A little more…a little more…They were so close to a miracle. Luck was with them. It had to be.
SAM HELD HER BREATH as they skimmed the stream. Rocks jutted up from the water, ready to pierce the fragile skin of the plane or pierce the gas tank. The pilot pulled back hard on the wheel then turned it to the right and the plane moved almost imperceptibly in that direction.
“Almost,” she said in a long exhale of breath. “Almost there.” As long as they both believed that, everything would be all right.
She heard the long scrape of rock against the little plane’s belly, followed by a ripping sound and the harsh clank of metal folding in on itself. They bounced their way across the rough ground, nearly tilting end over end. Her elbow slammed against the instrument panel. The pain shot straight into her skull. The left wing caught in the branches of a dead bramble bush. The plane skidded sideways, swung around on itself, then stopped cold.
The silence was deeper than the grave. For a second she wondered if they were dead, but his words broke the quiet.
“Unbuckle, lass,” he ordered, releasing his seat belt and standing up. “The tank is almost empty, but I still think it will blow.”
Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t manage the simple task. The sharp stink of petrol seared her nostrils.
“Hurry,” he ordered, grabbing a black bag from behind his seat.
“I’m trying,” she said, practically in tears. “I can’t seem to—” Her fingers seemed like huge and unwieldy pieces of deadwood.
He bent in front of her and unfastened the belt.
“Now, lassie! We haven’t much time.”
He reached for her hand.
She hesitated for an instant, then took it.
The connection between them seemed as strong as life itself.
Together they leaped from the plane and ran toward a stand of trees a few hundred yards away. He pulled her behind an outcropping of rock, and a second later an explosion echoed through the silent clearing and the small plane went up in flames.
Chapter 3
They stared at the plane and then at each other and started to laugh.
“You did it!” she cried, throwing back her head and tossing the triumphant words to the sky. “I knew you could!”
Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He felt like he could throw a rope around the moon and reel it in. “We did it together, lassie,” he said, pulling her close to him. “’Twas you who kept me going.”
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement Her sleek fall of pale blond hair was tousled, drifting over her right eye, curving across her cheek. He wondered suddenly how he’d lived so long without her in his sight Or had she always been there, hidden inside his heart?
“I didn’t do anything,” she said, her gaze locked on his. “You deserve all the credit.”
He held her flower of a face between his hands. He wanted to inhale her, breathe her essence right into his very soul.
Sam wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. The feel of his big strong body against hers, the way he was looking into her eyes, as if he could see all the way to her secret soul. She was alive to him, more alive than she’d ever been before, so alive that her skin registered his presence.
Magic was everywhere, in the way he sounded and looked and the way he made her feel. They’d faced death together and lived to tell the tale. That did something to a woman. She was pure sensation. The wall of glass that surrounded her heart had shattered, leaving her vulnerable and hungry.
Kiss me, she thought. She wanted to feel his mouth against hers, that delicious pressure, she wanted to know how he would taste and smell and sound. She wanted to know she was alive in every way possible before the real world rushed in again and reminded her that she was cautious, careful Samantha Wilde who didn’t want anything at all.
Duncan knew what she was thinking. Not the words—he couldn’t know the words—but the intent. A man would have to be blind to miss the look in her eyes. Or was it his own aching, empty need reflected back? He didn’t know, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Only touch mattered. The way she fit against him.
He dipped his head toward hers.
She lifted her face toward his.
If he hesitated, she would break away.
If she lowered her eyes, he would understand.
The moment between them seemed to stretch like a length of golden cord, winding itself around their hearts until there was nothing else they could do but the one thing they’d been moving toward since the very first instant.
His mouth found hers—or was it she who did the finding? Neither one knew or cared. There was in that instant such a powerful sense of connection, of destiny, that their minds were empty of all but the wonders to be found in a kiss.
Her mouth was silky and hot and sweet and he drank her in the way he drank a fine wine.
His lips were firm, unyielding, demanding responses from her that she had only dreamed about. He parted her lips with the tip of his tongue and all of her secret places came instantly to life. She was on fire from the inside out, a sweet liquid fire that she’d never known before.
She placed her hands against his chest, that rock-hard wall of muscle, and savored the feel of his heart beating beneath her palms.
He let his hands slide slowly from her face to the delicate column of her throat, until his thumbs found the wild-bird pulsing at the base. Then, so slowly, he moved down over her collarbone, down, down, until he cupped her breasts with his palms. Small and firm and warm—and perfect. So perfect it made him ache with wanting her.
Her
