A Touch of the Beast

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Just when Anthony felt safe again, the man glanced back, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if a jolt of electricity shot through his body.

  Sheryl’s neighbor had been right on the money when she’d described the Friday-night dance. Good food. Amateurish music. Lots of laughter. The band was set up in the town square, and the outdoor party had taken over the entire downtown area. People danced in the streets, filled their plates from the long buffet line and visited with their neighbors.

  Hawk and Sheryl had been here an hour, and so far they hadn’t danced. That suited Hawk just fine, since he’d never danced before. When they’d first arrived, they’d claimed a place at one of the small tables that had been set up on the south side of the square. They’d eaten, walked around the square and stopped to speak to a dozen or more curious people.

  Including Harold Johnston, who had gathered the courage to invite Mildred Harris to be his date for the evening. Also including several of Sheryl’s customers and a few of her neighbors. They were all curious about him. Too curious. Curiosity always made him nervous.

  The evening was going well, and then Sheryl said those three little words no man wants to hear.

  “I wanna dance.”

  Hawk worked a crick out of his neck. “I thought you said you were a terrible dancer.”

  “I am,” she said brightly, and then she laughed. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like it.” Her eyes softened, and she took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. A part of him loved the feel of her fingers twined through his; another part wanted to withdraw from her before it was too late.

  Who was he kidding? He was already in much too deep.

  “Look around you, Hawk. Fred Astaire is definitely not here. No Gene Kelly, either. Just a whole bunch of people who don’t dance well but do it anyway because it’s fun.”

  She was right. He could shuffle with the best of them, if it would make Sheryl happy.

  Holding her and moving to the beat of the music made feeling like a bumbling fool worthwhile. It was awkward, for a moment. But only for a moment. Sheryl was delicate and she moved gracefully. Hawk was definitely not delicate, and there were moments when holding Sheryl made him feel as if everything about him was too big, too clumsy. He’d never thought of himself as clumsy before.

  After a few minutes he didn’t feel as if he was bumbling anymore. He got the hang of it pretty quickly. He and Sheryl moved together easily, just as they had last night and this afternoon.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling her closer as a twanging guitar played a slow tune.

  “Thank you, but—”

  “No buts,” he interrupted.

  After a moment she gave him a softer, “Thank you.”

  It was the truth. He’d never seen her in a dress before, with her shapely calves and ankles showing, with the swell of her breasts just barely peaking over the rounded neckline. The dress was modest, by today’s standards, but it was feminine and skimmed her curves.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” she said, laying her head against his chest and moving in until her body was pressed against his from knee to chest. If not for these annoying clothes he’d be inside her; they were that close. If this was dancing, he liked it. He could dance all night, if it meant holding Sheryl this way.

  He held her and listened to the music and moved a little. The past couple of days had been amazing, but he couldn’t let himself forget why he was here. He couldn’t give up on finding something, anything, that would help Cassie. As much as he enjoyed his time with Sheryl, he knew deep down that she was a distraction he couldn’t afford to keep.

  Too bad. In moments of weakness, he wanted very much to keep her. He wanted to toss her in his truck and take her home and fall into bed with her every night. And on many an afternoon, as well. He wanted to introduce her to Cassie, go riding with her over the hills of his home, find out if she’d be impressed or dismayed by the rodeo buckles he’d won before giving up bullriding.

  He even wanted to know if she’d be impressed or dismayed if he told her what he could do, and that could never happen.

  The party was still in full swing when they headed for home. Hawk imagined the festivities would continue all night. Tomorrow there would be a parade, a craft fair, a pie contest, a few games and speeches.

  “I close up at noon on Saturday,” Sheryl said as they walked down a deserted sidewalk. She’d taken to holding his hand, and while he liked it, it also made him a little uncomfortable. Holding hands was too intimate. Too demanding. “Maybe after I close up the clinic we can go to the craft fair and buy a nameplate with Hawk Donovan burned into it, or a homemade Christmas ornament or—”

  “I can’t,” he interrupted.

  There had been a healthy dose of humor in her voice, but it disappeared. “Why not?”

  “I have to finish going through those files. I have to quit—” He halted, unsure how to finish.

  “Wasting your time with me?” Sheryl finished for him.

  She didn’t sound hurt or annoyed or even surprised.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said.

  “But it’s the truth.”

  All of a sudden the night was too still, even though they could hear the distant music and the laughter of Sheryl’s neighbors and friends. All of a sudden what had seemed so right and good was awkward.

  Sheryl’s hand slipped from his. “It’s not like I expected an escort for every day of the weekend, Donovan. So you need to work? No problem. Really.”

  So, he was Donovan again. Impersonal. Unattached. That was the way it had to be, so why the hell did it hurt?

  Somehow he had to explain, but he’d never been good with words. “I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t expect—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said with a harsh laugh. “You came here for some moldy old papers. Lucky you that you found a woman who was so desperate for companionship that she’d gladly fall on her back and—”

  “Dammit!” He grabbed Sheryl’s wrist and pulled her up against him. She stayed there, small and strong, warm and as right as anything he’d ever known. “You’re twisting around everything I say.”

  “Am I?” She didn’t look up but continued to stare at his chest. “Three people have contacted me looking for those damn files, and you’re the only one rooting through them. Did you think if you slept with me I’d give you an exclusive on the junk in my attic?”

  “No!”

  “Why should I believe that?” She swiped quickly at her face with one hand. “Crap!”

  “What’s wrong?” The way the moonlight shone on her face, it looked like she was crying.

  “Nothing.” He could hear the tears in her voice now. He could hear them as if they were stuck in her throat.

  “Nothing my ass,” he grumbled.

  “It’s just… This is supposed to be all about sex,” she said. “Fooling around without any expectations or commitment would be so easy, so uncomplicated. Why can’t I be that woman? Why can’t I live the quiet life I want and have a fling that doesn’t mean anything? Why do I have to turn into a sniveling girl?”

  “You’re not sniveling.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Trust me, I am headed directly for snivelhood. I hate women who snivel!”

  They turned onto a narrow side street, and Hawk led Sheryl to a long wooden bench that sat in shadows under the eaves of an out-of-the-way beauty shop. He sat and pulled her down to sit beside him. For a moment she was stiff, and then she put her head on his shoulder and relaxed.

  “I was going to be completely detached,” she said softly. “A…a free-spirited twenty-first-century woman who doesn’t want anyone or anything to tie her down. You’re leaving in a few days. Shoot, if you find what you’re looking for, you could be gone tomorrow! A sexual relationship without any emotional attachment at all seemed like such a good idea, and here I am sniveling because you’d rather search through those files than take me to a stupid craft fai
r that I really don’t give a fig about.”

  “I like you, too,” Hawk said.

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  He laughed.

  “It does suck! If I’m sniveling now, what am I going to be like when you leave town for good?”

  Hawk had always known this relationship was temporary, but when she said the words they hit home. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. Would he be a complete fool to just walk away? Did he have any choice in the matter? He didn’t know how or if he could ever tell her about his abilities. He didn’t know if they had anything more than great sex. All he knew was that he didn’t want to leave Sheryl behind for good.

  “Ever been to Texas?” he asked.

  “No,” she said shortly.

  “Maybe you should think about a visit.”

  She didn’t answer right away. The night was too quiet, and he didn’t know what else to say. He’d asked her once. If she ignored him or said no, he wouldn’t ask her again.

  Finally Sheryl said, “Really?”

  Hawk breathed deeply in unexpected relief. “Why not? Even veterinarians take vacations.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So, Texas?”

  She was quiet. No more sniveling. No more wiping away unwanted tears. “Maybe,” she whispered. “Man, Donovan, you really know how to turn a girl’s world upside down in a short period of time.”

  “Hawk,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I mean, you really do look like a Donovan.”

  “Hawk.” He hauled her onto his lap and she squealed. And then she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

  “Say it.”

  She laid her mouth against his throat and kissed lightly. Her tongue flicked across his skin.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  She continued to kiss his throat and feather teasing fingers over the back of his neck. He closed his eyes. Hell, she could call him anything she wanted to, as long as she touched him this way.

  If she came to Texas one time, they’d be fine. Maybe they’d find they didn’t have anything that would last beyond a few days. Maybe the visit would be awkward and she’d be glad to go home when it was over. But if they started regularly traveling back and forth, maybe meeting in Tennessee now and then, he’d have to tell her the truth. He’d have to tell her everything.

  Heaven help him, he couldn’t do that.

  They had tonight, and maybe tomorrow, and maybe a few really great days and nights to come. Maybe they’d even meet a few months down the road, here or in Texas or in Tennessee. But it would be like this. Hot but temporary. An amazing distraction, not a change of lifestyle. He didn’t dare to think beyond the physical connection they had found.

  Hawk reached inside Sheryl’s dress and shifted her breast so one nipple peeked over the neckline. A stitch popped, but he didn’t care. Neither did she, when he bent down to rake his tongue over that nipple.

  “Someone might—” she began, her voice a husky whisper.

  “No. We’re alone, Sheryl.”

  “But—”

  He sucked the nipple deep into his mouth and held it there, and she quit arguing. Instead she arched against him and moaned.

  While she swayed into him, he slowly shimmied her underwear down and off. Her legs trembled as his fingers brushed against them.

  He wanted her with a sudden fierceness, and he wanted her now. Here.

  He tossed the underwear aside and she straddled him, body shaking and lips hungry for his. He kissed her, deep. He slipped his hand between their bodies and found her damp center.

  Her long dress and the shadows covered them, and besides…there was no one out and about on this narrow side street. No one to watch. There was nothing and no one in the world that could stop them from taking what they wanted. He stroked her and she moaned deep in her throat.

  “Hawk,” he whispered in her ear while he caressed her.

  “What difference does it—”

  He slipped a finger inside her and she shuddered. “Say it, Sheryl. Look me in the eye and say, ‘I want you, Hawk.’”

  She did want him, of that he had no doubt. She moved slightly against his hand, wet and trembling. Her lips parted gently, and then she said it. “I want you.”

  He moved his thumb against the nub at her entrance and she gasped. “Not good enough.”

  She let loose with an exasperated sigh. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”

  He laughed and thrust two fingers into her. “No. Never.”

  “Fine,” she said with a deep tremble in her voice. “I want you, Hawk. You drive me crazy, Hawk.” She looked him in the eye. “I don’t know if you make me become someone I’m not or if you make me become…me.”

  He had a condom in his back pocket. While Sheryl freed his erection, he grabbed the condom and opened the foil pack. But she took the prophylactic from his hand and sheathed him herself, her hands moving with torturous indolence.

  Payback.

  While she raked her hands down his length she kissed him, her tongue searching, her lips soft and demanding. She sucked against his lips, teased his tongue with hers, fluttered her fingers over him until he was crazy with needing her. So, who was in control now?

  He didn’t care.

  Finally, she lifted her hips up and then lowered herself onto him, closing her eyes as they came together. She rose up again, descended as if she was savoring every new inch of him. Her movements were so leisurely, so gentle, it was as if she moved in slow motion. Hawk pushed his hands beneath the skirt and held her hips, guiding her.

  He didn’t close his eyes. He watched Sheryl. Maybe it was the night, the dance, the fact that he was deep inside her, but he thought that maybe he could tell her everything. All his secrets, all his fears. And she’d understand. She wouldn’t laugh or cringe or run. She’d stay beside him no matter what, hold his hand, accept what others found unacceptable.

  Sheryl rose up and moved down slowly again, until he was buried in her completely. She moaned low in her throat as if she were about to come apart. Hawk was almost there, holding back, waiting for her to cry out and clench around him.

  The demands of his body made him forget everything but the way Sheryl felt wrapped around him.

  Chapter 9

  It was after three in the morning. Everyone in Sheryl’s house was asleep but Hawk. Even Bruce slept on his perch. The house had surely never been this quiet. The only sound was the shuffle of papers as Hawk flipped carefully through yet another file. The dates were all wrong, so he didn’t pay much attention to the faded words.

  What if he didn’t find anything? What if the woman in the pharmacy had been a quack, nothing more than a crazy old woman, just as Cassie had suggested? His trip here had been wasted.

  Hawk thought about the woman sleeping in the bed down the hall. No, his time here had not been wasted.

  He reached into the box that sat in the middle of the spare room carpet and pulled out another file. He placed it on the floor in front of him and opened it to a page that looked like all the others. Names that meant nothing. Dates that couldn’t have had anything to do with his conception or birth. He rubbed his eyes, beyond tired but also unwilling to give up.

  “What are you doing?” He turned to watch Sheryl enter the room. She wasn’t wearing anything but his shirt. She’d probably grabbed it from the floor by the bed, just as he’d snagged his jeans as he’d left her there sleeping.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

  “I’ll help.” She yawned as she took another file from the box and sat on the floor a few feet away with her back against the narrow bed and the file in her lap.

  “You have to work in the morning.”

  She closed the file and placed her hands over the stained manila folder. “I am trying to be nice,” she said. “Even though I know the sooner you find what you came here for, the sooner you’ll leave. Selfishly, I almost hope you never find it. If
I didn’t like you so much, I would hide the real documents and stuff these folders with something absolutely worthless, like my own files.”

  “The constant mention of fleas would probably give you away.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m no master criminal. I don’t think ahead.”

  She reopened the folder on her lap and began to leaf through the pages. Since she’d helped him organize the pages he was interested in, she knew what to look for. She knew the dates, the names that had popped up so many times, the mention of difficulties with various pregnancies.

  Hawk opened his own file and began again. There was only one box left. One unopened box that might contain answers hidden for almost thirty years. There was nothing of interest in this folder.

  When he reached into the box for another file, two photos fell from between the other pages. Different in size as well as finish, they slipped away and drifted to the floor. One landed by Hawk’s knee, the other close to Sheryl’s thigh. They both lifted their photos at the same time.

  “My keen detecting skills tell me this is a snapshot of a bunch of geeks celebrating Christmas,” Sheryl said.

  Hawk studied the photograph that had landed near him. “I have a couple of nerds sitting at their desk looking like someone just surprised the crap out of them by taking this candid photo.”

  Sheryl offered her photo. “Swap. Yours sounds more interesting than mine.”

  Hawk handed her the photo of two wide-eyed, bespectacled guys in lab coats and took hers.

  Christmas. You could tell by the sloppily arranged garland in the background and the wrapped gifts on the desk. The same nerds from his photo were standing by a bowl of punch, but there were others in this picture, too.

  Hawk’s eyes were drawn to the woman standing at the far right. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he turned the photo to the side so that it caught the light in a different way. He wanted to be sure what he saw wasn’t a trick of the light or the aftereffect of not getting enough sleep. The woman— No, she was more a girl than a woman. She looked so much like Cassie! She could be her twin.