, the findings.” She moved her shoulders. “I can channel a lot of that into benefits for the refuge. The refuge is the priority.”
    He set the photos back down to look at her. “It’s good to have priorities.”
    He moved in slowly, giving her time—this time—to resist or decide. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to stop him, only watched him the way she might a coiled snake.
    Warily.
    He caught her chin in a light grip, and took her mouth.
    She wouldn’t have said he was gentle, or tender. No, she wouldn’t have called the kiss, the tone, the intent either of those. But there wasn’t the rough fire he’d shown her before. This time, he kissed her like a man who’d decided to take his time. Who was confident he could.
    And though his fingers were easy on her face, she knew—didn’t he intend she would?—that they could tighten at his whim. That he could plunder instead of seduce.
    And knowing it sparked excitement in her blood.
    Hadn’t she always preferred the wild to the tame?
    He felt her give, just a little. Just a little more. Her lips moved against his, warmed and softened, and her breath hummed low in her throat.
    He eased away as slowly as he’d eased to her. “No,” he said, “we’re not done.” The oven timer dinged, and he smiled. “But the pizza is.”

12
    He’d spent worse nights, Coop thought, as he added logs to the fire in Lil’s living room. But it had been a lot of years since he’d made do with a chilly room and a lumpy sofa. And even then, he hadn’t had the additional discomfort of knowing the woman he wanted slept one floor above.
    His choice, he reminded himself. She’d told him to go; he’d refused. So he’d gotten a blanket, a pillow, and a sofa six inches too short for him. And it had very likely been for nothing.
    She was probably right. She was perfectly safe on her own, in her cabin. Locked doors and a loaded rifle were solid safety factors.
    But once he’d told her he intended to stay, he hadn’t been able to back down.
    And it was damn weird, he mused, as he walked back to the kitchen to put on coffee, to be wakened in the dark by a jungle cat’s roar.
    Damn weird.
    He supposed she was used to it, as he hadn’t heard her stir, even when he’d been compelled to pull on his boots and go out to check.
    The only things he’d discovered were she needed more security lights, and that even if a man knew there were sturdy barriers, the roars and growls in the dark could send an atavistic finger of fear up his spine.
    She was stirring now, he thought. He’d heard her footsteps above, and the clink of the pipes as she turned on the shower.
    It would be light soon, another frigid, white-drenched dawn. Her people would be heading in, and he had his own work to see to.
    He hunted up eggs and bread, a frying pan. She might not agree, but he figured she owed him a hot breakfast for the guard duty. He was slapping a couple of fried egg sandwiches together when she walked in. She’d bundled her hair up, wore a flannel shirt over a thermal. And looked no more pleased to see him this morning than she had the night before.
    “We need some ground rules,” she began.
    “Fine. Write me up a list. I’ve got to get to work. I made two if you want the other,” he added as he wrapped his sandwich in a napkin.
    “You can’t just come here and take over.”
    “Put that at the top of the list,” he suggested as she followed him into the living room. He passed the sandwich from hand to hand as he shrugged on his coat. “You smell good.”
    “You need to respect my privacy, and get it through your head I don’t need or want a guard dog.”
    “Uh-huh.” He settled his hat on his head. “You’re going to need to bring in more firewood. I’ll see you later.”
    “Coop. Damn it!”
    He