by Cait London
Correction: That bed was covered with her clothing and plastic, the result of the great closet remodeling.
Still, Leona struggled to place herself into a reality that didn’t seem logical for her, a cautious, calm, thoughtful woman. Here she was, in the small subdivision home, one she’d bought with her husband and where they’d planned to start their family. Now the beautiful fenced backyard had no children’s swings, and she had just brought another man home to spend the night with her in the guest bedroom.
In the kitchen, Owen placed the chicken breasts in the refrigerator. Then he scrubbed and wrapped the baking potatoes, washed the salad lettuce and placed it aside to drain. But his mind was on Leona.
He smiled briefly as he searched for a paring knife, sliding it from the countertop’s wooden holder. He pushed the blade back into its slot and thought of how Leona’s sleek, graceful body would sheath him.
Leona. Owen decided that she’d been named well. The translation of Leona was lioness and that suited her, her heat and hunger at odds with her seemingly cool poise. And as the sleek lioness, she was definitely hunting tonight….
Owen frowned slightly as he remembered how she had stood at the shop’s back door, challenging, wary, and fiercely determined to tell him off. He wondered how many men had seen that side of Leona. Her prickly attitude might have cooled another man’s interest but it had only peaked his. Heat and passion ran like a stream through that slender curved body, beneath that pale skin; Owen could feel it brewing like a summer storm.
Her home’s open floor plan allowed his view of the living room. The decor was also a contrast to Leona’s outward appearance. On one hand it was almost too neat, too orderly. Yet the pecan-shaded wood flooring was covered by expensive area rugs, their intricate patterns a blend of whimsical vines and leaves, almost as if the rooms had a magical forest floor. Did Leona enjoy walking over these rugs in her bare feet, alone in her own private forest at the midnight hour?
A standing lamp shed a pool of light onto a tabletop’s small whimsical statue. Gleaming metal captured three women, their hands joined, their backs to each other. Two of the figurines were taller and lean, the third, shorter and more curved. The women seemed almost alive, as if they were dancing in a round circle, their hair in motion. Three women… the work had reminded Owen of what his sister had said.
Leona’s obviously handcrafted brooch seemed to be an unusual choice for a seemingly cool businesswoman. The Celtic weave around the wolf’s head seemed very eclectic. Her home reflected none of those tastes—but for the statue and the whimsical carpets.
The long, angular, contemporary cream sofa took most of the space, a few books and odds and ends in a ceiling-to-floor bookshelf, a modern computer setup and printer in one corner. Yet another contrast was the obviously feminine muted gray-green comfortable chair with a reading lamp and basket stuffed with magazines nearby. A yoga mat lay spread in front of the entertainment center.
That mat had started visions of Leona lying upon it, her slim pale body moving rhythmically. Owen’s body tightened, and he sucked in his breath, controlling his need. She appeared to be a woman who would call her own time, and he wasn’t pushing.
The kitchen seemed unused, the appliances ultramodern. Owen glanced out at the backyard to find a reclining lounger and a wooden privacy fence. A neighbor’s lights lit a small area of her yard, revealing a bed of flowers and several flowering pots of all sizes. The scene was typical Lexington style, where greenhouses stood on practically every street corner and gardening seemed to be an active community interest. As he’d followed Leona to her cul-de-sac, Owen had noted the small, neatly kept yards bordered by chrysanthemums. The older homes seemed ordinary, but each held its own design and unique flavor. Leona had chosen a very comfortable family-type neighborhood.
That also was a contrast to Owen’s expectations of her; he’d pictured Leona Chablis in an upscale condo or apartment building.
The bricks stacked near her patio, the shovel leaning against them, could be for patio work. Owen noted the utility room just off the kitchen. From the look of a woman’s gardening gloves tossed carelessly on the washer near the back door, Owen guessed Leona might be doing the brickwork herself. The task was unusual for a businesswoman with well-kept hands…ones Owen intended to have on his body very soon.
From the moment he’d entered her home, Owen’s senses had begun to tingle uneasily. Maybe Janice’s “spirit woman” label had caused it, or maybe it was his anticipation of making love to Leona, to see if she was really as passionate as he had sensed earlier.
Owen also recognized another sensation. His instincts told him that someone else with intuitive ability was nearby. While he did not play to that side of his inheritance, it leaped and quivered through him at times. And he’d had enough experiences to know its truth. If Leona was everything he suspected, she could be the key to everything he had to have….
That thought jolted him. Owen suddenly realized he’d been gripping the salad tomatoes a little too hard, the juice dribbling over his hand, red as blood.
Blood. If he ever caught the son of a bitch who’d gotten into Janice’s mind, he’d kill him.
And Leona, a suspected “spirit woman,” just might help him find the bastard.
Leona checked her bedroom to find that Vernon O’Malley had started working on her closet as she’d asked. New shelving wood had been stacked against the wall, and plastic sheeting covered her furniture. Her design for the organized closet lay spread over the plastic covering on her bed.
“I’ll be glad when this is finished,” she murmured, and walked into the guest bedroom to kick off her shoes. This was where she planned to sleep for the next few nights. She studied the bed, and an image of Owen’s long, tanned body sprawled upon it hit her. The image carried enough force to drive her back against the wall. This time, she was certain her precognitive ability would be correct, not smoke and mirrors. Breathless, her hand to her chest, Leona closed her eyes and shook her head. “Thank you, Aisling, for that shocking tidbit, but just maybe that won’t happen.”
The unexpected vision had riveted her, rippling down her body, warming it sensually. Leona had known desirable men, but her reaction had never been as shocking. Tempest and Claire were right: she was becoming stronger, and the insight into making love with Owen had shaken her.
Leona pressed her hands to her temples. Reality pounded into her: She was about to make love with a man she’d just met and had brought home—to the home Joel and she had shared for two years, hoping for children to fill that backyard.
She listened to the sound of kitchen drawers opening, the electronic beep of a stove being set, the rattle of paper, and the sound of pots and pans. Apparently Owen was busy with dinner, in her home, in her kitchen, one she had rarely used since Joel’s death. Joel? What am I doing? Am I betraying your memory?
Uncertain now about taking another man into her body, Leona forced herself to walk toward the kitchen. She leaned against the doorway, and for a moment, savored the sight of the tall, lean man apparently comfortable with cooking tasks.
When Owen glanced at her, those gray eyes held enough heat to startle her, spreading warmth through her body. She could almost feel herself enclosed in those sleek, steely muscles, the way he would move within her arms.
In an effort to appear casual and unaffected, she walked to open her refrigerator and bent to study the contents. But her mind was on that image—Owen without his clothing…on her guest-room bed….
The tingle running up her nape said that Claire was calling and Leona understood: Her youngest sister was worried for her. Claire would instantly sense the high sexuality between Leona and Owen. Leona closed her eyes and tried to focus away from her sensuality, from that image of Owen’s powerful body locked with hers. After a heartbeat of trying to block her sister, Leona picked up the wall telephone. “Hi, Claire. There’s nothing to worry about.”
She’d forgotten to let the telephone ring! Leona had answered
automatically, an instinctual response to her connection to her sister. Owen’s quick glance and puzzled frown said he’d noticed the missing performance she always gave when others were around. Without words, Leona knew instantly why Claire had called. Lowering her voice, she said, “I’m very safe. He’s not getting me. Please don’t worry.”
When Owen crossed his arms, leaned back against the counter, and stared at her, she knew he sensed something amiss.
“He’s there, though, isn’t he? A man? The man you told Tempest about? Ohmigosh, Neil,” Claire called to her husband. “Leona brought home a man. It’s a first for her—he’s cooking dinner now, in her kitchen.”
Leona sighed loud enough to let Claire know the familiar tease wasn’t welcome just now. Neil’s low rumble sounded, then Claire said, “Neil said that you should have introduced him to us and gotten permission to date first.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” Her new brother-in-law loved to tease Leona, and frankly, she enjoyed the repartee—but not now, not when she was primed and hot and yearning to take what she wanted.
“I knew something was up with you tonight—I just felt it.” Claire’s soft, humorous tone was exactly what Leona did not need to hear now. “First sex doesn’t always go right, Leona Fiona.”
“I know that, Claire. But thanks for the advice, anyway.”
“You’re anxious to get rid of me—and I know why. Use protection. Gloves are so important.” Claire’s laughter said she’d enjoyed teasing her older-by-six-minutes sister, who was usually unflappable. Claire’s bond with Neil had changed her; she had emerged from her quiet protective cocoon into a woman who enjoyed life. But her little teasing remarks were still surprising.
When Leona finished the call, she explained, “My sister always calls at the same time.”
Owen’s gray eyes pinned her. “Why would ‘Claire’ worry? Are you in danger?”
“Of course not.” Owen was too quick, picking up details like a hunter on a trail. Doubt moved through her once more that Owen could be the man who had been stalking her family.
She had to appear calm. While Owen returned to slicing tomatoes, Leona retrieved a bottle of wine. Her hand almost shook as she lifted it to him. “Would you like a glass?”
“I don’t drink.”
She lifted one of the elegant wineglasses from an overhead rack. “I do, and it’s been a long day.”
“You’re uncomfortable.” Those cool silvery eyes stared at her as he walked toward her. “I won’t hurt you.” He took the glass and the bottle from her and placed them aside. “You won’t need that tonight.”
The air around them stilled, and Leona shivered. Was it possible that he knew she drank wine in an attempt to settle her restless senses, to still her nightmares?
“Do you have trouble sleeping?” he asked, as if plucking the thought from her mind. The light stroke of Owen’s hand on her hair gentled her, much the same as he would ease a nervous horse.
She should be capable of handling her restless senses, of coping with a man in her home. Yet her body shivered at his touch, uneasiness rippling through her. She searched his eyes and found only sensual heat. Opening her senses, she let them pour around Owen, briefly capturing his energy and rummaging through the stark masculine edges. She found only desire, not harm. Could she really trust herself to him? Just for the night?
“I have dreams…nightmares. A glass of wine sometimes settles me.” Leona’s husky voice trembled between them. She was always careful not to drink too much. Her grandmother had tried drink to hide from her visions; they came anyway and had destroyed Stella Mornay’s mind.
Leona looked at her window, to the backyard she’d shared with her husband. Why was she giving so much of herself to Owen’s keeping, sharing her life and instinctively trusting him?
Owen’s thumb stroked her temple and drew her attention back to him. “I know you’re unsettled, Leona. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To give you some relief? To fill the midnight hours? Your dreams haunt you during the day, don’t they? Never fully letting go?”
He understood too much, those silvery eyes intent and relentless upon her. Resenting the intrusion into her obvious needs, Leona stood back and crossed her arms. “That’s enough about me.”
“I understand. You’re afraid of letting pieces of yourself go into someone else’s keeping. I think—just for tonight—that we both want the same thing. That’s all this is, Leona. It’s about tonight. You and me.” Owen looped out his arm, circled her body, and drew her steadily close to him. He smiled slightly as her body softened against his. “Okay. Did you miss me?”
“Have you been gone?” she countered, trying to cool her senses as she kept her arms crossed between them.
He answered that question with another. “Scared? You weren’t nervous before, at the shop. What changed?”
Male to her female…hard, strong… Fear raced through her. She’d stepped out of her meticulous life, and here she was, facing a man who could be everything she wanted for a few hours—or not. Did she really want to give her body to him? When the last man had been her husband?
Instinctively, Leona knew that if she did not take this one leap, she never would. Instinctively, she decided the leap might be worth the attempt. “You realize that it’s ten-thirty now and late for a full dinner. The thought is nice, but not practical with a full workday ahead tomorrow. When do you think dinner will be done?”
“About a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes. I set the oven timer for the baked potatoes. The chicken can be grilled when you’re ready…. Are you ready?” Owen’s hands smoothed her hips, then cruised up beneath her arms, his thumbs just beneath her breasts. He stared at her breasts and breathed hard as they tightened in anticipation. She had to touch Owen, to feel that solid muscle and sinew and bone. Tonight, she wouldn’t be sated by a dream lover, but by flesh and blood and heat.
Her hands found Owen’s shoulders, testing the power there, her fingers digging in slightly. He wasn’t going anywhere, at least, not just yet.
“Ready for what?” she asked as she moved against him.
Leona hadn’t expected Owen to carry her to the bedroom, his lips hot and hungry against hers. At first, she’d been startled as he’d lifted her, the gesture unexpected. Owen was making his needs clear; he wanted her and quickly. Tonight, a slower seduction wasn’t on his agenda. Perfect.
As he stood holding her aloft at her bedroom doorway, the shaft of hallway light fell upon a pair of large paint-spotted coveralls. They hung from the boards stacked against the closet, a jumble of tools nearby. Leona answered Owen’s questioning look with, “My handyman’s things.”
Owen scanned the picture on the wall, the framed portrait of Joel. “Your husband?”
“I told you I wasn’t married.”
“He’s who you really want. But you have me instead now, don’t you?” he asked roughly as he carried her to the guest room.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does.” His tone was bitter as if an old wound had just torn open. Owen dumped her on the bed as if he couldn’t unload her fast enough. He stood with his legs braced apart as he rammed his hand through his hair. “I want you, but—”
Leona reacted instantly, her emotions in turmoil, her uncertainty warring with her sensual needs. On her feet now, she was shaken and furious about the sudden change from desire to dismissal. Tears burned her eyes, her body shaking. “Maybe we’d just better call it a night then, bud.”
Owen stared at her, his face shadowed. “I’d just be back, or you’ll come after me…and we both know it,” he stated rawly as he took a step toward Leona. “Is it yes, or no?”
Unprepared for the bold, masculine demand, Leona took a step backward. “I—”
“You miss him. You dream of him, and I’m not taking his place.”
“I know. I—You couldn’t take his place. Joel was very—”
“Civilized?” Owen supplied, as his fingers slowly unfastened her sweater’s
top button. “Why are you so nervous of me?”
“You’re the first man I’ve brought home.” The words seemed to leap out of her mouth, shocking in their clarity. He paused, that sharp gaze stripped her face, searching for a lie. “It’s true. Take it or leave it,” she whispered.
Owen was too close, his heat spreading into her body. He smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I will…take it.”
A second button came undone in his hands, and he eased back her sweater to look down at her breasts. “Lace,” he murmured in approval. “You’re just what I expected, all cool and prim and efficient on the outside, but inside—”
When his hand cupped her breast, Leona closed her eyes. She gave herself to the warmth and the strength and the gentleness of the caress. She gave herself to the sensuous slow touch of Owen’s hands flowing along her body as he carefully undressed and caressed each part of her. The rough calluses of his hands only served to heighten her need. She opened herself to the textures and heat and scents of Owen. She let them flow within her, let them warm her.
In the end, Leona hurried to remove his clothes, to feel that hot, smooth skin against hers, the roughness and power of his legs against hers. She longed to give herself to pleasure. “There’s just one thing,” she whispered against that strong throat once they were naked and side by side on the bed. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He smiled against her lips. “Name it.”
“I’m claustrophobic—fearful of tight places. I don’t like to be held down.”
“I don’t see that as a problem,” he said. With that, Owen took her mouth in a kiss that heated every inch of her body.
Four
ELECTRODES REACHED OUT FOR LEONA. BRIGHT LIGHTS burned her eyes, the table cold and hard beneath her. Hands covered with rubber gloves touched her, a needle pricked her arm, and unfamiliar faces peered down at her.
