第 30 页

He didn't disappoint her. His hands moved slowly downward.

She felt the callused skin of his fingers on the soft mounds of her flesh and shivered uncontrollably.

Then his fingers moved again, this time coming together at her nipples. He put a thumb and forefinger around each peak and tugged gently.

Sensation exploded in Devon's body. There was something so erotic about it all: the darkness, the man standing unseen behind her, her ice-cold flesh, and his hot fingers on her nipples-only her nipples.

She moaned softly, "Oh, God..."

He swept her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, laying her on the cold, rumpled sheet.

The scent' of their previous lovemaking clung to the cotton, wrapping her in the promise of passion.

He stretched out beside her. Taking her in his arms, he pulled the covers tight around them and kissed the velvet-soft lobe of her ear. "Better add frostbite protection to the list, Dev."

She shuddered as his lips loitered at the base of her throat. She wrapped her arms around him.

"To hell with the list."

His soft chuckle floated in the darkness, disappearing in a quick intake of breath as Devon's forefinger slid down his chest. She trailed her fingertip past his waist, past his navel, through the second thatch of hair, and still downward.

Reaching her target, she smiled softly to herself. He wasn't the only one who could talk with his hands.

Stone Man stared at the sagging ceiling, watching as the first tenuous strands of sunlight illuminated the dirty-gray canvas. He stretched languidly, drawing the fur blanket up around both of them. God, he felt good. He hadn't felt this good in years. For the past seven mornings he'd wakened with Devon snuggled up against his hip. Whenever he wanted to he could just reach out and touch her.

Something in his blood stirred at the thought. Hell, he wanted to right now. He rolled onto his side and studied her. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful it made his heart stop.

She blinked awake. Their gazes locked, and immediately she smiled.

"Morning." Her voice sounded harsh, brackish.

He kissed her forehead. "Morning."

She started to get up. "I'll start the fire."

The fur blanket fell away from her naked body. The sunlight slanting through the canvas dappled her skin, rippling across her breasts. It caught in her hair and transformed the corkscrew strands into a halo of fire.

He took her in his arms. "Let's make our own heat," he murmured throatily.

Her soft laughter knocked at the door to his heart. Her hands slipped around his body. His skin felt warm where she touched him. They kissed, a slow, lazy kiss that bespoke of time and love. They pulled slowly apart, and Cornelius stared down in the dewy pools of her eyes.

/ love you. The words erupted in his brain, bringing with them a white-hot stab of longing. God, how he wanted to say the words, to believe in them with his heart and soul. Maybe, he thought crazily, maybe this time he could find the courage to say them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could force a single word out she caressed his cheek and said, "Kiss me."

He swallowed hard. Later. I'll tell her later. For now kissing her was so easy. It was what he always did when he thought about how much he loved her. He kissed her until they were both senseless and numb. And in the languid aftermath of their passion the need to speak receded.

They made slow, passionate love, and when they were both spent they lay curled in each other's arms.

"Cornelius?" She wiggled upright until her face was right next to his. He could feel the whisper-light tracings of her breath on his cheeks. "Cornelius, I've been thinking about something."

"How surprising," he said with a teasing smile.

"I tried to be patient, but I can't anymore. I just can't."

He frowned. "What is it, Dev?"

"I love you."

The words fell between them. Every bone in Cornelius's body seemed to dissolve. His throat closed up. All he could do was stare into her huge, overbright eyes, and dream. God, the words sounded so good...

"Don't worry," she said quickly to coverthe silence. "I'm not asking for marriage, and I know you'll never go back to civilization. I just want to hear the words. I know it's silly, but I want to pretend you love me, too. I know it's only until spring, but..."

Until spring. She kept up a nervous babble, but he didn't hear anything past until spring. At that something in his soul ripped away. Pain cut through his heart like the sting of a frozen lash.

How could he have been so stupid, so blind? He'd done it again. In the past week he'd let himself fall deeper and deeper in love with her, let himself believe she was really different than Mibelle and his mother. That she loved him enough to stay with him forever.

He grimaced. He'd been wrong. Just like before. Oh, she wasn't like Mibelle or his mother, not in spirit. But the differences between them didn't much matter to his heart.

Damn her, he thought angrily. Damn her for making him think she was different, for making him want something he couldn't have. Ache for it, in fact.

Well, he wasn't seventeen anymore, and he wasn't stupid or naive. He wasn't about to give her his heart and soul on a silver platter and then watch her walk with it. No way.

"Cornelius?" Her voice wobbled. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I can't." He closed his eyes, and after a few moments of heart-wrenching silence, Devon buried her face in his chest. Her hot tears streaked down his skin. Every one felt like a brand.

But he wouldn't let himself speak the words she wanted to hear. God help him, he just wasn't strong enough. He couldn't tell her he loved her and then watch her walk away.

"Devon, standstill!"

Her clear, happy giggle rang through the silent, deserted hillside, and Stone Man couldn't help smiling with her. It felt so good, so right, just being alive on this first day of spring.

"I can't take your picture if you don't stand still."

"That's exactly the point." She stopped dancing just long enough to flash him a bright smile. "I wouldn't be caught dead having my picture taken in these clothes."

He stared at her with an almost painful sense of pride. She was his. His. Even now he couldn't believe his luck. There hadn't been a single morning during the long, lightless winter months when he hadn't wakened with her in his arms.

He crunched through the snow toward her, his hand outstretched. She took it without hesitation, curling her thick, leather-and-fur-sheathed fingers in his. Around them the world was crisp and clear and mantled in white. "You look great in anything."

She leaned up against him. The soft gray cloud of their breathing mingled, rising in a mist around them. "Or nothing," she teased.

"Especially nothing."

She kissed him once lightly then twirled away."Then take my picture naked. But not in these clothes."

He repositioned himself behind the camera, determined to get at least one photograph of her today. Somehow it seemed important that he have a picture of her, his first real love, on the first day of spring. He hunkered down, peering intently through the icy, brass-mounted lens. She flashed in and out of the little round circle of his vision.

"Cornelius, I-Oops!"

She'd fallen. He shoved down hard on the front end of his camera then moved it side to side until he had her in his sights. In the blink of an eye he had the shot. Devon, up to her pretty little butt in the snow, wearing a shortened skirt; wool bloomers; fur-lined, knee-length mukluks; and a huge fur coat. His only wish was that the camera could capture color: the bright pink of her cheeks and nose and the deep, inviting green of her eyes.

"Don't you do it, Cornelius. I mean it."

He moved out from behind the camera to help her up. A huge snowball immediately slammed into his chest. White flakes fluttered everywhere, clinging to the fur of his parka. He advanced.

She lurched forward, sped past him. Smiling, he watched her run. She looked so young, so free.

He could watch her forever. Right now, in moments like this, he could admit how much he loved her. In his mind the words came easily, almost effortlessly. So easily he could almost say them aloud. Almost, but not quite. Every time he started the words congealed in his throat, mired in a hopeless tangle of fear and dread. Soon, he told himself for the thousandth time. Soon.

Chapter Twenty

The twenty-fourth day of May dawned just like all the early spring days before it-crisp and clear.

There was nothing at all to distinguish it from yesterday or the day before.

Devon sat alone at the table, drinking her morning tea. Outside the now-familiar sounds of construction and newly burgeoning civilization rang out. The clang of falling hammers, the squeak of poorly played violins, the tinny jangle of a saloon piano, the high-pitched whine of the sawmill. Even though it was barely ten o'clock in the morning, the streets, she knew, would be crowded with men restless for the thaw. Aimlessly they'd be drifting along the newly fashioned streets, their spike-bottomed boots clicking atop the weathered boards.

It had all started last August when George Carmack had first whispered the word "gold." That single, magical word had been carried on the wings of the Yukon wind, its utterance a lure too strong to deny. They'd come from every corner of Alaska and the Yukon, the gold seekers, and almost overnight they'd transformed Dawson City. Where before nothing had existed but a few dilapidated tents, there now were hundreds of sturdier, newer tents. And every day log cabins were being built. Stone Man had been right. It was spring, and Dawson City was an honest-to-God town.

Devon set down her teacup. She could feel it somehow, the miners' restlessness. Or was it her own?

Today was the first day in two months she hadn't gone to the post with Cornelius. She couldn't say exactly why she'd decided to stay home today except that she was edgy and nervous.

Something was going to happen today; something bad. She felt it in her bones. The premonitory feeling had risen with her this morning, and with every breath she took it grew stronger.

The last five months had been the happiest time of Devon's life. She and Cornelius had spent every waking and sleeping moment together, and day by day their love had grown.

At least hers had, she thought with a sad sigh. His feelings were still locked inside his heart; the word "love" had never once eked past his lips. Not even in the throes of their considerable passion.

She told herself it didn't matter, that words were meaningless next to actions. His actions said "I love you" in a thousand and one silent ways. He was so loving with her, so gentle.

But no matter how many times she tried to convince herself, she didn't believe it. She'd waited silently all winter for him to admit he loved her. But after that night when she'd declared her love, the word had never again been spoken by either of them.

Her hand strayed to her midsection. Absentmindedly, as she sipped her tea, she stroked her stomach. It had become an unconscious gesture in the past month. One she did whenever she thought about the future, about the man she loved more than life itself.

If it were up to her she'd gladly spend the rest of her life following Cornelius through the world's uncharted wildernesses.

It was, however, no longer up to her. God had seen to that. She glanced down at the minuscule swelling beneath her canvas shirtwaist. Now she had someone else to consider.

She felt a wave of almost unbelievable wonder at the thought of the child within her womb.

The miracle. That's how she thought of the child, for she'd carefully followed Dr. Cowan's advice on contraception. On even the coldest nights she had risen from bed and injected herself with warm water.

Cornelius had often commented on her dependability.

Her smile faded at the thought. He'd seemed so glad that she was "responsible." What if he didn't want the baby? What if-No. She refused to give in to panic. She'd successfully put off thinking about the future for a month. There was no reason she should make herself sick thinking about it now. Tomorrow was a bridge she'd cross when she had to.

And besides, he'd want the baby. He would. But she didn't really believe it. Not of a man who'd never once said "I love you."

A chilling sound wrenched her out of her thoughts.

She jumped to her feet. The tin cup slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Oh my God! The river! Hiking up her heavy spring skirts, she rushed out of the tent and dashed toward the river.

Her heels clipped along the wooden planks of Dawson City's newly constructed boardwalk. All around her the sounds of building rang out: the clang of falling axes and banging hammers; the steady whine of Ladue's overworked sawmill machinery; the thunk of falling boards. But Devon heard none of it as she sped past a dozen new tent establishments. She heard only the frightened, erratic pounding of her heart.

At the muddy, gray-brown banks of the Yukon she came to a breathless halt. Clutching her aching side, she stared, wide-eyed, at the river.

Please God, not yet... It came again suddenly, the sound that had drawn her there. An eerie, thunderous rumble followed by a terrifying snap. She stared at the river in horror, watching a huge, dirt-colored block of ice heave upward. The snap echoed again. The earth beneath her feet shook.

Then it happened. A ghostly block of ice, as big as a house, broke free and started inching downstream.

Tears stung Devon's eyes and blurred her vision. The river became a shifting muddle of grayish-white chunks. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

Tomorrow had come.

Now she had to face the future, squarely and without little-girl fantasies, for if there was one thing she'd learned from her mother it was the price of viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. Her mother's blind, illogical belief that her husband would change after marriage had brought suffering upon them all. Devon refused to make that mistake. Everything hinged on Cornelius's willingness to change his life-style. She knew he was capable of loving the child, knew he would make a wonderful father if only he'd let himself. But she also knew she couldn't demand it of him; he had to offer it.