by Alyssa Kress
"That's right, honey," Gary murmured against her mouth. "Hold on tight."
He kissed her again; deeply, completely, and Kerrin felt herself falling into a dark, warm, and wet vortex. The vortex was inside of her but she'd never known of its existence until now, as it beckoned to her with delicious abandon.
Gary's hands moved across her back, caressing and pulling her still closer, pressing her against his muscled body, heating her through.
"Oh, God I want you," she heard him mutter as his lips left hers and made a course down the line of her jaw.
Kerrin suddenly became aware of a number of things at once: that the sensation of Gary's lips against her neck was robbing her of a good deal of muscle and nerve control, that unmentionable, private parts of her were becoming uncomfortably damp, and most blatantly, that parts ‑‑ or to be specific, one particular part ‑‑ of Gary had become hard and stiff against her lower abdomen.
Too much. The thought came at Kerrin like a freight train. To proceed with this was to change everything. Not just her relationship with Gary, but everything. Her whole life, the entire safe and secure structure she'd built, would be destroyed. She'd become completely vulnerable.
Some of the panic in her mind must have transmitted to Gary because he stopped nipping at her earlobe. With a muffled groan he simply put his nose against her neck and held her. "I know, I know," he whispered. "Shh, shh. I'm stopping. It's okay now. I promise."
Kerrin realized she was trembling in his arms. What in the world must he think of her, falling to pieces over a few kisses? "Gary?" She wanted to explain ‑‑ something.
"Hush." His voice was full of remorse. "Damn, I didn't want to frighten you, sweetheart."
Kerrin pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "I feel like an idiot."
"Don't." This command was stern as Gary pulled back to look down at her. His hands grasped her shoulders. "I'm afraid that title goes to me." His eyes were pure darkness, concerned. "You want to talk to me about it?"
"About what?"
"Whatever it was I did that got you spooked."
Kerrin shook her head. What could she say? The idea of sex scared her to pieces, and she wasn't even sure why. Was it because she was certain she'd be bad at it? Or was it because it might change her life?
Gary sighed and brushed a hand across her cheek. "I hope you understand that I would never hurt you, sweetheart. Never."
She smiled faintly. "Yeah, I think I've figured that out by now."
"Good." His voice was gruff. "All the same, maybe I shouldn't have come over this evening."
Her stomach sank. "Why do you say that?"
"Because..." He covered the hand she held pressed against his chest with one of his own. "I wouldn't hurt you, but on the other hand, I'm not made of stone, honey. I've got my full complement of healthy adult male urges."
Her heart took a running dive.
As if sensing her apprehension, he tightened his hand around hers. "It's a fact. The more time I spend around you, the more I want you. And I'm pretty sure one of these days I'm going to get you."
Kerrin stilled. "You think so?" She was frankly amazed by his arrogance, for just a minute ago she'd come to the opposite conclusion. She was horribly stunted in this department. "Um, Gary, I gotta tell you, I don't think that's going to happen."
"Oh, honey." He let go of her hand to press a finger against her lips. "You can forget that. I know you think that it ‑‑ whatever it is ‑‑ makes you immune." A faint smile edged his mouth. "But I can tell you exactly where that line of thinking is going to get you."
She was truly fascinated now. "Where?"
The stars shone on his white teeth as he let his smile slowly broaden. "Right into my arms."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Matt plunged into the icy water. Every muscle in his body stiffened against the cold, but he pushed forward with all his might. Getting to the island in the middle of the mountain lake was the only hope he had of finding the bomb and defusing it. He didn't have time for cramps. In five minutes the explosive was set to go off. His legs kicked powerfully as his arms lifted and fell with the motion of the crawl ‑‑
A sharp, intense pain shot through Matt's thighs. The mountain lake abruptly disappeared. His hands went down to his legs and he squeezed. At his usual spot by the bedroom window, he waited, teeth clenched, for the pain to subside. It did, but left his muscles quivering. Slowly he released the pressure of his fingers.
This was not the first time pain had attacked down there. Over the past few months the mysterious arrow of pain had shot through him maybe half a dozen times. Every instance had scared Matt to death.
Please God, don't make me be getting worse. At the time of his accident he'd overheard the neurologist telling his parents there was a small chance the nerve damage could get worse. What was left of Matt's spinal column might deteriorate over time.
For three years everything had stayed the same. The thread of control Matt retained over his legs hadn't changed. Six months of physical therapy immediately following the accident ‑‑ painful and humiliating ‑‑ hadn't done a thing to give him more power in his legs. But at least things hadn't gotten worse. At least he had the use of everything above the hips.
Matt massaged the muscles at the top of his thighs, shutting his eyes tightly. Please God.
"Um, Matt?"
Matt's eyes shot open. Elaine Gerard was standing in the open door of his room, gazing at him with concern.
"Matt, are you okay?"
"What? Yeah, yeah sure." He frowned, remembering now that Kerrin had warned him Elaine was coming to clean the house today. Apparently his classmate was planning to make a career of it. She was dressed for the job in a loose T-shirt hanging over old blue jeans. Her ebony black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail.
Carefully, surreptitiously, he lifted his palms from his aching thighs. It bugged the hell out of him that she was here, that anyone from his class should see him in his own safe and private space.
Elaine's gaze skittered nervously away from Matt and she looked down the hallway. The gesture reminded Matt of somebody, though he couldn't think right then of who.
"Um, I finished all the other bedrooms, except for this one. Is it all right ‑‑ ? Or should I go do the kitchen first and come back later?"
It took Matt a minute to understand. She was asking if he'd clear out so she could clean his room. Jeez. The last thing Matt wanted was for Elaine Gerard to clean his mess. There were two days worth of clothes resting at the end of his bed, which he hadn't had time to make before Kerrin had driven him to school that morning.
Matt kept his eyes on the pile of dirty clothes. "That's okay, Elaine. It's my room. I'll clean up in here."
Out in the hall, she fidgeted and shifted weight. "I don't know, Matt. This is my job, you see. I want to do things right."
Matt crushed his teeth together. He wanted to her to stay the hell out of his room. Instead, he watched helplessly as she waltzed right in.
"Besides," Elaine said, "I'm about to start a load of laundry and I'll need these." She bent over his clothes.
"Elaine!"
Matt's voice wasn't very loud, but the girl jumped about a country mile anyhow. She straightened stiff as an ironing board and stumbled backward a few steps. Matt could see her delicately shaped throat swallow. "I ‑‑ I guess I'll come back later," she murmured, scooting out of his room like a frightened cat.
I couldn't have done a better job if I were Frankenstein himself. Matt glared at the empty doorway bitterly. He spent the next fifteen minutes quietly calling Elaine every dirty name he could think of as he straightened up his room. He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, stripped his bed and changed the sheets. He didn't need anyone to give him a hand. He certainly didn't want the help of someone who thought he was a freak. Anger burned through him every time he remembered the terror in her eyes, a terror that was, for some reason, disturbingly familiar.
Just in case the girl intended to
carry out her threat and come back, Matt closed the door to his room. Wheeling over to his desk, he got out his Holiday Bomber journal. He scanned his last few entries. No bomb had gone off anywhere on the Fourth of July, but Matt didn't think the crazy dude had given up. He wasn't going to give up until he was caught. Maybe ten minutes passed. Matt closed the book, unable to concentrate.
He was still so damn angry. Only now Matt was rational enough to understand that he wasn't really angry at Elaine. He was angry about the pain in his legs and the fear that occasioned. He was angry he looked like a freak to anybody. And last, but not least, he was angry at himself for losing his temper with an innocent bystander. Matt's upbringing, though unconventional, was good enough that he knew he owed Elaine an apology.
She wasn't in the laundry room, or in any of the other bedrooms down the hall. Instead Matt found her in the high-ceiling living area. She didn't see him at first, or hear the wheels of his chair rolling over the soft oriental rug. Matt stopped by a low wall, frowning at Elaine's face in profile.
She was standing by one of the cedar wood cabinets in the living room, dead to everything but the framed eight by ten photograph, one of several that sat on top of the cabinet. It was a family picture Elaine was regarding with such sober concentration, one Kerrin had bugged Matt and her parents to go all the way into Bishop to sit for last year. It was okay, as far as family pictures went. That is, no one had their eyes closed and everyone was wearing a semi-decent smile. But Elaine was staring at it as though it were the Mona Lisa.
"Elaine?" This time he made sure to keep his voice soft and polite. Nevertheless, Elaine started violently as she turned to stare at him.
All at once Matt knew who Elaine reminded him of: the deerlike timidity, the widened, innocent eyes. The realization roughened his voice as he asked, "You like the picture?"
Elaine turned her gaze back to the photograph, clearly grateful for an excuse to turn her gaze away from Matt.
It couldn't be, Matt told himself. It had to be the usual reason, because she thought he was a freak, because she found looking at him uncomfortable.
She gave a tiny nod in the affirmative. "I sure wish I had a picture like this of my baby sister, Janet. The boys..." Elaine lifted her shoulders. "No way on earth I could get them to sit still long enough for anyone to snap a photograph, though I'd like one of them, too."
"This photographer in Bishop has a special every few months," Matt told her. "It's not that expensive. And I'll bet he knows a few tricks to keep the boys still."
With her eyes steadily fixed on the photograph, Elaine gave a wistful sigh. "My Dad would never let me."
Trying an experiment, Matt wheeled a few feet closer. Elaine didn't step away, but she did wrap her arms in a protective manner around her waist. Her glance hit him briefly and then skipped to the side.
No. But Matt felt a growing amazement. It wasn't possible, he tried to tell himself. He must be making this up, reading things into her behavior that didn't exist. Just because his sister Kerrin acted this exact same way around Gary didn't mean ‑‑
"I don't want to make you mad again," Elaine now said to Matt, a light flush rising over her fair face. "But if you're...I mean, can I clean your room now?"
"I already took care of it." Matt had no problem at all keeping his own gaze focused on Elaine. Making a close study of her reactions was suddenly the most fascinating activity in the world. "And Elaine, I want to apologize for flying off the handle at you. You hadn't done anything wrong."
"That's okay, Matt." Elaine's voice sounded a little breathy as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "You didn't really 'fly off the handle.' I just...overreacted."
"Well, maybe I overreacted myself," Matt admitted ruefully. "I guess I'm used to my bedroom being my own private space. Listen, maybe you and I could make a deal."
Alarm flared in her eyes. "A deal?"
"Yeah. You let me clean my own room ‑‑ and I won't tell a soul."
"Oh, I don't know, Matt. Kerrin's paying me..."
"Whatever Kerrin's paying you, it's worth it to her to have my room cleaned, whether you do it or I do. C'mon. Deal?"
Elaine had enough brains to know when she was fighting a losing battle. "Oh, all right. Deal."
"Great." Then Matt, still experimenting, held out his hand.
Elaine regarded Matt's hand with clear apprehension. As Matt waited for her to make up her mind his stomach twisted sickly. Was Elaine's apprehension coming from the discomfort of touching a guy who didn't have real legs, or did it come from somewhere else?
Elaine reached out a hand, tentative and uncertain. Matt's sick stomach twisted yet further. Who was he kidding? She was scared of him as a monster, simple as that.
Then her hand slipped against his, silky-satin. Matt found himself closing his strong hand around her so much smaller one. Gray eyes flicked up to meet his for one raw, shocking moment. Matt felt excitement of a kind he'd never known before zigzag through him.
And then, before he could properly assess whether or not Elaine was feeling the same excitement, the girl snatched her hand out of his. She took a step back, avoiding his eyes like poison, and then ran off, in the general direction of the laundry room.
Matt looked after her. I either just had my first experience with sex, or I managed to completely freak out that harmless little girl.
Which one was it?
Matt had the unfortunate feeling that nothing Gary was going to teach them in class would provide the answer to that burning question.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gary put down the sander and reached from his position on the back porch for the towel he'd thrown over the rail. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, then picked up the sander again, trying not to pay attention to how little progress he'd made in scraping the old paint from the porch.
It was a quixotic undertaking, taking off the faded, peeling paint. Gary wasn't going to be around long enough to enjoy the benefits of his work. Hell, he probably wasn't even going to be around long enough to finish the job at the rate he was going. Gary stepped up his pace with the sander. He'd like to get at least one job done right around here.
Every night over the last week he'd searched the area around the DWP facility for that tunnel. At first he'd wanted to be systematic about it, but he'd soon realized that a systematic method wasn't going to find him the tunnel before Columbus Day.
So, instead of sweeping the vast acreage around the DWP in yard-width swatches, he'd sat and done what the FBI was paying him to do. He'd thought. He'd thought as hard as he could about where he would put that damn tunnel if getting into the DWP facility were the dearest thing to his heart. So far he hadn't had a rat's worth of luck.
He could be wrong about the tunnel. Gary set his jaw and scraped harder at the stubborn old paint. He couldn't afford to be wrong.
The sun beat down on his bare back. He was getting hot, frustrated, and quite frankly, scared. Gary reached for the pack of cigarettes on the floor next to him. He'd cut back on his smoking. After the first day of class he'd realized that a man teaching about health couldn't light up in front of the kids. And then once he'd moved in here he hadn't wanted to stink up the inside of the house. He was getting mighty persnickety, for a con.
It has to be someone in town. The unpleasant refrain jangled once again, tugging at the fringes of his concentration. He hated thinking that. It just couldn't be. Nevertheless, he'd made a point of meeting every single person who lived in or around this burg. There wasn't a single one of them he could imagine doing such a thing.
With two notable exceptions.
Gary accidentally ran the sander over his finger and cursed, hastily pulling his hand up and shaking it. That's enough for today, he decided, rising from the floor with a groan. Picking up the sander and the towel, Gary brought both back into the house with him.
The house was dark and cool. Elaine had brought over some dried eucalyptus leaves the other day and stuck them in an old glass vase.
They gave the place a nice, fresh smell. Throwing the sander in the kitchen and the towel in the utility room next to it, Gary began stripping off the rest of his clothes.
Two exceptions.
One was Elaine's old man, Bill Gerard. He was nasty enough to blow up the whole town, his own miserable trailer included. But frankly, he didn't have anywhere near the brains, nor did he have the means to have travelled over hell and gone blowing up the other stuff.
That left the other exception. Tom Horton. He had the brains. No doubt about it. Worse yet, he had experience with bombs ‑‑ big, sophisticated bombs. But it was impossible. Gary just couldn't make himself imagine Kerrin's father deliberately destroying anything.
Gary tossed his jeans into the same pile of clothes as the towel and stood for a moment with his hands on his hips. No, Tom Horton couldn't even bring himself to destroy the reputation of one completely undeserving con ‑‑ yours, truly.
Naked, Gary strolled through his house to the single, tiny bathroom. Neither the bathroom, nor the rest of the house looked tiny to him, though. After living, sometimes doubled up, in a space half the size of his kitchen, the Wilson house felt like the Taj Mahal. And the privacy ‑‑ the ability to walk around without somebody watching you every minute of the day ‑‑ it was an indescribable pleasure.
Reaching into the glass shower stall, Gary turned on the spray. He frowned as he waited for the water to heat up. Nothing about Tom Horton made sense, though. How did he know who Gary was? Better yet, why was he keeping mum about it? The only way Gary could figure it, Kerrin must have spilled the beans to him.
Gary stepped into the shower and washed off, feeling suddenly and unaccountably rushed. When he got out, he chose one of his better pair of slacks to wear, an olive-green cotton with a crisp pleat. As he pulled on a casual short-sleeved shirt of olive, red, and gray he realized he was on his way to see Kerrin. Kerrin would provide the antidote to all the tensions and insecurity that were messing around with him this afternoon.