SAY AHHH...

by Donna Sterling

  She forced her eyes open and searched for Jeffrey and Timmy. They were tossing a ball with other kids in the water.

  "Hey, Dr. Wade, I'll read your horoscope," volunteered the girl with the magazine. "What's your sign?"

  "Leo."

  The girl read aloud, and Sarah's eyes drifted closed again. Leo, he'd said. She imagined a great, tawny lion poised beside her, sleek and muscled, with a low, sexy growl … and the most dangerous hazel eyes in the jungle…

  "I think you should read Ms. Flowers's horoscope, too," the man beast beside her purred in that velvet-deep growl of his.

  "Ms. Flowers?"

  Sarah jerked herself out of a dream state and lifted her head from the chair, struggling to focus her gaze.

  The two girls were shyly eyeing her. She hadn't introduced herself to anyone at the pool, or in town. From the surreptitious glances of nearby sunbathers, she realized she'd stirred up curiosity.

  Connor tipped her a smile, though she sensed it cost him some effort. "What's your sign, Ms. Flowers?"

  Her sign? She didn't know it. Dismay flushed through her until she realized that no one would know whether she was right or not. Choosing one, she murmured, "Gemini."

  The girl read from her magazine about big money, a high-powered career and a daring romance. Sarah smiled her thanks and rested her head back again. Apparently she wasn't a Gemini.

  The sun beat down hotter, if that were possible, and her drowsiness grew overpowering. The Punch Cola hadn't worked at all, she mused. In fact, she felt as if she'd been drugged with sedatives.

  She wondered if the caffeine could be having the opposite effect than the one she'd expected. A memory stirred in the hazy recesses of her mind: She couldn't drink more than one cup of coffee, or it would put her to sleep…

  "Funny," came Connor's voice from far away. "I thought your birthday was in mid-September. Wouldn't that make you a Virgo?"

  She frowned … or thought she did, if her face muscles had cooperated. Why would he think he knew her birthday? Even she didn't know her birthday.

  In answer to her unasked question, he leaned closer and whispered, "From your medical chart. September fifteenth, I believe you wrote."

  She knew she should be alarmed by what he'd said, but she couldn't quite grasp why. The humming around her had turned into a deeper drone, and the warm, red darkness lured her into sleep.

  "Sarah?" Connor's voice reached her through some tunnel. "Sarah." He touched her arm, but she couldn't respond with more than a groan.

  In a distant part of her, panic sparked. Jeffrey and Timmy needed her, but the sleepiness had grown too heavy to resist.

  "Promise me you'll go to him if you need help." Annie had said that, about Connor Wade. But Annie hadn't known how vulnerable she could be with him. How the sensuality could blaze so quickly beyond her control.

  She slipped deeper into the darkness.

  Marshaling the little strength she had left, she blindly reached out and touched the muscled arm beside her. "Connor," she whispered, her eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to open. "Can't stay awake. Can't … watch … the boys."

  She wasn't entirely sure the words had even left her mouth when he rose from his chair and leaned over her. Laying his hand against her forehead, he asked questions about how she felt.

  "Sleepy," she murmured. "Just want to sleep."

  "I'm going to listen to your breathing," he told her. Before she fully understood, he'd pressed his ear and silky, fragrant hair against her throat. If she hadn't been so terribly lethargic, she might have stopped breathing altogether…

  He gripped her wrist and checked her pulse, his fingers strong and firm, then patted cold water against her face. Pressing a bottle to her lips, he instructed, "Drink."

  She obeyed. Cool, wonderful water.

  Through a muffling haze, she heard him give orders to someone about Timmy and Jeffrey. Moments later, he leaned close again, his scent and his nearness oddly comforting. "You can't sleep here for long in the sun, Sarah. Can you walk?"

  She nodded, hoping it was true. Strong arms helped her stand, bracketed her waist, then braced her against a lean, hard body. She concentrated on taking each step and keeping her eyes reasonably open, although everything looked blurred.

  Connor asked her if she'd been getting any sleep lately.

  She admitted she hadn't.

  When they reached the parking lot, he stopped and swept her feet out from under her. He was carrying her, she realized.

  Nestled against the muscled wall of his chest, near the forceful beating of his heart, she tucked her face into the curve of his neck and gave in to the persistent darkness.

  Connor cursed himself long and hard. He'd promised to leave her alone, and what was he doing? Carrying her to his car!

  It wasn't as if she needed medical attention. He'd determined that she wasn't in immediate danger of dehydration and that she hadn't fainted. She was merely sleeping—normal, healthy sleep that was long overdue.

  After his anger had somewhat cooled, he allowed himself a little justification: He couldn't have left her lying in the sun. And she had asked for his help.

  Never had he been so gratified by a request for help.

  He'd taken care of her immediate concern by asking the two teenage girls to escort Jeffrey and Timmy to Lorna. He'd watched as they ushered the boys to the tennis court where they'd found her. Lorna hadn't looked happy about the interruption … or at the sight of him leaving with her maid/cook/baby-sitter. Too bad.

  Since he'd overheard the cold way she'd spoken to Sarah last night, he'd seen Lorna in a new light. The elegance he'd admired since high school now seemed more like arrogance, and her warmth seemed shallow. He wished he hadn't asked her to this evening's charity dance. He'd take her, but only because he'd committed to it.

  Wasting little time on thoughts of Lorna, he returned his attention to Sarah. She apparently hadn't been sleeping lately. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know quite a few things about her.

  He'd already learned one—how she felt in his arms. The silkiness of her skin against his, the voluptuous crush of her breast against his chest, the enticing heaviness of her hair as it cascaded down his arm and shoulder.

  He'd known she would feel good. He hadn't known how good.

  He settled her into the reclining passenger seat of his Jaguar sports coupe. She tried to lift her head. It looked like quite a struggle. "Timmy and Jeffrey…"

  "They're with their mother."

  She groaned, as if she wasn't too happy to hear that. "I have to talk to her. I have to tell that I—"

  "I'll call her. You relax."

  Laying her head back down, she whispered an apology for being so sleepy. He assured her he didn't mind, brushed a silky tendril away from her half-closed eyes and urged her to sleep.

  By the time he'd taken his place behind the wheel, dialed his cell phone and left a message on Lorna's answering machine, Sarah had shifted onto her side, rested her head on her arm and dozed off into a deep, silent slumber.

  He tried not to look at her as he drove. She'd folded her elegant legs up against her. Her provocative bathing suit molded itself perfectly to her rounded backside and bared a long, sleek expanse of hip, thigh and calf.

  He forced himself to breathe. And to stay on the road.

  Slowly he drove down the narrow, hilly streets of town, past the awning-shaded shops on the square, the ornate gazebo in the park and the turbulent waterfall at the Main Street Bridge.

  Where should he take her?

  Since she wasn't sick, he saw no reason to install her in the clinic where he'd have to sit idly beside her for hours. He could drop her off at Lorna's house, of course, but she'd be woken up and working in no time. Besides, if he were to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he wanted to stay with her. To make sure she wasn't disturbed, he rationalized.

  He considered taking her to his house. To his bed, where she could sleep in comfort. Thinking of her there filled his gut
with heat. He hadn't lost his mind entirely, though. She probably wouldn't appreciate waking up to find herself in his house, in his bed. It wasn't worth the risk of losing whatever trust she had in him … not when she'd finally asked him for help.

  He drove her instead to a nearby grassy spot shaded by cottonwood trees, high on a plateau that overlooked Juneberry Lake. A smattering of other couples reclined on blankets a few dozen feet below them.

  This, he decided, should do just fine. He wasn't entirely alone with her here, yet they would have some privacy. No one would bother them.

  Juneberry Lake was a place for lovers.

  The heavy scent of springtime grasses, wild plum and lilac carried to him on the breeze. The shade of the cottonwood trees pleasantly curbed the heat of the afternoon. Birds sang, chirped and bantered in the surrounding woods.

  Stretched out comfortably on a blanket he'd kept on hand for roadside medical emergencies, he propped himself up on an elbow beside her and watched her sleep. He'd covered her as best he could with his chambray shirt, mostly to preserve what little sanity he had left. With much of her body curled beneath it, she looked soft, sweety and altogether too kissable.

  His blood stirred.

  Did the woman have any idea how she affected him?

  He'd never forget what she'd done to him at the pool, with her Gypsy-dark hair shining halfway to her narrow waist and her long, smooth legs wickedly bare. Though he knew every facet of the human body and could probably construct a model in his sleep, hers somehow bewitched him, with every curve flowing mystically into the next.

  He'd had a damn hard time keeping his eyes off her.

  Then she'd splashed that cold water over herself and turned to him with a sultry stare. The stare alone had made his mouth go dry. When the wet fabric of her swimsuit had outlined her breasts in intimate detail, he'd nearly come out of his chair.

  She was sexier than sin and lit fires in his blood, but she had an innocence about her, too. A sweet, irresistible innocence that tied his insides in knots.

  It wasn't wise to want her so much.

  She rolled toward him, dislodging the shirt from her shoulders. The sun had kissed them with an appealing golden glow, and he had to force himself not to touch her.

  Growing restless, she shifted again. Her dark, delicate brows knit together. A groan escaped her, then a whimper.

  A bad dream?

  Her breathing quickened. Her brow furrowed. "No," she whispered, her eyes tightly closed. "No-o-o!"

  He rubbed her arm to soothe her. "Shh. You're okay."

  She continued to thrash about until she sobbed. Shaken by her anguish, Connor pulled her firmly into his arms and murmured incoherent sounds of assurance.

  Apparently something traumatic had frightened or upset her. What? Something had sent her running to this small, out-of-the-way town where she kept strictly to herself, working in a job far below her potential, lying even to doctors about her history.

  He wished she'd trust him. He wanted to help her. And to protect her. And to take away the fear he sensed was at least partially responsible for the way she held herself beyond his reach.

  "Jack!" she cried in an anguished whisper. "Jack."

  Connor froze, his heart standing still. Jack? Swallowing against a suddenly tight throat, he stroked her hair and shoulders. The tension gradually left her body and her trembling ceased.

  Jack. The name settled like a lump in his stomach. Who was Jack and why was she dreaming about him? What was she dreaming about him? He couldn't be sure if she'd said the name in fear, in sadness or in longing. Was he someone she'd run from, or someone she desperately missed?

  The questions dug deep into his gut, reminding him of all the reasons he'd sworn to keep his distance from her.

  He continued to hold her, anyway. And to stroke her hair, her shoulders and the long, slender curve of her back, closing his eyes to better savor the silky textures.

  She cuddled to him, molding her warm, firm body to his with the easiness of a lover. Did she think he was someone else? Even as he wondered, sensual warmth sparked and radiated within him.

  She felt so damn right in his arms. He ached to run his hands all over her, beyond the boundaries; to wake her with kisses, strip off their swimsuits and make sweet, hot love to her.

  Who the hell was Jack?

  Whoever he was, he wasn't here now. And no one, but no one, would stop him from holding her for as long as he could.

  The groan disrupted her dream. And it was such a lovely dream, too—of being held, stroked and cuddled by some strong, sexy man until she purred and arched and rubbed herself against him. "Sarah."

  She couldn't tell if the deep, gruff whisper was part of her dream or not. Choosing to ignore it, she entwined her legs with the hairy, muscular ones beside her. Mmm … wonderful.

  The groan came again, sounding tortured this time. Arms tightened around her, and a whisper tingled across her ear, "Sarah, sweetheart, you're killing me."

  Killing him? That didn't quite mesh with her dream.

  Her eyelids lifted halfway open. She wasn't particularly surprised to find a sinewy arm lodged beneath her head and her cheek pressed against a biceps. Her palm rested on a muscular chest with her fingers woven through its silky curls.

  This was all part of her dream … wasn't it?

  Suddenly unsure, she opened her eyes the rest of the way. She found herself gazing into a deeply tanned, handsome face with hooded hazel eyes only inches from hers.

  She recognized him immediately, of course—the man who held her so closely; the man whose legs were twined with hers.

  Connor Wade.

  He'd rescued her at the club and walked her to his car. No, carried her. Confusion dazed her. What had happened after that?

  With his tousled hair and heavy-lidded eyes, he looked as if he, too, had been sleeping and recently awakened. She wore nothing but a swimsuit, she realized. Neither did he. They lay skin to skin, face-to-face … and he was gazing at her with a sexual hunger that kindled a slow, languid heat within her.

  "Before you say a word," he murmured hoarsely, "there's something I really, really have to do." His hand curled around her nape and he leaned in closer.

  She knew what he wanted. She wanted it, too. A kiss. Just one. She angled her face for it.

  He brushed his mouth slowly across hers, the tip of his tongue gliding velvet-soft against the inner swell of her lips. Wetting them. Parting them. He followed through with another lingering pass, penetrating deeper this time.

  A sound of arousal rose in her throat, and she slid her palms around his hot, muscled shoulders.

  He groaned, pressed her down onto her back and moved his hand to her jaw. Lodging his thumb against her face, he made slow, intricate love to her mouth.

  Desire coursed in hot, wicked currents to the far reaches of her body. She felt alive, wonderfully alive, as she hadn't for so long. She reveled in the mindless pleasure spilling through her, wanting more of his heat, his mouth, his body.

  But the kiss soon ended, and he pulled back. Though his hazel eyes burned into hers, she saw hesitation there, too. "Sarah," he asked in a doubtful whisper, "are you fully awake?"

  She nodded, wanting only to melt back into his kiss.

  "And you know it's me? Connor."

  "Connor," she acknowledged softly. Who else would it be?

  It was then, though, that her thought process kicked back into gear. Of course it was Connor … but what was she doing with him? She had no business kissing him, or lying half-naked in his arms! Her eyes widened in alarm. "What are we doing?" she cried in a strangled whisper. "What the hell are we doing?"

  He shut his eyes as if she'd slapped him. Shifting out of her embrace, he settled onto his back and stared at the sky.

  She sat up and looked wildly around her, panic replacing the heat she'd felt only moments before. "For heaven's sake, where are we?"

  "Juneberry Lake."

  "Juneberry Lake!" She glanced down at him
in confusion. "But, why? You helped me walk out of the club, I remember, and you carried me to your car. Then you … you brought me to some secluded spot by a lake?" she deduced incredulously.

  "It's not all that secluded." His words were dry, clipped and only slightly defensive. "There's a good number of people at the foot of this hill."

  She glanced down the hill. "I don't see anyone."

  He sat up and looked for himself. Dismay replaced his surliness. He glanced at his watch. "It's late. We've got to go."

  "What time is it?" From the low, golden slant of the sun over the surrounding mountains and the slight chill that had pervaded the mountain air, she knew the hour had grown late. Five o'clock, or maybe even six. Either way, she'd been away from her job for far too long. "It's almost seven."

  "Seven!" The pronouncement stunned her.

  "I should have woken you sooner," he admitted, his face taut with self-reproach, "but I fell asleep, too. Guess I haven't been sleeping very well myself." He slanted her a glance that somehow blamed her. The heat behind the glance reminded her of their kiss.

  She looked away, shaken by the sensual feelings he roused so easily in her.

  "Here. Put this on. It's getting chilly." He held a man's blue chambray shirt open in readiness for her.

  Grateful for a cover over her skimpy swimsuit and for the warmth the shirt provided, she slipped her arms into the large, rolled-up sleeves. His masculine scent pleasantly embraced her as she wriggled into the soft folds of the shirt.

  He assisted her in the effort, curtly tugging the fabric into place around her, freeing her hair from beneath the collar and fastening each button. As he worked, his unsmiling gaze traveled slowly upward to roam across her face.

  She grew too breathless in the intimacy of that gaze, too aware of his long, deft fingers working between her breasts. Her hands caught his halfway down. "I'll do it," she whispered.

  She half hoped he'd nudge her hands away, unbutton the shirt, tug it off her shoulders, tumble her down to the blanket…

  But slowly he withdrew his hands.