Riding the Storm

by Julie Miller

  Jolene pushed against his shoulder and stood bolt upright. Misunderstanding his question, she retreated a step in a noisy huff, her eyes sparkling with combat. “I might not have all the experience you do, but I am a trained volunteer. The only reason that cut doesn’t look the best is because it was so ragged—”

  “You have no idea, do you?” Nate frowned, his raging hormones on hold for the moment. She wasn’t arguing the right topic. “I’m not talking about your medical skills.”

  “Then what are you accusing me of?”

  “Nothing.”

  He thought he’d been teasing her, flirting, surviving. But she’d heard an accusation. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten the sense that Jolene wasn’t as experienced as he would expect a married woman to be. Hadn’t Mr. Angel ever had it so hot for his wife that he’d given her signals she couldn’t miss?

  Nate shifted to a more comfortable position, stretching his arms out to either side, inviting her perusal. “Do you notice anything at all about me?”

  The light behind him flickered off, casting her into shadow. When it came back on, her cheeks were flushed with color. Her gaze danced over his chest, lingered on the obvious swelling in his jeans, and drifted back up to meet his unblinking eyes.

  “Oh.”

  Now she understood.

  He wasn’t reading sympathy or even anger in her expression now. Confusion twisted her mouth. Despite the evidence that he was completely turned on by her, she still tried to dismiss the tension radiating between them as a medical problem.

  “You’re breathing faster.” She picked up his wrist and pressed two fingers to the underside. “Your pulse is racing.”

  “Is yours?”

  The sudden catch of her breath told him it was. She hadn’t let go of him yet. “Do you need me to get you something?”

  “No.” Forget clinical thoughts and good intentions. He was a man on a mission, as serious as could be. Those blue eyes never broke contact with his, even as he reached for her. “This is what I need.”

  Nate pulled her into his lap, tunneled his fingers into her hair and fixed his eyes on her lips. “You’re what I need.”

  He kissed her once, lightly, reverently. Her mouth remained still beneath his, and she braced one hand at the center of his chest to keep her distance. But there was something hopeful in her eyes, something sweetly nervous in that habitual tuck of her hair behind her ear. “But men don’t—”

  “This man does.” The words seemed to shrink the air between them. She shivered, and the motion vibrated through his thighs and gathered in his swollen heat. He kissed her again. Her lips trembled this time, and her fingers curled into his chest. “This man wants you.” He kissed her a third time. Her other hand joined the first. “Tell me no, you don’t want this, and I will stop. I won’t rush you into something you’re not ready for.” He fingered that silky strand of wayward hair himself. “But don’t even think about questioning the way you’ve got my body primed to explode.”

  “That wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  He cupped her cheek, savoring the soft, smooth curve. He traced the contour of her mouth with his thumb, then pressed into the lush fullness of her bottom lip. Her mouth opened in an evocative gasp, and moist heat blew across the tip of his thumb and skittered along every highly charged nerve ending.

  “Are you going to listen to me this time?” he asked, zeroing in on that beautiful mouth. “Or do I need to keep talking?”

  Now she was watching his mouth, and the wistful, wishful yearning in her eyes sapped the last of his patience.

  He swallowed hard. “Jolene?”

  “I don’t know about talking.”

  She kneaded her hands against his chest, plucking loose a hair. Nate cringed at the nip of pain, suspecting it wouldn’t be the last trial she’d inadvertently put him through before this day, this encounter, this assigned partnership was over. But he held himself still, waiting for some sign in those searching eyes that she’d made her decision. That she believed he found her sexy and attractive. That it was okay for a man like him to feel those urges for her.

  Then her hands stilled, and her eyes met his. She smiled. “Wouldn’t you rather just kiss me?”

  Nate breathed a mammoth sigh. Normally he had the patience of Job running through his veins, but he’d really hoped he wouldn’t have to go through with that talking part. “If you insist.”

  He thrust his fingers beneath her ponytail and pulled her in for a leisurely kiss. Her sweet, full lips blossomed beneath his gentle exploration.

  “Mmm.”

  Her soft, contented sigh was music to his ears and a balm to his soul.

  But Jolene Kannon-Angel had yet to grasp the whole leisurely concept. Whatever doubts she had about herself or his interest, she bulldozed her way past them. She threw her arms around his neck, knocked him back against the arm of the sofa and pulled herself right into his kiss.

  “Whoa.” Catching her around the waist, Nate shifted his balance to keep them from falling overboard.

  “Too much?” Her arms stiffened. She frowned against his mouth.

  The instant she began to retreat, he tightened his hold and pulled her squarely down on top of him.

  “No. More than I expected.”

  Nate quickly got up to speed and joined her.

  Reclining halfway, he smoothed his hand down her back, palming a handful of her bottom to align her lower body with his. He nipped at her lips, teasing, tasting. Their legs tangled together. And if her foot jarred his knee, he didn’t care. Her hands were on his hair, her breath was in his mouth. And somehow she managed to get her hip nestled against his groin, protecting the baby from too much pressure and driving him crazy.

  “Just right.” He pulled the band from her ponytail and let her hair fall loose around his hands, over her shoulders. The silky tips brushed against his chest and tickled his jaw. “Absolutely right.”

  Nate kissed her—soundly, thoroughly. It was a greedy affirmation of life, a reward for cheating death, an outpouring of passion and heart he’d never really allowed himself to tap into before.

  And Jolene, bless her eager impulses, was there with him every step of the way. She kissed him back with her own untutored, uncensored, go-for-broke style he was learning to love.

  She ran her palms across his beard stubble and giggled in delight. She followed the same path with her mouth. Her teeth closed around the jut of his chin.

  “Is that okay?” she asked.

  “Mmm.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Shut up, woman.” She pulled one hand between them, skidding over his wound. “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” Pushing herself up, she kissed the spot.

  Her hand skimmed lower, catching a taut male nipple. Nate groaned at the lightning strike of pure pleasure that jolted through him. Misreading his agony, she shifted and kissed him there. “Angel,” he protested, “you’re killing me.”

  In the very best of ways.

  Jolene’s hands seemed to find every ache, every scrape. Her hot mouth and eager lips were there to apologize each time. She worked her way down his chest, dipped her tongue in his navel. Moaned and cooed and made him crazy.

  It was the biggest adrenaline rush of Nate’s life. More exciting than any bull ride, more thrilling than any ambulance call.

  She eased the hurts of his body. Soothed the pain in his soul. Wakened his heart with unexpected hopes.

  “Angel.” He wanted to thank her. He needed her to understand even half of what she was doing to him. For him.

  Nate gripped her by the shoulders and dragged her mouth back up to his. He rolled over, let her slide to the couch beside him. “This man…” He claimed her mouth. “Is definitely…” He unzipped her jacket, desperate to get inside to touch as much skin as she had. “Hot…” The buttons of her blouse went next. “For…” He twirled his tongue around hers, tasted the sweet hot temptation she offered. “You.”
r />   He slipped his hand inside her blouse and palmed her breast through its lacy cover. Her body jerked. “Nate,” she whispered in that soft, sexy voice. He twirled the eager nipple between his fingers and thumb and she squirmed. “Nate.” A heated gasp. He pushed aside the jacket, the shirt, the lace, and captured the straining peak in his mouth. “Nate!”

  His name. Her voice. Adrenaline rush.

  Her frantic fingers dug into his hair and held him against her as he laved the pert pink bud. Slipping his hand down to the swell of her belly, he gently cupped the proof of her utter femininity, all the while boldly savoring how masculine, how whole, how potent this woman made him feel.

  He slipped his thigh between her legs. She clenched his hard muscles. Rubbed. Sought her own release.

  “Nate? This is so good. I never…Please…”

  He raised his mouth to reassure her with a kiss. “Easy, angel.”

  If she was this ready, this needy, he’d see this ride through to its conclusion. For Jolene, at least. He slipped his hand inside the elastic panel of her jeans. She whimpered as he nudged her through the damp crotch of her panties. She buried her face in his neck. Sighed. When he slipped one finger inside her, his own body jerked at her instant response. She was so tight. So hot. So ready. So—

  A loud explosion ripped through the air outside, rattling every window in the house and plunging the room into darkness.

  Nate wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against his chest.

  Jolene screamed. “What was that?”

  She snatched her hands away and tugged at her clothes, shoving Nate’s sore shoulder as she scrambled up onto her knees. He cursed.

  “Sorry.”

  She was apologizing? “Sounds like a transformer blew,” he said.

  “The electricity’s out. I have candles and supplies in the bathroom.”

  Nate swung his legs to the floor. His knee and groin both protested the sudden movement. “Hell.”

  Lightning flashed, giving him a glimpse of Jolene zipping her jacket over her unbuttoned blouse and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Double hell.

  He’d gone too far with her.

  The bright light flashed long enough to leave him blind in the darkness that immediately followed. But he didn’t need to see to know what a colossal mistake he’d made.

  Seducing Jolene?

  Playing around on the couch like a couple of teenagers discovering what sex was all about?

  Sating his own selfish needs when it sounded like the whole state of Texas was blowing down around their ears?

  I need a volunteer.

  Keep my daughter safe.

  Dead baby on the side of the road.

  “Nate!”

  Nate cursed. Every muscle in his body tensed as the pain of every failure, every lost chance buffeted him inside and out.

  “Nate!” She latched on to his arm and shook him from his waking nightmare.

  “I screwed up, Jolene.”

  “Screwed up what? You’re Mr. Responsibility. You don’t screw up. I must have done something wrong.”

  Lightning flashed. He saw blue eyes, wide as saucers. That need to rescue every lost soul was stamped on her face. She would rescue him. Crazy. He’d been too damn distracted to pay attention to how much danger they were in.

  Some rescuer, some protector, some hell of a man he was.

  The winds roared past, like an angry bull charging straight for them. No communication. No electricity.

  Urgent fingers clung to him in the dark and begged for answers. “Nate, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I—?”

  “You’re fine! You’re beautiful. Sexy—”

  The front window blew out of its frame.

  Nate grabbed Jolene and dove to the floor, covering her body with his as splinters of shattered glass flew across the room. A tidal wave of rain followed in its path, hitting them with the same fury as the flooded arroyo.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jolene cried, burying her cheek in the rug beneath him.

  Nate got to his feet, locked his arm around her waist and scrambled for cover. In seconds he was closing the thick bathroom door and sinking onto a sleeping bag beside Jolene.

  The whole house rattled on its foundation, reminding him of an earthquake. Dishes fell in the kitchen, crashed to the floor. Another window shattered. Nate tucked Jolene beneath his arms and shielded her as bits of plaster crumbled from the ceiling and rained down on top of them.

  He had to shout to be heard.

  “Damon’s here.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE ABSOLUTE QUIET finally woke her.

  Jolene shoved her hair off her face and sat up, blinking her eyes against the dim light shining through the open door.

  Feeling disoriented, she rubbed her tummy. “How did we sleep through a hurricane, sweetie?”

  She was covered in a blanket, sitting on a pallet of open sleeping bags on the floor of the master bathroom. The hazy illumination was coming from a bedroom window. The generator must have kicked in, and the yard light had come on. It was bright enough to cast light, but no warmth. The eye of the storm had come.

  And she was alone.

  Nate had left her.

  A sickeningly familiar feeling of abandonment washed over her, leaving her queasy and cold and fully awake.

  Jolene glanced down. The collar of her misbuttoned blouse stuck out above the zipper of her faded jacket. Without a braid or ponytail to control it, her hair was a tangled mess. Of course, she had on no makeup. Her lips felt chapped. And she had to pee like nobody’s business.

  With such an attractive lump to wake up next to, no wonder Nate had skipped out.

  With a resentful sigh, Jolene grabbed her flashlight, found her shoes and climbed to her feet. She’d bet good money her mother never woke up looking anything but drop-dead gorgeous. She poured a cup of water from one of the bottles and rinsed her mouth, ran a brush through her hair and put her clothes on right. Of course, she could bet equally good money that her mother would never allow herself to be caught in the middle of a hurricane or any other natural disaster.

  That’s when she smelled the rich aroma of spices and charcoal in the air. “What the heck?”

  Jolene ventured out of the john and followed her nose outside. She swept her light past the devastation in her living room—shattered glass and leaves sprinkled liberally over every piece of soaking wet furniture, splintered frames from the windows gouging out chunks of her prized wood floors, the branch of an old scrub pine, stripped of needles and lying in front of her television console.

  The kitchen had been hit, too. Piles of broken dishes had been swept into the corner by the trash can. Her fridge and freezer stood open, empty and dark, while the contents had been packed into a cooler with ice or stacked neatly on her island countertop.

  Jolene continued massaging her tummy at the odd sight. “I don’t think the hurricane picked up after itself.”

  Nate.

  She refused to pay mind to that little flurry of hope that quickened her pulse. Maybe Nate hadn’t left her behind so much as he’d gone on to do something else.

  “Nate?” Jolene pushed open the back door and went outside. The ominous silence in the air spooked her more than the constant bombardment of the storm had. After finding a secluded spot to relieve herself, she headed around to the front and stared at disaster. The circle of illumination cast by the yard light revealed a world of chaos in the place she called home. Beyond the fringes of light, there was nothing but blackness and the threat of Mother Nature lying in wait to do even more damage.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Nate’s calm voice called to her from across the yard, where he was pulling out broken limbs and chunks of wood from the corner of Rocky’s pen. She aimed the beam of her flashlight at his reassuring presence.

  Jolene’s first thought was that her father’s jeans were too big for Nate’s slim hips, and Joaquin
’s white T-shirt was too small for Nate’s more muscular frame. Her second thought, the one that made her swallow hard and say a grateful prayer, was that she was just plain glad to see him.

  Maybe a little too glad, she cautioned herself.

  That tight white shirt showed every flex of muscle as he worked. She couldn’t resist watching him move, his limp minimized by the power and precision that defined the rest of his body. Even bruised and battered, she’d found that body an irresistible treasure to explore. But for now, maybe forever, she’d have to content herself with just looking.

  Tucking away any yearnings or regrets that lingered from almost making love for the first time on her couch, Jolene concentrated on safer feelings, like the security she’d felt when he’d held her in his arms during the worst of the storm.

  “If this is good, I sure don’t want to see bad,” she answered at last. “You should have gotten me up. I would have helped.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. You needed your rest. I needed some fresh, dry air.” And some distance from her?

  Jolene crossed the yard, picking up pieces of trash along the way. “What is it now, about one o’clock in the morning?”

  “A little after.”

  Maybe hunger accounted for the uneasy feeling that lingered in her stomach. She could hope it was that simple and not a symptom of confused feelings or thwarted lust. “Have you had a chance to assess the damage?”

  Broody, her lab retriever, and Shasta, a pint-size terrier mix, darted in and out of the shadows around Nate’s feet, guarding the place, supervising his work, checking out anything interesting that crossed their path. Seemed they’d adopted their California guest much more quickly and easily than she had.

  Nate scratched Shasta behind the ears, then tossed a stick for Broody to fetch. The big dog gladly bounded off into the darkness. Seemed as if Nate had no problem dealing with them, either.

  Just their owner.

  “Not too much beyond the obvious,” Nate told her. “The animals are all accounted for, though.” He shooed Shasta away from the bull’s pen. “Even Mr. Stud here seems to be doing all right for himself.”