by Laurie Paige
As they walked, she tried to regain her equilibrium, but like the ground they trod, her emotional landscape was filled with pitfalls she couldn't see. She swallowed painfully and did as she was told.
"We're home," he announced. "Step up." She touched the concrete slab with her toe and stepped up. They went into the house. The clock chimed, then struck five. Shocked, she realized she'd been in the woods for almost three hours.
"That's the worst thing," she said, thinking aloud as she stuffed the mittens into a pocket and hung up her coat on the coat-rack beside the door. "I don't have a sense of time anymore. It's very disorienting."
"Yes, I guess it would be."
His voice was softer, more forgiving, she thought. Then she felt him very close. His sleeve brushed hers. The next thing she knew she was wrapped against that powerful masculine force again.
The second thing she realized was the strength of his passion. She felt the rock-hard evidence of his hunger against her abdomen. An electrical current scattered in all directions through her body, sending any thoughts she might have had into oblivion.
She clung to him shamelessly, the need hot and urgent in her, too. Running her hands into his hair, still cold from the outdoors, she urged him closer, the kiss harder.
With a low groan, he complied. Lifting her, he swung them both around until the kitchen counter pressed into her hips. She leaned back and opened her mouth to his seeking.
Liquid heat poured through her, carrying her away on a tide of hunger she'd never before experienced, except with him.
"Need you," she whispered in wanton desperation. "Want you."
"How far? How much?" he demanded.
She kissed the side of his face, down his neck until she reached his shirt collar. "I don't know. I don't have answers."
"Neither do I. Only questions. And they suddenly don't matter a damn."
The words slid helplessly from her mind when his fingers slipped between them. She felt them at her shirt buttons. She reached for his, following his example.
Then there was sheer ecstasy as skin touched skin. She heard him gasp as they touched, her hands going around him to caress his back, his doing the same to her.
For the first time, she understood something about the sharing of passion … that it was a mutual thing … the need and the pleasure equally mixed.
His hands moved to her shoulders, pushing her shirt out of the way. She shrugged and felt it fall down her arms and to the floor. When his mouth touched her sensitive skin just above her bra, she felt faint. With a gentle tug, he pulled the satin aside. Then his mouth continued its foray, leaving a sizzling trail in its wake as he explored her more fully. Sensation poured over her in unceasing waves.
"Ohh," she said, breathless.
"Yeah," he agreed, nuzzling the tip of her breast into a pebbled bead of need. "It's strong. Unlike anything I've ever experienced."
"Yes, but why?" she managed to say in spite of the fire running wild in her.
He lifted her to the counter and hollowed out a space for himself between her thighs. "Because…" he said, taking a ragged breath as he pressed ever closer. "Give me your mouth. I need it after the scare you gave me."
"Dangerous," she whispered, "so dangerous."
"Yes. But good. So damn good."
He caressed her in relentless strokes of pure sensation, his broad palms cupping her breasts, his thumbs moving lightly over the nipples, which were growing so sensitive she could feel their constricted outline against the material of her bra. "Take it off."
His deft fingers made quick work of the task. Then she felt an even more wonderful sensation as his chest brushed hers, tormenting her with a thousand delights.
"Rory…"
"Don't talk. Not now."
He sounded desperate. His lips explored her ear, her neck, then along her collarbone. She held her breath until he touched her breast then found the nipple and drew it gently into his mouth, then she sighed.
With hands that trembled, she stroked his back, his sides, then his chest, "It's more than I expected," she admitted, pressing hungry kisses into his hair and on his temple. "This passion. This hunger."
She slid closer and rubbed against him, drawing a low groan from him as she experimented with this new craving that shot through her in bursts of overwhelming pleasure.
He rubbed against her in the most mind-destroying way until she was wild with need too great to be ignored.
"Please," she whispered as his lips touched hers again. "Please. I ache. Everywhere."
"So do I, darlin'. So do I."
His intensity, the demanding male passion, thrilled her. He cupped her breasts, then went still. "Either we finish this, or we stop," he said, his tone warning that they had moved beyond mere kisses. "Which is it to be?"
She laid her head against his chest and heard the thunder of his heart, beating in time to hers. "I want everything." She could hardly speak.
"Be sure."
She didn't want to think. She wanted him to move against her, to bathe her with sensation so thought wasn't necessary. But she knew that wasn't fair. She was a partner in this strange wild passion they shared.
She touched his face with both hands, holding it between them the way he gently held her breasts. She stared blindly up at him, her entire being focused on them, caught up in the magic. She envisioned his face, his eyes.
Then, for a second, she was aware of the sky. She shook her head slightly. No, not of the sky, but of a shade of blue the color of the sky on a cloudless day, so brilliant it almost hurt to gaze into its bright hue.
"Do we proceed?" he asked in a low, rasping tone. "Or do we regain our sanity and quit now?"
She put her hands over her face, pressing her palms over her eyes, confused by all the strange questions running through her along with the still-burning passion.
"I think," she began, "I think we have to stop." His hands fell away from her. She felt the distance as an acute loss. It added its own pain to the turmoil in her. Tears burned her eyes, swelled in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure what all the emotion meant.
His sigh was soft, almost tender. "Don't be. There'll be other days."
He touched her chin and lifted her face. She sensed his quick study and longed to kiss him again.
"Take care of yourself," he said in a hoarse voice. "You have bruises on your forehead. Better ice it down."
His footsteps receded from her. She crossed her arms over her bare chest and waited.
The door opened. "Next time … we won't stop then," he told her and left quietly, a promise, low and vibrant, in the words.
She swallowed against the knot of tears and touched her eyelids with her fingertips. She remembered when she'd seen that intense blue. It was when the angel had lifted her in his cool, soothing arms and breathed life back into her body. She'd given up, but he had saved her. When she'd opened her eyes, she'd seen a brilliant light, then the color, pinpointed against the blackness.
His eyes. It must have been his eyes.
Trembling, she found her shirt and pulled it on as a chill rushed over her, leaving her shaken and profoundly disturbed by the episode between them. It had been as frightening as being lost in the woods.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
A loud hammering forced Shannon out of bed the next morning. She slipped on thick socks before flying down the hall to the kitchen, a thousand questions running through her mind as a male voice called out something in the yard and another answered.
She noticed the sun was up as she yanked open the door. The storm must have moved on during the night. "What's going on?" she called out irritably, positive it had something to do with Rory and that she probably wasn't going to like it.
Cold air rushed over her, and her feet immediately protested the chill of the concrete slab as she stepped outside with a frown.
"Hi, Shannon. It's me. Richie."
She relaxed upon hearing the voice. Ric
hie was the son of a deputy sheriff. She brushed her hair into a semblance of order with her fingers. "What's happening—"
"Good morning," a deeper voice said close by.
"The obnoxious neighbor," she said, fighting for a lightness she was far from feeling. She had spent the night torn by her need to go to him and an equal need to protect herself from foolish hopes.
"Hey, watch it. Guys have feelings, you know," he reprimanded, but with an odd mix of undercurrents in his voice.
"What are you two doing?"
"Actually, there's four of us – me, Richie, Jess and Kyle Herriot. Gene will be over later with a couple of men."
Puzzled, she asked, "Why?"
"To finish the bridge over the creek. I put in the supports earlier in the week. We'll run a line from your back door to mine. Gene's bringing a posthole digger. We're going to put up a rail fence around your backyard." He chuckled. "Then you can roam without getting lost."
She intensely regretted yesterday's stupidity. "That really isn't necessary. I won't get lost again."
"Don't go all stiff-necked on us," he said softly. "It's something the guys can do … to make up for that jerk at the store. You've helped a lot of people, now let them do something for you. Be gracious."
She didn't know whether to be furious or, as he suggested, gracious. Her pride wanted to order them off the place. Her innate courtesy sided with Rory. She'd brought this on herself.
"How about fixing lunch?" he asked.
Surely she hadn't slept the whole morning away. "What time is it?"
"A little past eight. Kate is coming over when she picks up her little girl from nursery school. We should be ready for lunch by then. And, uh, you might get dressed. Not that the pink flannel pajamas aren't fetching, but it makes me think of other things. Night. Bed. Sleeping. That sort of thing."
His voice dropped lower on each word, etching chills along her arms and neck, drawing explicit pictures in her mind that caused the hot ache to start in her abdomen.
She fled into the house.
After dressing and securing her hair neatly in a broad clasp at the back of her neck, she remembered her sunglasses. Picking them up, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a minute, recalling those first waking moments. There had been something…
She blinked and stared intently toward the minor. Nothing. Not a flicker. No starbursts of light. Sighing, she put the glasses on, made up the bed and headed for the kitchen, first to eat breakfast, then to put on something for lunch.
A beef stew would make a hearty meal for men working in the cold, she decided a few minutes later. She mixed the ingredients together in a deep roasting pan and put them in the oven, using her mother's recipe.
There was a cherry pie in the freezer, probably in the last stage of serious freezer burn, but she didn't bake from scratch the way Kate did. She got another idea.
After pulling on her down jacket and mittens, she grabbed her purse and went outside. "Richie?"
"Over here," he called.
She turned in that direction and was momentarily blinded by a streak of light. She put a hand to her temple as a wave of dizziness washed over her, then was gone.
"Yeah?" the teenager said, this time directly in front of her.
"Do you have your driver's license yet?" she asked, recovering from the odd sensation.
"No, but I got my learner's permit last month."
"Great. How about driving me into town? I need to run a couple of errands."
"Sure! Uh, I'd better ask my dad," he amended. "Hey, Dad, is it okay if I drive Shannon to town? She has to run some errands."
"Okay, but no speeding," his father replied, the words stern, but humor in the tone.
"Not a mile over eighty," Richie promised, then laughed. "You ready?" he asked her.
"Yes." She held out the car keys. "You'll have to guide me, I'm afraid."
"No problem," he said easily, taking the keys, then her arm. "Don't forget to step down," he warned.
In town, he cheerfully helped her buy doughnuts and apple fritters at the bakery.
"Boy, those cinnamon buns smell good," he said.
"A dozen cinnamon buns," she said to Melissa, another friend who now helped her parents in the shop.
At the grocery, people kept coming up to her, giving her hugs and asking how she was doing. "Fine," she said. "Just fine." She found she could identify everyone by voice. For some reason, that made her feel more confident.
She directed Richie in selecting milk, coffee, tea, bread and crackers. "Hamburger," she added. "Around two pounds. I'll make chili one night. We'd better get more canned tomatoes, also kidney beans."
"Right."
At the checkout counter, she paid with a credit card. "Guide my hand to the line and I'll scrawl my name," she joked with the cashier, a retired English teacher who had insisted that Shannon convert her careless writing into legible essays.
"If I see any scrawl, you'll stand in the corner for fifteen minutes," the woman threatened.
Laughing, Shannon carried a bag and held her escort's arm as they returned to the car. "It's nice to remember that people care about you," she said.
"Yeah."
"How much snow did we get?" she asked, changing to a neutral subject.
"Less than an inch. The real storm isn't due until tonight or tomorrow."
"So yesterday was just a teaser before the real thing," she said, thinking of her foolish walk and feeling guilty that Rory had thought her so irresponsible that he'd called in help to build a safe pen for her to romp in.
If he hadn't found her, if he'd had to call in the rescue team, she would never have lived it down. Her family would probably lock her up. And rightly so. She had no right to put others in danger from her foolishness. From now on, she would be very careful.
However, she wasn't going to be treated as an invalid, either. She sighed. Life was getting complicated. And she had blamed that all-consuming passion on the adrenaline blast from being lost, but it didn't explain what she'd felt upon hearing his voice this morning. Her blood still hummed noisily from the encounter.
At the house, Richie helped her inside, then loped off, ready to resume work. Gene, the sheriff, greeted her heartily. So did two deputies she recognized by voice. They told her the fence was almost done. She could hear the muted roar of a tractor engine and the constant noise of hammers being applied to nails.
After putting the groceries away, she made a pot of coffee and laid the pastries on plates. "Coffee," she called out the door, yelling to make herself heard over the racket.
"Great. Be there in two shakes," Rory called out. The men trooped in a few minutes later. They lavishly praised her thoughtfulness as they ate and warmed up. She leaned against the counter and sipped fresh coffee, content for the moment.
"What's cooking?" Rory asked, stopping beside her.
"Stew," she told him. "Lunch at twelve," she said, including the rest of the group.
After the men returned to work, she sliced and buttered French bread, managing to nick her thumb only once. Putting the slices on a baking sheet, she placed it next to the oven. Stabbing the stew with a fork and finding it done, she set it on top of the stove and slid the cherry pie into the hot oven. Kate and Mandy arrived shortly before noon.
"Guess what, Shannon?" Mandy demanded in her bubbling manner as soon as she was inside.
"What?"
"I got a star on all my homework. See?"
Shannon felt papers being thrust into her hands.
"Mandy, Shannon can't see right now, remember?" Kate reminded the child gently.
"It's okay," Shannon said. She took a seat at the table and laid the papers on it. "Here, climb up in my lap and tell me about each one. I want to know all about how great my favorite cousin is doing."
"Hey, I'm your favorite cousin," Kate protested.
The door opened and closed. "No, I am," insisted Megan, bringing a wave of cold air with her into the warm kitchen. "Umm, what smells so g
ood?"
"Beef stew," Shannon told her.
"And pie," Kate added. "I'll put the bread in, then set the table. We'd better use the table leaves."
While the two cousins finished the luncheon preparations, Mandy and Shannon moved aside and went over her papers. Shannon loved the smell of baby shampoo and talc as she held the child on her lap and asked about her drawing and coloring efforts. After that, Mandy sang the ABC song.
"And I can say all the ABCs on my flash cards, too," she concluded proudly.
Shannon gave her a hug. "I knew you were smart the first time I met you."
Kate gathered up the homework. "I was very lucky when Cousin Shannon brought you to my house."
"You thoughted you didn't want a little girl, didn't you?" Mandy said earnestly to her new mom.
"Yes, but I didn't know how special you were until I met you," Kate said.
"To know her is to love her," Shannon said, tickling the four-year-old and laughing when she did. She was aware of the door opening and others entering.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a sudden flash of light at the corner of her eye. Puzzled, she stared in that direction, but it didn't happen again.
"Come on, Mandy, it's time to wash up," Jess told his daughter. He scooped her off Shannon's lap.
All of them gathered around the table.
"Scoot up," Rory told her.
He pushed her closer to the table, then took the chair beside her, so close his knee occasionally brushed hers. Kate was to her left. Shannon listened to the conversation without taking part. The men were hurrying because of the coming storm.
"Looks bad," one of the deputies mentioned. "The clouds are really heavy. It'll be snowing before dark."
"The bridge is finished," Rory told her. "There're two posts beside the porch. Hold the cable on the one to the left and it'll take you to the garage and shed. Grab the cable attached to the right post and it'll guide you to the bridge and then to my back door."
"We have the fence up except for four sections on the far side," Jess took up the report. "We'll get those up before we quit."
"Don't stay out in the storm," she said, worrying about snow and wind chill and all the factors that could cause a person to go into hypothermia without realizing it. "I assure you, I'm not venturing outside in this weather. I've learned my lesson."
