“That’s supposed to be my line,” she said wryly. “Or at least my story’s.”
“Maybe I’ve been around you too long.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, her voice low.
“What you didn’t say is that knowing the kidnapper’s identity might not change anything,” he said in a tone resembling rational conversation. “You want me to understand, so somehow it’ll be easier to accept. But you should realize by now that I’ll never accept that things with my daughter are hopeless.” He braked a little too quickly at a light.
“That’s why I didn’t say it again. And why I…” Her words tapered off. Instead of finishing, she reached over and lightly rubbed her hand over his cheek.
It felt too good. Too comforting.
And Hunter did not want Shauna to comfort him, for it meant he was giving in. To his tumultuous feelings about Shauna.
And the inevitability of her story.
He grabbed her hand, squeezed it for a second because he couldn’t help it, then pushed it away from him.
“The light’s changed,” he said, as if that explained everything. And then he stepped hard on the accelerator.
Yawning for the umpteenth time that night, Shauna booted up her computer.
Hunter, standing beside her, put an arm around her shoulders. She briefly rested her head against his side, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt against her face, inhaling his clean, masculine scent. She could stay there all night. But wouldn’t. She raised her head.
“You can hardly see straight,” Hunter said, “and I’m making you revise your story.” He sounded apologetic but didn’t suggest that she wait until tomorrow. Nor would she, even if he asked. She, too, wanted to see what would happen if she inserted the day’s events into her story. Would the changes save?
If so, would the ending be affected?
Please, she begged internally to whatever forces caused her to write stories that came true. This unwanted creation had already been different from all the others. Couldn’t it be different that way, too?
She could almost hear Grandma O’Leary warning her, and tuned her out.
The computer finally finished its warm-up exercises. She scrolled through menus. Couldn’t help noticing the file called “A Tale of Duke” and felt her mouth twist in irony at her recollection of what it contained.
For this moment, while Hunter and she shared a small truce and an identical goal, she might imagine it could come true. But then there were all other moments.
Quickly she continued on to “Duke’s Story” and opened it.
As she scanned it, Hunter bent, and his face practically touched hers as he, too, read the story. Drawn by a need she chose not to question, she leaned toward him till they were cheek to cheek. She felt a grin lift his warm flesh. His stubble rasped against her sensitive facial skin.
She wanted to cry for the fragility of the moment. Instead, she smiled, too.
And changed the story, adding in the identity of Big T.
She also threw in how Big T was thinking hard about where he had Andee now. That it was a good place, and he wouldn’t move her from there.
If only she could purposely fall into one of her trances, so her subconscious, or wherever these stories came from, would fill in the blanks. Cause her to write the location where they would find the kidnapper and his hostage. But she had never been able to effect a trance at will. Tonight was no exception. She remained fully aware of what she was writing. At least that permitted her to, once again, change the ending.
She closed the file. Opened it again.
The changes regarding the identity of the kidnapper were still there.
And…how very odd! Had she forgotten she had written in, when Big T considered where he and Andee were, that he had felt at least some relief, despite all the publicity, that he was up in the mountains, where he was known as someone else altogether?
She didn’t remember writing that. Had she gone into a trance after all?
Had the story rewritten itself?
“Hunter—” she began.
“Shh,” he said. “Just a minute.” He was reading it, too.
“Did I write that?” she said when he turned to her.
“Not that I saw.” He was grinning. “But I think we now have another clue.”
“Maybe, but I’ve never done that before, and—”
He put his finger on her lips. “I know. Here comes your disclaimer. We won’t rely on it, I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s look at the ending.”
Might the changes have been saved this time? Bemusement and anticipation tickled the base of her scalp. Nothing else seemed to be working quite as it always had with her stories. And she’d wanted so much, this time, for the new and improved ending to be saved. The one where Andee was okay.
She quickly scrolled to the last page and began reading.
The old ending had not been changed.
Shauna closed her eyes for a moment. Sharing Hunter’s pain was not enough. She had wanted in the past to fix things for him. It hadn’t worked.
Then, it had only been a job.
Now it was his daughter.
She turned and looked up at him. He was reading the screen again, as if he couldn’t believe what it said.
“So much was saved,” she said. “Maybe if I try—”
“Hush,” he said softly, punctuating the word with a brief hug. Then he turned his back and drew his cell phone from his pocket. Shauna heard tones as he punched in a number. “Margo? Yes, I know how late it is. Do you know of anyplace in the mountains Aitken might go? No, I don’t know which mountains. Well, think about it. It’s important. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Hanging up, he still didn’t look at Shauna before making another call, this time to Simon. He directed his assistant to do whatever he could to find a connection between John Keenan Aitken and any mountain, anywhere.
When he called Banger and Tennyson, he wound up leaving messages. “Probably a good thing,” he said to Shauna. “This way, I won’t have to tell them the origin of this new clue. They’re both pros and, I think, trust me. They’ll run with it using their own resources, and ask questions later.”
Only after he hung up from the last call did he return to where Shauna sat, watching him, aching for him.
“Hunter,” she began, “I’m sorry. I could—”
“Hey, you know what?” he said, interrupting. “Your story has actually come up with something we can follow up on. That’s cause for celebration.” His voice rose. “Let’s break out the champagne. Fireworks!”
Shauna smiled at his excitement.
But only for an instant, for when he spoke again, it was low and sad. Again. “Of course if we believe that, then maybe we have to believe the rest, too.” He turned to leave the room.
“What do you want me to do?” she cried after him, not even pretending the distance of a professional therapist.
He pivoted. He wasn’t trying now to hide the pain that shadowed his features. Or if he was trying, he wasn’t succeeding. “I don’t want to rely on something so impossible,” he said unhappily. “Give me back control of my life. Of my daughter’s life.”
“You know I would if I could,” she whispered, then turned to let him go.
Instead, she heard him mutter something unintelligible. An instant later, she was shocked to find him beside her. He took her into his arms. Buried his face against her neck so that she could feel his hot breath there.
“Yeah, the hell of it is that I do know that. How can you live with it, Shauna? Thinking you know the future, and all the miserable stuff you write about there?”
Her small laugh was ironic. “Why do you think I became a shr—?”
Before she could finish, his mouth took hers. Roughly.
Shocked, she wanted to run, not respond. But though she struggled, he didn’t release her. And in moments, she found herself pressing against him, kissing him back, no longer wanting to escape.
He nibbled at her vulnerable flesh, upward beneath her hair, to her sensitive earlobe, and forward to her throat. And then his mouth was back on hers, fiery and insistent, his tongue plunging and searching and scorching.
She met his kiss, tasting him, wanting him, as her knees wobbled. He didn’t let her fall but held her close, murmuring words against her that she felt without hearing, words that raised sweet gooseflesh on skin teased by his breath against it, contrasting immeasurably with the strength of other burgeoning sensations.
His hands ranged down her back, clasped her buttocks and pulled her even closer against him until there was no doubt of his need.
And hers? “Please, Hunter,” she moaned as her hands quested beneath his shirt. His skin was heated tautness over hard, toned muscles. She stroked him, touching, kneading, until her fingers were between them, stroking his chest.
He seemed to mistake her hands coming between them for rejection, for he took a step back. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Oh, yes, you should,” she countered. She couldn’t allow him to stop. Not with need raging so deliriously inside her. She threw herself once more against him, unabashedly thrusting her pelvis forward to press against his hardness.
He answered her invitation by reaching down, placing his hands between them, too. Cupping her breasts over her shirt, caressing the nipples until she moaned once more.
“Here.” He led her unsteadily to the guest-room’s bed. She collapsed onto it, and he gently placed himself on top of her, writhing so she felt every angle of his meeting her curves.
She was exquisitely aware of his drawing away enough to pull off her clothes, for with every place bared, he stroked her until each new touch became a welcome agony.
At first, he refused to let her undress him, and the sensation of being open to him, while he remained clothed, heightened her sense of vulnerability and need.
But then he, too, was bare, and she could touch him. Did touch him. Everywhere. She teased his straining erection until it was his turn to moan.
In moments, quickly donning protection, he was back on top of her. Sliding inside her. Filling her once more with a rhythm that reminded her of days long ago and dreams of forever.
Every conscious part of her was centered where they rocked together. All she could think about was Hunter.
The sensation grew and grew until Shauna thought her mind erased forever, exploding in a crescendo that made her cry out loud and long, even as Hunter, too, gave one hard, final thrust, groaned and grew still.
Shauna lay quietly with Hunter still on top of her, their uneven breathing creating a pattern of soft syncopation in the air around them.
She thought of “A Tale of Duke” and the story it told.
Wishing, dreaming, for this moment, that it could come true.
But knowing as certainly as she knew she would write again, that happily-ever-after was a figment of her imagination, and the tale that illuminated a future with Hunter was doomed from the instant her fingers created it.
“Come on,” Hunter whispered into her hair. He started to rise. Was it over this quickly?
“Where are we going?” Shauna asked.
“To my bed. It’s a lot more comfortable than in here.”
“Sure.” She nestled close to him as, skin to skin, he led her to his room.
Hunter lay in his bed, holding Shauna close, for a long time.
Inhaling her sweet, exotic scent overlaid with the aroma of their joining in a sexual encounter that had left him both exhausted yet eager for the next time.
If there would be a next time.
He sighed, but kept it quiet so as not to awaken Shauna. She needed her rest.
So did he, to prepare for the next day. He had a feeling things were going to finally break loose.
He would find Andee. That mountain clue had to do it.
Dawn would arrive soon. He’d immediately begin making calls. See what Simon had found out about Aitken and the mountains. Follow up with Banger and Tennyson, too. Find out if Margo had thought of someplace in the mountains where Aitken might go.
Damn. Hunter knew he wouldn’t sleep. He was too wrapped up in pondering. And that little hiccup in Shauna’s latest modifications to her story. The part that seemed to have appeared magically, all by itself.
Hell, the whole thing was magic. Sleight of Shauna’s lovely hands. Woo-woo, supernatural, way, way out there. No matter how he looked at it, it was surreal.
But somehow it worked and had always worked, even if he hadn’t accepted it.
He sighed again. He knew what he needed to do, now while Shauna slept so soundly.
Gently he pried himself away. Stood beside his bed.
Stared wistfully, lustfully down, in the faint illumination spilling between the blinds from the streetlight outside, at her lovely, curvaceous form.
He smoothed the sheet over her and watched to make sure she didn’t wake up. She stirred, one slender arm reaching out as if searching for him. But her breathing remained deep, her eyes closed.
He waited for a minute longer, enjoying his observation of her.
He hadn’t wanted to start caring for Shauna again, any more than he had wanted to believe that her writing came true.
But both had come to pass.
For all the good it would do. He had a life here, in California. Shauna lived in Oasis. Had a business there.
Besides, could he really see himself living with a woman who had set his entire belief system on edge, over and over? Who made him feel as if everything was spiraling out of his control?
It wasn’t as if she planned it.
Margo had made an effort to exert control. His lovely ex had gone out of her way to make sure everything in their marriage worked exactly as she wanted, or watch out.
He’d taken it as long as he could. Longer, even, for the sake of their daughter. But then he’d gotten out.
It was best for all of them.
Could things be different with Shauna?
Glancing once more at the sexy, sleeping Shauna, he headed for the guest bedroom. He closed the door, put on the light and booted up the computer.
Now that he wasn’t disparaging the idea of Shauna writing stories that came true, his curiosity was rampant. Where did they come from?
She’d claimed they couldn’t be changed, yet she had been able, in the past few days, to save changes she had made.
This last time, something appeared by itself. Maybe. Had she entered it when he wasn’t looking?
But when hadn’t he been looking? Was it the computer?
Could he do anything with the story?
He had to try. For in some ways, it had proved prophetic.
And he was not about to let that damned ending come true. Not when Andee’s life was at stake.
He scrolled through the list of documents, looking for “Duke’s Story.” He smiled grimly at the name. If only Shauna had simply written the tale she’d started out to, a little fairy tale for her to read at her restaurant, would things be any different? Or would they not have even as many clues as they had now about what had happened to Andee?
He stopped scrolling, confused. Wasn’t the title “Duke’s Story”? But here was “A Tale of Duke.” Had he remembered it wrong? Or was this a different tale, one of Shauna’s real kids stories?
He opened the file. And stared.
What the hell was that? A story written as if he’d created it, in his point of view.
One that described how he’d once felt about Shauna. How he felt the same about her now, and then some.
How he loved her, wanted to be with her forever.
And this one had a happy ending.
Where had it come from? In some ways, it looked real. Felt real. Felt right.
Only…it also felt as if he w
as being fed something he had no intention of eating. Having it forced into him, into reality, because it was written.
By Shauna. In one of her damned stories.
His feelings were his own, damn it! No one, and nothing, was going to tell him who to care for.
And this one was as if he had finished his own damned life plan he’d begun once between Shauna and him. Of course, he had tossed it away, unwilling to let it, or anything, control what he’d believed they’d had together.
He rose so fast that the chair nearly toppled, ready to throw the computer against the wall. He needed an explanation. Now he’d go into his room, wake Shauna and—
The last part, was unnecessary. Shauna had already pulled open the door behind him and stood there, her eyes narrowed against the light. She’d thrown on one of his T-shirts and it clung to her curves, reminding him graphically of how it had felt to touch her. To make love to her.
But not even desire for her all over again would divert him from the questions burning inside him.
“What’s that?” he demanded, pointing at the computer. “Has all this been a plan of yours?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Hunter, but—”
He refused to let her dissemble, especially when her sleepy, pleading eyes looked so damned sexy. “I’ll tell you exactly what I mean. Isn’t it enough that your story about my daughter changes and doesn’t change and keeps my head spinning? And now this, too.”
He stalked toward her.
Chapter 15
Furious indignation might not look convincing in a clinging, short shirt, but Shauna asserted it anyway and stood her ground as Hunter closed the gap between them. So what if placing her hands on her hips lifted the hem to an even less modest mid-thigh? “What do you mean?” she countered heatedly.
Hunter had thrown on a pair of boxers, but his well-formed chest was bare, its fast rise and fall as he stopped directly in front of her showing the angry speed of his respiration.
She couldn’t help thinking how her fingers had roved over those taut muscles only a short while ago. And now their tension was from anything but desire.
Not a Moment Too Soon Page 18