Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “I’m not sure she ever knew about it. As I said, that was a bit before her time.”

  The pie he was eating suddenly turned bitter in Jago’s mouth. “Yes . . . and no.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Liam reached for the pitcher, pouring more lemonade.

  “Asha went to the house as if she knew precisely where she was heading. For a moment, she paused at the front, but then her interest was pulled to the rear. She circled to the back and found it partially opened. Almost in a trance, she went into the rink area. Very spooky. She began telling me about the rink, how it had been decorated with Christmas lights strung around the railing. I didn’t see any still up, though I did find rusty bent nails as if someone had tacked something to the old handrail. She talked about them playing music, the girls skating, the males watching . . . couples sat on the hoods of their cars taking the night air. The way she talked about it—well, it was as if she had been to the rink back then. No, that’s not right. In that breath, it was as though she could see it—as though a part of her was there.”

  “She’s never been there,” Liam repeated. “This place closed down long before she was born. Some huge skate rink opened in Lexington and everyone went there instead. Casey died, and his wife never tried to keep the business going, so they say. Once they closed the old road, no one goes to the river that way anymore.”

  “I told you, I assumed it had been boarded up while the Vietnam draft was still going on. I can’t figure it. But I swear to you she was seeing it, even singing songs from the era. Dell Shannon’s ‘Runaway’ . . . and she mentioned one called ‘Alley Oop.’ She said she could hear the music, asked me if I could.”

  Liam frowned, said nothing, just pushed a glazed strawberry around with his fork.

  “These blackouts—”

  Liam’s head snapped up. “Plural?”

  Jago nodded. Scooting his chair back, he propped his ankle upon his opposite thigh. “One at the pool. Then last night at the drive-in . . . she did the same thing. She was normal one minute, then the next staring at me with doll eyes. FYI—that’s why I stayed with her last night. She scared me. I didn’t want to leave her alone. I was quite honorable and refrained from ‘shagging’ her—as you so quaintly put it. Sorry, she had other notions this morning. Has she ever experienced blackouts before?”

  Liam shook his head no. “Of course, I’ve been gone two months, back to England, so I can’t speak for that time away, but she’s never had any occurrences such as these before. Did she tell you what happened at the pool and the drive-in?”

  “No. Lack of Pepsi was the excuse at the pool. Second time, she ran from me. This afternoon at the rink was the first she talked about them. I watched her, Liam. She heard the music. She almost had me believing I could.”

  “We come from a ‘fey’ family and tend to accept that there are things in the world at which others might scoff,” Liam said. “Although, this is a puzzler. I have no idea what’s happening to her now. This is the first I’ve heard of any of this.”

  Jago pushed on, sharing his fears. “The kicker—she mentioned something else. A Tommy and Laura.”

  Liam paused, then decided he didn’t want the rest of his half-eaten pie and shoved it away. “Why do those names ring a bell?”

  “That damned song on the jukebox.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the song. There’s something else, something that strikes a memory.”

  Jago recalled the last names that Asha had told him at the pavilion. “Tommy Grant and Laura Valmont?”

  “Yeah . . . now I recall. Some sort of accident on the road where you were today. A long time ago, they were in a terrible car crash. Died.”

  “‘The cryin’ tires, the bustin’ glass, the painful scream I heard last.’” Feeling gut-punched, Jago recited the song lyrics, and was suddenly filled with a sorrow so intense that tears came to his eyes.

  “That’s not ‘Tell Laura I Love Her.’That’s—”

  “Yeah, ‘Last Kiss.’ It plays on the jukebox a lot, too.” Jago fixed Liam with a hard stare, fighting to keep at bay the overwhelming pressure to break down and cry. Not sure why. “So, you’re going to tell me what it is with that damn jukebox?”

  “Oh, surely you’ve guessed—The Windmill is haunted.”

  “Thank you, Rod Serling.” Jago wanted to make a joke of it. How serious can you be—a haunted Wurlitzer? Then why did he already half-believe Liam?

  Getting up, he walked to the picture window overlooking the river, staring into the coming dawn. The night-light hit the large pane so it became a ghostly mirror, reflecting his own likeness, and then Liam’s behind him. Slowly lifting his hand, he placed his fingertips so they touched the reflected ones. He was a logical person, used his senses to tell him what was real and what was not. A haunted jukebox? He wanted to laugh how ridiculous the idea was. Only, sometimes you had to open your mind to things you cannot touch.

  Like love.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Enchanted, neither day nor night, the pale light of dawn crept over the riverside, bathing the majestic Palisades in tones of sepia and gray. Asha drew deep solace from this time of day, when the world was still sleepy and nothing stirred; not even birds sang their wake up melody. A wood nymph alone in a mythical kingdom, she stood dipping her toe into the edge of the river and inhaling the earthy scents of water and land. Reaching out with her senses, she drank in the peace of this tranquil instant of half-light.

  With a dreamy sigh she shed her robe, the black silk pooling about her feet on the pure white sand. She paused there and permitted the damp morning air to caress her naked form. At ease with this state, she leaned her head back and shook her long hair, setting the thick mass to swing against her hips. She closed her eyes savoring the feel—sensual, liberating. But then, she didn’t need anything to awaken that side of her nature. Her traitorous body had throbbed a plaint all night long, yearning to be with Jago.

  Preparing herself for the biting nip, she stepped into the bracing waters and walked out to the middle where it was chest deep. She inhaled sharp breaths until growing accustomed to the pool. Shivering, she had a hard time holding on to the slippery bar of Ivory; it popped out of her hand and tried to float away. She playfully snatched it back, then headed toward the water coming over the top of the high cliffs. The quivers in her body grew stronger as she pushed under the brisk, stinging spray, yet she relished the invigorating flow.

  It wasn’t really a waterfall. The lodge sat on a small inlet, a finger that jutted out into the river, and when it rained, the runoff at the top of the cliffs spilled over to form a small cascade. After ages of this, a deep pool had been hammered out under its base. Thick ferns on each side shielded the spot from view, lending the spot a secluded feel of paradise found.

  Allowing the buffeting water to rain down upon her, Asha embraced its icy slap. Her teeth chattering, she worked the white bar into thick foam, lathered her skin, and then allowed the suds to wash away as quickly as she soaped up. The coolness of the spray muted the heat in her body. Her breasts tightened painfully due to the cold, but that little compared to the ache within her, continued wanting of Jago all night.

  Wanting him still.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined Jago’s strong hands upon her body. She envisioned him touching her, stroking her, caressing her, slicking soapsuds over her breasts . . . and lower. She sighed wistfully. Much lower. Such thoughts provided no ease, merely increased her yearning for him, churning the hunger ’til the force devoured her mind.

  Exhaling frustration, she was still disappointed that plans hadn’t gone as she’d hoped when she invited him to the river house. She’d pictured a relaxed, cozy meal; just the two of them—well, three, she chuckled, thinking of the kitty and how he had inserted his fat self into their lives. Maybe they would’ve built a small fire, sat before the fireplace and just talked, really seized the chance to get to know each other better. They were lovers now, yet there was so much of his life sh
e knew nothing about. There were a thousand things she wanted to ask, so many little secrets to discover about this beautiful man with whom she was falling in love.

  No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t falling for Jago. It was much too late for that. Despite everything moving too bloody fast, she was in love with him. Loved him. She sucked in a breath and tried to contain the panic those words caused to surge within her. Yet, terrifying a thought as love was, she knew she couldn’t hide from the fact. Men like Jago Fitzgerald didn’t grow on trees. A woman would have to be batty not to risk all, hoping to come away with the gold ring. Literally. Well, she was no coward. She was a prideful woman, true. All Montgomerie women were. But Jago was special. She would do what it took to make him want to stay with her in this perfect little pocket of the world she was creating.

  “First, I have to get rid of a pesky brother. He ruined the beautiful evening I planned. I’m lucky he didn’t have a bloody chastity belt with him,” she grumbled, the words nearly drowned by the gentle falls.

  Stepping from the hard spray of the spate, prickles of awareness skittered up her spine, a throwback to the virginal maiden sensing a very male presence, intruding upon her private realm. Her head turned in the direction of the perceived threat. Stunned, she dropped the bar of soap; the white square bobbed away and was rapidly carried downstream and out into the swift river, though she neither noticed nor cared.

  He must’ve entered the water while she was under the falls, while the noise blocked her from hearing. A pathetic, blethering idiot, her mouth hung open as she watched the naked man surface, rising like a Celtic water god. She couldn’t breathe, her heart dropped and then erratically slammed against her ribs. It was ridiculous that a man could make her feel so foolish, so utterly out of control, but then love had a strange, magical way of doing that.

  Placing a hand to her heart, she forced herself to breathe at an even pace, marking time as he waded toward her through the hip-deep shallows, coming onward with a focused intensity that sent goosebumps up her spine. The water was chilly, yet she scarcely noticed anymore. His heated predator’s gaze held his prey mesmerized. That last ounce of the timid wood nymph, fearing the power her love gave him over her, screamed, Flee while you can. Her heart didn’t heed the warning. She would stay right here, waiting for Jago.

  Water sluiced off his muscular chest and long, beautiful arms as he reached up with both hands and pushed back the black curls on both sides of his head. Jago’s body was hard and lean; he walked with that loose-gaited stalk of a big jungle cat. Coming straight to her. Straight for her. The water was deepest nearer the falls, hitting him at mid-chest as he moved closer.

  He stopped before her, his dark eyes languidly moving the length of her naked form, barely hidden by the crystalline waters. Too arrogant by half, he prolonged the maddening tension by remaining motionless, just looking. Though confident within herself, under Jago’s intense scrutiny she began to fear he wasn’t pleased by her body. When they had made love in the bungalow, they’d been shrouded in half-light and shadows. Desperately, she wanted to please him. She wanted to slap him for his arrogance. She wanted to kiss him.

  The corner of his mouth finally twisted into a sardonic smile as he reached out and wrapped his hands around her neck, the strong thumbs caressing the column of her throat and tilting her head back. With a hunger that was nearly terrifying, his mouth covered hers. There was no gentleness, no teasing; this was a warrior laying siege and refusing to accept anything less than complete surrender.

  Sharp pangs of desire lanced through Asha’s body, grinding, twisting painfully inside her, while overpowering emotions blotted out logical thought and vanquished any residual qualms. Only the primitive urge to mate remained. She would walk through fire for this man.

  In the manner of an artist memorizing each detail, his eyes traced over her face. There was a quiet desperation, a raw hunger in the dark green depths, as though he held something very precious to him, something he feared he might never possess. That rattled her.

  “You want moonlight and roses? Gentle kisses to your hand? Words of love? Promises? You deserve all that—and more, Asha. I can give you those things. Later. Much later. Right this minute, I want you—all of you. Here. Now.”

  His thumbs drew a line down her throat, the strong hands splaying over her shoulders, along her arms, finally to clasp her waist. He yanked her body against the length of his, let her feel his erection pressing insistently against her belly. Her whole body tightened in a biting voracity that clawed at her muscles, her mind, ripped through the good girl façade and let loose the wild woman craving to be set free. In echoed response to his touch, her womb contracted into a hard knot that pushed past agony. She burned in a hunger so devastating that the power humbled her. The questing fingers slid over the curve of her hips, then around her derrière, cupping and squeezing her firmness.

  As if sensing how close to the edge she was, he broke the kiss and gasped, “Open your legs for me, lass.”

  Lost to their passion, she barely understood what he asked. Fortunately, her body responded by instinct. She shifted her legs and his hand pushed between their bodies, long fingers sifting through her dark curls, along the swollen folds hot with her fevered desire. She flinched at the intrusion, at the two fingers chilled from the water; the contrast of the high heat within her body and the iciness of his invading touch only served to heighten the sensations. They didn’t stay cold for long; her liquid arousal poured on to his clever magician fingers, quickly warming them.

  A breathy moan escaped her on a sigh, as a white-hot spasm pulsed through her. Jago saw she was near to climaxing, smiled at her rapid surrender. Triumphant, he brushed a kiss against her lips. “Wrap your legs around my hips,” he laughed, “and hang on.”

  She slid her arms around his neck and let the water’s buoyancy help her obey. He grabbed her hips and lifted her to position his erection against her body. His penetration came with a hard thrust, shocking her, making her spine arch until she breathed in, taking him fully inside her. That brought her breast up high. He caught the tip of her right nipple, sucking hard, in the same rhythm as he bucked within, causing the muscles of her internal walls to tighten about his searing flesh.

  “Ahhhhhh . . .” Consumed by the sensations of their bodies being joined, Asha moaned low in her throat as the explosion spun through her body.

  “Shall we start counting, lass?” Jago teased. Then he brought her down savagely, slamming upward within her. From that angle, his movements easily forced her to shudder with another release.

  “Ah, counting?” She admitted truthfully, “Not sure . . . I . . . can.”

  His buttocks flexed as he used how she floated to help her move against him, with him. “This water is so cold . . . it’s having an odd effect, lass. It’s slowing down my climax . . . so this might take some time.”

  “Oh, pity that.” She chuckled as she locked her ankles behind him. “Guess I’m glad I am multiorgasmic then.”

  “You’re glad?” Laughter rumbled in his chest.

  Despite their touching ability to laugh even within such an intense focus of emotion, Asha felt the pure animalistic need unfurl within his muscles. His hands on her hips guided her to rise and fall ever so slowly along his rigid erection, sending sensations to whip through her blood. Her brain experienced a bubbling vibration, drawing her closer to faintness. Pushed by a frenetic appetite, her hands clutched his shoulders, her nails scored his flesh; even so he refused to increase the maddening pace.

  As he took her mouth with his, his gasping breath echoed hers. His ravenous desire was a power unleashed. There was no controlling it; both of them were helpless against its voracious fire that consumed them, destroyed them, remade them, born from the flames like mating phoenixes. This was raw, primeval, as elemental as a stallion claiming his mare. Despite the primordial earthiness of their emotions there flared something bright, something rare that existed both born of their passion—and beyond it. Plunging hi
mself to the hilt, he pushed her agony and ecstasy higher and higher. . . . until the world exploded.

  With some last shred of sanity, Jago dragged them to the white sand and collapsed with her. Minutes passed before either of them had any sort of reasonable functions, but finally the world came into focus and Asha stared up at his beautiful face, at the green eyes, shining with cherished emotions.

  She wanted to gift him with the words in her waiting to spring free. Wanted to tell him how much she loved him, that her surrender to him was complete, body, heart and soul. Over the past days she’d suspected he was falling in love with her, yet she still worried if she deluded herself, saw what she wanted to see. Thus the words remained locked within her fragile heart, waiting, hoping for him to speak.

  Instead, he reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her with such tenderness that tears arose in her eyes. Breaking the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

  “Sometimes less is more.” He laughed softly, referring to her reaching two climaxes and a third shared together. “I needed to be with you last night, lass. You’re under my skin, in my blood. Desire is too mild a word for what you evoke, provoke, conjure within me—and it crawled under my flesh until I couldn’t think. I was nothing but a caged tiger prowling my room, a beast wanting its mate.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking gently. Those piercing eyes drank in her countenance as if he beheld the most rare and treasured thing in his life.

  It wasn’t a declaration of love . . . but it would do. For now.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Just before lunchtime, Liam finally reversed the speedboat out of the boathouse and slowly pulled into the current, positioning the bow upstream. He’d just spent the better part of an hour showing off the numerous bells and whistles of his ‘toy’ to Jago.

  The black Crownline 255CCR pleasure boat was small enough to navigate the river for skiing, yet was a dream for outings because it provided all the comforts of home: a head compartment with shower, sink and vanity; a small refrigerator and microwave; a stereo, MP3 player, DVD and satellite dish. The backbench where Netta and Asha sat could convert into a sundeck, and even had a built-in cooler.