Imminent Thunder

by Rachel Lee

  Then she gave herself up to the blossoming heat and touched him. Her hands stroked down his shoulders to the small of his back, enjoying the incredible smoothness of his warm skin, thrilling to the way he shuddered at her touch. Then her hands traveled lower, finding his muscular buttocks and instinctively digging her fingers in.

  Finally, driven by a restless hunger and a need to possess this man in whatever way he would permit, she shoved gently, urging him onto his back. Without a murmur, he rolled over, offering himself to her eyes and hands.

  There was something incredibly seductive about holding a man like this captive to her hands, her whims. Something even more seductive about the feel of steely muscles bunching beneath her palms as she swept them over him. Something thrilling about the restless, helpless movements he made in response to her touch and his rising heat.

  Slipping her hand downward, she skipped over his silky length to tender, delicate, private places. When she cupped him, he shuddered and went perfectly still, drawn taut as a bowstring. The man who seldom suffered another to touch him now permitted her to trespass. Needing her touch more than he needed safety. Trusting her to do no harm.

  The weight of him filled her palm, a promise of life, strength and virility. His submission to her touches was the most erotic experience of her life, and her own body responded with a flash of heat and dampness. Licking her lips, breathing raggedly, she ran her fingers teasingly up his length.

  He groaned and was suddenly galvanized. Reaching for her, he turned her onto her back, lying over her and driving his tongue into her mouth again. He found her breast with his hand, kneading fire into her every cell. Rivers of burning lava poured through her, causing her to arch upward against him and clamp her thighs around his. She heard herself moan his name, heard him groan in response. She needed more. More. Much more.

  And he knew it. Dimly she was aware that his hands and mouth moved to answer her every wish, her every ache, her every desire, no matter how fleeting or unformed. From her mind he took the least of her impulses and wove them into an erotic fantasy around her, at once satisfying her and deepening her need.

  And somehow, as he answered her every whim, she felt the longing in him, the need to be cherished in return. His life had been so lonely, so empty, and for so long he had been on the outside, held at a distance by hatred and fear.

  Tears prickled in her eyes even as her body arched upward in passion and begged him to finish it. Even as she reached for the sunburst within, she reached out to wrap him in the first human warmth he had known since childhood. With arms and legs she surrounded him and tried to shelter him, with heart and soul she yearned to give him ease.

  And he felt it. A great shudder tore through him, and he opened his eyes, hiding nothing from her, not the shimmer of unshed tears, not the agonizing need for acceptance. He kept them open as he settled between her legs and slowly drove his flesh into her, claiming her body with his.

  And when he was buried deeply in her warmth, he cradled her face gently in his hands and gave her a tender, almost reverent kiss. Then, with slow, deep, satisfying thrusts of his hips, he carried them both up and over.

  Afterward she wondered how she could ever have been so naive as to think anything would change. Ian stayed beside her, holding her while the cool air dried their damp skin, but he had withdrawn in another way. He had let her see his vulnerability, had let her glimpse the lonely man who yearned to belong to someone, and then he had pulled back inside himself, as if he really didn’t care at all.

  Unconsciously sighing, she tunneled her fingers through the soft, dark hair on his chest and savored the warm skin beneath. Maybe, she thought, he was feeling uncertain because he had revealed so much and wasn’t sure how she would react. Whether she might use it in some way. He had said, after all, that he couldn’t read every thought in her head. Maybe he had no idea what she was thinking right now.

  And maybe she owed him some of the same honesty he had given her. He had revealed his past at her insistence, had exposed painful wounds to her. Didn’t she owe him the same trust in return? A secret for a secret, so that no one felt at a disadvantage?

  “Ian?”

  “Mmm?” The sound was a deep rumble in his chest. She loved the way his low voice vibrated inside him. It was one of the many very masculine things about him, things that affected her in ways that were hard to explain, but that drew her to him.

  “Are you reading my thoughts right now?”

  “No.”

  No. That damn word again. “Not at all?”

  “Not a thing. It’s not constant, not infallible, and it sure as hell isn’t reliable. You’re a closed book right now. Completely private.”

  And maybe that was part of his problem, she thought. She was closed to him, and he couldn’t tell what she thought and felt about what had just happened. About him.

  Tilting her head back, she looked up at him. “We’re going to need to discuss that thing in my house before we go back.”

  He nodded, looking watchful. That wariness hurt her a little, after all that had just happened between them, but she understood it now that she knew about his past. And the best way to deal with that was to tell him something equally private about herself and her past. To offer him her emotional vulnerability.

  “Do—do you remember last night?” she asked, her mouth going dry and her voice growing a little unsteady. God, this was hard! “When…I was afraid I was repulsive, and you said I wasn’t?”

  “Yes.”

  She couldn’t force herself to look at him. “Do you know why I felt that way? Or did you just pick up on the feeling?”

  “Just the feeling.” He shifted his hold on her, and then astonished her by tucking her closer and stroking her back soothingly. “Who made you feel that way? Tell me what happened.”

  “I got married when I was eighteen.” Her heart was beating a nervous, rapid tattoo, and she was sure he must be able to hear it. “My…Jerry was a really nice guy, and I think he was just seriously confused. I honestly don’t think he meant to hurt me. It’s just that…well, he was homosexual. And…he couldn’t have sex with me. So I—” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue.

  “Got to feeling inadequate and repulsive,” he finished for her. “Got to feeling maybe you were responsible for his problem.”

  Slowly she lifted her gaze to his face, and she was astonished by the incredible amount of understanding there.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re not repulsive. You’ve been driving me out of my mind since I first laid eyes on you. And now that I’ve got you right where I want you, I think I’ll take advantage of you one more time.”

  The look in his eyes right then seemed to reach deep inside her and untie some old, aching knot. Free of its constriction, she felt as if she could draw her first unfettered breath in years.

  They showered, dressed and went looking for a restaurant for dinner. They’d spent the entire afternoon making love, talking little, but as evening approached, they both knew they were going to have to face the horror lurking at home. The interlude was over.

  And with the return of reality came the return of Honor’s uneasiness. What did she really know about this man, except that he had had an unfortunate childhood, and that he had taken her to the moon, proving that all those romantic old songs weren’t lies?

  But he had distanced himself again, almost as if his earlier exposure of himself and his feelings had left him raw and unable to bear any closeness. What if he had only used her? What if she had just been convenient?

  The restaurant he selected served everything from steak to seafood casserole. When they had ordered, he turned his strange green eyes on her. “We have to talk about what we’re going to do. If it could manipulate someone into shooting at me, and you into trying to stab me, there’s no telling what else it can do.”

  Just like that, the last lingering glow from the afternoon was gone. Honor leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, and absently dre
w a pattern on the Formica with her fingertip. “I don’t see what we can do, to tell you the truth. You didn’t find anything useful in those books, did you?”

  “Actually, I think I did, indirectly. After reading about all those lost ladies and murder victims and all the rest of it, it occurred to me that most of them had one thing in common—unfinished business. If we can figure out what your ghost—”

  “It’s not my ghost,” Honor told him, suppressing an unhappy shudder. “God, I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that. It makes me feel…cold. Like someone walked on my grave.”

  “Okay.” He gave a little shrug. “The ghost. We need to figure out what’s holding the ghost here.”

  “Of course!” Honor couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Just walk up and ask it, right? I’m sure it’ll sit down with us and explain…” Her voice trailed off as understanding struck. “No,” she said hoarsely. “You can’t. I won’t let you. That thing could hurt you. It could get into your mind and do terrible things. Ian, no!”

  He reached across the table and captured one of her hands with his. “What’s the alternative?” he demanded quietly. “You can’t live in that house. You can’t afford to live anywhere else, and even if you stay with me, you’re obviously at risk, to judge by what happened last night.”

  She wanted to look away from his eerie, haunting gaze, but she couldn’t. A small shiver passed through her, and she felt her fingers return his clasp. As if she trusted him, even though right now, to be truthful, she wasn’t sure she did.

  “Honor, we’ve got to get rid of that thing.”

  She nodded. “I know.” There didn’t seem to be any alternative. “But, Ian, that…that thing has twice caused someone to try to hurt you. What makes you think you can just open your mind to it and come away unscathed? What if it provokes you into hurting someone? What if it turns you into a criminal? People could get hurt, and you could wind up in prison for the rest of your life!”

  Something in his gaze grew chilly and remote. He had gone away to some place so deep inside himself that she was almost sure he had forgotten where they were. Had forgotten he was not alone. And then, after a long moment, his green eyes focused on her, and he spoke, his voice low, intense.

  “No one can control me,” he said levelly. “It’s been tried by the masters. I don’t break, and I don’t kneel.”

  Hell looked out of his eyes then, just a glimpse of the anguish of the damned, before he turned away and leaned back to allow the waiter to serve them.

  When the waiter left, Ian faced her again and held her gaze unwaveringly. “Trust me,” he said quietly. “In this, just trust me.”

  Famous last words, she thought grimly, and looked down at her plate of steamed oysters. “I don’t know if I can,” she said finally. “I honestly don’t know if I can.”

  Another storm was gathering as they drove east toward home. Honor didn’t remember this much rain from her years here as a child, and she commented on it.

  “Late afternoon thunderstorms frequently blow up over the Gulf and move inland at this time of year,” he answered. “It’ll get better.”

  Leaning her cheek against the headrest, she watched him drive and thought about all that had occurred between them in the past twenty-four hours. Part of her desperately wished she could savor the change in her, practice her wiles and give herself up to the wonder of having Ian McLaren for a lover. Another part of her, though, whispered warnings and cautions, reminding her that she certainly ought to know by now that very little was what it appeared to be.

  “When do you go back to work?” he asked.

  “Thursday morning.” Two days.

  “That’ll give us time to move whatever else you might need over to my place. In addition to what you brought yesterday.”

  She stiffened a little, not sure what he meant and how she should react. He turned and looked at her from those incredible eyes of his, and a faint smile curved one corner of his mouth. She realized with a twinge of discomfort that he was hearing her thoughts again.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “As much or as little as you want, Honor. I swear. I just don’t want you trying to live in that house until we take care of this thing.”

  “And what if we can’t? Take care of it, I mean.”

  “Then we’ll think of something else.” His jaw squared as he stared down the long, winding ribbon of wet pavement that stretched before them. “We’ll think of something else.”

  Five more wet miles passed before he spoke again, startling her. “I knew your father.”

  She twisted on the seat and looked at him. “I wondered.” Both men had been Rangers, after all.

  “I was First Battalion, out of Fort Stewart.” Georgia.

  “He was Second Battalion.” Fort Lewis, Washington.

  “I know. But years ago…years ago he saved my life. He led a team in to rescue me and a couple of my men after we were…captured. Maybe he wasn’t a perfect dad to you, but he sure was one hell of a soldier.”

  “It was his whole life,” she said. “His whole life.”

  “No room for you?”

  “He made some after Mom died. I’ll give him that. He ran me like one of his troops, though. Why did you bring this up?”

  “Because I owe your old man. I want you to know that, if you start to get scared of me again. I owe him. And if the only way I can pay him back is to look after you, I will.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before? Didn’t you think I needed to know?” She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or frustrated with him.

  “I wanted…” He hesitated, then forced the words out with evident effort. “I just wanted you to accept me for what I am. Since that’s out of the question…” He shrugged and let the words trail away, appearing not to care one way or the other.

  Honor knew better. Out of the question? Suddenly she wasn’t wondering what she should feel. She knew; she was mad. “Who said it’s out of the question? And if you think I’m going to trust you just because you say you owe my father—” She broke off sharply, spluttering.

  And suddenly, catching her utterly by surprise, sorrow pierced her with a sharp ache. He had just wanted her to accept him for what he was. Without trading on old relationships or old obligations. Just him, Ian McLaren, what she knew of him. Was that so awful? Was that too much?

  “I don’t want your pity,” he said harshly.

  He had picked up on her feelings again, but he had read them wrong. “Believe me, I’m not feeling any pity. You’re not in the least pitiable. And if you’re going to read my mind, at least do it right.”

  His head jerked a little, as if she had caught him by surprise. Then he asked, “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “It’s bothering me a lot less than I thought it would,” she admitted. “Maybe because I don’t have any real secrets. Certainly none after…” She felt herself coloring and let her words trail away.

  He laughed softly and reached out, snagging her hand and holding it on his thigh. “I loved it,” he said. “Believe me, I loved it.”

  “But you must have—” Embarrassment smothered the words. She couldn’t really be asking this, could she?

  “Never,” he said gruffly. “Never before. I never let myself. I never dared to.”

  “I wish…I wish I could read your mind.”

  “I wish you could, too. And sometimes I think you almost do.”

  She thought back over the day and realized that sometimes she felt she could tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

  “There have been a couple of times,” he continued, “when I’ve been almost positive you’re a latent telepath. When we first met. And today. Most definitely today. You read me like an open book.”

  “Not an open book. You’ll never be that.” Another mile passed, then another, and she realized they were almost home. And then she remembered something he had said, something she had wanted to ask him about.

  “Ian?”

  “Hmm?”
<
br />   “What did you mean, you were captured by a demon?”

  Suddenly he slammed on the brakes, turning off the two-lane highway onto a muddy dirt road so sharply that the wheels skidded briefly. He brought them to an abrupt, rattling halt. For a long moment there was no sound save the quiet rumble of the engine, the whoosh of the air conditioner and the patter of rain on the hood.

  “God, Honor,” he said finally. Just that.

  She wondered if she should apologize for bringing up the subject, but that didn’t seem right, since he had told her about it when they’d been nearly strangers. Maybe, she thought, maybe she had just caught him unawares by dredging up deeply buried memories. Painful memories.

  Spurred by her concern, she released her seat belt and slid closer to him, ignoring the stick shift. He let go of the steering wheel immediately and wrapped her in his powerful arms. A shudder ripped through him as he released a long, ragged breath.

  “Sorry,” he said gruffly.

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  She felt him shake his head, and his arms tightened. “I just…don’t like to think about it. If it catches me off guard, like just now, I…react kind of strongly.”

  Pressed against his shoulder, she inhaled his rich, musky scent and wondered why she had never before realized how good another person could smell. How comforting that aroma could be. But there were more important things to think about now. She tipped her head back and tried to see him clearly. “You’ve buried a lot of things, haven’t you?”

  “A few.”

  Well, she understood that, she guessed. Imagine her having forgotten being locked in that closet when she was so little. Imagine having forgotten that kind of terror. Imagine terror so great that you had to forget it.

  Ian unleashed another sigh, cupped the back of her head in his hand and gave her a soft, quick kiss. “It was that time I mentioned before, the time your father led the rescue team. I took a patrol on a reconnaissance into…never mind. We were taken prisoner and…tortured. Only three of us were still alive when your father arrived.”