by Diana Palmer
She nodded. “I’m a little scared, too. I had a visitor this morning, the lodge’s former meat supplier, before you arrived. He’s already got a judgment from the civil court for unpaid accounts. Now he’s threatening to put us into liquidation.”
Ethan swore under his breath. He knew from his inquiries that the rot had spread a lot farther than the local butcher. “No wonder you were upset this morning.”
She looked up at him, dripping and shaking with cold. “Tom just runs rings around me lately. He won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
He pulled her close. “We’ll sort it out.” He felt her head bump against his chest and heard her muffled “Okay.”
Fierce with relief, he crushed her to him. She shivered, and it went bone-deep as his arms pressed her saturated clothes to her body. Then he lifted her off the ground and against him. “You’re driving me mad,” he muttered. “It’s all wrong, but God help me, Lucy, I want you. Only you.”
And then he was kissing her deeply with a hunger that was more to do with feeding a soul than assuaging a need.
They made puddles on the step. “We need to get you warm,” he told her when he noticed she was practically shivering out of the circle of his arms. “Inside.”
He followed her up the stairs, holding her hand, knowing he was walking headlong into repercussions. They passed his room, her boots squelching in time with his thumping heart. Once he entered her room, there would be no going back.
She stopped at a door on the other side of the second floor from the guest accommodation. Lucy could hardly open the door, she was shaking so much.
“Shower.” She pointed to the bathroom as he closed her door.
Ethan put his hands on her hips and walked her ahead of him into the bathroom. The decision was made. He wouldn’t shy from it—he would face it with his usual consummate efficiency. There had to be a way to fit this vital and growing need for her in with achieving his goals.
Reaching into the stall, he turned the shower on. Lucy flipped the fan heater on and shed her soaked-through jacket and boots while he lifted two big towels from the top of the vanity and threw them on the floor. And when steam began fogging up the glass shower door, he pushed her gently inside the stall, kicked off his shoes and followed himself.
Lucy’s eyes closed in bliss as the strong jet of hot water rained over her, seeping through her clothes. A sigh, deep and tremulous, rose from her lips and eased his tension somewhat. She let the spray run on her back for a minute then pulled him close so he could enjoy it, too. Together they faced the spray. His hands began rubbing, in short, hard strokes down her back and sides.
Minutes passed and finally her shaking subsided. She looked around in wonder, as if she wasn’t sure how she came to be in this place. In her shower, fully clothed and with him. And then her eyes warmed as she focused on him.
Ethan’s blood began to hum. Fear, distrust, betrayal, all extinguished now. He’d seen this in her eyes today also, on the wall by the sea and later in the car. Heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with sultry awareness. His body took that last leap into an adrenaline-drenched response.
His hands felt as useless as frozen legs of lamb as he peeled her top over her head. Rose-pink lace with pale green ribbon; the sight of her bra erased any thought of Turtle Island or repercussions. Suddenly the only relevant detail he craved was whether her underwear matched.
For about one second, until Lucy reached behind her and flicked her bra free with one hand. Now he was just impatient to see the rest of her. He helped push the bra up and off her shoulders.
He wanted his hands on her, but his focus did seem to be skew-whiff at the present. He was momentarily halted by her fingers at his shirt, and he would have to say she won in the dexterity stakes. All buttons undone in the time it took for him to undo the snap at the waistband of her jeans.
Ethan slid the heavy denim down her legs and took her panties with them. Did they match? He couldn’t remember because by then, he was running his hands up the back of her legs, amazed at how long and lithe they were for someone so small. He really must slow and pay attention, but he did not want to miss a single second, or bypass a single inch of her. He wanted to see and taste and feel everything.
As he stood to full height, his hands stopped on her behind. Smooth, curved, a delicious handful. Lucy meanwhile, busied herself with his slacks and Ethan let out a careful breath as he was freed completely from the shackles of wet clothing.
Finally naked—and for a little while, it seemed enough just to look. With his hands cupping her bottom and hers resting on his chest, his mind was at peace with the confessions and decisions of the last hour.
Her skin had the soft luster of pearl. Her arms and shoulders were delicate, her body slim but not angular. Sweetly rounded curves next to his long slashing lines of lean muscle. So many contrasts, not only to him but to anyone he’d been with before. Mostly, he felt so big next to her small frame.
Water cascaded down her face and body and she shimmered like the fairy he had thought of when he first saw her. Her small hands rested flat on his chest, providing yet another shocking contrast to his own coloring.
Need for her rolled through him, burst out in a ragged exhalation. He placed his hands on hers—they were warm now—and felt his own heart pumping through them. Ethan shut the water off and backed out of the shower, pulling her with him. He swathed them both in one large soft towel.
They maneuvered into the bedroom still bound in the towel. Lucy’s cheeks were rosy, her breathing quick. He pulled the towel closer around them, warm, damp bodies bumping against each other as they jostled.
Light drifted in from the living room and combined with the open bathroom door to cast an eerie glow. Ethan looked around the big room, his gaze halting at an armchair by the window with a stuffed toy holding a balloon. His heart stopped. Raising his hands to his head he pulled the towel down over his face, swearing succinctly.
“What is it?”
He looked down into her face, shook his head wryly. “We have to go to my room.”
“Your room?”
“Condoms.” His face screwed up into a grimace. “I had a couple in my wallet, which is still in the car. But I have some in my case.”
Lucy smiled easily and opened her mouth to speak. Then a muted flash of orange lit the room, snagging her attention. Next thing he knew, she had twisted away, leaving him clutching an armful of damp towel and nothing else.
She ran over to the window, dragging aside heavy drapes. “Look!”
Chapter Nine
Lucy waited for another stab of lightning. There was a young magnolia to the left of her window, its branches reaching just below her sill. Right now, it whipped about gracefully. The storm had worsened while they were in the shower.
The music of it enthralled her. The wind howled menacingly and she felt the eaves of the old house vibrate under the force of it. The rain was heavy and hard on the old iron roof. And something deeper—a long roll of thunder, not too far away. She closed down a quick, skimming thought that it rumbled a warning.
The tree thrashed in a flamboyant dance. Its branches reached up in an entreaty. Will I? Do I trust him enough? She sensed Ethan come up behind her and she began to sway with the wind. Then a great flash of sheet lightning lit the room up again. Lucy laughed in pure delight.
He moved in close and put his hands around her waist. They looked almost black against her paleness. She put her hands on top of his and leaned back into his warmth, still swaying. The thunder rolled on, making the house shudder—or maybe it was just her. The lightning continued to strike, moving around the valley in an arc.
Their reflection in the window danced, faded, surged, like her thoughts, her fears, the need piercing her. Thousands of raindrops raced each other down the glass. He was hard to see in the window because he was so dark. As she swayed, they moved in time to the rhythm she created. Their hands were light on her body and her movement meant they slid over her, branding her with the
touch she directed.
The storm noise intensified to a crescendo any orchestra would have been proud of. It seemed the lightning, having belted every valley and hill and mountain and gorge around Summerhill, was now coming for the house itself. Confrontation. She glimpsed the stables and outbuildings as they lit up, a beacon of courage. But then their reflections shifted.
Nestling her head into his throat, her arms slid behind her to pull him closer. His hands firmed on their teasing exploration of her abdomen and rib cage. At the very moment his fingers brushed over the tingling tips of her breasts, she felt the unmistakable thickness of him push between her thighs. Trance-like, she watched their reflections melting into the rain trailing down the windowpane. Lightning seemed to strike and flow from his eyes.
“Are you the devil?” she breathed.
His teeth flashed in a brief smile, then he was kissing her neck while his fingers pinched and stroked her nipples. Lucy’s insides melted and started to flow and she squeezed her thighs, trapping him. His groan puffed hot into her ear.
Then the shock of him gliding hot and hard against her blurred the blasts of lightning. A ragged sob washed from her throat as the heavens poured down outside. A distant rolling tension started deep down, relentless as the thunder. Gone were all thoughts of consequences or the future—she surrendered to the storm within.
Ethan nipped into her neck and she rocked back against him, her breasts filling his palms. Man, this was heaven, and he never wanted to stop.
She swayed and undulated against his shaft and then loosened her grip. Hot as lava. He groaned. This was hell, and he needed more.
Keeping one hand on her breast, he moved the other down to stroke the smooth skin of her bottom, gently tugging then pushing back to create a delicious rhythmic friction for both of them. Her ragged gasp, his heavy one, added to the turbulence outside.
Another clout of lightning lit the room and she leaned forward, with only his hand at her breast to stop her toppling. And he knew what she wanted. Him. Inside her now, like this. From behind.
He wanted that, too. But her face…it was a promise he’d made to himself. To watch her come apart.
And storm or no storm, he did not do unprotected sex; it wasn’t part of the plan.
Sensing his impending withdrawal, she clamped her legs together, whimpering a denial. He persisted—sweet agony—and turned her. She gulped air. There was nothing sleepy about her eyes now. Demanding, fierce with need. Their bodies surged together, mouths seeking, sucking, sampling. Her arms were around his neck. Rock-hard nipples chafed his rib cage, which dragged another groan of impatience from his throat. If she didn’t stop, he’d lose it.
She didn’t stop. She pushed against him and, unprepared, he stepped back. And again. She had a plan but his mouth was too busy, too full of her to ask. She kept pushing till they reached her bedside table and she yanked open the drawer and pressed something into his hand. Then she hauled herself up against him, pressing and swaying and rubbing.
He fumbled with the packet, the blood roaring in his ears. She moved one hand down between them to help. He pressed her hand into his side with his arm. Not helping!
In the few seconds it took to sheath himself, he dragged in a lungful of air and tried to slow things. Ethan was at ease with the act of love, if not the emotion. If ever he could be generous, make it special, it should be now. Because he cared now as he’d never done before.
He forced himself to block out the lithe body gyrating against him, those impatient little breaths deep in her throat and her busy hands roaming and stroking. His arms slid around her waist and he drew her close, smiling tightly at the impatience in her eyes.
“Easy,” he murmured.
Then his mouth took hers so deeply, so possessively, he swallowed her protest and she sagged against him.
She hadn’t reckoned on being gentled, he guessed. He molded her body against him, inhaled the clean warmth of her, swayed with her and felt the hum deep in her throat. As his tongue teased over and under hers, she stilled and accepted.
But only for a few seconds. What she then did to his tongue should have been a felony. In a shock of disintegrating control, he imagined that part of her, the mouth that he dreamed about, on another part of his body, mimicking that motion. That other part of his body that was now straining between them, demanding critical attention.
His hands moved down to the back of her thighs and he braced and lifted her against him. Her legs instantly locked around his waist.
And then she did it. Reached down and cupped him while sliding up and down against him. Before his knees buckled, he turned and they fell on the bed with a whump!
He buried his mouth into the fragrant hollow at the base of her throat, inhaling deeply. When her arms tightened around his back, he raised his head. The eerie flashing of the lightning clouded her eyes. He touched his lips to hers, a soft whisper of a kiss, at the instant he slid into her body. Both of them exhaled, stilled.
So hot. The pleasure of being deep inside her was all concentrated there in a burst of tingling vibrations. For moments he lay, holding his breath, letting his body breathe for him. He felt a single thread of steel form and run the length of his insides, pulling tighter and tighter.
Their eyes were locked on each other’s, building an immeasurable, searing passion. His surprise at the intensity of it glowed in her eyes. It robbed them of breath, girding them for something a little dangerous, but vital and inevitable.
Then Lucy hissed in a quick breath through her nose and licked the corner of his mouth. “Not easy,” she pleaded.
Lifting slightly, he took some weight on his knees and slipped his hands under her buttocks. Then she lifted her hips jerkily and his descent into the storm began.
She met him eagerly, triumph glowing in her eyes. He pulled her body up against him with every stroke. Within the confines of her body, there were no limits, only rising layers of euphoria. In one deep stroke, he could feel her boundaries. With the next, he floundered as she stretched and flowed and tightened around him. He forgot everything else. This was all that mattered. Lucy, here, under him.
Their hips whipped like well-oiled pistons, smooth, deep, in complete tandem. A dizzying surge of vibrations plucked at the steel thread inside, quivering to every extremity. In a mind that was rapidly being obliterated by raw sensation, Ethan sensed a sultry, subtle change. From warm inside to drenchingly blazing hot.
She was close. She surged against him and he arched his back as her nails dug deeply into his flesh, urging him on. She was close and he needed to see, but her head had rolled to the side. He would not let her hide. He breathed her name, once, then again, louder. She turned her face and her eyes snapped open.
Lightning slashed through the window again and Ethan got what he wanted. Lucy, helplessly crying out against his mouth, unable to contain the flow of ecstasy.
Ethan pitched headlong into the storm and soared out over the valley. He felt the thread snap and blow the back of his head out, then streak through him to blast out of the soles of his feet.
She ripped his guts, his heart out.
They stretched on their sides in her bed, sighing in pleasure, freed from the shackles of a shrieking tension built up over days—decades—of need.
Several long minutes passed and their breathing returned to normal. Moving her head to the side, she peered at him drowsily. “You are the devil,” she whispered, licking her parched lips.
His eyes fixed on her face, brightening with humor. “You’re not quite the angel I thought you were.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Could have something to do with a big box of…” He turned his head to squint at a box lying on its side in the open drawer of her bedside table. His arm rose and he twisted it around. “Sixty condoms…”
“It was a joke,” she protested mildly. “A farewell present from a silly friend in New York.”
His head sank back onto the pillow and the bed shook with his
lazy laughter.
Lucy giggled. “It was fun coming through customs. I haven’t used any of them, till now.”
He crooked an eyebrow.
“Six months.”
“Honored.” His head inclined in a salute.
He turned her palm. “Who was your last?” Then he pressed his lips to it. “Was he special?”
That one little act brought a rush of emotion to her throat. Way to make a girl feel special, she thought.
They sat up, arranged pillows behind their heads and pulled the duvet over them.
“He was my tutor. I’d started a film-making course in New York, paid for, as usual by my poor father.”
She stretched and put her arms behind her head.
Lucy had had one or two promising relationships before Jerry, but she’d learned at an early age that to expect love just because you gave it was setting yourself up for a fall. Sure enough, one day she discovered she was far from the first of his students to have gone down that road.
From there, she ceased to see herself as a love interest, realizing she was one in a long line of gullible girls. The thrill was gone. She ended the relationship and abandoned the course.
“What made you come home?” Ethan asked, stroking her hair.
“The break-up with Jerry sort of coincided with Dad’s stroke.” She turned into him and snuggled under his chin. “I suddenly realized how aimless and selfserving my life was. And failing on the course. That was the third course Dad had shelled out for over the years.”
“Poor little rich girl.” He dropped a kiss on her head.
“I never did get the chance to tell him I was sorry. I mean, I did, but after the stroke. Who knows whether he understood.”
Those first few days after the stroke still haunted her. Her father was so confused about what was happening to him. He would stare at his useless hand, his uncooperative leg. He had stared at her, too, as if he could not place her.
“Maybe he should have told you he was sorry.”
