by JoAnn Ross
There would be time for flames, other occasions to ride the whirlwind. Right now it was important that he draw out this perfect moment in time.
As her lips clung to his, Tara lost all track of time. He could have kissed her for moments. Hours. An eternity. She clung to him, drinking in the dark promise of sensual delights to come, and wished that he could continue kissing her endlessly.
She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body even closer. His heart was pounding; she felt its jackhammer beat in her own pulse. When he murmured something that could have been an endearment or an oath, she tasted his need on her tongue. And when his hands tangled in her hair, then roved down her back and held her hips, pressing her hard against his unyielding hunger, a painful hunger seeped into her bones.
Outside the window, a crescent moon rose in a midnight sky. Inside the bedroom, their passion rose. Gavin's hands, as they roamed over her, creating an enervating warmth from shoulders to thighs, grew more demanding. Tara's arms grew heavy, her head light.
Magic. It crackled around them like the electricity in the air before a thunderstorm; it flowed through them like a river rushing toward the sea; it melted her body like a radiant sun melting hot wax.
Time took on a mystical, dreamlike feel as they undressed each other slowly, drawing out the pleasure. Gavin slipped the pearl buttons of the lace blouse through their silken loops one at a time, slowly, tenderly, as if opening the most precious of presents, allowing his fingers to slide over her skin with the soft strokes of an artist, creating sparks wherever they touched.
"What's this?" he asked, running his fingertip over the silver chain. The necklace seemed familiar; only later would Gavin realize it was the one he'd drawn Brianna wearing.
"It was Brigid's. I found it while I was cleaning. It makes me feel closer to her."
He could feel the vibrations in his fingertips. And although he'd been truly fond of the old lady, it was discomforting to think of making love to Tara while she was wearing something that still possessed so much of her grandmother's energy.
"It's lovely. But I think I'd feel more comfortable, for now, if we took it off."
Understanding completely, Tara nodded her assent. Gavin lifted the thin silver chain over her head and slipped the necklace into a drawer in his bedside table, then returned to undressing her.
It was as if the sun had set inside her, warming Tara from the inside out. Her camisole, a mere wisp of silk and lace, followed the blouse. And then he was cupping her breasts in his hands, heating them with his gaze.
"I knew it," he murmured as his tongue created a hot wet swath across the crests of that aching flesh.
"Knew what?" Her words came out on a little puff of pleasure as his treacherous tongue flicked at a taut nipple.
"That your skin would be as smooth as silk." He treated the other breast to a torture just as sweet, just as prolonged. When his teeth closed around the dampened nipple and tugged, Tara felt a corresponding pull between her legs, an ache that drew a low moan from somewhere deep inside her.
Desperately needing to touch him as he was touching her, she managed, with fingers that had turned damnedly clumsy, to unbutton his denim shirt. "Have I mentioned," she asked in a throaty voice that sounded nothing like her usual cool one, "that your body has been driving me crazy since that first night when I saw you standing beside the fire, your skin gleaming like copper?"
"I wanted to touch you. like this." Her hands splayed over the taut muscle. "I wanted to taste you." She pressed her lips against the flesh that had been tormenting her dreams, the hard dark chest that had glistened with male sweat as he'd chopped wood.
"You should have said something." He sucked in a harsh breath as her mouth heated his skin. "If I'd known you wanted my body so badly, I'd have told you that you could have it."
"Wanting's easy." Her fingers were at his waist, manipulating his belt buckle. "Too easy."
He was about to argue that there had been nothing easy about the way he'd been wanting her, when her tantalizing hand pressed against the placket of his jeans.
There was a time for words and a time for action. And as his flesh swelled painfully against her seductive touch, Gavin decided this was definitely the latter.
They finished undressing each other, then fell onto the bed. His hands were like brands of flames. They touched her everywhere, tangling in her hair, stroking her moist flesh, moving between her legs to discover her hot and wet and wonderfully ready for him.
In turn, she caressed him, reveling in the play of hard muscles beneath dark flesh, exalting in a feminine power like nothing she'd ever known as his stony sex swelled to fill her hand. He was so hot, so hard—his mouth, hands, body. Tara touched, and tasted, and found him magnificent.
After ensuring protection he slid inside her with a silky ease that told her—told him—that they were meant to fit together in this glorious way. Enveloped in her welcoming warmth, Gavin braced himself on his elbows, looked down into her gleaming eyes, then lowered his mouth to hers for a deep, drugging kiss that went on and on and on.
Moving together to a music only they could hear, they performed a beautifully choreographed ballet, their bodies, their minds, their souls, in perfect unison and harmony. The sheets tangled; their hearts entwined.
Tara clung to him with lips, arms, legs. She enveloped him, drew him in, and as he filled all the secret empty places she'd never realized she possessed, as he took her to wild, wonderful places she'd never known existed, Tara felt as if she'd finally come home.
Afterward there was silence. Afraid he'd crush her, Gavin began to pull away, but her arms wrapped around him, holding him tighter.
"Not yet," she murmured.
"Not yet," he agreed. He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. He kissed her, beginning with her mouth, moving up the side of her face. "What's this?" His fingers gathered up the salty moisture his lips had tasted. "Tears?"
"I'm sorry. It's silly."
Concern struck, driving away the pleasure. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she assured him with a shaky smile. "In fact, it was just the opposite. I've never felt that way before. It was as if I was flying into the sun. It was terrifying and wonderful all at the same time." She rested her cheek against his moist chest, nestling tightly against him in an unconsciously seductive way that had him growing hard inside her again.
When she lifted her head to look up at him again, her remarkable eyes were glistening with still-unshed tears of pure emotion. "I think it's one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences you writers refer to as the earth moving."
"I think you might be right." He began to rock against her, slowly at first, letting her feel his renewed desire. "About the earth moving."
"As for the once-in-a-lifetime deal…" His lips brushed against hers, his teeth nibbled at her love swollen lips. "I think we can do better than that."
And gloriously, they did. All night long.
12
"Well," Gavin said over breakfast the next morning, "that certainly should have done it."
"Done what?" Tara was sitting opposite him at the table, wearing one of his shirts. The faint purple shadows beneath her eyes gave mute evidence to a mostly sleepless night.
"Gotten the lust out of our system." He couldn't count the number of times they'd made love. He hadn't had powers of recuperation like that even in his horny teenage days. Of course, he considered, he hadn't known a woman like Tara Delaney back then, either.
"You'd certainly think so," Tara agreed with a slow, satisfied smile. She hadn't known it was physically possible for one woman to have that many orgasms in a single night. Sometime, shortly before dawn, she'd stopped counting.
"So want to tell me why I want you again?"
Her mug was on the way to her mouth. Tara deliberately lowered it to the table and stood. "Beats me. But you're not alone."
She settled herself on his lap. "You do realize, don't you, that this is as much a mistake today as it was
last night."
He nuzzled her neck, nibbled at the lobe of her ear. "You're probably right… Lord, your skin is so unbelievably soft."
When his tongue made a wet swath down her throat, she felt a jolt of arousal all the way to her bare toes. "It's going to complicate things." She tilted her head back, luxuriating in the way his lips could make her blood hum. "At a time when my life is already unreasonably complicated."
"Don't worry." He grinned, tried to remember the last time sex had made him smile and came up blank. "I'll try to keep this as simple as possible." He trailed his hand up her thigh, stroking her with a feathery touch that brought the blood simmering to the surface.
Tara drew in a deep, shuddering breath as that clever, wicked hand went higher still. "This relationship can't go anywhere," she reminded him as she unfastened a button on his shirt. "When my month is over, I'm going back to my real life in San Francisco. This is just for now. No commitments." Another button followed. Then another. "No strings." She pressed her palms against his bared chest.
"No strings," he agreed.
That little matter clarified, she pressed her lips to his, and together they went racing back into the mists.
Much, much later, after an intimate shower where they proceeded yet again to drive each other crazy, they dressed and tried to decide how to spend the rest of the day. Tara was determined to return to the house, Gavin was equally determined that she not.
"It's dangerous," he insisted. He couldn't figure it out. She was so sweet, so soft, in bed. So why did she have to return to arguing every damn point? She was reminding him more and more of Brigid.
"The house was trashed while we were away," she insisted back.
"But the guy, whoever he is, has obviously been sneaking around in there at night, while you're asleep."
She lifted her chin. "You don't know that."
"And you don't know otherwise." He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans to keep from shaking her and wondered what his chances would be of keeping her in bed for the next few days until Trace managed to apprehend the perp.
"I can't stay here indefinitely. Brigid's will states quite clearly that I'm to live in the house. For one cycle of the moon."
"She never would have written that damn codicil if she'd even suspected she was putting your life in danger."
Tara knew that he was right. But just because they'd shared the best sex of her life, didn't give him the right to boss her around this way.
"Whoever it was has probably already found what he was looking for," she said, her words sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.
"I'm not going to let you go back there alone, Tara."
"You can't stop me."
"I don't know." He rubbed his chin and gave her a long look, trying to ignore the way the argument had added an appealing hint of pink to her cheeks. "I suppose I could just tie you to my bedposts until the guy's in jail."
The rose flush deepened. "Actually, that's not such a bad idea," she admitted with a laugh. Not wanting to fight after such a glorious night and an even more special morning, she went up on her toes and pressed her smiling lips against his. "Please, Gavin, I want to clean the house up again. I hate thinking of Grandy's things strewn all over like that. And I promised, by coming here to Whiskey River in the first place, to live up to her request."
It was hopeless. As much as he'd tried to fight it, Gavin knew he was hooked. She was crazy, but she was also one helluva kisser. He took hold of her waist and lifted her up for a long, heartfelt kiss that left them both breathless.
"Here's the deal," he said when he lowered her to the floor again. "You can go back to the house. But I'm staying there with you."
A smile bloomed, on her lips and in her eyes. "I think that's a wonderful idea."
They spent the rest of the day cleaning up the house again. Then spent much of the night making love. And although Gavin listened for any indication of an unwelcome visitor, the house, and the night, was quiet.
The following day, while he went to work at the kitchen table on Morganna's latest adventure, Tara went into Brigid's study to continue going through the mail that the intruder had strewn all over the floor.
Most of the envelopes held not only orders but personal letters, as well. Some shared family, work or health problems, hoping Brigid would provide assistance. Others thanked her for previous help and updated her on their progress. All the writers seemed to believe that Brigid would remember them.
Tara suspected, as amazing as it might seem to anyone who hadn't known Brigid, that the letter writers were correct.
Moved by the sincerity of the letters, she sat down at the desk and began to answer each one. She explained that Brigid had passed on, then attempted to address the letter writers' concerns personally.
At first it was difficult discussing—even on paper-such intimate subjects such as adultery, teenage pregnancy and drug addiction. Many other problems seemed to be merely the result of loneliness. In each of these cases, the letter writers seemed to fear a world that was moving too fast for them to keep up. In Brigid, they'd found someone willing to take the time to listen.
The morning flew by. Tara had just realized it was time to leave for town when there was a knock at her door. She opened it to find three women, two Tara guessed to be in their fifties. The other was about her own age.
"Are you Tara Delaney?" One of the older ones stepped forward, a woman in jeans, a sweatshirt bearing the image of a wolf and boots.
"Yes, I am—"
"May we help you?" Gavin, who'd suddenly appeared behind Tara, asked. Tara didn't know whether to be flattered or irritated by his overly protective demeanor.
"I'm Laverne Newsome," the woman said. "And this is Vivien Moore—" she pointed to a slender woman whose sable hair was liberally streaked with gray "—and my daughter, Chloe."
"Hello." Tara smiled at each of the women in turn.
Gavin said nothing.
"We don't want to intrude," Laverne, who seemed to be spokeswoman for the group said, "but we thought we ought to find out what you're going to do about your grandmother's business."
"I'm afraid I don't have any choice but to close it down."
"We worked for Brigid," Laverne said. "Packaging her herbs and getting them mailed out."
Of course. Tara wondered why she hadn't realized that her grandmother wouldn't have been able to handle the entire business by herself. It was amazing enough she'd taken time to include a letter in so many orders.
"I'm sorry. I should have thought of that, but—"
"We know," Laverne said with a brisk nod of her head. "You've had more on your mind than our jobs. But they were important to us."
"I can understand." It was Tara's turn to nod. "If you'll give me your addresses, I'll have Mr. Reardon send you a check from my grandmother's estate."
"That's not what we're here for," Laverne replied quickly. "Not that we're not real grateful for the offer," she amended. "But what we're really worried about is what all those people are going to do without Brigid's magical herbs."
"I don't believe my grandmother ever referred to them as possessing magical powers," Tara felt obliged to point out.
"You got a point there," Laverne conceded. "But the truth is, those herbs—and the spells she sent out with them—did a heck of a lot of people a lot of good. We think you ought to consider keeping things going."
"I'm afraid that's impossible." Tara felt like the wicked witch of the west when the women exchanged glum glances. "However," she added, "I've spent the morning trying to fill the orders that have been piling up since Brigid's death. If you'd like to help with those—"
"You bet we would." Laverne rubbed her hands together. "Come on, girls, let's get at 'em."
Tara glanced down at her watch. This was her afternoon for tea with Noel. "I was on my way to an appointment—"
"Don't you worry about a thing." Laverne cut her off again. "We know our way around. The orders are in Brigid's st
udy, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"You go on into town," the older woman said, patting Tara on top of the head as if she were a child. "We'll take care of everything."
Tara glanced up at Gavin, who'd yet to say a word.
"Go ahead," he said. "I'll hold down the fort here."
Bemused at how everyone seemed to suddenly be running roughshod over her life, but deciding none of the women looked as if they intended to rob Brigid's house while she was away—and besides, Gavin was here to stop them if they tried—Tara decided to trust them.
"Thank you."
"Thank you," Laverne's petite contemporary said, speaking for the first time since the trio had arrived at her door. "You've no idea how much I've been missing coming to work. After my Joe died in a logging accident, I just went into a terrible depression," she revealed. "I didn't care whether I lived or died. That's when Brigid showed up at my door with a basket of her herbal teas and pointed out that I wasn't the only person in the world who was hurting. She thought that it might make me feel better to help others."
"And she was right. For the first few days, the only reason I dragged myself out of bed to come over here was because I didn't want to let Brigid down. After a week of reading those letters, I realized a lot of people were suffering just like me. After about a month, I realized that somehow, while I was busy working, my melancholy had just magically gone away."
"At first I thought Brigid had put a spell on me. Then I realized that, in her own way, she'd found just the right magic to get me out of my doldrums."
"My grandmother possessed an incredible knowledge of human behavior," Tara agreed, thinking how she'd manipulated things so her own granddaughter would slow down and take stock of her life.
"She also had a kind and generous heart," Chloe tacked on. "I don't know what we're going to do without her. You don't think you might reconsider…"
"No. I won't be taking over Brigid's business."
Tara couldn't count the number of times she'd said those words since arriving in Whiskey River. But as she drove down the steep, winding road into town, it crossed her mind that each time she said them, they sounded a little more hollow.