Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  When Tommy pulled into row H, slot thirteen, Laura groaned in disappointment.

  First, it was pouring rain. That alone had caused her to fear he might cry off coming to the drive-in. Now, the eighth row? There were seventeen rows at the drive-in, and all couples seriously dating made a beeline for the last one. You had to reverse a car into that line as it butted up against the ten-foot high yew hedge that surrounded the lot—ideal for young lovers. The locals jokingly had dubbed it “Rubber Row,” since the bright light of day revealed spent condoms everywhere. Tossed out car windows, they’d caught on the evergreens and hung there like bizarre Christmas decorations. When you glanced back to that string of cars, it was an oddity to see one without fogged windows. She so hoped Tommy would pull his car into the last row! She wanted to steam up the windows with him.

  In the long, empty hours of the night, her body ached for Tommy. She was a virgin, but she knew what her body wanted. She’d slid her hands over her breasts imagining they were Tommy’s. Not enough. It only made the ache worse. In her mind she’d hoped tonight was THE night.

  Now, row H, slot thirteen. An unlucky number. Often she felt unlucky, born under a bad sign. But maybe that was changing. She was making progress:Tommy finally had asked her out!

  After the fiasco of her prom night, she’d dreaded he might never speak to her again. Frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to him, either. Then, after a miserable month of them ignoring each other, he’d started showing up wherever she was. When the girls had gone to see Vincent Price’s The Tingler at the theatre, Tommy had suddenly taken the seat next to her. At the Dairy Queen, she’d been eating a banana split and talking with Reanne Masters. Tommy came up, sat down and ate half her sundae, as if it was the most natural thing to do. When her mouth dropped open in shock, he fed her spoonfuls of the soft ice cream.

  It unnerved her a bit, to be honest. For two years she’d worked hard to ‘casually’ be where Tommy was, hoping to garner his attention. Suddenly, this past month, he’d turned the tables and dogged her steps. She’d washed the car last Sunday; he had come over and helped. When a bunch of the kids went down to the Kentucky River for a picnic at the sandbar before Lock 8, Tommy had been in the group. He’d swum with her: later, after dark, sat beside her and roasted marshmallows by the bonfire. Then, in the moonlight, he’d walked her up to the Lock Keeper’s bell tower. He said out of the blue, “I guess I’m going to have to ask you for a real date.”

  She’d gotten a little huffy. “Don’t do me any favors, Tommy Grant.”She’d whipped around to go back to the others by the fireside, only Tommy caught her arm and pulled her close. He leaned her back against the tower’s frame and kissed her until her toes curled. Her first kiss.

  When he finally broke away, he said, “We both know where this is all heading, but let’s take it slow, easy. First step—how about going to the drive-in next Friday night?”

  Now, she sat in Tommy’s car at The Windmill, hardly able to believe this wasn’t another of her hungry dreams. She looked at Tommy as he shut off the car, reached for a speaker and hung it on the glass, rolling it half way up. She sighed at those beautiful hands—hands she’d envisioned upon her body. Oh, when she stared into those green eyes, slow and easy never came to mind.

  She knew they preached good girls don’t. Well, she was Tommy’s girl now. She wanted to be his wife, his lover. Good was the last thing on her mind.

  All these beautiful fantasies constantly filled her, where Tommy was hers and she belonged to him, body and soul. Only, in those sparkling dreams, she was never the one making the moves. Tommy was older. She’d always imagined he’d know precisely what to do and not need a push.

  As Woody Woodpecker ha-ha-ha-HA-ha-ed his way across the screen to the soft lull of the windshield wipers, Laura wondered how Tommy would react if she pounced on him.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Laura,” he commented. “A penny for your thoughts.”

  “A penny? I think they’re worth a quarter.”

  He smiled slowly, shifted in the seat to slide his hand into his left pocket. He pulled out a coin, took her hand and put the quarter into her palm, then leisurely closed her fingers around it. It was hot—hot from his body heat.

  “There’s your quarter. Now what’s on that pretty mind?”

  She sighed. Sometimes men were so thick! Very deliberately, she dropped the quarter down the front of her top, lodged it between her breasts. She’d worn a deep V-neck sweater, hoping to give Tommy a few ideas. Guess she’d have to hit him over the head. “If you want the quarter back you have to go and get it.”

  Tommy stared at her, not blinking, as if she’d lost her mind. She wondered if she’d suddenly begun speaking a foreign language.

  Then he moved—so damn fast it scared her.

  He shifted, one hand on her neck, the other on her waist, pulling her against his chest and kissing her. Not sweet, closed mouth kisses, either; these were dark and hungry, his mouth open on hers, molding her, shaping her, turning, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. Hell, her first kiss had been just the week before at the bell tower. This was French kissing! For an instant she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  The girls were forever gossiping and sniggering about French kissing; she’d always wondered what it was like. It seemed so wicked, so racy. She’d imagined Tommy kissing her like that, but this wasn’t anything like her daydreams. It was . . . more. So much more. Suddenly, she liked his tongue dueling with hers.

  Tommy devoured her with a hunger she didn’t know could exist. Oh, her body pulsed with urges. This was painful. Her breasts were sensitive, hard, aching for Tommy’s hands on them. Her womb cramped with a desperate need, and she knew nothing but Tommy inside her would ease the feeling. Fire skittered through her blood.

  Tommy broke their kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “Damn it, Laura, I said we needed to take this slow.”

  She smiled, hearing the breathless hitch to his words. “Slow? I forget the definition of the word.”

  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that?” Tommy ran his left hand up and down her ribcage.

  “No, how long?”

  “Too damn long.” He moaned and closed his mouth over hers again, taking her to heaven. Then Tommy scooted sideways to gain a better position, his elbow hitting the steering wheel, causing the horn to beep . . .

  Tommy cursed, “Damn . . .”

  “Damn it, do you hear me, Asha?”

  A pounding ache spreading through her brain, Asha blinked. Jago had the dome light on and was speaking to her in worried tones. The cat jumped around her, then stuck his wet nose against her cheek before Jago pushed him gently aside.

  “It’s okay. She’s coming around.” He laughed derisively and then shook his head. “You’ve got me so upset I’m talking to the stupid cat.”

  The cat whipped his head around as if he resented being called stupid.

  “Asha—damn it, do you have epilepsy? I know some people don’t have full seizures, they sort of phase out sometimes. If that’s the case, I’d like to know so I can be prepared how I should handle these spells.”

  “Sorry . . . just a little woozy.” Her head ached and her stomach suddenly was queasy. Maybe that part was the damn chili dog. “I phased out?”

  “Yeah, just like you did at the pool.”

  “I do not have epilepsy.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Asha.”

  “I’m not. Really.”

  “Then I think you need to go see a doctor and have a physical,” he suggested.

  No, it was more than a suggestion. Like all men used to authority, he just commanded and expected to be obeyed. Still, she smiled, knowing it came from concern. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek.

  There was a growing pain in her head, but she knew there was nothing really wrong with her—at least, nothing a doctor could fix. Being Scottish, she accepted what she was experiencing. Somehow, she was picking up images from Laura Valmont’s life; however, if sh
e told Jago that, he’d really push her to see a doctor—not an internist, but a shrink! She couldn’t begin to understand what was happening to her or why. Right now, to try and reason it for herself, let alone present a case strong enough to convince Jago, was more than her poor brain was capable of doing.

  “I’m sorry, but could we go back to the motel?” she asked.

  Jago nodded, already raising his seat back. He leaned over and fastened the seat belt around her, then started the car. His eyes were full of worry.

  Asha almost laughed. If he was apprehensive now, it would be nothing compared to when she told him she was channeling 1964.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jago stepped from the shower—his cold shower—and vigorously toweled off. Picking up the pair of navy sweatpants folded on the commode, he tugged them on, trying his best to ignore the throb already returning to his groin. Yes, restlessness was back, a ravenous beast growling to be sated. This time, he didn’t bother going to the refrigerator to see what there was to eat; he knew precisely what he wanted and it wasn’t food—though he really wouldn’t mind another chili dog. He wanted Asha. And nothing but she could assuage the hot flames of hunger crawling under his skin.

  The fat feline rubbed against his legs, clearly steering Jago’s steps toward the kitchen. “Guess one of us wants grub, eh? Sorry, I didn’t buy cat food in Leesburg—since I don’t have a cat.” He looked down at the shiny black beast with glowing orange eyes; the creature seemed to smile at him. Did cats smile? He shrugged. This one did.

  “Colin—Oo-it—is right. You need a name, but damned if I know what to call you. I never had a pet before. You’ll have to be patient with me, Puss.”

  While growing up, his brothers and he’d never owned a dog or cat. They’d been too poor and always moving about. Later, he’d been busy working. The bachelor’s life, a lot of it spent traveling, didn’t lend itself to having an animal needing you there to care for it.

  He didn’t dismiss what his mother had gone through to keep the family together—what Des had gone through—but he’d spent too many damn years living with the same old heartache. He was just so tired of it all, wanted Des’ plans done, so he could finally move on. The bloody past consumed too much of the present, their future. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back all the memories of his mother; her pain and suffering, her constant living in fear; how the tragic death of their father and the fallout afterwards had molded the Mershan brothers into fiercely determined men.

  “Men missing so much in our lives.” He exhaled, bending over to snatch a can of spring water tuna from the lower kitchen cabinet. Opening it, he dumped the tuna onto a saucer for the silly feline. “Here. Chow down, pal.”

  With the cat happily stuffing his face, Jago considered how to kill the next few minutes. When he’d brought Asha back to the motel, she’d quickly made excuses of wanting to be up early, and ducked into her bungalow.

  “Not even a goodnight kiss, Puss. The wench doesn’t trust herself. The woman wants me; she just has this strongly developed flight-or-fight response going. Fine. I let her escape. Run, but you cannot hide, Asha. I only granted you a brief reprieve.”

  He’d accepted her brush-off on the surface, come back to his new home-away-from-home to shower and change into something comfortable, before implementing his plan to invade her cozy little bungalow for the night. He was merely waiting now, giving her time enough to go to bed and get drowsy; he had a feeling she’d be easier to handle in that state. Pacing, he ran through different approaches to use on her, trying to tumble to the right one.

  He could tell Asha wanted to distance herself after the drive-in—for several reasons, he assumed. One, things had been getting pretty intense between them before Colin knocked on the car window. The other matter troubling her: these damn blackouts. They disturbed him, too. Something was wrong. The second attack had been slightly less frightening than the one at the pool the night before. Nevertheless, she’d scared the bloody hell out of him phasing out like that. Her skin grew clammy and she lacked any response to touch or voice. Her beautiful eyes turned to doll eyes. He couldn’t recall his heart ever beating with that sort of fear—at least not since he’d been a small kid and his mother was in one of her black moods. That had been a child’s alarm. This was a man terrified, powerless to aid the woman who was coming to mean so much to him.

  “Men don’t deal well with helplessness, Puss. Makes us cranky. Give us something to pound with a hammer, slice in two with a sword or screw down with a Phillips and we’re in our element.”

  The cat looked up from his Charlie the Tuna meal and yawned. When Jago didn’t have anything else to say, he went back to scarfing down the fish.

  “Great. I’m boring the mouse mangler. Well, I can’t take any more waiting and talking to you like a blethering eegit, so I am off to play guardian. Enjoy yourself, Cat-With-No-Name. Feel free to make use of the bed.”

  He turned off the lights, except the nightlight in the kitchen, and then let himself out. As he was pulling the sliding patio door shut, Fat-fat-the-Kitty-Cat came barreling out, determined not to be left behind—so determined that he nearly knocked Jago’s legs out from under him. Shaking his head, Jago locked the door and walked the few steps down the stone walkway to Asha’s cabin.

  As he knocked on the door, he was buffeted by the winds. They whipped the trees, sending more leaves to fall, and warning that another storm was headed their way. The cat leaned against his legs for shelter. When there was no answer, Jago rapped again, a little more insistently. This time the light flicked on in the living room, and he could see the shadow of Asha coming to the door. Glaring at him with a sleepy frown, she pulled the edge of the drapes back.

  She wore a thin silk wrapper, of an iridescent shade like pearl. A very sensual gown. Unbelted, it gaped open to reveal matching silk boxer shorts and a plain white, muscle T-shirt underneath. He about swallowed his tongue. With the thin cotton clinging to her breasts, the dark circles of her areolas visible through the semi-sheer material—the sleepwear was an odd combination of pure sex and a touch of innocence that was a punch to his gut. He tried desperately to remember why he’d come.

  “Let me in,” he said, not quite a command, but close enough. Her eyes traveled to his bare chest, then down to the cat he was wearing as an anklet. “Okay, let us in.”

  That brought a reluctant smile to her mouth. She clicked the lock and opened the door, but only a few inches. The cat rammed his chubby body through the crack, squeezing his way into her cozy little cottage. Fine, if the pussycat could do it, so could he. Placing a hand on the door, Jago pushed it open, making her step back.

  “What . . . do you think you’re doing?” Asha bent down to pick up the cat, clearly intent on evicting him. Jago figured he wasn’t far behind, unless he did some quick convincing. She groaned as she hefted the feline into her arms. “Ugh. No cat is this heavy. You must be a nose guard for the Chicago Bears in the off season.”

  “We’ve come to keep you company—that’s what we are doing.”

  Asha shoved the cat against his chest, hard. “Take your—”

  “Pussy?” he supplied with an impish grin. He just kept his hands on his hips, staring at her as she pushed the cat at him again.

  She pursed that kissable mouth. “When in America . . . They use that word differently here.”

  “Oh?” He gave her his most innocent expression. “Do tell. How do they use it?”

  “Eegit, take your cat and leave. You’re not getting in my bed by flashing that sexy chest.” Asha tried to appear grumpy, but didn’t quite succeed. She sounded breathless.

  “My chest is sexy? Guess it matches my sexy lips, eh?” He moved forward, stalking her as she backed up, until the kitchen bar hit her backside. Placing a hand on either side of the counter, he trapped her. He leaned near, letting her feel the high heat of his skin. She clutched the rotund cat to her chest like a shield. “Want to see what else on me is sexy, Asha?”

  He moved close
r to where she could only inhale his male pheromones. He tilted his head to the side of her face, nuzzled the hair against her ear. If she was getting as much of a buzz off him as he did her, he’d better stop pushing her buttons and ease down a notch on the sexual play. “This night is going to be hard enough—no pun intended there—so I better back up before you jump my bones and I can’t fight you off.”

  “You arrogant . . . Ooooh . . . me jump your bones?” Asha fussed.

  “See, Puss? The cat doesn’t have her tongue, after all.” Jago chuckled, then lightly kissed her cheek. “Relax, Angel May, I didn’t come over here to offer myself up for your depraved sexual abuse.”

  “You didn’t?” She blinked, confused. Disappointed?

  He chuckled at that expression. She looked so deliciously rumpled that he wanted nothing but to take her to bed and make love to her—all night. Though it might put a crimp on his libido—tonight was about making her trust him. He wanted hot sex with Asha. Hey, he was male and she intrigued him, lured him, taunted him more than any woman he had ever known. Only, he wanted more than one night with Asha Montgomerie.

  As matters stood, the whole situation was pretty complicated. His falling in love with Asha hadn’t been part of Desmond’s plan. He needed to gain her trust or things between them could spiral out of control, maybe destroy them both.

  “You, me and What’s His Name are going to bed—to sleep. Just sleep, Asha.” He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Your spacing out scares me, lass.”

  “Oh . . . that.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but instead looked down at the cat she was holding. “Nothing to fash about.”

  “Okay, I won’t. Nevertheless, you had an occurrence last night. Another tonight. I’m not leaving you alone. End of discussion.”

  Ridiculously, she shoved the cat at his chest again. “What makes you think you can come in here and dictate anything to me—”

  His hands took her upper arms and yanked her to him. The poor puss was squished between them, but Jago didn’t let that stop him. He kissed Asha, took her mouth with every ounce of ravenous need she provoked within him. Not gentle, he channeled all the fear she’d caused with the two blackouts into passion, let loose the hunger that had him prowling to the refrigerator several times a night for months. The pounding drive to mate promised this was the one, the only woman for him. Fortunately, the cat was still between them and squirming. That last shard of reason stopped him from lifting her atop the counter and taking her right there.