The Edge of Dawn

by Beverly Jenkins

  He began to draw a line down 75. “If we take this route and keep the stops to a minimum, we can probably do it in under fourteen, fifteen hours.”

  Narice stood up and leaned over the map so she could get a better look. The route he’d highlighted took them through cities like Lexington, Chattanooga, Atlanta, and Macon. Her calculation said the drive would be 700 miles from Dayton to the swamp on the Georgia Florida border. “That’s a long way.”

  “Yeah, but as long as we don’t have to dodge cockroaches all the way down, it should be okay.”

  “Do you think they’ll find us?”

  Saint refused to lie to her. “Probably, but we’ll be ready.”

  “What about flying?”

  “I considered that too, but if I need my weapons, I don’t want to have to wait for them to come off the carousel.”

  To Narice that made sense. They were standing fairly close to each other. Her bare arm was only inches from his. Unable to stop himself, Saint reached out and gently lifted her chin, then kissed her lips softly. He’d planned to kiss her just once then let her go, but as she responded and began to return the kiss, passion flared.

  One minute Narice had been studying the map, and the next, he was kissing her and she was melting. When he pulled her closer, the heat of their bodies coming together made her slowly wrap her arms around him and hold him as close as he held her. The taste of his lips left her breathless; shimmering. In reality they’d both been waiting for this, pining for this, and they didn’t waste the moment.

  Saint transferred his kisses to her ear and then down the soft edge of her jaw. The heightened rush of her breathing matched the rush in his blood. He wanted to kiss her until sundown and then, until sunrise. Her lips were as intoxicating as the perfume teasing him from the silky brown column of her neck. He placed a kiss against the golden heart hanging from the chain around her neck, then brushed his warm lips against the skin.

  Narice drew in a shuddering breath. He was good—real good. Her arms had fallen to her sides and she was supporting her weight by holding the edge of the table. Every cell in her body was singing, pulsing as he traveled bold yet lazy kisses over her throat, her jaw, the gold heart around her neck. His hand moved to her breast and mapped it slowly. Each touch singed her skin and she sensually arched for more. In response she slid her tongue erotically against the edges of his mouth. He groaned and tasted the pink tip, while his hands tugged at her shirt to pull it free. Their tongues danced and mated; their breathing filled the morning silence, a silence that was suddenly spoiled by the insistent barking of a dog.

  Saint turned and said, “You got lousy timing, Jesse. What do you want?”

  While Narice tried to catch her breath, the dog barked twice.

  “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Jesse trotted back into Narice’s room.

  “Portia wants us for something.”

  Narice held his green eyes. She would have questioned him about his talking dogs, but she was too busy trying to come down off the sensual rocket ride he’d taken her on. Yes, he was very good but then she’d sensed that about him the night they met. “What do you think she wants?”

  “We’ll deal with that in a minute….” he whispered, kissing her again. A few hot moments later, he reluctantly drew away. Tracing her kiss-swollen mouth with a gentle finger, he then asked huskily, “So, will you go with me, as we used to say in middle school.”

  She smiled. “No commitments, no ties?”

  “None.”

  “Then I guess I can let you walk me home every now and then.”

  He leaned in and kissed her deeply, so deeply, her eyes closed and her body soared again. He broke the kiss and escorted the dazzled Narice back inside.

  Eleven

  Portia was seated in front of a monitor, fingers flowing over the keyboard. On screen were four wavy lines moving back and forth like something out of an old sci-fi flick.

  Without looking up, Portia said, “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but there’s something you need to hear.”

  Saint walked over. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve managed to isolate the true voice of Gus’s boss from the scrambled one.” Her lyrical voice was harsh. “Take a listen.” She hit a key and a very familiar voice came over the speakers.

  It was Ridley’s and Narice fought off a shiver.

  Portia spat, “May The Majesty cut off his tiny little balls.”

  Saint nodded his agreement, then said, “Knowing Gus and Ridley are working together makes me feel better, though.”

  Narice asked, “Why?”

  “Because I thought we were facing three groups: Gus, Ridley, and the general’s thugs, but with Gus and Ridley teamed up, that means only two packs of dogs are after this meat.”

  Portia cautioned, “He could still be working for the generals. No way to verify it one way or the other right now.”

  Saint understood, but in his mind, it did pare down the opposition. “Anything else? How about word on the election in The Majesty’s country?”

  “Nothing new. United Nations has reps on site attempting to set up polling places. Word is, the generals are being very cooperative.”

  “All the while making attempts on The Majesty’s life.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, Narice and I are going to hit the road around eight tonight, so anything else you can find will help.”

  Portia nodded, then said, “In the meantime, it’s such a glorious morning. How about taking the dogs out and letting them run for a while. Jesse’s been pestering me since she got up.”

  “No problem.” He turned to the dogs lying near Portia’s chair. “You two ready?”

  Both canines hopped up excitedly and trotted to his side. He grinned and rubbed their strong black-and-brown necks affectionately. “Then let’s go.”

  Outside, the dogs took off like prisoners on the lam. Narice had traded her mules for tennis shoes and the open field seemed to stretch forever. The silence of the country wasn’t something a city girl like Narice was accustomed to, but she found herself enjoying being able to hear the birds singing and the rustle of the breeze through the tall grass instead of traffic, planes overhead, and the rest of the noise associated with civilization. Even at her South Carolina time-share, the quiet often competed with the drone of power tools, jet skis, and drunks partying at night on their boats. Here, though, silence ruled. “I could learn to like this.”

  Saint ran an admiring eye over her womanly curves. “Could you?”

  “Yes, I could.”

  “How about the owner?”

  Narice looked up at him for a moment, remembering his kisses on the balcony. “I like Portia a lot.”

  He growled and cut her a warning look.

  Narice laughed, “Oh, you mean, you?”

  Amusement made him shake his head. “You’re hard on a brother’s ego.”

  “Me?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, you, Headmistress Jordan.”

  “No, I’m not. I love brothers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I do. Otherwise I would have accepted Lars’s marriage proposal last year.”

  Saint stopped. “Lars?”

  “Yep. Lars Hansen. Norwegian. Investment banker. Bucks on both sides of his family.”

  “You were dating a Norwegian?”

  “Hey. No brothers were asking me out.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “The cultural divide was too big. He didn’t know Frankie Beverly and Maze from Morris Day and the Tyme.”

  “I wouldn’t have married him either,” Saint laughed.

  “He took it well. In fact, somewhere in the Mediterranean he’s sailing his yacht, the Narice.”

  Saint stared. “He named his boat after you?”

  “Yes. I was pretty flattered, but not enough to marry him.”

  Saint was suddenly jealous of a man he’d never met. “How’d you meet him?”

  “He’s the un
cle of one of my students. We met a couple of years ago at her birthday party.”

  “I see.”

  Conversation died after that.

  Saint didn’t like hearing about her and another man, especially one who’d probably held her in his arms and tasted her kisses. As dynamic and fiery as she was, it was stupid of Saint to assume she’d been a hermit since her divorce. Now, illogically, he wanted to know about every man who’d ever so much as spoken her name.

  Narice sensed the story had disturbed their interlude and his male ego. Men, she thought. Keeping her voice nonchalant, she told him, “You know, some men would have sulked or pouted knowing some other man named his yacht after me. Glad you’re not like that.”

  Busted, Saint looked her way and smiled, “Me too.”

  Narice chuckled to herself and kept walking.

  Their meandering steps took them farther out into the fields and past a large stand of sunflowers. The plants were well over six feet tall and were crowned with multiple stems filled with flowers. Some were the traditional yellow petals with brown centers but others were exotic varieties she’d never seen before. “Red sunflowers?”

  “Yep.”

  The petals were a dark red bordering on black and the centers were even darker. Narice found them quite beautiful. She saw others that had pale pink leaves and a few that had snow-white petals. “These are amazing.”

  The variety of sunflowers was exceeded only by the variety of bees and other insects buzzing around the sturdy blooms.

  Saint watched her walking amongst the tall flowers, and thought she was pretty amazing, too. His mind flowed back to last night when she’d come to the door in those blue pajamas; she’d looked good. The kiss they shared this morning on the balcony was good too, so good it was still pulsing in his blood. “These sunflowers are Portia’s babies,” he said to her, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of her for much longer. “She sells the seeds to a local birdseed packager—when the local finches don’t eat them all.”

  Narice continued to pick her way through the flowers. “Where’d Portia get her technical training? She seems real comfortable with all that technology.”

  “Here and there, but she picked up most of it while working for the Brazilian government.”

  Narice thought about Portia’s skills, the contacts Portia talked about having, and her ability to ferret out secret info. “Did her job entail, this and that, too?”

  Saint hesitated for a split second, then told her the truth. “Yes.”

  Narice was pretty sure he wouldn’t answer any more questions along that line, so she didn’t ask another. Instead she let rise the heated memories of the kisses they’d shared at breakfast. Being out here with him brought it all back, along with her bold admission that the dog-interrupted interlude hadn’t come close to satisfying her.

  Saint said, “You know, in a way, sunflowers are like mistletoe.”

  “How so?” Her face was a study of amusement and skepticism.

  Green eyes sparkling with mischief, he slid an arm around her waist and eased her close enough for her to feel his body heat. “If you’re near sunflowers and a pretty lady comes by, you can kiss her.”

  Narice learned that drowning in a man’s eyes was not just a figure of speech. “Oh, really?”

  “Naw. I made it up.”

  She dropped her head, laughed softly, then met his smoldering gaze again. “Well, let’s pretend that you didn’t….”

  Convinced that she was the most fearless and fascinating woman alive, Saint used his right hand to raise her chin and brushed his mouth across hers, murmuring, “I’m game…”

  The sweet power he slowly poured into the kiss melted Narice’s knees. Heat bloomed, and this morning’s passion on the balcony picked up where it left off. Her lips parted in shuddering response and he nibbled seductively on her bottom lip. His tongue slid over the parted corners of her mouth, then delved inside to coax hers to come out and play. In the meantime his hands were slowly exploring the curves and planes of her body, setting off tiny flames of desire that made her want more. He left her lips and grazed his bearded cheek ever so lightly over cheek, her jaw, her chin; inhaling her scent, savoring the softness of her skin, tempting her with fleeting touches of his body’s heat. A brazen fire began to build in the core of all that made her woman and she whispered, “Touch me…”

  The force of those two words hardened his manhood and sent heat spiraling through his veins. He undid the buttons on her blouse, then ran a hot palm over her lace-encased breast. “Here…?” He boldy slid a hand down her body and gently cupped the warmth between her thighs in the thin, lightweight pants “Or here…?”

  He gave a meaningful stroke to that damp, blossoming spot and Narice responded with a low, sensuous groan.

  He slid her bra free and tongued a nipple. He bit the tight bud gently, expertly, causing Narice to suck in a shaky breath. Only when each nipple was hard and throbbing did he raise his head and kiss her mouth. His hand between her thighs was doing marvelously wicked things.

  In a voice that was as hot as she was, he asked, “What’s a headmistress doing wearing such sexy underwear…?”

  Narice couldn’t have answered if she’d tried. Speech was gone; mind was gone; only the sensations rising from his naughty explorations below and his expert fingers on her half-bared nipples above, remained. With a touch he coaxed her to widen her stance and she complied shamelessly just so she could continue to be fed. The flimsy cotton of her pants and the thin material of her panties made it easy for him to find the bud whose only purpose was pleasure. His fingers were erotic, knowing, and fed her so full and so well the orgasm that tore through her long starved body made her grasp his wrist and fall against his chest so she could ride the waves of pleasure.

  Saint took her weight and felt his own desire roaring. She’d come so quickly, he had to ask softly against her ear, “Has it been that long?”

  She whispered back. “Yes.” But she glorified in all he’d made her feel.

  Saint knew that were she his, she’d never go a day without him leisurely pleasuring her the way her sweet woman’s body deserved. He slid a fingertip over the shuddering vent between her thighs wanting more than anything to sheathe himself in her tight heat. He wanted to explore, kiss, and coax her until she forgot about men named Lars, and remembered only him.

  But he couldn’t take her here amongst the sunflowers because—he slapped at a horsefly as it bit his neck—there were too many bugs.

  Narice finally came back to herself. The pure want in his eyes made her shiver sensually.

  He pressed his lips to hers. “You shouldn’t look at me that way.”

  Narice kissed him back. “Why not?” She wanted to be naked for him right here and now.

  He circled his hand over her ripe behind and murmured, “Because I’m about two seconds away from stripping you naked, woman, and our first time shouldn’t be in the middle of a sunflower field.”

  She gave his lips a series of tiny seductive little kisses and asked again, “Why not?”

  He dropped his head and traveled kisses up the column of her warm throat until her head slid back. “Because the only thing I want biting you, is me…” He gave her a gentle nip on the soft skin below her jaw and she groaned her pleasure.

  He said against her ear, “Remember the mosquitoes at Uncle Willie’s…?”

  She did only too well.

  He gave her a long parting kiss then stepped away.

  Very conscious of the steam rising between them, they viewed each other through eyes hazy with desire. Narice wanted to find the closest bed and pay him back in kind for the glorious pleasure he’d given her. Her breasts were still throbbing and the echoes of her orgasm continued to pound in her blood. He was right, of course, making love out here wouldn’t be wise. She slapped at a horsefly the size of a quarter and he raised an eyebrow knowingly.

  He asked, “You ready to continue our walk?”

  “N
o,” she said with a blaze in her eyes, “But lead on, McDuff.”

  He face looked at her quizzically.

  “Line from Shakespeare.”

  “Ah.” He ran his eyes over her kiss-swollen lips and felt himself grow hard all over again. “A lioness who quotes Shakespeare. You, are one of a kind.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He took her by the hand and they set off again, passing plots of tomatoes and trellised green beans. They played tag in a field of corn and kissed themselves senseless in the middle of a melon patch. Her blouse was again opened and he helped himself to the twin prizes inside.

  Saint spotted a fallen tree trunk. They sat and rested. The openness and quietness of the surroundings were a marked contrast to the heat pulsing through her body. Saint looked her way and grinned.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Me.” He leaned over and kissed her slowly and thoroughly again.

  Eyes closed, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the classiest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to chase down a dark street.”

  Narice’s eyes were smoldering. “And you’re the hottest man to ever catch me.”

  “Never thought we’d end up like this.”

  “Me either.”

  When it was time to move on, Narice wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. She was so dizzied and dazzled by desire, putting one foot in front of another took a lot of effort. She realized they were now quite a ways from the house. They were standing on a rise and the house below looked very small. “I didn’t realize we’d walked so far.”

  He eyed this woman who had the sweetest nipples on the planet, and damn if he didn’t want to taste them again. “Time passes when you’re having fun.”

  She grinned. She had had fun. “Be nice to spend a few more days here.”

  He took in the expansive land spread out before them like God’s tablecloth and couldn’t agree more. “I know.”

  But they knew they could not.

  Narice glanced over at him from beneath her lashes and again couldn’t decide which of his personas moved her more—the man who wore the dark glasses or this one with the contacts over his green eyes. “Do green eyes run in your family?”