Vivian Arend - High Risk

She caught it, then slipped her fingers all the way into the solid U-shaped hold. “On belay?”

A mixture of pride and respect washed through him. Even changing up the rules, she slipped back into climbing mode without hesitation. He could believe she’d done a rescue on autopilot. “Belay on. Left hand, eleven o’clock. Shaped like a tennis ball.”

His voice echoed slightly in the wide-open space of the gym, her breathing creating a systematic pulse under his words. He took her up the wall far slower than she’d probably climbed for years, but she didn’t waver. Didn’t complain, either, thank God. He made her pause at each position, adjust her weight.

Made her work her body and her brain, all the while hoping like hell she wasn’t about to freeze again.

“Don’t rush. Right leg, extend another inch and you’ll have the hold. That’s it. Weight transfer. Lift your other thigh. Picture where you left the sloper—it’s got a nice flat surface for your foot.”

He talked her through a dozen more holds before she interrupted him. “Marcus. Can . . . Can I just climb?”

“Without the blindfold?” He wasn’t sure about that. Success to fifteen feet wasn’t full-out success.

“No, with. Only, no route. Talk me through if I can’t find a hold, but I like how this feels. I’m itching to go faster.”

A stroke of adrenaline hit him: pride at her courage, familiar need in his own gut. “Who am I to hold you back if you’re ready to fly?”

She twisted toward him and smiled, her mouth and chin the only parts visible under the wide blindfold. Then she faced the wall and moved.

Marcus worked the rope silently, his voice silenced but ready to help if required. Ready to coax or rant, depending on her need.

She didn’t need anything. Becki reached overhead, sliding her hands blindly. She skimmed her fingers over each hold as she found them, testing the surfaces before moving to the next. When she selected one she liked, she caught hold, adjusted her grip, and rose. Her feet found new positions, the edges of her climbing shoes pressing against the smallest of protrusions without a thought.

She was three-quarters of the way to the ceiling before he spoke. “Nicely done. You have lovely technique.”

“Take,” she ordered.

He pulled up the slack and secured her in position. “Got. How you doing? Ready to come down?”

Becki held the wall with one hand, the other wrapped easily around the rope as she sat back and allowed him to support her weight. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Feels good?”

“Feels . . . weird.” Her lips twitched. “I can feel the air around me, but the only clue I have of the height is your voice. And honest? I’m not ready to take the blindfold off.”

“Then don’t. You achieved one goal. Accept it, celebrate it. Get in position and I’ll bring you to earth.”

She faced the wall, legs spread, feet firmly in position. “Lower.”

He let the rope through the clamp slowly, easily, twisting to release it an inch at a time. Becki walked her way to the floor and lay back on the mat, arms limp to the sides. Blindfold still in place.

“Why do I feel as if I finished climbing a 5.11?”

“Good analogy. Until you get over this bump, everything is a freaking win. Got that?”

Marcus had the rope free from his harness in record time, stepping beside her, his heart pumping with excitement. “Give me your hand.”

She raised her fingers in the air, and he caught her wrist. He lifted her to her feet easily. When she would have pulled the blindfold away, he spoke.

“Stop.”

Becki paused, her hands on the fabric. “Umm, why?”

Because he was more than ready for the next stage. “Celebrating your successful climb. You said if it worked, I got an award.”

He curled his hand around her neck and brought her mouth to his.

She’d known this was coming. Expected it. Not this instant, but soon. The fever between them burned too hot to be ignored. After yesterday and the myriad of emotions they’d gone through—anger, frustration, lust—she wanted this. Needed it.

Something to combat the terrors she’d experienced when he’d gone missing. The nightmares and the fears that had swept in and threatened to overwhelm her. She shoved everything aside for now. Inflamed by her success in overcoming at least one ghost, she pressed against him eagerly.

The kiss started softly, just a meeting of lips, but like fire trickling along the edge of a paper, heat and desire grew. Spread. He stroked her mouth with his tongue, dipping in softly, testing her willingness.

His chest against hers was solid and hard, a barrier she couldn’t get around, and one she didn’t want to avoid. When she parted her lips and let him in, a rush of adrenaline made her light-headed. With the blindfold in place there was nothing to see, only sensations. Nothing but their own ragged breathing to hear. The taste of his lips, the feel of him under her touch.

She slipped her hands across his chest, savouring the way his muscles tightened as she explored. The way he groaned and caught her around the waist with his left arm. His tight grip brought their torsos into contact and the rising hardness of his erection was clear, no matter how many layers of webbing there were between them.

He kissed her harder. Consumed her, pulsed his groin against hers and let his excitement show in the way he took her mouth. Made her ache.

He tore his lips away only to press them to her throat, her neck, biting and nipping his way along her body. His right hand slipped upward until he cupped her breast, holding her intimately.

She arched into him. Needing. Aching. Wanting more, to take the rush of endorphins from her climb and put them into stripping him and fucking him right there, damn the consequences.

He tugged her shirt free, heated fingers skimming over her waist, coming back to jerk her sports bra out of the way so he could take possession of her naked breast.

It was too much, and not enough. She twisted against him, rubbing until the webbing of her harness caught his, and they were both trapped.

His fingers pinched her nipple and she moaned out her pleasure. Marcus dragged his teeth up her neck, returning to capture her mouth yet again. Becki breathed him in. Breathed in the scent of chalk dust in the air, the sweat of the climb, her lingering fear.

God, she wanted him.

When he slowed she whimpered in protest, the sound escaping louder than expected as his lips left hers. He adjusted her bra, straightened her shirt, smoothed a touch over her waist.

And stepped away, leaving her panting and wavering on her feet.

“Take off the blindfold.” The order whispered out, nonetheless commanding for the volume.

She lifted her hands to undo the knot, knowing that she was flushed. Wondering what she’d see on his face.

What she found made her breath shake as she fought to fill her lungs.

Pride.

Admiration.

Craving.

She was still reeling from his kiss. From the euphoria of the climb. From the way following his every order had made her tingle with nearly forgotten satisfaction.

Seven years ago while he’d played her body like a fine instrument, he’d shared his philosophy regarding climbing. No—more than that. It had been his attitude concerning living, and she’d grasped hold of those beliefs with two hands and not let go.

Not until the accident had torn her world from her.

Every reminder of who she had been helped keep alive the hope that she could get herself back.

Marcus forced her to remember that life was more than the ability to climb. That her passions ran deeper than the job she did and the people she rescued. Made her wonder if perhaps fate had put this man in her path, again, for more than one reason.

Now she needed the courage to accept and take the next step.

Becki stuck around after Lifeline’s Saturday morning training was complete, hanging over the deck railing to observe Erin hover the team over the drop site as they rappelled to targets Marcus placed on the ground.

No matter how enjoyable staring after the man and admiring him from a distance was, it didn’t make her next decision any easier.

They’d left the gym the day before without speaking of the kiss. Without Marcus making any more demands or requests of her, which was good, because if he had suggested they go back to his house and spend the night locked together, she would have agreed in an instant.

Then regretted it in the morning.

“Tripp. Haul ass up and try again,” Marcus shouted. Tripp waved before hooking his hands onto the swinging rope and moved hand over hand toward the chopper. A safety rope dangled from his harness, but he did the work himself, rising to the level of the open side door, where hands reached to drag him into the cargo bay.

Alisha stepped out, rappelling downward efficiently, stopping five feet from the ground and gesturing toward the field. Anders could be seen in the opening as he adjusted tensions, Erin shifting the entire chopper to the south.

Smooth and serene, as if she were walking down the sidewalk of Banff Avenue, Alisha used the momentum of the rope to launch herself the final distance to land directly on a target, both feet squarely in the center.

Marcus gave her a high five, the young woman’s face beaming with delight as he motioned his approval to the aircraft with a thumbs-up.

Becki applauded as Alisha unclipped and headed toward the building, a wide grin on her face.