Northern Lights

by Nora Roberts

  "Ever crash?"

  "I've had to, we'll say, put down abruptly." She yanked off her boots, then taking a towel out of a box, squatted down again to wipe off her dogs' feet. "Go on in. This'll take a minute, and it's crowded with the four of us in here."

  He stepped inside, closing the inner door as he'd been taught to keep the heat in.

  The windows were pulling in the last hints of sun of the short day, so the room was mixed with light and shadows. He could smell flowers—not roses, but something more primitive and earthy. It was mixed with dog and a hint of wood smoke in a strange and appealing combination.

  He'd expected rustic and saw even in the half-light he'd been well off the mark.

  In the spacious living area, the walls were a pale yellow. To mimic the sun, he supposed, and keep the dark at bay. The fireplace was built of polished stone in golden hues so that simmering logs glowed inside its frame. She had squat candles on the mantel in deeper yellows and dark blues. The long sofa picked up the blues and was decked with the toss pillows women insisted on having everywhere. A thick throw, with her key colors bleeding into each other, was draped over the back.

  There were lamps with painted shades, gleaming tables, a patterned rug and two big chairs.

  Watercolors, oil paintings, pastels, all of Alaskan scenes, decorated the walls.

  To his left, stairs led up, and he found himself grinning at the newel post carved into a totem.

  The door opened. The dogs led the way, each prancing over to the chairs and jumping up on one.

  "Not what I expected," he commented.

  "Too much expected leads to boredom." She crossed the room, opened a big carved box and hauled out split logs.

  "Let me get that."

  "Already got it." She bent, set the logs, then turned to him, keeping the fireplace at her back.

  "You want food?"

  "No. No, thanks."

  "Drink?"

  "Not especially, no."

  She crossed over, switched on one of the lamps. "Sex, then."

  "I. . ."

  "Why don't you go ahead up? Second door on the left. I just want to put out food and water for my dogs."

  She strolled out, leaving him standing there with the dogs staring at him out of crystal eyes. He'd have sworn they were smirking.

  When she came back, he was standing in exactly the same spot.

  "Can't find the steps? Some detective you are."

  "Listen, Meg . . . I just drove out to . . . " He dragged a hand through his hair, realizing he didn't have a clue. He'd left town feeling that black hole gaping in front of him, and sometime during his game with the dogs, it had closed up again.

  "You don't want sex?"

  "I know a trick question when I hear one."

  "Well, while you're thinking about how you're going to answer it, I'm going upstairs and getting naked." She shook her hair off her shoulders and behind her back. "I look really good naked, if you're wondering."

  "I figured that."

  "You're a little on the thin side, but I don't mind that." She walked to the steps, angled her head.

  Smiled and crooked her finger. "Come on, cutie."

  "Just like that?"

  "Why not? No law against it, yet anyway. Sex is simple, Nate. It's everything else that's complicated.

  So let's be simple for now."

  She headed up the steps. Nate glanced back at the dogs, blew out a breath. "Let's see if I remember how to be simple."

  He walked up, paused by the first door. The walls were a sizzling red, except the one that was mirrored. On the wall opposite the mirrors was a shelf unit holding a TV, DVD player, stereo components.

  Between them was what he recognized as state-of-the-art exercise equipment.

  An elliptical cross-trainer faced the TV, the Bowfiex and rack of free weights lined up with the mirror.

  He imagined the mini-fridge held bottles of water, maybe some sports drinks.

  The room told him the body he was about to see naked got plenty of serious workouts.

  She'd left the bedroom door open and was crouched in front of another fireplace, lighting the kindling. There was a big, whopping sleigh bed, all curves and dark wood. More art, more lamps accented the shades of green and ivory.

  "I saw your equipment."

  She sent a slow smile over her shoulder. "Not yet."

  "Ha. I meant your personal fitness center next door."

  "You work out, chief?"

  "Used to." Before Jack. "Not so much lately."

  "I like the sweat, and the endorphin rush."

  "So did I."

  "Well, you'll have to get back to it."

  "Yeah. This is some place you've got here."

  "Took me four years to get it done. I need space, or I get twitchy. Lights on, lights off?" When he didn't answer, she straightened, glanced over her shoulder again. "Relax, chief. I'm not going to hurt you—unless you ask for it."

  She walked to the nightstand, pulled open a drawer. "Safety first," she announced and tossed him a condom in a foil pack.

  "You're thinking too much," she decided when he stood, looking a bit bewildered. And, she thought, adorable with all that messy roasted-chestnut hair, those wounded-hero eyes. "I bet we can fix that. Maybe you need a little atmosphere. I don't mind that either."

  She lit a candle, wandered the room, lighting others. "A little music." Opening a cabinet, she switched on the CD player inside, adjusted the volume to low. It was Alanis Morissette this time, with her strangely appealing voice singing about the fear of bliss.

  "Maybe I should've gotten you a little drunk first, but it's too late for that now."

  "You're an original," Nate murmured.

  "You bet your fine ass on that." She tugged her sweater over her head, tossed it into a chair.

  "Thermal underwear makes the striptease a little less than erotic, but the payoff should make up for it."

  He was already brick hard.

  "You plan to shed any of those clothes, or do you want me to take care of that for you?"

  "I'm nervous. Saying that makes me feel like an idiot."

  Oh, yeah, she thought again. Seriously adorable. Honesty in a man always was.

  "You're only nervous because you're thinking." She dropped her trousers, stepped out of them. Sitting on the bed, she pulled off her socks. "If it hadn't been for the call of duty New Year's Eve, we'd have ended up in bed."

  "You were gone when I came back."

  "Because I started thinking. See, it's deadly." She pulled back the comforter and sheets.

  He laid his shirt over her sweater. When he took his cell phone out of his pocket, set it down, he shrugged. "I'm on duty."

  "Well, let's hope everyone behaves themselves." She pulled off her thermal top. Every muscle in his body bunched into a fist.

  She was porcelain—delicate white skin carved into curves. But there was nothing fragile. Instead it was all drama and confidence, a photograph in black and white with light playing gold over it.

  And he saw, with a surprised jolt of lust when she turned to switch off the light, to leave only the candles and fire burning, the little tattoo of spreading red wings at the small of her back.

  "Half the thoughts in my head just evaporated."

  She laughed. "Let's take care of the other half. Lose the pants, Burke."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He unbuckled his belt, then his fingers went numb as she peeled off the rest of the thermal. His mouth was dry as dust. "You were right. You look really good naked."

  "I'd like to say the same, if you ever get those clothes off." She slid onto the bed, stretched out. "Come on, cutie. Come get me."

  She trailed a fingertip down her breast as he undressed. "Mmm, not bad, upper body wise. Nice muscle tone for somebody who hasn't been getting regular workouts. And . . . " She grinned, propped up on her elbows when he stripped off his pants. "Well, well, you really did stop thinking. Dress that soldier, and let's go to war."

&nb
sp; He complied, but when he sat on the bed, he simply brushed his finger over her shoulder. "Give me a minute to plan my battle strategy first. I've never seen skin like yours. It's so pure."

  "Can't judge a book by its cover."

  Balancing herself, she reached up, grabbed a hank of his hair and dragged him down to her. "Give me that mouth. I didn't have nearly enough of it before."

  It swept through him in a rush, all the needs, the desperation, the frantic urges that coalesced into blind lust. The taste of her exploded inside him, the ripe, greedy heat of her fired in his blood. His mouth bore down on hers, fed from hers until hungers he'd forgotten burst to life again.

  He couldn't get enough, her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Her gasps and moans and cries were like lashes against his naked need, driving him to take more.

  He clamped a hand between her thighs, crazed to feel the wet, the warmth, and pushed her so quickly, so violently to peak, they both shuddered.

  It was like climbing a quiet, green hill and having it turn into a volcano. That was inside of him, she realized. The dangerous surprise under the injured calm. She'd wanted him, those sad eyes, that quiet manner. But she hadn't known what he would give her when the mask was yanked away.

  She arched up, stunned, as he raked heat through her body. And when she cried out, it was with mindless pleasure. She rolled with him, digging with her nails, nipping with her teeth, her hands eager and possessive as they raced over slickened skin.

  Her lungs burned with every panting breath.

  He wanted to devour, to ravish and rule. He drove into her, would have buried his face in her hair, but her hands came up to his face. And she watched him, her eyes wild and blue as he thrust inside her, as he lost himself inside her. Watched him until he'd emptied himself inside her.

  * * *

  He'd been hulled out until his skin was nothing but a husk with air inside it. He couldn't remember what it was to feel that dragging, drawing weight that closed down over his mind and so bloated his body it made just getting out of bed in the morning an exercise in will and control.

  He was blind and deaf and replete. If he could have floated the rest of the way to oblivion, just as he was, he wouldn't have uttered a murmur of complaint.

  "No falling asleep while still engaged."

  "Huh? What?"

  "Reverse thrusters, cutie."

  He wasn't blind after all. He could see light, shadow, shape. None of it made any sense, but he could see it. Obviously he could hear, because the voice—her voice—was there drifting through the mild buzzing in his head.

  And he could feel her, yielding under him—that soft, tight, curvy body, damp with the sweat they'd worked up, and smelling of soap and sex and female.

  "Better give me a shove," he said after a moment. "I may be paralyzed."

  "Not from where I'm sitting." But she planted her hand on his shoulder, and put some effort into pushing him over. Then took a long, whistling breath—in and out—and said, "God!"

  "I think I saw Him, just a faint outline for a second. He was smiling."

  "That was me."

  "Oh."

  She couldn't work up the energy to stretch, so yawned instead. "Somebody was very pent up. Mmmm. Lucky me."

  The circuits in his brain were starting to connect again. He could almost hear them sizzle as contact was reestablished. "It's been a while for me."

  Curious, she tipped onto her side. She saw the scars her fingers had played against. Puckers of wounds, bullet wounds, she knew, on his side, on his thigh.

  "Define 'a while.' Like a month?" His eyes stayed closed, but his mouth curved. "Two months? Jesus, more? Three?"

  "We'd be closing in on a year, I guess."

  "Holy crap! No wonder I saw stars."

  "Did I hurt you?"

  "Don't be a jerk."

  "Maybe not, but I sure as hell used you."

  Deliberately, she traced a finger on the scar snaking down his side. He didn't flinch, but she felt him tighten and decided to keep it light for now.

  "I'd say we used each other, and so well, so thoroughly, everyone in a hundred-mile radius of this bed is lying back right now, smoking a cigarette."

  "You're okay with it?"

  "You got short-term-memory syndrome, Burke?" Now, she stretched and gave him a quick jab with her elbow on the back end of the move. "Whose idea was this?"

  He was quiet for a moment. "I was married for five years. I was faithful. The last two years of the marriage were rocky. Actually, the last year of it sucked completely. Sex became an issue. A battleground. A weapon. Anything but a natural pleasure. So I'm rusty, and I'm not altogether sure what women are looking for in this area."

  Not so light then, she mused. "I'm not women. I'm me. Sorry your ex jerked you around by the dick, but as I can attest that appendage is still in good working order, maybe it's time to get over it."

  "Long past." He shifted, working his arm under her. He felt her stiffen a little, and the hesitation in her body before she relaxed again and let him settle her head on his shoulder. "I don't want this to be the end of it. Between us."

  "We'll see what we think about that next time."

  "I wish I could stay, but I have to get back. Sorry."

  "I didn't ask you to stay."

  He turned his head so he could see her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes still sleepy. But he was too good a cop to miss the wariness just under the ease. "I wish you'd ask me to stay, but since I'd have to say no, that's a waste of a wish. But I'd like to come back."

  "You can't come back tonight. This storm hits and you make it out here—which you wouldn't—you'd be stuck. Could be days. That wouldn't suit me."

  "If it's going to be that bad, come back into town with me."

  "No. That really wouldn't suit me." Relaxed again, she walked her fingers up his chest, along his jawline and into his hair. "I'm fine here. Plenty of supplies, plenty of wood, my dogs. I like a good storm, the solitariness of it."