by Renee Simons
"Until now, you haven't given me much reason." She shrugged.
"Until now. Does that mean I'm forgiven?"
There's that little boy look again, Callie thought. He could be downright irresistible at times. She needed to be careful, something that became increasingly more difficult to remember with no Gram around to bolster her determination and to remind her that he was a Moreno and they were the enemy.
"Maybe," she said. She smiled as she opened another container. "Let's see what else you brought. Then I'll decide."
Some forty minutes later, they'd dumped the empty cartons into the shopping bag. Now, they sat at the bridge table in a near-stupor.
"Oh God," she said with a groan. "I shouldn't have eaten so much. I can't move." She rolled her eyes at Luc. "What are you grinning about?"
"I don't think you want to know."
"No fair, Sheriff. Come clean."
"You tackle everything with such passion, from defending this place to devouring a meal that would stop a field hand in his tracks. I was just imagining how you'd be if you were in love."
"Fierce."
He nodded. "That's what I figured." The laughter in his eyes brought heat to Callie's cheeks. "That's what made me smile."
She tossed a crumpled napkin at him. "I'm not sure I like the direction your mind is taking."
Luc took the cups and bowls to the sink. As their hands brushed, his body hardened in a potent reaction. The memory of their kiss didn’t help. Neither did his decision to stay away from her.
"I guess that means your mind is heading the same way." He leaned against the edge of the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "What do you think we should do about that?"
“You said you didn’t want to do anything about that.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m getting dizzy trying to keep track of your ambivalence.”
She stood beside him, adding glasses and serving spoons to the sink. A whiff of vanilla tantalized his nostrils and increased the seemingly ever-present pressure in his groin.
Her answer was slow in coming. Her voice, when she finally replied, took on a huskiness that caressed his ear in the most enticing way. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe we could compare fantasies. Play out the one we like best."
"I'll bite. What's yours?"
She leaned close enough for him to see flecks of grey dotting her blue irises. Her breath warmed his cheek. "You ride off into the sunset, leaving me the house and the valley to do with as I will."
He roared with laughter and pulled her close, kissing away the sly smile turning up the corners of her mouth. He'd meant the kiss to be casual, a seal of friendship, a thank you for the humor behind her jibe. But his good intentions melted with the touch of her lips, soft and pliant beneath his. The self-control that had ruled his life for so long shattered under the sensuous pressure of her body against his.
A small groan escaped her throat, its vibration coursing through him, stirring his blood. His lips wandered over her face, hungrily sampling the textures of velvety skin, of spiky lashes and silken brows. He lingered at the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, felt it throb against his lips, then returned finally to her sweet, sweet mouth.
Her hands traveled slowly up his back, kneading his flesh and the muscles that spasmed beneath their exploration. His fingers ached to touch her firm breasts, but he held back, fearing she would pull away and end the wild, unexpectedly hot embrace before their mutual need had been satisfied.
That thought tore through the haze of passion. He thrust her away from him, more roughly than he'd intended but with the certainty that if he didn't break away quickly he would be unable to.
Her eyes had turned soft and misty as early morning fog in the high country and he knew. He knew he could have taken her and she would have joined him willingly. And the knowledge scared hell out of him.
"I'll be outside. In the Jeep. I can keep watch from there."
The mist cleared, leaving bright blue irises cooly appraising him. "You don't have to do that."
"Yes, ma'am, I do." Just before he turned away, he noticed her expression had changed again. He left the house with the memory of the confusion and disappointment glittering in her eyes. Once again, the cool night air helped bank the fires.
Inside his vehicle, he tucked his bedroll under his head and settled down for another night alone, even as her image danced before his mind's eye, destroying his resolve.
In Callie's room, sleep teased at her but remained at arms' length. Like Luc, she thought. She'd gotten too close and he'd pulled back to a safe distance. Why? He certainly wanted her. That had been clear enough. She sighed. More than clear enough, if that kiss and the hardening of his body had been any indication. For sure, he’d stirred her as no one had in a long, long time. The sight of him at the tiny sink, shirtless, his back and shoulders glistening from a cold-water wash, had thrown her senses into turmoil. Watching him shave had given her a sensual jolt that still hadn’t subsided and the intimacy of the moment set her to yearning for a closeness she missed.
No longer surprised by her response to him, she ignored the question of whether or not she could maintain the cool head it would take to carry out Grandmother Lucy's plan. Or even if she wanted to.
She wrapped her arms around herself, felt the tightness in her breasts that still hadn’t eased and the liquid warmth between her legs that only a few weeks ago, she’d despaired of ever feeling again.
“It’s been a long, long fast. Better not turn that little episode into more than it was meant to be – dessert after a great meal.”
For the fourth time, she punched her pillow into the most comfortable shape, turned on her side and tried to sleep. This time, a loud thunder clap rattled the house and sent her to the window. A sudden downpour pelted the world outside.
"It's not supposed to rain tonight," she whispered.
When she turned on the battery powered radio near her pillow, a bulletin warned of a severe thunderstorm barreling through the area, bringing flash floods. She went to the front door and looked out at the SUV. Luc had parked in front of the house. Although the storm had just begun, rainwater from the highway above gushed down the steep trail and gently rocked the vehicle.
Concerned for his safety, she dashed outside and rapped on the driver's side window. In seconds the tee shirt and jogging pants she'd worn to sleep were thoroughly soaked. Water streamed down her face, obscuring her view as she banged on the glass again. This time, he responded.
"Come inside," Callie shouted, raising her voice above the downpour. "The radio is predicting flooding."
He nodded. "I'll move the vehicle behind the house and come in through the back."
She made tea while the SUV rattled across the rocky ground and came to rest alongside the back wall of the house. When the sound of footsteps pounding up the back stairs stopped, she turned to find him standing in the doorway.
His damp shirt emphasized his hard-muscled chest and shoulders and clung to his well-defined biceps and forearms. His hair seemed even blacker and more satiny than usual as it lay dripping against his forehead.
"Here," she said, tossing him a towel. "You need this."
He wiped his face, made one swipe at his hair and stepped closer, draping the terry cloth around her neck. "You need it more."
His gaze traveled the length of her, lingering on her breasts and making her acutely aware that her erect nipples strained against their damp and nearly transparent covering.
"You do more for a white tee shirt than any woman I've ever seen." He looked at her directly. The naked desire she saw both thrilled and frightened her, it’s intensity a warning that a relationship with him would be no mere casual affair.
"Do us both a favor," he whispered. "Change into dry clothes."
"Why?"
"Don't play the naif, querida."
No more than a breath separated them. Cursing her weakness yet unable to resist, Callie drew closer. “Then why fight the inevitable? We’ve wanted … wond
ered what it would be like … making love.”
He stepped back, widening the space between them again. "We need to slow this down. I don't want you to get hurt.” He looked around the dingy kitchen with its outdated appliances and grease-stained walls. “We’re on opposite sides of The Mansion and the valley and I know how important this place is to you. You could end up hating me and hating that we'd made love."
His eyes had gone soft. She'd seen that look of regret before. "I could manage to separate the two. People do, you know. Separate the issues from their feelings for each other." A tiny smile played about her mouth. "It's called 'agreeing to disagree'. "
"Between folks who have had years together. We're still trying to decide if we can trust each other. A big issue for me and if I'm any judge of character, for you, too.”
The truth behind his words knifed through her. Somehow trust between Gram and the Morenos had been destroyed a generation ago. Did she want to keep that pain alive?
Luc's long fingers raked through wet hair. He smiled sadly. "Besides, I'm not sure I can be that objective."
Suddenly self-conscious, Callie opened the towel so it draped her from shoulder to waist. "I've got to hand it to you, Luc Moreno. That's the smoothest rejection I've ever heard."
Chapter Eight
In the end, caution fell victim to a long sleepless night. The storm battered the house, charging the world inside and out with electricity and a restless energy. Finally, the worst of it moved off, bringing a calm that failed to cross the threshold to The Mansion’s occupants. Callie heard Luc prowling around downstairs, opening and closing doors, fiddling with the radio in the kitchen and the television set in what would someday be the parlor.
She sensed a weird logic to his wanderings. They seemed to bring him ever closer until eventually, she made out the slap of bare feet on the stairs. He climbed slowly, as if reluctant to reach the top. He paused once. She thought he might turn and go back downstairs. A moment later, his movements resumed. When they stopped again she knew he stood just outside the half opened door.
"Callie?"
"Yes?" She turned toward him.
"If you tell me to leave I will."
The rough texture of his voice and a heaviness in his tone told her breathing had become difficult for him, as if he struggled to control his feelings. Buffeted by desire and guilt, she was having no easier time.
"Stay," she whispered, barely able to get out the words.
The last of the rain shrouded the house like a silky-warm cocoon. The light outside had gone from black to a misty gray that seemed to invade the room, giving the atmosphere a dreamlike quality. As Luc's hesitation dragged on, Callie wondered whether she should laugh or cry. Finally, she chuckled.
“I’ve never had to beg a man before....”
His answering smile cut through the gloom. “Think of it as giving me permission to change my mind.”
He knelt beside her, a bemused expression on his face.
“Why the confusion?” she asked.
“Once I make a decision I don’t waiver.”
“I’ve noticed.”
"But the thought of you keeps pulling at me." He leaned closer. "I can't get you out of my mind...."
She touched his cheek, as before, enjoying the growth of stubble. "I haven't been to sleep yet...."
"I have to get to work in two hours."
"You can't do a good job without rest," she murmured.
"What d'you have planned today?" His voice had smoothed out as if the act of speaking had reduced his stress level. She felt his breath against her mouth.
"I have to ride into Albuquerque."
"A dangerous trip if your reflexes aren't sharp."
"Then could you say this is preventive medicine...?" She twined her fingers in his thick, coarse textured hair that felt just as she'd known it would.
"Preventive?" he murmured. "'Therapeutic, is more like it." His tongue searched for hers, making gentle contact as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Curative?" Her hands slipped beneath his shirt and caressed his back.
"Not the way my heart is pounding," he said with a small groan.
"Or the way my pulse is racing."
"Palliative, then?" He cupped one breast in its thin covering of cotton, brushing the hardened nipple with a fingertip.
"You do read, Señor Sheriff." Callie sighed against his mouth. "I can definitely predict relief in store."
"But no cure?"
"That remains to be seen."
"Well, then, querida, let's look."
Callie hesitated, surprising both of them. In answer to her sudden bout of shyness, Luc lay down, stretching the length of his body along hers and wrapping his arms around her again. Nestled within his strong yet gentle embrace, she felt sheltered, warmed and so wanted.
“How’s this?” he whispered.
“I’d like to stay this way forever.”
“I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“For what?”
“For this.” His lips touched hers, gently at first, then with more insistence. His tongue resumed its exploration of the slippery inner surface of her mouth, enticing her to do the same to his.
“And this,” he said. His hand slipped beneath her shirt, caressing her breasts until both nipples hardened and her velvety skin trembled from his touch.
“Luc,” Callie said, his name a groan against his mouth. Her hands kneaded the corded muscles of his bare back and shoulders.
“And this.” He drew the shirt over her head and lowered his mouth to her creamy breasts, caressing first one and then the other with soft, butterfly kisses.
Callie unbuckled his belt and together they worked his jeans down and off, tossing them aside. Her running shorts followed.
Needing more of his warmth and to feel the strength of his powerful body, she arched into him and pulled him closer until nothing separated them. They lay chest to chest, belly to belly. She thrilled at the hard, throbbing response she’d aroused in him, gloried in the moist heat that greeted his exploration of the place where her thighs met.
“What else, Luc?”
As her legs trapped his hand in a fierce embrace, he replied in words she had no hope of understanding, but whose meaning came through clearly in the want and need vibrating in his voice. She gripped his hips and pressed her heated mound against his arousal in a silent plea for more. He slipped his hands beneath her, lifting her buttocks and arching her body into his, letting her feel the full measure of his strength.
Heedless of every promise he’d made to keep his distance, Luc succumbed finally to their mutual need. “Will you come with me, querida?”
Callie gasped. “Yes. Por Dios, yes.”
Luc chuckled at her first words in his language. He parted her legs, then remembered. “I have no protection, my love.”
“I’m protected,” she said with something like a groan.
“Patience, mi vida.”
“Patience, my fanny.” Grinning wickedly, she twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. “I’ve had patience. I’ve run out.”
He laughed with joy as she bracketed his hips with her legs. Just then, a fist pounded on the front door, bringing their lovemaking to a heart-stopping, mind-numbing halt. A gravelly voice shouted something unintelligible seconds before heavy boots crossed the veranda and thumped down the steps.
Callie slipped on a caftan and dashed downstairs. By the time she opened the door the intruder was gone. In his wake, he'd left a reminder of his presence with a can of spray paint. TRAMP! he'd written. LEAVE THIS VALLEY — NOW! A trail of paint at the bottom of the exclamation point faded out like the disappearing tail of a comet.
Shocked by the inscription, Callie hunkered down to stare at the words. She rested her arms on her thighs and clasped her hands in front of her. Once before an even more vicious version of that word had been flung at her. Unjust though it had been, it had sent her running all the same. She didn't want to fold agai
n, but the graffiti stung. Who hated her this much?
Chilled from either the unresolved emotions she and Luc had aroused or the anonymous attack, she wrapped her arms around herself.
At her side now, Luc followed her gaze. "Don't let this get to you." He slipped his arm across her shoulders. "It's some dumb kid, Callie, that's all. Some adolescent with a sick sense of humor."
"When was the last time you saw kids around here?" He remained silent. "Whoever did this knew you were here and used that fact to harass me, hoping to drive me out. Smashing windows didn't work. Or wrecking the scaffolding. Maybe they thought getting personal would."
"Will it?"
She shook her head. "Can you do anything to stop him? Or her?" She examined his face with narrowed eyes. Her mouth compressed into a thin line. "Do you want to?"
He looked her squarely in the eye. "I'll say it again — if I didn't want to help I wouldn't be here. I thought my presence would keep the culprit away. The storm handed us a bad break. Next time will be different."
"Maybe." She rubbed her arms to get her circulation going. "It's cold. I'm going inside to change."
"I'll look around for anything that might help."
By the time Callie had dressed and come back down to the kitchen, Luc had returned with a plastic evidence bag containing one small object.
"Take a look."
She examined the bag beneath the ceiling fixture. "Is that the nozzle from a paint can?"
"I don't think we can get a print. It's too small, but if the color is the same, we can try for a match to the can our friend used."
"How does that help?"
"I'll check around, try to determine where it was bought and by whom."
"I want to come along."
He shook his head. "Not a good idea."
"Why?"
"People know me and will talk more freely without a stranger around."
"And you think the culprit will just give himself away because he feels comfortable with you?"
Luc arched one brow. "What I think is, the culprit, as you call him, is less likely to do so if the object of his harassment is stalking him. And with the right information, I have been known to solve a small riddle or two. It's what I do. When I'm allowed to do my job."