The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’ll decide that,” she said, following him in, “after I take a look.”

  “Suit yourself. Go on up and get something out of Jo’s closet.”

  The house seemed so quiet, isolated in the violent rain. “Is she here?”

  “As far as I know, she’s out too.” He went to the freezer, took out some black bean soup he’d made weeks before. “She’ll take shelter, like everybody else.”

  When Kirby came back fifteen minutes later, the kitchen smelled of coffee and simmering soup. The warmth eased away the last of the tension in her shoulders. Leaning against the doorway a moment, she indulged herself by watching him work.

  Despite his bandaged hand, he was neatly slicing thick slabs from a loaf of brown bread he’d undoubtedly baked himself. His wet shirt clung to him, displaying an attractive outline of muscle and rib. When he looked over at her, his eyes were a cool, misty blue that made her stomach flutter pleasantly.

  “It smells wonderful.”

  “Figured you hadn’t eaten.”

  “No, I haven’t—not since a stale Danish this morning.” She held out the shirt she’d taken from his closet. “Here, put this on. You shouldn’t stand around in wet clothes.”

  “Thanks.” He noted that she’d changed into some of Jo’s dull gray sweats. They bagged on her and made her seem all the more delicate. “You look lost in those.”

  “Well, Jo’s a good six inches taller than I am.” She lifted a brow as he tugged the wet shirt off over his head. His skin was damp and brown and smooth. “God, you’re attractive, Brian.” She laughed when his brows drew together in what was obviously confused embarrassment. “I get to appreciate your wonderful build on two levels, as a doctor and as a woman. Better put that shirt on, or I might lose control, on both counts.”

  “That could be interesting.” Letting the shirt dangle from his fingers, he stepped toward her. “Which would come first?”

  “I never let personal leanings interfere with professional obligations.” She trailed a finger up his arm, then down to his wrist. “Which is why I’m going to examine that wound first thing.”

  “And second thing?” Before she could answer, he cupped his hands under her elbows and lifted her. When their mouths were level, he leaned forward to toy with her lips.

  “Excellent upper body strength.” Her voice was just a little breathless as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Your pulse is a little elevated,” she murmured, checking the one at his throat with her mouth. “Just a little fast.”

  “I’ve got a case on you, Doc Kirby.” Brian turned his face into her hair. It smelled of rain and lemons. “It doesn’t seem to be passing. Fact is, I’m starting to think it’s terminal.” When she went very still, he shifted her until he could see her eyes. “What do you want from me, Kirby?”

  “I thought I knew.” Her fingers tingled when she skimmed them over his face. “I’m not sure anymore. Maybe whatever case you’ve got is contagious. Do you have this ache around your heart?”

  “Just like it’s being squeezed.”

  “And this lifting and sinking sensation in your stomach?”

  “All the time lately. So what’s wrong with us, Doc?”

  “I’m not sure, but—” She broke off as the screen door slammed. Voices rose and invaded the kitchen. Sighing, Kirby laid her brow against Brian’s until he shifted her hips and set her down.

  “Sounds like Lexy and Giff are back.” He kept his eyes on Kirby. “Some of the others are likely with them, and they’ll be looking for a hot meal.”

  “Then I’ll help you dish up some soup.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” He lifted the lid on the pot, letting steam and scent escape. “We’re going to have to finish this conversation sometime or other.”

  “Yes, we are.” She opened a cupboard to get bowls. “Sometime or other.”

  FROM Nathan’s porch, Jo watched the rain and smoked restlessly. He’d tried the television when they came in, hoping for a weather report. The cable was already out, so they settled for the radio. Static hissed out, along with the announcer’s listings of small-craft advisories and flash-flood warnings.

  They’d lose power if it kept up much longer, she thought. And the ponds and rivers would certainly flood. Already she could see puddles forming and deepening.

  “No word yet.” Nathan joined her on the porch. “Some of the search party’s taken shelter at Sanctuary to wait this out.” He laid a towel over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. Why don’t you come inside?”

  “I like to watch.” Lightning stabbed the sky and sent an answering jolt into her stomach. “Quick squalls like this are hell to be out in, but they’re exciting from the right vantage point.” She took a deep breath when the sky went hot and white. The sting of ozone lingered on the air. “Where’s your camera? I took mine back home.”

  “In the bedroom. I’ll get it for you.”

  Impatient, she stabbed out her cigarette in a broken shell. Too much energy, she thought. It was pumping through her, pounding at her. She all but snatched the camera from Nathan when he brought it out. “What kind of film do you have in here?”

  “Four hundred,” he said quietly, watching as she quickly examined it.

  “Good. That’s fast. I want fast.” She lifted, aimed at the rain-lashed trees, the swinging moss. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, then snapped with the next burst of lightning. “Another, I want another.” Thunder rattled the air as she changed angles, her finger as itchy as if it were on the trigger of a gun.

  “I need to get down, shoot up at that tree.”

  “No.” Nathan bent to pick up the towel that had fallen from her shoulders. The overhang offered little protection. The two of them were rapidly getting soaked. “You’re not going out there. You don’t know where or when we could have a lightning strike.”

  “That’s half of it, isn’t it? The not knowing. The not caring.” She tossed back her head. Recklessness streaked through her, glowed dangerously in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing with you, or when I might get hit next. I don’t seem to care. How much are you going to hurt me, Nathan, and how long will it take me to get over it? And how long before one of us does something cruel, indifferent, or foolish?”

  Before he could speak, she grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. “I don’t care.” She dug her teeth into his lip.

  “You need to care.” Enraged with fate, he caught her face in his hands, pulled her back. His eyes were as dark and violent as the storm whipping the air. “I want you to understand that when I do hurt you, I won’t have a choice.”

  “I don’t care,” she repeated, pulling his mouth back to hers. “I only want now. Right now. I want you. I don’t want to think, I don’t want either of us to think. I just want to feel.”

  His mind was already hazed as they stumbled through the door. She bobbled the camera, laughing and moaning as he tore at her shirt. “Fast,” she managed. “I still want fast.”

  He tumbled with her to the floor, and the camera thudded lightly on the carpet as they ripped off clothes and shoes. Her hands were tangled in her shirt when he thrust inside her. She grappled to free them, the momentary thrill of being helpless and bound adding another layer of excitement. Then she was free, and her fingers dug into his hips to urge him to drive deeper, and harder.

  He couldn’t stop himself, and let the speed, the heat, the fury of mating rule them both. If her need was frantic, his was desperate. To take her, to have her, to keep her. One more day, one more hour. A dozen lifetimes.

  If his punishment for his father’s sin was to fall in love, so terribly in love, and lose, he would take every moment he could steal before payment came due.

  She cried out in grateful relief when the orgasm stabbed through her. His body plunged violently in hers, then stilled. His breath was ragged as he pushed himself back to stare down at her. “Is that what you wanted?”

  “Yes.” />
  “Fast, and heartless.”

  “Yes.”

  His hand closed in a fist. It was exactly what he’d given her. “Do you think it’s going to stop at that?”

  She closed her eyes briefly, then willed herself to open them. “No.”

  “Good.” He relaxed his hand, brushed it over her cheek. Another moment stolen, he thought when her eyes opened and met his. “I’d hate to have to argue with you when I’m still wanting you. Give me more, Jo Ellen.” His mouth lowered to tease her. “Don’t make me take it this time.”

  Her arms lifted, wrapped around him. “I’m so afraid of you.”

  “I know. Give me more anyway. Take a chance.”

  His mouth stayed gentle, waiting for hers to answer, then to demand. He wanted more, much more, than that rough and edgy release they’d offered each other. More than the animal lunge of hot blood. When she sighed out his name he knew he had the beginnings of it.

  Her mouth grew more hungry, her hands began to roam. Fresh need built in her quickly, as though it had never been met. She craved the taste of his skin and took her mouth on a journey over his face and throat. With a murmur of approval, she rolled with him until she stretched across his body with the freedom to do as she pleased.

  The wind kicked, rattling the screen door on its hinges. The house shuddered beneath them. In contrast they moved slowly, almost languidly. Touch and taste, sigh and murmur. She lost herself in the easy sway of it, the shift and glide of bodies, rhythms set and matched.

  She thought she could float over him, inch by inch, and wonder as she set each separate muscle to quivering.

  He eased her back, sitting up to slide her into his lap. It was tenderness he needed for both of them now, to soothe the pain already suffered. And the pain yet to come.

  Their eyes held as he lowered his mouth to hers, took the kiss deep, gradually deep so that the warmth from it flushed over her. The intimacy of it shimmered through her. She might have resisted, she lifted a hand to his chest as if to do so. But her limbs went limp, and she was lost.

  And she gave him more.

  It was surrender he wanted, for both of them. His and hers. A yielding. Soft, liquid kisses filled them both, nudged them lazily toward excitement. When he cupped her, her moan was quiet and ended on a little gasp of pleasure. He took her up slowly so that the orgasm was long and sleek.

  They each trembled, and when she reached for him, thrilling to find him hard and ready, her lips curved against his.

  “Again,” she murmured. “Just like that. Again.”

  The pleasure rolled through her, layer by layer to whirl in her head like wine. Still shimmering from it, she shifted, until her body was over his and the thick beat of his heart was under her mouth.

  “I love what you can do to me.” She slid down, spreading light, open-mouthed kisses down to his belly. “I want to know I can do it to you.”

  His skin quivered when she closed that hot, generous mouth over him. Dark pleasure blurred his vision, and the roar in his head drowned out the rain. She drove him to the brink, where he clung to pleasure and control and sanity only by slippery fingertips.

  She rose up over him, her body glimmering in the murky light. She lowered to him, took him in, arched back, took him deeper. Her arms lifted up, folded behind her head as if in triumph. Her eyes met his, stared intently into that smoky gray as she began to move.

  Slowly, torturously. And her body shivered when his hands closed hard and possessive over her breasts. Smoothly, silkily. His breath caught and strangled as she braced her own hands on his chest.

  Her head fell back, her body going arrow-taut and her muscles clamping hard around him as she rode herself to peak. Yet even as her heart tripped, her brain staggered, her system revved greedily for more. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stop it. Her body drove, forward, back, racing for new pleasure.

  Sweat dewed her skin. When he levered himself up to surround her nipple with his mouth, he tasted salt and heat. She came again, crying out in shock and near panic. Holding tight to her, he let go of the edge and took them both flying.

  Her lungs were burning, her throat dry as dust. She tried to swallow, then gave up and dropped her head on his shoulder. When her ears stopped ringing, she heard the silence.

  “It’s stopped raining.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  With a laugh she nearly managed to take a full breath. “We’re going to have a hell of a time explaining these rug burns.” Enjoying the sensation, she ran her hands over his damp back. “I need about a gallon of water.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait right here.”

  “Though it pains me to admit it, I think I’m a little too weak as yet to cart you over to the sink.” He shifted her weight and grinned as she rolled limply onto the rug.

  He got up to fill a glass, then stopped and looked at her. Her skin was rosily flushed all over, her hair a tangled red halo around her face. Her mouth was soft, still swollen and slightly curved in contentment. On impulse he set the glass down and lifted his camera.

  Her eyes flew open when she heard the click of the shutter. She yelped, instinctively crossing her arms over her breasts. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Stealing moments, he thought. He was going to need them. “Christ, you look good.” He crouched, clicked off another shot as her eyes widened.

  “Stop that. Are you crazy? I’m naked.”

  “You look incredible. All rumpled and flushed and freshly fucked. Don’t cover yourself. You’ve got beautiful breasts.”

  “Nathan.” She only folded her arms more protectively. “Put that camera down.”

  “Why?” He lowered it but continued to grin. “You can develop them yourself. Who’s to see? There’s nothing much more artistic and visually stunning than a nude study.”

  “Fine.” Keeping one arm strategically bent, she held out a hand. “Let me take you.”

  “Sure.” He offered the camera, amused to see her frown of surprise.

  “You aren’t the least bit embarrassed.”

  “No.”

  She angled her head toward the camera he still held. “I want that roll of film.”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on taking it in to Fotomat, darling.” He glanced down, checked the number of shots left. “Just one more in here. Let me take it. Just your face.”

  “Just my face,” she agreed and relaxed enough to smile at him. “There. Now I want that film.”

  “Okay.” He moved quickly when she lowered her arm and got off the last shot.

  “Damn it, you said it was out.”

  “I lied.” Roaring with laughter, he rose and set the camera on the table. “But it’s out now. I’ll want to see the contacts so I can pick out the prints I want.”

  “If you think I’m going to develop that film, you’re mistaken.” She got up and grabbed the camera.

  “The pictures you took of the storm are in there.” He said it with a smile on his face that widened as he saw her struggle between the urge to rip out the roll and ruin it and the need to preserve her own shots.

  “That was very sneaky, Nathan.”

  “I thought so. Don’t put that back on,” he said when she bent down to retrieve her shirt. “It’s still damp. I’ll get you a dry one.”

  “Thanks.” She watched him walk to the bedroom, pursing her lips as she studied his tight, muscular buns. Next time, she decided as she tugged on her slacks, she’d make sure she had her own camera handy.

  And with that thought in mind, she unloaded the film and tucked it into her back pocket.

  He tossed her a T-shirt when he came back out, then fastened the dry jeans he’d pulled on. “I’ll walk back to Sanctuary with you. We’ll check on the status of things.”

  “All right. The search parties will probably be heading out again.” She combed her fingers through her hair to untangle it. “It’s going to be a mess out there from the storm. I’d put some boots on if I were you.”
/>
  He glanced down at her olive-green sneakers. “You’re not wearing any.”

  “I would if I had them handy.”

  “So we’ll both get sloppy.” He took her hand and watched surprise flicker into her eyes when he lifted it to kiss her knuckles. “Then tonight, I’ll take you out to dinner.”

  “Out to dinner?”

  “Well, in to dinner. We’ll sit in the dining room, look at menus, order wine. I’m told people do that all the time.”

  “It’s silly. I live there.”

  “I don’t. I want to have dinner with you. The kind of evening where you sit across from each other at a table, with candles in between, have conversation. Where other people pretend they’re not watching us and thinking what an attractive couple we make.” He picked up a ball cap from the coffee table and snugged it over her hair. “And I can look at you all through the meal and think about making love to you again. It’s called romance.”

  “I’m not any good at romance.”

  “You said that about sex. You were wrong.” He took her hand and walked to the door. “Let’s see how this works out. Maybe Brian will whip up some flan.”

  She had to laugh. “People are going to think it’s pretty strange for me to take a table at the inn.”

  “It’ll give them something to talk about.” Their feet squelched into the soggy ground when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  The heat was rolling back, sending the steam rising, turning the air thick. The forest looked ripe, fertile, and darkly green. Water dripped and plopped from leaves, sending fresh showers over their heads as they turned toward the river.

  “Churned everything up,” Jo commented. “Water’s running high and fast. It may crest over the banks, but I doubt it’ll cause any damage here.”

  She detoured for a closer look, philosophically accepting ruined shoes as she sank past her ankles in muck. “Daddy’ll want to take a look, I imagine, but there’s not much to be done. It’ll be more worrisome over at the campground. The beach should be fine, though. The winds weren’t high enough to take down the dunes. We’ll have a nice crop of shells washed up from it.”

  “You sound like your father’s daughter.”