Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle and any other characters featured in the actual TV series are copyrighted to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures while the rest of the story and other characters are my own.

**********

PART NINE

Keeping her eyes closed, Allison Peabody fought to hang on to a last few moments of sleep, to a wisp of a dream that was simply too good to awaken from. She’d never felt so warm, so safe, so… loved? But gradually, external sounds intruded on her consciousness, demanding, insistent; intent upon drawing her from that special place.

The cries of the birds just awakening to the promise of a new day’s dawn.

The clanking of pots and pans in a cook-tent.

A soft chiming of a distant prayer-bell, barely audible over the creaking of the glacier.

Any one of those noises could have been the one that originally roused her from her sleep. After all, anything was possible. Or… or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was another sound; more of a vibration, really. The deep, steady inhales and exhales of the woman whose arms were wrapped securely around her. Or the heartbeat drumming out its comforting rhythm beneath her ear.

Oh – my - God!

Allison’s eyes snapped open, and she drew in a sharp breath. Oh, she was awake now, all right. And damn, it hadn’t been a dream, after all. It was real, every bit of it, and it came flooding back to her in a cascade of conflicting emotions.

How she’d resolved to confront Ricky Bouchard, to confess to her how she felt. Telling herself that no matter what the mountaineer’s response might be, she would abide by it. That regardless of whether Ricky was willing to let her be a part of her life, Allison knew that some major adjustments in her own life were in order. And so she hadn’t regretted what she’d told Lionel. Or her boss at Johnson-Kitteridge-Johnson. She felt at peace, in a way, with all of it. Never in her life had she been so honest with herself – ever.

It felt good.

And with that honesty, came a responsibility.

To be true to herself.

To not hold anything back, no matter how much it hurt.

So that was how she’d found herself standing outside of the mountaineer’s tent late last night.

Freezing.

With her head feeling as though someone were driving nails into it. Planting her feet and taking a stand against the tall, dark haired woman that had so captivated her over these past weeks, wobbling on legs so rubbery she’d feared they might fail her at any moment.

She’d laid it all out there, all right. Had let Ricky have it with both barrels; had put her heart on the line. She’d seen how the mountaineer had recoiled at her words, and her heart had plummeted into her boots when Ricky at first had denied that there could ever be anything between them.

And then… then she’d somehow found herself in Ricky’s arms. So warm. So strong. A place where she knew she belonged. Where she never wanted to leave.

Home.

Ricky had told her then, and shown her, too, that she felt the same way. It had felt like… heaven.

But the throbbing ache in her head had quickly brought her back down to earth. Exhausted, weak with relief, she’d allowed Ricky to guide her into the mountaineer’s tent; forced herself to swallow the water pressed upon her. She was vaguely aware of her boots and jacket coming off, of the soothing massage at the base of her skull, of the quiet words telling her everything would be okay.

And after that….

Allison felt a burst of heat rise to her cheeks at the memory of what had happened next. A fire not of passion, but of embarrassment. She, who’d finally gotten Ricky Bouchard exactly where she wanted her… had promptly fallen asleep.

Well.

There was nothing she could do about it now. And what the heck – it had turned out to be the first sound night’s sleep she’d had in more than a week. And she had no doubt of the role the mountaineer had played in that. Now, her headache was gone, and she felt simply… wonderful.

It was a brand new day, Allison thought, blinking her eyes at the tarp roof of Ricky’s tent. A day that was filled with possibilities. She’d told Ricky how she felt, and she hadn’t been turned away. Quite the opposite, in fact. And so maybe she had squandered a choice opportunity of getting to know her climbing partner on a more… intimate level, but there would be time enough for that.

Allison felt her face crease in a smile. God, and to think she’d been willing to put Lionel Kitteridge off for the most trivial of excuses.

"Not tonight, Lionel, please. I’ve got a meeting in the morning!"

And here she was, plotting how to get Ricky Bouchard to share her bed 17,600 feet high in the Himalayas. God, you have no pride, girl!

Allison groaned.

And the arms enfolding her squeezed back.

Startled, Allison lifted her head to find two blue eyes peering at her out of the early morning gloom.

"Good morning." Deep, rich tones. A music she would never tire of.

"Ah…." Allison knew her blush was deepening, but she was powerless to stop it. "Good—" She coughed, her voice rough with sleep. "Good morning."

"How do you feel?" Allison could see a trace of worry flit across Ricky’s features.

"Better. Great, actually," Allison rushed to reassure her. "Headache’s all gone. Thanks."

"You’re welcome," Ricky said, shifting her position slightly, so as to better regard the smaller woman. "I feel pretty ‘great’ myself."

"Good," Allison managed to get out, barely. All semblance of rational thought fled her mind under the onslaught of the mountaineer’s gaze. God, did Ricky have any idea of the power she had over her?

All it took was a stolen glance.

An electrifying touch.

A word unspoken.

Get it together, Allison! She tried to focus. There was so much they had to talk about. So much more she wanted to—

"Lopsang should be coming around soon with tea."

"Oh, gosh, I’m sorry!" Allison blurted out. Immediately, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and began rooting around for her boots and outer clothing. What had she been thinking? "I—I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. Could this get you into trouble?" She found her jacket and pulled it on, barely managing to avoid giving the mountaineer a left uppercut in the process.

"Take it easy." Ricky adroitly dodged Allison’s flailing arm. "I don’t know, and I don’t care if it did. I was more worried… about you," she said simply, lowering her eyes.

"Oh." Allison paused in her struggles. "Thanks." Her brow furrowed. "I think. I mean, Ricky, I’m not sorry about this. About any of it." Jesus, what are you doing? Just get out now, before you say something really stupid. You know you’re not yourself anyway, until you’ve had some caffeine in the morning. She rushed to leave, twisting towards the door of the tent, even as her body already was mourning the loss of the mountaineer’s warmth.

An arm snaked around her waist, holding her back. "I’m not sorry, either."

And then suddenly she was gathered into a searing kiss. So hot, so intoxicating, that she lost herself in it. Lost track of who she was, and where she was, but never of the heady knowledge of who she was with. No, that was the one thing she needed to count on. Now, more than ever.

"Well," she gasped breathlessly when Ricky finally released her, "that was… um… nice." Allison’s mind spun and whirled out of control as a pair of blue eyes sparkled at her.

Propped up on one elbow, her long dark hair spilling loose over her shoulders, the mountaineer smiled. "See you later, then?"

"Yeah," Allison squeaked. She knew she was grinning like an idiot, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. "Until then." She offered Ricky an exaggerated wave as she began to crawl out of the tent. We have a date! We have a date!

"Allison?"

"Yes?" She swiveled around, her voice an octave higher than normal.

A familiar pair of boots dangled in front of her face.

"You won’t get far without these."

**********

Ricky Bouchard was not normally a patient woman. She infinitely preferred action to inactivity; speaking out and moving on to debate and analysis. The ability to decide, to make a decision and take immediate action upon it, was a universal power she had long ago recognized, and at the same time she knew that she was in the minority with that position. It was too easy, too comfortable, too familiar for the vast majority of people on this earth to stay right where they were, stuck, whether it was in a physical, emotional, or psychological place.

It hurt sometimes to act, but pain was something the mountaineer was not unfamiliar with. Taking that chance, throwing yourself into the unknown, could make all the difference between living your life, or merely marking time.

In the extreme, it was life itself.

Or death.

Climbers who’d waiting too long before deciding to turn around on a summit attempt, their decision-making abilities sabotaged by too high an altitude and too little air. Teams where there was no clear leader, or where the leader was more worried about not hurting anyone’s feelings rather than ordering someone down off the mountain who was not keeping up.

But in a few specific areas, Ricky knew herself to be capable of patience in great abundance. She’d been known to hold back at a lower camp for days, until her gut instincts told her the time was right for a summit bid. Or she would take her time and work with less experienced climbers, as long as they had a desire to improve their skills coupled with a deep, almost spiritual respect for the mountain.

And then there were relationships.

Or a lack thereof, to be specific.

In the abstract, she believed they were fine – for other people. She’d been able to safely compartmentalize that part of her life, telling herself that having someone to love… to love her, completely, was something she could put off until ‘someday.’ And in the meantime, there were the mountains, right?

It had been easy, early on, living in a small town in a remote area of Quebec. She’d been a loner, marching to her own beat, and her fellow townsfolk had known enough to give her a wide berth. Later, as inseparable as she and Jean-Pierre had been, most people had thought they were a couple anyway, and had left it at that. Hell, even her parents had assumed as much; Jean-Pierre’s, too, for that matter.

Oh, she was not entirely without experience. There had been the time Jean-Pierre fixed her up with that buddy of his from Montreal. What was his name… Paul? So they’d had one too many beers, and the night had been just a bit too cold, too cold to spend it alone, or so Ricky had foggily determined.

She wasn’t proud of it.

It wasn’t what she’d thought it would be by far, what she remembered of that night, anyway. And Jean-Pierre had been angry with her afterwards, when she’d given his friend the cold-shoulder.

"Why don’t you give him a chance, Veronique? He’s a decent guy, and he likes you!"

"Complication?" Jean-Pierre had been baffled. "Ricky, it IS life!"

In time, Jean-Pierre had learned to let her go her own way, and she was grateful for that. He stopped questioning, pressing her, and simply, cheerfully accepted her for who and what she was.

"As long as you’re happy, Ricky."

"You think you are," he would laugh, "but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Just wait. One day," he would wag a finger at her, "the right person will come along, and leave you a stumbling, mumbling fool. And I will be there to say ‘I told you so.’"

Ricky sighed, and let her hand travel inside her sleeping bag to the spot so recently occupied by Allison Peabody.

It was still warm.

Last night, holding Allison in her arms, chasing away the loneliness she’d imposed upon herself, it had felt so good. So right. And left her desperately craving more. So she didn’t have much experience with this stuff – so what? She was a woman who decided things. Who acted.

She knew what she wanted in life.

And what she didn’t want. And that was a life without Allison Peabody in it.

Ricky heard the crunching steps of Lopsang drawing closer, as he moved from tent to tent with his morning tea. Tea in bed, eh, Ricky? God, what was becoming of her? She should be up and about by now!

Instead, Ricky’s eyes flickered to her right.

There… on her bedroll.

She snared a thread of short blonde hair between her thumb and forefinger. The mountaineer held it aloft, watching the way it caught the dawning light, and then she drew it to her nose, breathing in, imagining that Allison was still near.

So, the stockbroker had been a bit nervous this morning. Well, that was certainly understandable. After all, it had been Allison who’d been brave enough to make a move. To risk it all.

With her career, her friends… and more.

If she hadn’t, Ricky honestly didn’t know if she would’ve had the guts to. Maybe she would have found another way to rationalize her inaction to its proper place in a back corner somewhere, convincing herself that her gut told her that the time wasn’t right. That instead she had to be patient, one more time.

Ricky smiled, hearing Lopsang’s noisy approach. She hadn’t had her tea yet, but a warmth coursed through her such as she’d rarely felt, ever, this high on any mountain.

Deciding.

Sometimes, it was a life or death decision.

And maybe, just maybe, by having taken the first bold step, Allison Peabody had saved them both.

**********

Sandra Ortiz was a dedicated physician. One who knew her craft inside and out, despite her youth. More often than once, when she’d been completing her internship and residency, she’d been mistaken for an earnest, over-zealous candy striper. It certainly didn’t help things that her petite, smooth-skinned appearance made her look as though she were 32 going on 17. However, her medical colleagues who had chosen to judge her by her looks rather than her considerable abilities, had soon found themselves left in her dust.

She was a serious practitioner, one completely focused on her craft, and she’d moved impressively through her rotations with top ratings. She’d decided on internal medicine as her discipline, and accepted an offer to join a group practice in Denver with that specialty. It was there, four years ago now, that she first met Jim Harris.

Behind her wire-framed glasses, Sandy Ortiz had tried not to look surprised at the big man with the rakish smile and chiseled features who’d dwarfed her examining table. He’d had a stomach complaint that had turned out to be nothing major; just the stress of getting his nascent trekking business off the ground.

They’d gotten to talking, and later he’d been quick to notice the nature prints in her office; the photographs of the mountains around Denver, many of which she’d taken herself. She wasn’t mountaineer, not by a long shot, but the hiking she did, whether alone or with friends from med school, was a way of blowing off steam from the pressures of her career. High in the hills, with the sun shining on her back and a fresh trail beneath her feet, she re-charged her batteries.

Centered herself.

To Jim Harris, she was just the kind of person he needed on his expeditions. Someone who knew the mountains; who appreciated and understood what the climbers were up against. And who had medical training, besides. It had taken a few weeks of phone calls, a few dinners, and one or two unanticipated tumbles in bed, although Jim was very married, before she’d finally agreed.

And found herself in place as the official Peak Performance Adventure Company team physician, as well as ersatz camp manager.

Her partners were fine with it. Hell, she more than pulled her share of the patient load when she was in town. Her PPAC activities might amount to two or three expeditions per year, at most. And at the very least, the publicity might drive more patients to the practice.

This was her third trip with Jim Harris to the rocky, glacial slopes of Everest’s Base Camp. And this was as high as she preferred to go, thank you very much. Content to occupy her time with medical and managerial duties, she left the high altitude climbing to Jim and the others. But when Jim had successfully summitted that first time, two years ago, she’d felt it through and through; it had been her success, too. Five clients and two guides had also tagged the top that day with Jim, and Sandy knew that he was determined to surpass that record this time around.

It had been a typical expedition so far, fraught with the usual trials that were part of the cost of doing business in this part of the world. Such as making sure the supply of oxygen would arrive in time. Maintaining the flow of fresh food by way of balky porters from the lower elevations. Keeping the peace with other expeditions in Base Camp’s ‘shanty town,’ and trying to rise above the typical intrigues that occurred every season: who stole whose crampons from the base of the Ice Fall; which team was shirking its roping responsibilities; and who was sleeping with whom.

But she never lost sight of her primary mandate: to provide top-shelf medical care in an extremely challenging environment. It was this factor which concerned Dr. Sandra Ortiz the most. Her patients – the employees and clients of the Peak Performance Adventure Company – were her top priority. It was her responsibility to care for them, to counsel them, and to pull the plug on them, if necessary.

It was a hard enough thing to do, to deny someone their lifelong dream when they were so close, but too often the physician had seen the line between realizing that dream and losing your life become blurred beyond recognition. She hadn’t had to pull rank on anyone so far, although she’d come close two years ago with that climber from Britain.

Cyril Easton. He’d signed on with Jim’s team and had met them all for the first time in Kathmandu, at the beginning of the climb. Although he’d had a nine to five job in an office as an accountant, he had balanced that with considerable experience at high altitude, and so Jim had taken him on.

Sandy had watched with some concern over the course of the expedition as Cyril grew increasingly weaker, as his system rebelled against the acclimatization process. Somehow, he’d heaved his body as high as the required overnight stay at Camp III prior to the final summit assault, and seemed intent on going for the top along with the rest of the team.

That last morning, the poor fellow couldn’t keep any food down, his pulse oxygen levels were below 60%, and he had an infected sore on his heel caused by the new pair of climbing boots he’d foolishly purchased before the trip. In other words, he was a statistic ready to happen.

She’d done her best to advise the Brit not to attempt the summit, and she and Jim had had words over it, too.

"If he wants to give it a shot, who are we to stop him? He’s done okay so far. The guy’s got guts!"

Sandy hadn’t agreed, not by a long shot. Fortunately, the decision had been taken out of her hands when Cyril remained in his tent at dawn the next day, moaning and nearly incoherent. Within a few days, with treatment, he’d remarkably improved, and by that time Jim and the rest of the team were standing atop the Mother Goddess.

Success all around, that was for sure, the physician considered. They’d made the summit, so there was that good PR, and no one had died. Even better.

This trip… this trip was presenting its own set of challenges. The various medical staff assembled in Base Camp had already taken turns on and off tending to members of the physician-less International Expedition. Not a safe way for those expedition members to take on the mountain, but she and her colleagues would never deny a needy person medical care, particularly in this barren place.

And within the PPAC group, she had several concerns as well.

Patsy Donaldson, first and foremost.

The woman had been presenting symptoms of HAPE to varying degrees since the day she’d arrived, and Sandy had serious doubts as to whether Patsy should even head back up the mountain at all. Unfortunately, this differed with her husband’s opinion. And Lou Silvers, too, had a cough that he just couldn’t seem to shake. It wasn’t a serious problem yet, but it might easily turn into one, at a most inopportune time.

Other team members had had the usual aches and complaints typically associated with acclimatization and intense physical activity, and she’d been dispensing both her advice and her meds on a daily basis. Additionally, she’d taken to observing the team members on her own, listening in on their conversations, remaining attentive to the ‘camp buzz.’ The sooner she was alerted to a potential problem, the better for the patient involved. What was an annoying discomfort at sea level could quickly become life threatening at altitude, and it was that point that she persisted in emphasizing with those who sought her assistance.

If only they would listen.

But here, in the shadow of Everest, the dream of every climber loomed large. Larger than life.

"Hi Sandy! What’s up?"

A pair of hands briefly draped around her shoulders. Even if he hadn’t spoken, she would have known it was him. By stomp of his walk. The scent of him. So earthy. So raw. But she pushed that out of her mind. They were simply friends now. Nothing more than that, right?

And she was a professional.

"The usual, Jim." She twisted around on her stool to face him. "Just doing an inventory of our medical supplies." She absently tapped a pen against her clipboard. "We seem to be going through them like crazy. More so than during our other trips."

"Oh, yeah?" He leaned his elbows against the table and picked up a box of sterile pads, examining it. "More meds out means less money in," he observed absently, before giving her his full attention. "How’s everybody doing?"

"Not great," she sighed, leaning back, "but not lousy, either. It’s the usual stuff," she explained. "They’ve just got to watch themselves… listen to their bodies." She paused, regarding him carefully. "And not push themselves to do what they shouldn’t."

"You mean Patsy."

"C’mon, Jim. You know you were nearly carrying her on your back by the time you got her down the other day. She’s not adapting well at all." She bored her dark brown eyes into his. "Don’t tell me you can’t see it."

"Did you tell her that?" He put the box of pads down and straightened up, his bearded face tensing.

"You know I can’t discuss with you any conversations I’ve had with my patients." She stood, matching him in determination for what she lacked in height. "But we both know that Patsy can barely handle Base Camp, let alone a summit attempt." She pursed her lips. "I need you to be with me on this, Jim. Please. God knows that husband of hers isn’t," she snorted.

The team leader ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "Everybody else doing okay?"

"Fine," Sandy told him, knowing she hadn’t heard the last from him on the subject. And that worried her. "I’m taking everybody’s pulse ox daily, along with a B/P check. We’re hanging in there."

"Glad to hear it." Jim stepped closer, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. He rested a callused hand on her shoulder. How heavy it felt, even through the thickness of her sweater. "You know you’re an important part of this expedition, Sandy," he said softly. "Whether we succeed or not… depends on you."

"I know that Jim," she snapped. But she did not pull away from his touch, detesting herself for it. "Believe me, I don’t ever forget that."

She allowed herself to be swept closer to him, powerless to reverse course, like a battered leaf swirling down a rainy sidewalk grate.

Suddenly, Doctor Sandra Ortiz felt tired. Very tired, indeed.

**********

"A ‘Big Mac."

"Nah, ‘Whoppers’ are better."

"Pizza. With anchovies."

"You guys are nuts." Kevin MacBride sat in the dining tent surrounded by his fellow team members. "You wouldn’t know fine cuisine if it jumped up and bit you in the butt. When I get back, I’m going straight to Taco Bell for a ‘Chalupa.’ About five of ‘em, at least."

"Not before we’ve stopped off someplace where you can buy me the first of a year’s worth of brews, my friend." Phil Christy lifted a warning finger. "We’ve got a little bet going, don’t forget. One which I intend to win."

"Hah!" The curly haired former footballer took a deep draft of his chang. "You got it wrong, buddy. You mean we’ll need to hit a jewelry store, so you can spring for an engagement ring for my sister."

"Fat chance," Phil grinned, rubbing at the unfamiliar bearded growth on his face. "You will be watching my ass all the way up the summit ridge."

Kevin almost sprayed a mouthful of chang on the table. "Thanks for that visual," he choked. "One that inspires me to return the favor. You are gonna lose, bro. Big time."

"How about you, Allison?" Lou Silvers turned to the stockbroker sitting next to him. "What food do you miss from home?"

"Well… I hadn’t really thought about it," she said, and it was the truth. She’d been so involved in other things, taking on this latest adventure both heart and soul, and learning so much about herself in the process, that she hadn’t given much thought to missing anything from home. Not the pressures of her job, not the cold indifference that was her family and fiancé and, most of all, the food.

"Come on, there’s gotta be something, sweetie!" Patsy Donaldson circled an arm around her husband’s elbow. "Why just last night, Mike and I were talking about the delicious chateaubriand for two that we get at ‘Maison Jaques.’"

"I’ll have to think about it and get back to you later, okay?" Allison smiled tightly, and pushed herself away from the table. "I’m gonna turn in, guys. G’night."

"Aw, leaving so soon?" Kevin MacBride lifted his mug of chang, and already Allison could see the fevered glaze shining from his eyes. "Can’t I buy you a round, Allie?"

Amazing, Allison thought, how with just a little alcohol, some people come down with amnesia. Not in a million years, asshole. "Thanks, Kev," she slapped his shoulder as she headed towards the exit. "But it looks like you’re doing okay without me."

Allison stepped outside into the brittle chill of another cold Everest evening, glad to be liberated from the stifling tent. The rest of the crew was just getting started on another night of drinking and story telling, and she’d found she had little taste for those pastimes, these days. Much like a certain tall, dark mountaineer who she’d seen entirely too little of, today.

Since waking up in Ricky’s arms, they’d each gone their separate ways. Her climbing partner had spent much of the day going over plans for the team’s next sortie up the mountain, while Allison had spent the time relaxing, writing in her journal, and reading.

Ricky hadn’t been in the dining tent at dinner but that was hardly unusual; Allison saw no reason why the private woman would break with her routine now, and stop eating with the Sherpas in the cook tent.

Still, she hadn’t been able to get Ricky out of her mind all day. The mountaineer had kept intruding on her thoughts when she’d least expected it. She’d found herself losing her train of thought while she was writing, and realized more than once that she’d ended up reading the same paragraph over and over in her paperback.

Finally, she'd just given up, and let her mind trip to thoughts of what a revelation last night had been, and of the endless possibilities of what lay in store.

God, where are you, Ricky? Allison zipped up her jacket against the cold, and stuffed her hands into her pockets. A good place to start would be the mountaineer’s tent at the edge of the compound. It was a clear night, and the yellow tent was plainly visible in the pale moonlight, with heights of Pumori shimmering in the background.

"Want to go for a walk?"

Allison’s breath caught in her throat. She was surprised, certainly, at the shock of a voice sounding behind her, but it was a thrill of excitement, too, that stuttered her heart at the low, textured tone buzzing in her ear. She spun around to find Ricky Bouchard standing there, with a black and red Peak Performance cap pushed back on her head, a grin on her lips, and a thermos tucked under her arm. The light of the moon reflected off the planes of her face; the high arch of her cheekbones, the shadow of her throat. And her eyes… Allison gulped hard, trying to maintain her composure under the scrutiny of the two blue orbs twinkling at her like stars fallen straight down from the firmament above.

It was all she could do to bob her head in the affirmative.

"I’ll take that as a yes." Ricky tilted her head away from the dining tent. "Let’s get out of here, eh? I swiped some hot tea from Lopsang." She started to walk, and Allison followed closely beside her.

Allison fairly floated across the scree, oblivious to the night sounds of Base Camp; the groaning of the glacier, the laughter from distant dining tents. There was nothing but the pounding of her heart, the blood roaring through her ears, and the overwhelming nearness of the woman next to her.

It reminded her of the first time she’d parachute jumped. She’d been as scared as hell. But the excitement… the anticipation of what the experience would be like had propelled her past her fears with a vengeance, until suddenly she’d found herself at front of the plane and out the door.

And then she was flying, falling into the unknown, and thrilling at every mind-blowing moment of it. It had all been so… incredible, and she was unable to keep a shiver from running through her body at the memory of it.

The tremor did not escape the mountaineer’s notice.

"You cold?" Ricky cocked her head and studied Allison’s smaller form.

"Yes. No. I mean… uh—"

They had arrived at the edge of Ricky’s small encampment. There was a faint glow from within her tent, a delicate beacon of promise beckoning to Allison like a life preserver in the darkness.

Ricky shuffled her feet, confused. This was not at all what she’d anticipated. She’d been looking forward all day to seeing Allison again, and had hoped, no – she knew - that the young blonde felt the same way.

Still, the last thing she wanted to do was pressure her.

Patience.

"Look. If you’d rather—"

In frustration, Allison did the first thing that came to mind. She reached out and placed a hand behind the taller woman’s neck and pulled her down, silencing her with a kiss. At last Allison broke away, praying to God that her knees would not fail her now. "I’d rather."

Ricky’s eyes widened, like a child’s on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Allison groaned. In an instant, her world was turned topsy-turvy and she soon found herself inside Ricky’s tent with little memory of exactly how she got there.

She kept her eyes open, wanting to see it all, to feel, to touch. Layers of clothing were hastily peeled back and discarded, and as the powerful body of the mountaineer at last came into view, it was Allison who felt as though she’d just unwrapped a gift she was undeserving of.

They quickly came together, hard, fast, and furious. Every kiss robbed Allison of her breath; the silken feel of Ricky’s skin sliding against her own was an exquisite torture from which she found herself begging for release.

"Allison, I—" Ricky’s lips tore away from Allison’s, and her mouth hung open, panting.

"What? What is it?"

The mountaineer turned her head away. "I – it’s—"

Allison lifted a hand Ricky’s cheek, a sudden grip of fear clutching at her heart. What if Ricky was having second thoughts? Oh, God, not now. Not just when they’d found each other. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"It’s just that…" Ricky turned pained blue eyes to her, "I want to please you so much, Allison. I want to show you how much I care, but I’m afraid I haven’t really-- " she tilted her head away again, taking care to rest her weight on her elbows. "I don’t know-- "

And then Allison knew. "Hey," she said softly, as both understanding and relief cascaded through her. "This is all new to me too." She pulled the mountaineer tightly to her, and was relieved beyond all measure when Ricky returned the embrace. Allison could not help but let her hands roam over the finely muscled back; allowed herself to relish in the sensation of being caged, cocooned by the tightly coiled power of the taller woman’s arms and legs.

Allison was powerless to stop the fire stoking within her, one that only Ricky Bouchard could quench. She blew out a breath of air. "You know how to get to Carnegie Hall, don’t you?"

Ricky lifted her head, her long dark hair tumbling down and raking against Allison’s sensitive skin like a hot brand, claiming her. "No."

The puzzlement on Ricky’s face was priceless, and it almost made Allison laugh aloud. God, she never knew it could be like this. With anyone, ever. What had taken her so long?

"Practice, baby. Practice."

Ricky grinned. Once more, with renewed confidence, she lowered herself down onto Allison’s willing form. She nipped at the base of her throat, and then with a slow, leisurely pace, traced a hot, wet path up to her earlobe. "Let me see if I can play this one by ear."

To be continued - Part 10