Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  “Diana?” It was a question, breathless, low, a little desperate.

  “Yes…” she sighed. Suddenly, she was in his arms as he turned to carry her off the porch.

  Ethan, intent and nearly blind with desire, stumbled over Cady, who’d collapsed on the floor behind him. But he was able to right himself before disaster, Diana giving a little huff of a laugh as she jolted in his arms. His veins thrummed with heat and he had one thing, only one thing, on his mind. With long strides, he carried his welcome burden up the stairs into his cool, dark bedroom.

  He let her feet slide to the floor in front of the bed, and, pinning her there with his thighs, kissed her long and thoroughly as he yanked his boxers down with one hand. Then, he pulled away just long enough to whisk that soft, silky gown up and over her head.

  “Ah.” Ethan drew in his breath sharply at the sight of her nude body, pale in the dim light, warm under his palms.

  How beautiful she was, how perfect her breasts were with their small, tight nipples, how smooth and flowing were the lines of her torso. He filled his hands with her, touching, caressing, fondling as he bent to kiss her again. Ready. So ready—but thorough. He’d be thorough.

  He tumbled them onto the bed, onto the wad of blankets and mussed sheets he’d left earlier, and settled against her. Hot damp skin to hot damp skin, curves pressed up against firm muscle and coarse hair. They fit together well, and she welcomed him as he eased her legs apart.

  Lifting himself away just enough to reach into the drawer of his bedside table, he pulled a condom free from its depths. With one movement, he ripped the package open, then bent to take one of those perked-up nipples into his mouth. Diana gave a sexy little tremor as he closed his lips around her, sucking and teasing her with his tongue, getting her all worked up again so that she’d be sleek and ready for him.

  She was mumbling things he couldn’t understand, but they sounded good: breathy and desperate, and he made short work of slipping the condom in place. And then, shifting up to kiss her full and long and hard on her parted lips, he fit himself into place and at last…ah, yes.

  Home. He was home.

  When he filled her, she made a soft, erotic little sound that stoked him hotter, then she grasped his shoulders and lifted to meet his thrust. At first he moved with long, slow strokes, trying to keep them easy and deep—but he’d had a two-year moratorium and it was damned near impossible to keep from sliding helter-skelter down into the hot lava of desire.

  But he held himself off, back, fighting that manic slide as she writhed and shuddered and whimpered beneath him. The soft sounds of pleasure, the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, and the lovely musk of her scent on his fingers, the taste of her, the feel of her tight, liquid around him drove him mad.

  Her sudden cry, low and husky, nearly undid him, and but he kept his mind for a moment longer—just long enough to make it last. To listen to her rough, addled breathing and feel her orgasm shuddering around him.

  And then he stopped thinking. He rushed down that hot slide into his own pleasure and let go. And when it came, the release rolled through his body like an explosion that went on and on until his eyes rolled up into his head and his toes curled.

  Sometime later—seconds, minutes, hours; Ethan had no idea—he eased down next to her, gathering her close as the thunderstorm raged beyond the windows and Cady crashed on the floor nearby.

  Ethan opened his eyes to a most welcome sight: a thick tumble of ink-black hair on one of his pillows, and a lovely face, slack with sleep and, he hoped, satiation.

  The blanket exposed part of Diana’s smooth white shoulder, but the rest of the delights he’d explored—and enjoyed—last night were hidden beneath the jumble of covers. There were two empty condom packets on the bedside table, and he smiled to himself as he remembered the way Diana had moaned and shivered the second time—the more controlled time—that he slipped inside her as the storm raged against the cabin.

  A dark blue silky thing lay in a puddle on the chair beyond, and, with another stab of lust, he recalled the way it had felt beneath his hands and against her skin.

  Ethan shifted as his cock, awake and raring to go now that the moratorium had been broken, nagged him to touch that dark, shiny hair and draw that warm, curvy body up close again; to taste and caress and enjoy.

  As he watched her sleep, saw the regular shift of her breathing and noticed the way she curled her hand beneath her cheek, Ethan smiled to himself. Had he ever seen the high-powered lawyer look so soft, unassuming, and innocent?

  His low chuckle must have been loud enough for her to hear, for her eyelids fluttered and the next thing he knew, there they were: two dark blue irises wide open, looking at him. There was neither shock nor dismay nor—he had to admit—abject delight in her eyes as they met his.

  He realized belatedly that he’d tensed a little once he knew she was awake—for there was a tiny niggle deep inside that he’d been wrong—that his interpretation of the Death card and her hints about it had somehow been misunderstood, and that she had not, in fact, dumped her fiancé.

  That would be devastating, for now that he’d gone here, he sure as hell wasn’t going back. Wertinger or no Wertinger.

  “Ethan,” she said, then immediately eased back, putting a hand in front of her mouth. It took him a second to realize she was trying to block her morning breath, and he grinned because she was so damned cute. “Good morning—what’s so funny?” she demanded.

  “I’m just happy to wake up next to you.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened and he saw her cheeks flush pink. “That’s nice.”

  Inside, Ethan was smiling wider and mentally shaking his head. For a powerhouse lawyer, Diana Iverson was certainly a lot more shy—and even a little nervous—in intimate situations than she was pretty much every other time he’d seen her.

  Ethan didn’t mind that at all, since she seemed to shed any inhibitions or uncertainties once things got going. Speaking of getting things going…He slid a hand from beneath the covers and pushed a heavy clump of hair from her face, then let his fingers trail down along her collar bone. “I always thought your hair looked like you’d just gotten up—after a wild, very satisfying bout of sex. I’m glad to know I was right.”

  “Ethan,” she said, her eyes bolting wider and her cheeks going more red—but she didn’t appear shocked as much as embarrassed, and, he thought, complimented.

  “At least, I hope I’m right about the satisfying part.” He probed her with his gaze, ignoring the fact that Cady had clambered to her feet now that she knew her master was awake. Any minute now, she’d start whining to go out. “Diana.”

  “Oh, most definitely.” To his surprise and delight, instead of blushing further, she gave him a catlike smile that sent a renewed stab of desire shooting right down to the place that mattered. “Most definitely.”

  He didn’t give a shit about morning breath—his, hers, or Cady’s (which was panting, hot and urgent, against his bare back from her hopeful stance next to the bed)—and he moved toward her, covering her lips with his as his hand slipped around to gather her close.

  She appeared to lose her shyness, hooking a foot around one of his legs as she arched into him. Apparently, the sex goddess had been unleashed, because her hand went right down between them and closed over his—

  All at once, Cady began to bark madly, loudly, and they both jolted. Diana pulled back, but Ethan—far more willing to ignore his first love for what was rapidly becoming his second love—dove deeper. “Lay down, Cady,” he muttered, burying his face in Diana’s warm, sweet neck. Ah, God, she smelled amazing. Just—

  Crap.

  “That’s a car.” Diana was pushing away more firmly now. “Someone’s here.”

  But Ethan had already realized that, as the tone and volume of Cady’s bark clearly indicated “Visitor!”, not “Squirrel!” or “I need to go out!”

  “Ignore them,” he said. “They’ll go away. It’s probably UPS or something.” G
od, she tasted so good: a little damp, a little musky, so smooth and soft, and the way she shivered when he sucked gently on the sensitive skin along her throat—

  “On Sunday? It’s not UPS.” She extricated herself from him, and Ethan fell face first into the pillow.

  But he righted himself in time to see her sleek white body, the enticing bounce of a pink-tipped breast, and a nice view of her sweet ass as she slipped out of the bed and dashed for the bathroom.

  “Aw, damn,” he muttered as he heard two car doors slam in succession. Cady had gone insane—she’d bolted from the room as soon as Ethan’s foot hit the floor (a sure sign that he was actually getting up) and galloped down the stairs, barking the whole time.

  Then she came racing back up the stairs, still barking her head off, as Ethan dragged on a pair of shorts. His bedroom faced the back of the house, so he couldn’t see who’d driven up. And the only reason he was actually going down to investigate was so he could let Cady out. After that, he figured he could lock her in the screened porch for a while and coax Diana back to bed.

  With that fortifying thought, Ethan grinned as he jogged down the stairs. Cady was so excited she knocked into him as she rushed past, one paw digging a nail into the side of his bare foot in her effort to beat him to the bottom.

  Cady was still barking wildly when Ethan opened the door and stepped back to let the lab tear out. Then the cacophony went up several decibels as he heard another frenzied barking: but this one was earsplittingly high-pitched and utterly wild. As if the world was ending, and every last bit of fun was being wrung out of the creature.

  And that was when the grin evaporated, because he knew that bark all too well.

  And therefore, he knew who his guests were.

  Damn.

  “Ethan Murphy, you get that big monster away from Bruce Banner!” shouted Maxine Took. She was brandishing her cane as she hobbled quite speedily across the rubble parking area. Her pale blue Cadillac SUV sat behind Diana’s Lexus and his Jeep.

  “Go! Go away!” shrieked Juanita, waving her arms ineffectively. “You leave him alone, you big brute!”

  Ethan took pity on Cady, who was, despite accusations to the contrary, herself backed up against the side of the garage by the furious little papillon, who still hadn’t stopped with the sonic barking. The poor lab hadn’t even had the chance to properly do her business before the petite dog launched into her, and she looked utterly miserable—tail drooping, head down, ears sagging.

  He scooped up the fiery Bruce Banner (aptly named) without a second thought, and, characteristically, the little beast immediately went silent. Now that he was safe, the tension fled his quivering seven-pound body, and he actually looked pleased with the situation.

  The little bastard probably was.

  “It’s all right, Cady,” Ethan said, and gestured to the area of the yard where she normally did her business. “Go do your stuff.”

  “Oh, thank you Ethan,” cried Juanita, rushing over to take Bruce Banner from him. “I only let him out of his carrier to pee, and then that ferocious dog just ran him down over there! Are you all right, poquito? Mamá loves you, chiquito.”

  “So, what can I do for you ladies?” Ethan asked as jovially as possible. He wished now that he’d grabbed a shirt, as there was something uncomfortable about being half-dressed in front of the elderly women. At least Cherry Wilder wasn’t here—she’d be the one really taking note; a thought which made his cheeks warm and had him ducking back into the screened porch where he’d left a t-shirt.

  “You forgot this at Trib’s last night,” Maxine growled.

  When his head emerged from the t-shirt, Ethan saw that she was holding Diana’s sweater—a white one which had been draped over her shoulders when they first sat down at the table.

  Really?

  His morning was ruined because she’d forgotten her sweater?

  Ethan groaned internally. Just then, the door to the cabin opened and Diana stepped out looking fresh and delicious and, oh, yes—with definite after-sex hair. At least, he was probably the only one who realized that was literally what it was, because she’d stuck a little glittery pin in it on one side to keep it out of her face. But it was definitely after-sex hair: all those blowsy, lush, billowing curls…

  “Is everything all right?” Diana asked. She was holding a cup of coffee and seemed to be inhaling its essence. “Is Bruce Banner okay?” She gave poor, innocent Cady a suspicious look, then went over to greet the bright-eyed Bruce, who lapped up the attention as if it were a bloody steak.

  “Now, be careful,” Juanita warned when the beast growled as Diana lifted a hand to pet him. “He’s a little uptight still. He had quite a fright, thanks to Cady there.”

  Ethan didn’t even attempt to explain. He knew from experience that the best way to deal with Maxine and Co. was to agree, say as little as possible, then send them on their way.

  “You left this,” Maxine accused as she thrust the sweater at Diana. “Since most o’ your stuff got burnt, I thought you’d be needing it. He wouldn’t have anything you could wear with something like that.” She nodded at the pale blue sundress Diana had put on. It was short, ending just above her very sexy knees, but in Ethan’s mind that was the only real benefit of the loose, sleeveless thing. But the color was nice, he supposed.

  “Thank you—and you’re right. It’s new; I’d hate to lose it. But I could have sworn I put it in my bag last night at the restaurant so that I wouldn’t forget it. It must have fallen out somehow.”

  Diana took the sweater with a smile, but when he saw Maxine exchange smug glances with Juanita, Ethan’s suspicions were confirmed.

  The nosy old bat, he thought as he picked up Cady’s tennis ball. She’d wanted to have an excuse to show up here this morning. Check things out. Damn…if they’d come just a few minutes later, they might have really interrupted something.

  He fired the ball into the woods.

  Well, he’d just have to get rid of the two ladies—

  “Why, yes, I was going to head over there right away,” Diana was saying. “Motto and Arty need to be fed, and I wanted to poke through some more of the ruins now that they’ve dried a little more. Captain Longbow said he would be coming by to take more pictures.”

  He did? She was? Dammit.

  “We’ll come with you,” Maxine announced. She slid an arch look at Ethan with her sharp, crow’s eyes, and he knew he’d been checkmated before he even realized he was playing the game. “I been wantin’ to see the damage done to poor Jean’s house. Ain’t even been up to the place since she died.” Somehow she made it sound like Ethan’s fault.

  Thus, Ethan found himself riding in the front seat of Maxine’s Cadillac while Juanita and Diana drove the Lexus the mile and a half (by road) to the old clapboard house. Though he’d gallantly offered to drive Maxine, she’d have none of it—and so he was forced to close his eyes for most of the thankfully brief journey. Cady had been more than pleased to remain at the cabin—she didn’t want any more encounters with Bruce Banner, and she wasn’t particularly fond of Motto or Arty either.

  By the time they pulled into the clearing next to Jean’s house, Ethan’s head was aching from hitting the ceiling of the Cadillac, for Maxine had hit every bloody pothole at full speed (which for her was a mere twenty mph, but still). He was also grateful he hadn’t had time to get a cup of coffee, because it would have been spilled all over him and Maxine’s prized Cadillac.

  He took his time getting out of the car, for the sight of the burned out shell sent a renewed stab of grief through him. First Jean, and then her house. And now, Diana would have no reason to stay in Wicks Hollow—or even to visit.

  His after-sex afterglow soured.

  He watched from across the yard as the three females stood in front of the porch, which was still intact—along with the facade of the front of the house. Pieces of their conversation wafted over to him, and consisted of precisely what he’d expect: nostalgia, sadness, and numerous obse
rvations, commands, and opinions from Maxine offered at a high volume.

  Bruce Banner picked his way around the yard on delicate feet, the hair on his oversized ears ruffled by the breeze. He sniffed and explored with abandon until he encountered Motto, the female cat with the thick tale. Then all hell broke loose.

  Bruce began to bark maniacally, again, as if he were being tortured (he wasn’t). However, unlike Cady, Motto had no intention of cowering in a corner. She eyed the little scrapper with clear, feline disdain, lifted her pink nose, then turned and walked off. The tip of her high, bushy tail flicked sharply, as if she were flipping him off. Ethan could relate.

  “I’ve got to check their food,” Diana said.

  Ethan suspected it was an excuse to extricate herself from Maxine and Juanita, and he waffled between doing the gentlemanly thing and taking over with the two elderly ladies…or doing the purely male thing by following Diana into the garage in hopes of stealing a kiss. Or more.

  He was just about to slink off after her when Maxine demanded his presence. “Ethan! Ethan, come over here right now. I need you to help me.”

  Well, that decided that.

  “What do you need help with, Mrs. Took?” he said as he strolled closer. He gave her a sly smile, knowing what would come next.

  “Mrs. Took? How long have I known you, young man? You know I ain’t never taken on a man’s name in my life—and ain’t never hitched myself to one neither. What’s this you’re playing at?”

  He took her arm and wrapped her crone fingers around his, patting them as he smiled down at her. “Now, Maxine, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. What did you need help with?”

  She pulled her hand away and glared up at him. “Now don’t you be coddling me, young man! I might be eighty years old, but I ain’t in my dotage yet.”

  “You can help me, Ethan,” Juanita said primly, looking up at him and very nearly batting her eyelashes. “Maxine and I wanted to walk through the house and see what-all’s left of it.”