Into the Shadow by Christina Dodd Page A

shoulders, the ripped power of his belly. His cock and balls hung between his legs, and although he was limp, she knew only too well the size and power he wielded there.
    Charcoal black smudges etched jagged lines down his chest and arm. The marks seemed to form thunderbolts, but they were shrunken, pulling at the edges of his skin, eating into his flesh. She couldn’t ignore them, and compassion made her ask, ‘‘What happened?’’
    Leaning down, he grasped her wrists and brought her to her feet. ‘‘It’s nothing.’’
    ‘‘Nothing?’’ She touched one lightly. ‘‘It looks like a burn, but there’s a form . . . isn’t there?’’
    ‘‘It’s a birthmark.’’
    ‘‘Is it painful?’’
    ‘‘No.’’ He pulled away from her.
    Whatever those marks were, he was sensitive about them. And the way he looked at her, like a man who had reached a decision, made her think .
    She didn’t want to think.
    But she was, above all, a woman of good sense, a woman made tough by necessity, a workaholic who spent her life completing one job and going to another. Until this man had visited her tent, she hadn’t bothered to take a lover for years. A lover was too much trouble. A lover always required attention, and she didn’t have the time to waste.
    Now she felt as if she’d been reborn to this world; too open, too raw, too new. She was like a child experiencing a swarm of new emotions—or were they old emotions set free? She didn’t know.
    But she did know her lack of discipline would have consequences.
    Her pants hung around one leg. Her T-shirt was twisted around her waist. She stood lop-sided in one boot. She’d just had unprotected sex—oh, God, what had she been thinking?— and his come wet her thighs.
    She had never done anything so outrageous in her life.
    The sunshine streamed down on them now. She could see him all too clearly, and questions hummed through her mind.
    What now?
    What if I’m pregnant?
    Who is he?
    And, This man is savage.
    She knew it in her bones. That had been, after all, why she welcomed him to her bed at night.
    Clutching the waistband of her pants, she tugged it up over her thighs in what she hoped looked like a casual attempt to dress. ‘‘I know you’ve already done so much, but can you take me down to the nearest phone? I’ve got to call my father, tell him what happened. Have him notify Phil’s next of kin. Make arrangements to pay for the rental equipment we lost.’’ Worries and responsibilities returned to crowd her mind. ‘‘Do you think Mingma escaped? My cook and interpreter? She said she was going to run. She did escape, didn’t she?’’
    ‘‘Mingma is fine,’’ he said without expression in his face or voice.
    ‘‘Really?’’ She winced at her own chipper tone. ‘‘How do you know?’’
    ‘‘Mingma is smart enough to recognize danger when she sees it. Which is apparently more than you can do.’’ He knelt before Karen, untied her boot, and tugged at it and her pants.
    Karen didn’t know whether he was referring to the danger of Mount Anaya or the danger he represented.
    She tugged back. ‘‘Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing. . . .’’ Actually, she was pretty sure what he thought he was doing, but caution had reared its ugly head.
    ‘‘We’re going to take a shower.’’ He jerked his head toward the clear, cold waterfall.
    ‘‘No. Way. I washed my face in that water. Not to mention I was raised in Montana in the Rockies up by Glacier National Park. When I was a kid I stood knee-deep in a creek just like that, building a dam out of rocks. So I know what I’m talking about when I say I am not using that stream for a bath.’’ She backed away.
    He used her momentum to strip away her pants.
    ‘‘How else do you propose to get clean?’’ He sounded prosaic, not dangerous, like some guy she’d met in college. ‘‘If the water’s that cold, you can hardly accuse me of dire intentions.’’
    Mount Anaya had