Dinner was very elegant and John kept the conversation light, breezy and funny, making it easy to suspend thoughts of what he’d told her on their way to the restaurant.
No sooner had they had dessert than music began drifting down from the third floor of the old house, and rather than leave, John took her upstairs for some after-dinner dancing to slow, romantic ballads that put her in his arms.
He was as good at that as he was at everything else she’d seen him do, guiding her across the uncrowded floor with a smooth, unconscious grace that made her feel as if she were gliding on clouds.
They didn’t talk much as they danced. Instead, the music wrapped around them, carried them into a world all their own that seemed to block out everyone else around them and every care and concern Paige had. It even flashed through her mind that maybe John really did have powers she couldn’t fathom because the longer he held her, the more she felt as if he’d reached something deep and elemental inside her where no man had ever ventured before.
Or maybe the only power at work was the power of two people having feelings for each other, because that was really what Paige was experiencing, she realized as the evening drew on.
They danced until the music stopped and they were the only two left on the floor. And even then, when the band had bidden them good-night, John still held her for a few moments longer, as if he couldn’t quite make himself let her go.
He even kept his arm around her waist when they finally left the restaurant and while they waited at the valet’s shed for his truck.
Standing there, she caught sight of a Tinsdale newspaper on the counter inside the shed, open to an article on Pine Ridge’s burglaries. But what captured her attention more than the headline was the reporter’s byline—a man’s name—and for a moment her heart sank a little from the lofty space it had been occupying.
So the woman in the Trans Am was not the reporter writing the stories. Burt was lying.
Poor Julie, she thought.
Yet even that sympathy for her friend couldn’t completely wilt what had blossomed in Paige throughout that evening, and she didn’t brood over it as she might have any other time. Tonight seemed to have a magic all its own, suspending her in time, separating her from the realities that would have to be dealt with tomorrow—that sympathy for her friend among them.
The drive home seemed to take much less time than the drive to Tinsdale had, and before she knew it, John was walking her to her door, his arm around her waist again.
“I’m comin’ in, you know,” he informed her as she took her keys out of her purse.
Her heart did a little skip and her spirits lifted. She’d been feeling reluctant for this evening to end. And the sexual tension that had been simmering between them turned itself up another notch.
Then he added, “To make sure everything’s okay.”
But still Paige’s thoughts were not on any of what had happened in the past week. They were only on having John’s company for even a few minutes more.
The house was quiet and dark, and Paige didn’t need to look around to know she and John were the only two people there. But he did it anyway, while she waited for him in the entry, setting her evening bag on the hall table and slipping off her shoes.
“All clear,” he announced when he’d finished.
She watched him coming down the stairs to her. Before he’d gotten in the truck to come home, he’d shrugged out of his suit coat and tie, unfastened his collar button and rolled up his shirtsleeves. She hadn’t minded. There was something about an open collar and rolled-up sleeves that suited him, whether the shirt was a dress one or a casual one.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped directly in front of her as she stood with her back against the newel post and he nodded in the direction from which he’d just come. “Do you have a lock on your bedroom door?”
“A lock? Yes, why?”
He closed his eyes, raised his brows and wrinkled his forehead for a moment before looking at her again. At the same time, he reached one hand over to the banister at her side and leaned forward as if he was confiding in her. “I thought I could leave you here alone tonight, but walkin’ through this house, thinkin’ about all that’s happened around here lately, I don’t think I can after all. The trouble is, there are things goin’ on in me—deep-down, long-lastin’ things, and some that are demandin’ more immediate attention. So maybe I’d best sleep on your couch again tonight, but maybe you’d best lock your bedroom door when I do.”
She raised her chin to nod her agreement, but somehow it didn’t get lowered again. Instead, her eyes were caught by his pale green ones and she felt as if she were falling into the depths of them. “You don’t need to stay, you know,” she said without much conviction because she really didn’t want to be alone in the house all night.
“Yes, I do,” he answered in a voice that was deep, husky.
“Then maybe you don’t need to stay down on the couch,” she heard herself say, the words coming from somewhere that bypassed her brain, somewhere born only in her own feelings, her own desires for him.
He frowned at her, so serious, so sexy just the same. “Be sure about that, Paige,” he warned.
She thought about it. Considered what she was inviting. All the while staring up into his sculpted face, into eyes the color of sea foam, at his bushy mustache and the lines that etched his brow with concern—for her, for her safety and well-being, for her peace of mind. And she realized suddenly that she was sure. Sure she wanted him to spend the night, but not on her sofa as her protector. In her bed. As much, much more than that…
“I have those deep-down, long-lasting feelings myself,” she admitted to herself as well as to him. “And the ones that are demanding more immediate attention, too,” she added in a whisper.
He raised a palm to her cheek as he went on searching her eyes with his own in a way that said he wanted to be absolutely positive she knew what she was doing.
And she did know. She was doing what her body wanted her to do. What her heart wanted her to do. What she wanted to do.
So she mirrored his actions and laid her hand to his cheek, feeling the coolness of his skin, the nail-buffer texture, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone in her life.
Then she took her hand from his face and reached for his, holding it to lead him upstairs.
Apparently, when he’d made his search of the bedroom, he’d turned on the lamp on her nightstand so she wouldn’t have to come into a dark room, and that bit of thoughtfulness struck her as terribly sweet.
The man was special. Very, very special. In ways she did understand. Ways that made what she didn’t understand less important.
He only let her lead him to the middle of the room before he stopped and turned her around to face him. “I don’t want you havin’ regrets in the mornin’,” he told her.
She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Morning is too far off to worry about now.”
He shook his head as if to say he hoped she knew what she was doing, then he closed his hand around her wrist and pulled those fingers out of the way so he could bend over just enough to kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear, sending yet another of those shivers of delight through her.
“Tomorrow’s just around the corner and I’m going to want that, too. So don’t be thinkin’ this is a one-time deal,” he warned in a whisper that blew heated air against her neck and did delicious things to her insides.
His other hand took her other wrist and then he slid both of his upward, to her shoulders and around to the zipper at her nape, easing it down slowly as he kissed his way along her jaw until he met her lips. But the kisses he bestowed there were still feather light, playful, as if be was giving her time to change her mind.
She heard him kick off his shoes, and once he’d completely unzipped her dress, he abandoned that pursuit and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, kissing her in short, teasing bursts while he did.
Expectations w
ere in the air and Paige’s heart was beating so fast she could feel it.
He pulled his shirt free of his suit pants and then wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss as he did, opening his mouth, sending his tongue in and out in a thrusting she met and matched.
She filled her hands with his broad back, feeling the muscles rolling under her palms, letting them slide lower to the base of his spine when what she really wanted was to go lower still to that tight backside that so often caught her eye.
John was apparently of a like mind, though not as shy, because his hands traveled a similar path all the way down to cup her derriere, and pull her up tighter against him, against the hard ridge of his desire for her.
Their kisses had turned hungry, urgent, and once he’d sent the message telling her how much he wanted her, John raised his hands to her back again, slid them inside the open zipper and smoothed the lace of her dress down to where it met the solid black bodice, baring the tops of her breasts.
Paige could feel her nipples harden against the bra that was built into the dress, straining, wanting the freedom to feel his bare chest, his hands…
His mouth left hers to kiss her chin, the arch of her neck, the hollow of her throat when she let her head fall back to accommodate him. His tongue trailed the sharp line of her collarbone and then he did what she hoped so much he might—he kissed his way to the exposed mounds of her breasts, nudging her dress down until it barely covered those hardened crests.
She wanted badly to be completely rid of that dress. To be completely rid of all the barriers keeping them apart. So she slipped her hands inside his shirt and pushed it from his wide shoulders, his arms, letting it fall to the floor around them.
Then, emboldened by the passions that were building inside her, she found the snap and zipper of his pants and unfastened them both. But that was as brave as she got and she only circled back around to hook her thumbs in the waistband.
John made a sound that was part groan, part laugh, and then he did what she hadn’t had the courage to—he dropped the rest of his clothes to get them out of the way. But apparently he had no intention of being the only one of them undressed because when his hands came back it was to let her dress join everything else around their feet.
At last the softness of her body pressed fully against the length of his much harder one and her every nerve came alive at once.
The bed was only a few steps away, but John scooped her up into his arms and laid her there, bending over her to kiss her lips again as he rolled her hose down. Then he was gone, and she opened her eyes to find him tossing away his own socks while his eyes devoured her.
She might have been more self-conscious except that there he was, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, in all his perfect masculine glory.
He lay beside her on the bed then, his big body half-covering hers as he kissed her again and let his hands go exploring.
There really was something extraordinary in his touch. Some sort of magic.
But she didn’t think the magic she felt was the same kind he’d told her about earlier. Maybe it added an element to how she responded. But she thought that what she felt had more to do with what was between them. That it was the power of the emotions that were coursing through her that awakened her senses, that ignited her desires, that made her blood rush through her veins and her heart beat in rhythm with his.
He learned every inch of her body, kneading, teasing, exciting. There were times when his hands were firm, confident, knowing. And other times when he trailed just his fingertips lightly along the silky surface of her skin. But all his touches drove her wild, building in her a need the likes of which she’d never known before.
Then he closed a hand over one breast as his mouth lowered to the other and a cord of longing tightened inside her. She arched her back, letting him know how good it felt, how much more she needed.
At just the right moment, when she would have begged him to, he rose, parting her knees to find his place between them. He searched with the shaft of his manhood at the very opening of her body, probing, teasing, entering only slowly, carefully, drawing out the anticipation and driving her just a little mad with yearning in the process. Until, finally, he was inside her and it was Paige’s turn to moan quietly with the pure bliss of feeling him fully joined to her.
She wrapped her legs around him and met him thrust for thrust, riding the waves of pleasure, higher and higher, until something within her exploded. A white-hot joy, a peak of fulfillment she’d never known it was possible to reach. He held her there for a brief, incredible, indescribable moment that she wanted to go on for an eternity.
But nothing that wonderful really could, and when it began to ebb she felt John stiffen and plunge more deeply into her—again and again, holding her tight and hard, the two of them frozen together in time, in space, in pure, unmatched ecstasy.
And then he eased up, relaxed muscle by muscle and sighed as if even breathing had been suspended.
He rose on his elbows enough to look down at her, to kiss her brow, her eyes, her lips, then he came to rest atop her for a precious moment, lying very still, melded together with her as if they were still meant to be one.
“I’m in love with you, Paige,” he whispered to her softly, like a confession.
“I’m in love with you, too,” she whispered back even more quietly, an admission she was afraid to make even to herself.
Only then did he leave her, pulling her closely to his side in one smooth motion, holding her there with one arm around her, his other hand cupping her head to keep it on the pillow of his chest.
A sated weariness settled over Paige. Her arms and legs felt heavy. Her body seemed to melt against John’s. And with an overwhelming sense that no matter what she didn’t fully understand about him, what was between them was right and natural and meant to be, she fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
Waking up in John’s arms the next morning couldn’t have felt better to Paige. She couldn’t have been more peaceful, more content, more happy, more in love.
It was still difficult for her to fathom that he actually had the power to heal by touch, but lying there and feeling the way she did, looking up at his handsome face above her, it occurred to her that he had done a bit of healing in her.
Not the kind he claimed to do. Not the kind Robbie believed he’d seen John do. Not the physical kind at all. But an emotional healing. A healing of the heart. Of the spirit. Of her heart and spirit.
It was almost as if he had made her whole again. Certainly he’d made her feel like a woman. Made her able to come out from behind the barriers she’d erected around herself since her divorce and let someone other than Robbie and Julie get close again.
Those were things she’d lost hope of ever being able to accomplish again because the scars her ex-husband had left had been so deep.
But John had changed that. Watching him with Robbie, being with him herself, getting to know what little she had about him, flirting with him, enjoying his company, his teasing, his charm, having him finally confide his deepest secret, had worked a sort of miracle on her. It had helped her overcome her own fears enough to give herself to him in a way she’d thought she’d never be able to give herself to another man—freely, uninhibitedly and without regret. It had let her trust again—trust John and trust her own instincts about him.
And most of all, this miracle had let her feel love again—John’s love for her and hers for him. If all of that wasn’t a healing of sorts, she didn’t know what was.
And if he could effect that kind of healing, maybe he really could heal physical ailments. Maybe he really did have a magic touch…
The telephone rang just then and John’s eyes opened on the first ring. He tightened his arms around her.
“I’ll get it downstairs so you can go back to sleep,” she whispered as if it would disturb him less.
“Stay and just let it ring,” he said, his tone full of temptation. “I’ll make it
worth your while.”
As only he could, she knew.
But with Robbie away from home, she couldn’t let an early-morning phone call go unanswered.
“I have to see who it is. But I’ll be back,” she promised—herself and him.
With a reluctant sigh, he opened his arms wide to let her slip out of bed. “Don’t be gone long.”
It was barely dawn, so the room was still dark, but to preserve her modesty, she ran for the closet and took her bathrobe down from a hook inside the door. Then, with the phone still ringing insistently, she shrugged into the terry-cloth cover as she hurried down the stairs and to the kitchen to pick up the receiver there.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Burt said from the other end in answer to her greeting.
“That’s okay,” she assured him, thinking of what she’d get to return to when the sheriff hung up. That was much more appealing than watching John sleep the way she’d been doing before the phone had awakened him. “Is something wrong?” she asked when she glanced at the clock and realized it was barely seven on a Sunday morning.
“I have news about Jarvis that couldn’t wait,” Burt said.
His voice sounded so ominous Paige could almost see the frown that was surely tightening his features. She felt badly for him, for the frustrations that were hounding him, clouding his vision. She wished he could get past being suspicious of John so he could find the real culprit or culprits wreaking havoc around Pine Ridge.
But she didn’t say that.
“Has there been another burglary?” she asked, half-hoping there had been during the time she could vouch for John’s whereabouts. Then maybe Burt would be convinced once and for all that John was not guilty of anything.
“No, there hasn’t been another burglary. I just heard back from the state police and I had to call you right away to warn you before you go anywhere near that guy again.”
Paige wasn’t sure she’d heard what he’d said and it took her a moment to switch gears from thinking Burt was barking up another wrong tree to realizing that this time he might be telling her something with some foundation.
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