"Not that you're in a hurry to get him on that plane or anything," Viv said with a laugh.
But Christy heard the thread of sadness. "It's soon, isn't it?" she asked gently.
"Another week."
Christy knew Viv and Eric had gone through a lot of painful revelations this week—some cathartic, some healing, some hurtful. But it had remained platonic throughout. Not so much as a kiss or even a hug, according to Viv. She hadn't said where it was all heading, either, and Christy hadn't pushed. Not too hard anyway.
"I'm—I don't know what to say," Christy said quietly.
"Say you'll call Trevor."
Christy laughed. "Boy, if anyone shouldn't be pushing someone into a relationship, you'd think it would be you."
"I push because I care," she said, laughing, too.
"And I told you before, when it's the right one, it's worth the risk."
"Even after this week, you feel that way?"
"More than ever."
Christy didn't know what to make of that and was afraid to ask. "I don't know that Trevor is the right anything."
"Name me one man who, after meeting him once, has dominated your every thought the way Trevor has."
"Okay, okay. Point taken. But—"
"But why not find out? How else will you ever know?"
Christy sighed. "When are you seeing Eric again?"
"After my shift tomorrow. I have Tuesday off."
"Sounds potentially…"
"Interesting," Viv finished.
"Yeah."
After a slight pause, Viv said, "Stop worrying about me, Christy. I'm doing okay. I'm learning a lot about him. About us. But mostly I'm learning a lot about myself. I guess we never stop."
Thinking about the turmoil her thoughts and emotions had been in all week, just from one encounter with Trevor, she had to agree. "I guess not."
"So I'm getting Trevor's number. You can do with it what you want." She hung up before Christy could yell at her.
Instead she hung up the phone and picked up the vase. The card fell to the counter. "The thunder wasn't all outside the cabin," it said.
She thought about the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd laughed with her. The way he'd kissed her. He was right; there had been thunder.
"So," she whispered, toying with the card. "What are you going to do about it, Millennium Woman?"
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
He should have left earlier. The rain was coming down in a torrent, sounding like heavy artillery firing on the warehouse roof. He could be tucked snug in his hotel room, but no, he'd stayed to install more training equipment. Then somehow he'd found himself testing out the padded dummy, which had turned into an hour's-long personal workout. Not that he was frustrated or anything.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to ignore the thrumming of rain on metal. One week to go and everything was moving along better than he'd hoped.
So why was it, after putting in another eighteen-hour day, with a million things to think about worry over, plan for, all he could think about was Christy? He put another move on the dummy, then another, then another, until finally he swore and spun away.
He needed to call her. Talk to her. Maybe see her. Put that whole weekend back in perspective. "It was one kiss, for God's sake," he told himself. And not for the first time. Or even the tenth.
He propped his hands on his hips, a sheen of sweat coating his face, chest and arms. The very idea of seeing her again, hearing her laugh, tasting her smile … well, it wasn't helping him cool down.
He scooped up his keys and the shirt he'd ripped off an hour ago. Maybe the walk to his car in the downpour would be the cold shower he so badly needed, but even as he let himself out the side door and locked everything up, he knew there was only one solution to his problem. Was it too late to call her now?
A deep rumble filled the night sky, making him pause as the rain soaked him the rest of the way. Then the sky split open over his head as a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, ripping it in two. His thoughts went immediately to Christy as he jogged the rest of the way to the used SUV he'd bought two days before and climbed inside. The windows fogged instantly with the dampness and heat radiating off his body. Another rumble vibrated the air.
He snagged his cell phone from the clip on his belt, then started the truck. It was only nine. He dialed in the number he'd memorized but had never used. He sat there, staring at it, finger hovering over the Call button, as another rumble vibrated the humid night air. "Just do it."
He didn't even know if she was working tonight. In a way, he hoped she was. She wouldn't hear the thunder as much inside the hospital and would be too busy to worry about it. And if she didn't pick up, he could just hang up and no one would be the wiser. His heart began to hammer inside his chest; he knew he wanted her to be home.
But just as he went to punch the Call button, it startled him by ringing. The incoming number flashed on the screen. It was the same one he'd almost dialed. A wide grin split his face. "Trevor's Thunder and Lightning Distraction Service," he said, more energized than he'd been in days.
She laughed. That's all it took and his body went rock hard. Oh, yeah, just call her and put things in perspective. Well, things were in perspective all right. He wanted her. Now. Tonight. All day tomorrow. Maybe even the next day. After that who knew and who cared?
"I told you to beware what you offered," she said.
"And I told you I never make offers I'm not willing to fulfill." He leaned back in his seat, heedless of the fact that he was drenched and starting to get a little chilly with the fan blowing. "You doing okay with the storm?"
There was a pause, then a dry laugh. "I'm not a complete neurotic mess, you know."
"We all have our neuroses. Ask me how I feel about snakes sometime."
She chuckled and he could almost feel her relax. "Okay, Indiana McQuillen, I'll do that."
He shifted the phone to the other hand. "So you didn't call for a little … distraction?"
"I, uh…" She laughed. "Have no idea how to answer that one," she finished.
"Are you on shift tonight?"
"No. I'm off tonight and tomorrow. I don't go back until Tuesday."
"Want some company?" The question was out before he could think better of it. But, dammit, he wanted to see her. Hearing her wasn't enough. "We can meet somewhere if you'd like," he offered, shamelessly praying she would say no. He wanted her alone, all to himself. The power of that need should have had him backing off. But the past week hadn't put her further from his mind. In fact, it had done the exact opposite. One laugh and he realized he felt as if he'd been left in the desert to starve for six days. It made no sense, but right at the moment he didn't care.
"I might not be neurotic, but I'm not really up for going out in this mess. Would you—do you want to come here? I know it's late," she added. "Maybe some coffee?"
"Like the kind Viv makes?"
"I might be able to help you out there."
"Just tell me where and when," he said immediately.
"Bribed with Irish whiskey," she said on a laugh. "I've never tried that approach."
"I'm not coming for the whiskey."
There was a pause, then, "Oh."
A delicious sort of tension wound its way through him. He grinned in the darkness. "I like it when you get all tongue-tied. Or should I say, I like it when I make you all tongue-tied."
"Yes, well. Okay."
He didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Damn, but he wanted her. "Give me directions, Christy."
Her voice was definitely rougher as she told him. "Think you can find the right woman in the right be—uh, house, this time?"
Oh, that little slip did nothing to ease the growing pressure that was making his jeans tighter by the second. "I'm beginning to think I did pretty well last time."
She laughed at that. "Sleep deprivation aside, so am I."
"I'll be there in about twenty
minutes."
"Where are you anyway? Viv, uh, got your number from Mike's folks. I wasn't sure if it was your home or…"
"It's my cell phone, which is both home and business for the time being until I get my phone lines put in. I'm in my truck, outside my warehouse."
"Your warehouse? I thought you said you were opening a training facility."
"I am. I'll have to bring you out here sometime, give you the tour. It's not much, but it's functional. Or will be when my first class starts next week."
"Next week? Wow, you work fast."
Thinking of where they'd ended up in that kitchen a week ago, he could hardly disagree. There was another pause and he smiled, knowing she'd just put the same thoughts together. "When I want something, I usually don't let much stand in my way of getting it."
She had to clear her throat. He had to curl his hands against the need to be touching her, right now.
"You've been putting in long hours. I probably shouldn't have called—"
"You put in long hours, too." He'd already put his truck into gear and was pulling out of the lot as he continued talking. "I want to see you, Christy. In fact, when I heard the thunder, I was going to call you."
"So, this is about the storm? Because I can handle—"
"Oh, I'm well aware that you can handle just about anything. The storm was just an excuse to do what I've been trying not to do all week."
"Why were you trying not to?"
He cursed himself for saying that. Real smooth, McQuillen. "All those long hours we both work. With everything going on here, I figured I should focus on one thing at a time. Problem is … I can't get you out of my mind."
"So tonight is … what?"
"Tonight is … finding out." He cleared his suddenly tight throat. "Finding out if we should think about making some time. For each other." There was a long pause and he wanted to smack himself. It wasn't like him to be this pushy. Okay, so it was exactly like him to be pushy, but not where women were concerned. Hell, it wasn't like him to want to move things forward period where women were concerned. But with her there was a sense of urgency, this sense of time he could be spending with her that he wasn't, which felt like time wasted. "Christy, I'm—"
"Thinking about the thunder that's not outside?" she said tentatively.
"Yeah," he said roughly.
There was a pause, then, "So am I."
"Ten minutes," he told her as another bolt of lightning illuminated the night. "And forget about the whiskey."
She laughed and disconnected the call.
* * *
Christy's palms were sweating and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the summer storm raging outside. She had a pretty good storm raging inside, thank-you very much. She'd called. He was coming over. Viv would be so proud of her. Except now what in the hell did she do?
The knock at the door made her jump. It was then she realized she was still in her uniform, her hair was pinned back out of the way with little plastic clips and what little makeup she wore had long since worn off. She made a face at herself as she caught her reflection in the tiny hall mirror. Apparently she was doomed to never be at her best when she was around him. One look at her and he'd be begging for that Irish coffee, double on the whiskey please.
"Christy?"
Thunder shook the windowpanes and insecurity shook her. He was right on the other side of that door. The man who'd sent her those flowers. The man she'd dreamed about. Hot, sweaty dreams that always left her achy and wanting. Right on the other side of that door.
She was going to kill Viv.
She slid the chain with clumsy fingers and unlocked the door, opening it a crack. Dear Lord. He was even better than in her dreams. And big. She'd known that, but the way he filled her doorway, all damp clothes and—and … raw masculinity… Well, it took what was left of her breath away. His short hair was plastered to his head, making the rugged angles of his cheeks and jaw stand out in sharp relief. And all of it made his eyes so luminous that once she looked into them, she couldn't look away.
"Hi," she managed.
"Hi," he said, his own voice a bit rough.
"You found me."
He grinned and her knees dipped. "Yes, ma'am."
"I—I didn't have a chance to change. I pulled an extra shift today and—"
He laughed and motioned to himself. "I hardly think you have to apologize for your appearance."
Yeah, she thought, but you look sexy all soaking wet like that. Then she realized she was keeping him standing, dripping in the hallway. "Come on in," she said, opening the door and stepping back, but when he moved inside there didn't seem to be enough room for the two of them.
He stopped, trapping her between him and the door. "I'm going to get you all wet."
God, I hope so, she thought feverishly.
"I should have gone to the hotel and changed first." He grinned again. "But I was sort of in a hurry."
"Yeah. Hurry," she repeated, dazed by how close he was, so close he could touch her. Please touch me. As if he'd read her mind, he traced a finger along her cheek and she trembled as a shaky breath slid from between her lips.
"I missed you," he said quietly. One by one, he plucked the plastic clips from her hair. Then he sunk his fingers into her hair and shook it loose, holding her head as he lowered his own. "I should never have waited. Now I'm half starved for this."
"Starved," she agreed, and lifted her mouth to his.
It was better than any dream, better even than the kiss in Viv's kitchen. She was hungry, so hungry. And so was he. Yet he didn't devour, though there was a distinct part of her that would have enjoyed it if he had. Instead he kissed her slowly, thoroughly, continually, as if he was indeed starved and was going to get his fill, all in one kiss. She braced her hands on his chest as he backed her against the open door.
His wet shirt should have been cold and clammy. It wasn't. His chest beneath was warm, almost hot to the touch. She was surprised steam wasn't rising off of him.
"You—you shouldn't be in wet clothes," she said as he trailed kisses along her jaw and up to her temple.
"I was thinking the same thing," he said, carefully not getting his wet body too close to hers, which somehow only served to make the air between them even more erotically charged. He lifted his mouth from her skin, looking into her eyes. "I could go change."
"You could," she agreed, then tugged him the rest of the way inside.
He laughed and pulled her hard against him as he kicked the door shut behind him. "You'll get wet."
"I already am."
He groaned and pulled her more tightly into his arms. "Christy—"
"Did I really just say that?" she whispered against his hammering heart, laughing at herself.
He looked down at her. "I believe that was you, yes." He nipped at her nose, then playfully at the corners of her mouth, then kissed her eyes shut as she sighed and leaned more fully into him. "Do we need to stop this for coffee?" he asked roughly, his lips against her ear.
She shook her head, not wanting to do anything that would take him even one centimeter away from where he was at this moment.
"Do we need to stop this … for any other reason?"
She opened her eyes now and looked into his. The desire she saw there had her knees going wonky again. But it was the caring concern that touched her heart. If she said no to any more than this, he'd be a gentleman and not push her. But she didn't want to say no. It went against all her normal cautions, but with Trevor … she couldn't explain it. Thoughts of that soul-mate conversation flickered through her mind, but she shoved it aside and simply went with what she felt.
"No," she whispered. That fierce light almost engulfed his eyes the instant she uttered the word. Her pulse thundered, her body was already past needing any additional priming. "But—"
He was already moving to kiss her again, but he paused. "But?"
"I want—" Now she felt self-conscious. But this was important, this step with him. It wasn't ca
sual, not to her, and she had to tell him that, now. Before. "I want you, this … I feel like I can't think straight until we—" She laughed even as she flushed.
"I know," he said, smiling. "I feel the same way." He pushed her hair back with his fingertips, then framed her face with his big hands. "It's more than just this, Christy. Or it can be."
She trembled. "Should it be more … before we … you know?"
"Does it feel that way to you?"
"It should. But it doesn't. I just wanted you to know that I don't usually—"
"I know," he said, pulling her closer until their lips almost touched. "I know." Then he kissed her, and this time there was something else there, woven in with the passion and the hunger. Something almost … reverent.
She pulled at his shirt. "Take this off." She'd meant to ask more politely, but it came out as a sort of growl.
Still kissing her, he trailed his hands down to her shoulders, then down her arms until her hands were in his. He placed them on the buttons. Against her lips, he murmured, "You take it off."
A shudder of pleasure went through her at the prospect of feeling his skin beneath her fingers. She was clumsy with her desire and it took her several tries with each button before she successfully freed it. Of course, his kisses didn't help her equilibrium any.
She struggled to push the wet fabric down his shoulders, but it got all bunched up on his biceps until he finally dragged it the rest of the way off. She pressed her hands to his chest, unable to resist direct contact with that wall of warm flesh.
He groaned and covered her hands with his. "Christy." It was all he could manage, but he released her hands and let her trail them over his chest as she wished.
Dear God, but he was stunning. His chest was hard, almost carved, his muscles all rigid and defined. She ran a long finger down the line bisecting his abs, when he finally shuddered and covered her hand, stopping her exploration just above the waistband of his jeans.
"Fair is fair," he said shakily. He let her hand go, then lightly traced those long fingers along her waist, toying with the edges of her top. Only there weren't any buttons on hers. So he slowly lifted the hem, forcing her to put her arms over her head so he could slip it off. She shivered and felt a twinge or two of insecurity before recalling he'd seen her in nothing more than a skimpy tank top the first time they'd met. Still … this was different. This was—The thought disappeared on a gasp as his warm mouth closed over her nipple through the cotton bra she wore. Her arms were still over her head, caught in the sleeves he still held as he dipped his head and took her other nipple.
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