“Not on purpose.”
“No? I suppose not. Am I moving too fast?”
She slipped out of his arms. “Any movement along those lines is too fast for me, I’m afraid. And yet…”
“Finish,” he urged, halting his progress toward the horses to stare at her earnestly.
Gillian linked her hands behind her back while she studied the trees, the horses and finally, the seamless blue sky. “You…uh…scramble my brains, too.”
Mitch wished she hadn’t sounded quite so reluctant. Not knowing what he needed to do to convince her he wasn’t an ax murderer, he gathered both sets of reins and let Gilly think he was satisfied with her response.
After seeing to the comfort of their horses, he spread out a blanket that had been rolled up behind his saddle. Sinking down on it, he chewed a piece of grass, giving Gilly time to exclaim over the beauty of the mountain stream. He waited until they’d unpacked the sandwiches and apples from his saddlebags, and she’d joined him on the blanket before he switched into investigative mode. “Tell me about your ex-husband,” he asked, springing the question on her out of the blue.
Gillian had just bitten into a chicken-salad sandwich. The bread and filling went neither up nor down, but stuck in her throat, making her cough. “There’s nothing to tell,” she finally squeaked. “We were divorced this past May, but the marriage disintegrated long before we took legal steps. He’s since…died,” she managed to add without sounding too shaky.
“Rough, huh? Is that why you pulled up stakes and lit out for parts unknown?”
Gillian had known, of course, that this type of questioning could come from allowing him to get too close. She ought to have been better prepared. But she wasn’t prepared at all.
“Daryl’s death played a role in my…change of locale. Look, I’d rather not talk about any of this if you don’t mind.”
“Hoo…kay. Tell me about when you were a little girl, then.” Mitch ran the tuft end of his grass down her nose. “Did you have freckles and long red curls?”
Again Gillian’s throat tightened. Mitch appeared to have a one-track mind. She thought it was obvious that red wasn’t her natural hair color. “I was homely. I had skinny arms and legs and knobby knees, okay? Little boys like you avoided me as though I were contagious.”
“Hmm. You know what I was like as a boy?”
She decided it was time to throw back some of the baloney he was dishing out. “I’d guess you were a smaller version of the audacious, handsome devil you are today.”
Mitch tipped back his head and laughed. “A devil, anyway. It’s a cinch you don’t know about the horrible tricks I played on my piano teacher.”
“You play the piano?” Gillian’s tone accused him of fibbing.
“No.” He shook his head, apparently trying to appear remorseful; if so, he failed. “I wanted to play drums in the worst way. My parents wouldn’t hear of it. In their circle of Wall Street friends, kids played piano. I hated to practice scales, so I pulled evil pranks on the teacher until he quit. He passed the word in the music community. My mother couldn’t find another teacher who’d take me on as a pupil.”
“I wish I’d known you when I took ballet. My mom was convinced lessons would help me get over being awkward and shy. Having to perform onstage only made my insecurity worse. I swore I’d never force kids of mine to do anything they weren’t comfortable doing. And I won’t.”
“Same here. Then you do want kids? When we were at Ethan’s, I couldn’t decide how you felt about babies.”
“You certainly handled diapers like a pro.” Gillian thought if she could turn the conversation away from her and back to him, there’d be less danger of cracking her fragile network of lies and half truths.
Mitch polished off half a sandwich, then unscrewed the tops of two bottles of water he’d brought. He handed her one, then took a swig himself before settling a shoulder against the same tree trunk Gillian leaned on. He began a pared-down version of his sojourn at Ethan’s home. “I might have drifted into feeling sorry for myself after my accident if not for the quadruplets. Compared to the trauma of abuse they suffered, my aches and pains seemed insignificant.”
“Flo said you had three bullets in you. That’s hardly insignificant. You have a right to the occasional bout of self-pity. Especially since you had to give up a job you loved.”
“I could have stayed on the force at a desk job. I decided to quit, instead. Anyway, we weren’t discussing me, Gilly. The point I’m making is that spending a couple of months around Regan and the babies changed my thinking a lot.”
“How so?”
He hiked a shoulder negligently and recapped his water. “I’ve learned what’s important.” Sliding down to rest his head on Gillian’s lap, he laced his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. “Now, this is my idea of the good life.”
Gillian tensed the minute his head touched her thighs. Relaxing minimally, she fought an urge to rearrange the dark curls that dipped over his eyebrow.
Opening one eye, Mitch squinted at her. “You make a perfect pillow. But there’s room on the blanket if you’d care to join me for a nap. We’ve both worked like fiends all week. I think we deserve to squander some time resting, don’t you?”
The rock-solidness of the man, combined with the music of water skipping over rocks and the dance of warm sunlight filtering through tree branches—they all served to tempt Gillian. Maybe if she pretended everything was fine, it would be…
Uttering a soft sigh, she eased out from under his head, scooted down alongside him and rested her cheek in the crook of her arm. “There’s a safe feeling to this place, Mitch. I wish I could stay here forever.”
Raising himself on one elbow, he let his gaze roam leisurely over her flushed face, the enticing curve of her breast, the gentle swell of her hip. Something wound tight in his belly at the forlorn tone of her voice, and he felt a resounding need to keep her safe. From what, he didn’t know; in fact, Mitch couldn’t even venture a guess. While he judged her far from helpless, he sensed that her nerves were strung tight with fear.
His original plan hadn’t included a nap under the shade of the old mesquite. Inexplicably snared by the picture Gilly presented, Mitch lay down and ran a finger over her nose and cheek, trying to capture her interest. The minute her eyes popped open and he was sure she understood his intent, he kissed her. Kissing was his only goal until her fingers brushed the hair at his temples and then whispered along his neck.
His breathing thickened, as did Gillian’s. Soon he felt the sweep of her tongue demanding entrance. The noisy acceptance exploding from his throat drowned out the rustle of their clothing as they both fumbled with buttons in a desperate need to touch skin.
She murmured. Not a protest, he hoped. He was pretty sure it wasn’t when she unbuckled his belt, all the while struggling to discard her shirt.
“Uh, wait a sec.” He reached for his billfold and finally extracted a small dog-eared packet. “Dang, this is pretty old.”
Gillian examined it. “The wrapper’s mooshed, but still intact. It’s probably all right.”
“Yeah.” He tore away the foil, and handed it to her. She began to slide it on. He distracted her, though, with kisses. Then, when he felt his tension build to unbelievable heights, he helped her finish the job.
Gillian let the passion of the moment carry her beyond the niggling voice that asked what in heaven’s name she was doing. Too many lies and half truths lay between her and Mitch. She shouldn’t proceed. But it’d been years since she’d felt a tenth this alive. Years since she’d been swept away by sensations. Of sun on her face, the rush of wind against her bare flesh. Of strong arms holding her gently—promising to keep her safe from harm. Desire welled into insurmountable yearnings as he eased on top of her and urged her to hold him close. She wanted him, and opened for him without hesitation.
He filled her, easily, deliciously, completely.
Trembling, Gilly wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and chanted hi
s name like a mantra.
Any doubts lingering in the back of Mitch’s brain evaporated in that instant.
He gathered her against his chest. His heart. As close as one human being could be to another. The throbbing pain in his side vanished as all thoughts dissolved except one. To make this the best ride of Gillian’s life. Of his life. He gave all he had, until he was lost in her. Until he couldn’t distinguish a difference where he ended and she began. Until they were completely lost in each other.
She shattered around him. Felt pieces of her heart and soul break loose. And imagined a warm healing light raining down on them as Mitch exploded within her a pulsing second later.
They lay joined without stirring for quite some time. When at last Mitch started to lift himself off her, Gillian tightened her arms around his waist. “Please. Not yet. Don’t let reality intrude.” She felt a sense of contentment she was reluctant to give up so soon.
He remained arched above her, staring at her tightly closed eyes. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Happy and relaxed, Mitch waited, holding his breath, wishing she’d smile. Wishing she’d admit this was reality.
Her eyelids fluttered open at last, but there was no lightness in her gaze.
“Tell me that what’s going on behind your eyes isn’t regret.”
Gilly ran her fingers up the smooth surface of his back and down again, touching each of his bony vertebrae. “Not regret. But…”
“Good. No buts. It was meant to happen,” he said softly, rolling off her at great expense to his injured hip. “Damn. I knew that condom was old. Gilly, I’m sorry—it split.”
“When?”
“Maybe now as I tried to protect my sore hip.” He pulled her into his arms, whispering her name as his lips tugged softly on her ear.
Plenty of objections, reasons they shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, beat against Gillian’s mind. She figured that by the time she got back to town, she’d carry guilt enough for both of them. Right now, she preferred to pretend that neither one of them had any cause for regret. Here, in Mitch Valetti’s arms, the world as she knew it to be, filled with danger and risk and death, had ceased to exist. “It’s probably okay, Mitch. My, uh, periods have been hit-and-miss for a while. Let’s forget it, okay?” She cuddled into his warmth.
Yet no matter how hard Gillian tried to banish reality, clouds eventually drifted over the sun and kicked up a chill wind, which forced her and Mitch to part and seek out their scattered clothing.
She turned her back on him, huddling into herself while she slipped into her underwear. She knew her shyness was absurd—hadn’t they already explored every inch of one another? But she couldn’t help it.
At ease with his own body in the aftermath of sex, Mitch stretched and took his time finding his briefs.
He ambled over to her, stark naked, to rebutton her blouse. Gillian had done it up crookedly. “It’s a little late for modesty,” he said around a grin as she shied away.
“We just—how can you…” Her protest ended in a yelp as his lips closed over hers and she was dragged against his chest.
Giggling, she managed to dislodge him. “Mitch, stop. Do you hear that helicopter? If we don’t hurry and dress, some poor pilot from the air base is going to hover over us and drop his teeth.”
Mitch stepped into his briefs. “He’ll think I’m a damn lucky guy. And I am,” he reiterated stoutly.
“Chopper isn’t from the air base,” he said a moment later after he’d pulled on his jeans and moved out from under their tree to wave at the craft. “Border patrol. They’re always on the lookout for clandestine meetings.” Noting Gillian’s shocked expression, Mitch winked. “Relax. The type of meetings I meant don’t involve lovers but illegals and drug runners. Anyway, they know my horses.”
Her cheeks burned, even though she had to admit she and Mitch could be termed lovers. Distracted, Gillian folded the blanket and went busily about tying it behind Mitch’s saddle.
“Do you want one of these apples?” he asked casually. “If not, I’m going to treat the horses before we head back.”
“No…really, I couldn’t eat anything. I wish we hadn’t finished off all the water, though. I’m horribly thirsty.”
“We’ll take a shortcut home. I’ve got beer. Also iced tea, or maybe lemonade, in the fridge. A neighbor lady who cleans my house generally leaves me a full pitcher of each.”
“There’s a lot to be said for having nice neighbors.” Gillian was remembering the phone call she’d received from an old neighbor, telling her of Daryl’s death, warning her to flee.
“Yeah,” he agreed, tightening the cinch. “Dave and Barb D’Angelo are nice folks. Dave’s been a huge help, feeding and watering my stock while I was laid up. Barb plies me with bread and cookies she’s baked. She thinks I need a wife. Don’t be surprised if she gets nosy when you two meet.”
“Why would we meet?” Gillian asked as she levered herself into the saddle.
Mitch climbed onto his horse, unsettled by Gilly’s cool remark. But maybe he’d read too much into what they’d just shared. He thought it had been pretty special. If she didn’t…well, damn.
He nudged his gelding around her mare and led the way to a trail that cut several miles off the route they’d taken up the mountain. This path was wider and smoother, but not as appealing. Suddenly, however, Mitch was interested in getting home as quickly as possible. If Gillian couldn’t wait to be shut of him, he certainly wouldn’t stand in her way.
The grueling pace Mitch set almost jarred Gillian’s teeth out of her head. To say nothing of how sore other parts of her anatomy would be by morning. He seemed to be in a desperate rush and she hadn’t any idea what possessed him. The gallop must be killing his hip. Hers were uninjured, and already her joints protested.
She was totally winded by the time they cantered to a halt outside his barn.
“I’ll unsaddle and rub down the horses,” he said. “I won’t keep you from getting back to town.”
Slow to slide off, she frowned at him over the saddle. “I…thought…you offered me a cold drink.”
“I did. But you sounded as if you were in too much of a hurry.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m dying of thirst.”
“Go on up to the house and help yourself. I’ll look after the horses.”
“I won’t go poking around in your kitchen. Either I’ll help you here and we’ll both go, or we can forget it and I’ll head on out.”
Relenting, Mitch motioned for her to loosen the mare’s cinch. Between the two of them, they made short work of tidying up. Mitch strode out ahead of her, but he stopped on the porch and held the door open to let her pass. He tried to keep Trooper from knocking Gilly over in his excitement. “Down, boy,” Mitch gasped, nevertheless accepting the lap of the dog’s sloppy tongue. “Okay, go outside and sniff around.”
They both watched the pup race in circles around the vehicles, then charge a shrub where he scattered a covey of quail. Trooper ran back to Mitch and shot between his legs, into the house.
“Looks like he’s had enough. Don’t pay any attention to the condition of my living room, Gilly. I’m working on a case, and I’ve set the computer up on my coffee table. There’s papers all over. Feel free to dump them on the floor. I’ll get our drinks and be right back.”
Gillian nodded, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the dark-paneled room.
Mitch had disappeared through an arch, leaving her alone in the room. The first thing she saw tore the breath from her throat. Her missing suitcase. It sat open on the coffee table next to Mitch’s laptop. Gillian’s heart thundered like a cannon blast in her ears.
On his fireplace mantel, there in plain sight, stood Katie’s urn.
Gillian tried to muffle an aching cry. Instinct told her to snatch her belongings and make a clean getaway before Mitch returned. In her haste, she tripped on the edge of a braid rug and banged her knee into the coffee table, sending papers flying.
&n
bsp; Oh, God, what if the noise brought him to investigate? Fear bore down, crushing her chest. She fought to breathe as she reached over to slam the lid on the case with hands that shook. The lid stuck. It wouldn’t close. Her lungs refused to expand. The room began fading in and out. Gillian’s legs turned rubbery as darkness engulfed her. Despite valiant efforts to scoop the small case into her arms, her knees gave way and she crumpled to the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GILLIAN CAME TO on Mitch’s couch. His pup stared at her with anxious, liquid eyes, ropy tail thumping rhythmically on the thick rug. Someone—Mitch, she assumed—had placed a cool compress on her forehead. He hovered over her now, patting an icy washcloth on the insides of her wrists.
When he saw Gillian’s eyes flutter open, the fear hammering inside Mitch’s chest subsided. “You fainted. I heard you cry out, but you hit the floor before I got here to catch you. No, don’t sit up yet.” He gently pressed her down again. “Your heart is racing a hundred miles an hour.”
“I’ve never fainted in my life,” she insisted weakly.
“You’ve never lived in the desert. Our low humidity dehydrates some people more rapidly than others. I should have insisted you drink more water. Here, take a swallow of this sweetened iced tea.”
Gillian had to tear her attention away from the mantel. Why was he trying to sell her a story about fainting because of low humidity? If he hadn’t wanted to shock her, why had he allowed her inside? God, he’d had her suitcase all along. He and his pals from the blue car. How could she have let herself be blinded by Valetti’s easy charm? How could she have made love with him?
“You’re still white as chalk and you’re shivering. Would hot tea be better?”
She sat up, furtively noting the layout of his doors and windows. She’d lost the chance to grab her suitcase and get away. But it appeared that Mitch was prepared to carry on the charade. Should she play along a while longer? “I tripped on your rug. I’m afraid I knocked over your suitcase and scattered a lot of your papers.” Bending forward, she collected a few of the fallen sheets.
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