by Stacy Gail
When she put it like that, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. “There was hardly anything inside the capsule, so it’s not worth the seriousness of this conversation. Once I get the special edition out today to let everyone know the contents, it’ll be nothing more than a memory.”
There was a disapproving beat of silence. “You’re still going ahead with this nonsense? You’re going to report what you found?”
“It’s news, Mayor Weems. I know you think I’m putting a spotlight on it because it’s my ancestors, but that’s not it. A piece of this town’s colorful history was discovered, and everyone has a right to know about it.”
Again her hand clenched. “Colorful? What are you saying?”
“It should make your day, actually. I’m going to reveal that the beginning of the Thorne dynasty wasn’t as G-rated as everyone was led to believe.”
“G-rated.” Her scowl of disapproval almost made her lips disappear entirely. “That sounds...provocative.”
“Only because it is.”
“Why would you reveal such a thing?”
He tilted his head, surprised by her lack of shock. “I’d think that’d be obvious. It’s news.”
“Old news, surely.”
“Doesn’t matter. Revealing it now is the right thing to do. Be prepared for the sounds of jaws dropping all over town when I lay out how Declan Thorne Senior funded the creation of Thorne Mansion.”
“There isn’t so much as a smudge on your family’s lily-white history,” she said at length, and her expression was one of shock. “The founders of this town have always been portrayed as ruthless, yes, but otherwise upstanding pillars of the community. Declan Senior was the man who made cattle a going business in this part of Texas, and Declan Junior was the one who built the town. Doesn’t it bother you that you’ll be changing all that?”
“What bothers me is that they obviously did a whitewash on their rep back in the day. Personally I prefer truth over fiction, no matter how ugly.”
“And because you’re happy with that decision, that makes everything all right?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m confused. I thought you’d be doing backflips over this. Aren’t you thrilled it’s been discovered that the Thorne legend isn’t nearly as pristine as we were all led to believe?”
She gave him an odd look. “I always knew their legend was too good to be true. But unlike you, I have to think of this entire town. Aside from the dip in morale that will happen when local heroes have their reputations tarnished, I also worry about repercussions.”
“Like what?”
“Your cousin Daisy, for one. While you’re up there on your high horse righteously railing against the manipulation of a long-ago truth, have you once given a thought to the people this revelation might affect?”
He almost snapped that there was no one left alive to give a damn one way or another, but Parker’s question of whether or not he’d recognized any of the names in his ancestor’s journal made him pause. In all honesty he hadn’t given them much thought. But the roots of a family tree often went in unexpected directions, which was no one’s fault in the present day. And when it came right down to it, as the Bitterthorn Herald was the only source of local news, he had to find way to do what was right without bringing harm to anyone.
“I promise to be discreet, Mayor Weems, but that’s all I’ll promise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a paper to get out.”
* * *
The sounds of generators and heavy machinery echoed around the square. With a sense of satisfaction, Parker kept an eagle eye on the beginnings of what would soon be Thorne Mansion, 2.0. By the end of the day, the three sections of the magnificent marble staircase she had painstakingly salvaged would be lowered via crane. The three pieces it had broken into when it collapsed in the fire had been retooled, and made to fit together like a puzzle. Once the centerpiece that was the sweeping staircase was in place, the frame for the first story’s outer walls would come up around it, along with the interior walls, whose faint footprints had still been visible to her trained eye. Two weeks after that—or sooner if the original blueprints could be located—most of the basic structure would be done, the roof would be in place and the masons she’d sourced in Dallas could come in to begin the stone edifice work. Another week after that and she’d be able to leave Thorne Mansion’s finishing-out in the hands of the project manager. As simple as that, she’d be on a plane headed for France.
Her time in Bitterthorn would be over.
The glow of satisfaction dimmed as she watched the work crew carefully maneuver the salvaged marble masterpiece into place. Texas wasn’t her idea of a perfect place to live. It was too hot for one thing, and too big and sprawling in between its mega cities. And the town of Bitterthorn itself was so small she could drive from one end to the other of it in about seven minutes.
But the summer heat wouldn’t last forever, San Antonio wasn’t that far away and there was an odd comfort and charm to be had in personally knowing just about everyone in town. It wasn’t perfect, this little place called Bitterthorn. But it wasn’t bad, either.
And besides, Chandler lived here.
Parker wiped her brow and headed for the coolness of her office before she melted where she stood. For the first time she finally understood why some people chose to settle in one place, when there was a whole world to explore. It wasn’t that they’d found the most idyllic area in which to live. They had simply found where they belonged, with the people inhabiting that place. One person fitting into the lives of others was what made a random place on a map suddenly become a home.
At least, that was how Chandler made her feel about Bitterthorn.
When she lay in his arms, that was where she knew she belonged. When she spoke, it was his voice she wanted to hear in response. When she reached out, his hand was the one she hoped was already reaching for hers. In just a few weeks she’d come to rely on him to be there to make her world complete. The thought of being without him filled her with a loneliness so vast it crushed the air from her lungs.
If this wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.
Too bad she didn’t have the smarts to fall for someone who lived in a more temperate climate, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped into the air-conditioned coolness of the trailer. That in itself proved how emotionally invested she’d become. She was willing to park herself in hot-as-hell South Texas just so she could stay in Chandler’s life and make herself as necessary to him as he’d become to her. And God help her, she was even happy about it. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about when he said love was merely a madness, because it was clear to her that she’d lost her damn mind.
Still shaking her head over the sad loss of sanity, she moved to the galley and filled a tall plastic glass with ice and water, then sagged into a folding chair at the workstation. Wishing she could somehow shrink down and bathe in the ice water, she did the next best thing and drank it all down before pulling the laptop closer. With a few keystrokes her email popped up, with Sharon’s familiar address topping her inbox with a post labeled Thorne Project, Carl Junker or Karl Junker, Loire Valley.
Hey, Boss—
I need clarification on how to spell Junker’s given name. There are two architects that my search is coming up with, so before I try to locate the Thorne project’s blueprints, I need to know if I’m looking for Karl or Carl Junker? I’ve got my fingers crossed that it’s Carl, because I’ve got some great leads on him. The other one, Karl, seemed to have been a genius but insane, so his work might be harder to track down. Either way, though, I feel confident I’ll be able to get my hands on the original blueprints and building material list—that is, if they’re still in existence. Thank goodness you uncovered the original architect! Now that we know who it was, things should go more quickly. I hope they do, because the marquis called
me himself this morning before breakfast. Can you believe it? When I told my husband that I’d just gotten off the phone with an actual marquis, he got up and curtsied. Have I mentioned that I’m married to a guy who thinks he’s a comedian?
Anyway, the marquis wanted your phone number so he could personally talk you into getting to the Loire Valley project that much sooner, but of course I didn’t give it to him. Nor will I, without your permission. But I do think you need to let him know you’re wrapping things up in Texas and will be free to tackle his chateau in the next few weeks. Talking with me no longer seems to be pacifying him.
Parker quickly verified the spelling of the architect they were looking for and that Austrian archives might be the best bet in tracking down blueprints created by Carl Junker. Barring that, the HAER, or Historic American Engineering Record, was the last hope she had when it came to digging up obscure blueprints. She replied with the promise to email the marquis later. Then, after a quick reread through Sharon’s email, she forwarded it to Chandler, knowing he’d be thrilled to hear they were so close to the finish line.
Even if Sharon wasn’t able to locate the original blueprints, Parker was confident the plans she’d drawn up were accurate, thanks to the multitude of photos Chandler had sent her and the measurements she’d made of this site itself. In addition, she’d done so much research, she knew what building materials were used in this area in the 1860s better than she knew herself. Naturally it would be a bonus to have the original blueprints and building material lists, but this wasn’t the first project she’d done flying blind. As it was, the structure wouldn’t be identical; by law she’d have to make sure the new Thorne Mansion was up to present-day building code and was wired to handle the latest technology. But everything else would be just as it was. Thorne Mansion would live again, and soon.
Which meant her official reason for being there would cease to exist. But maybe, if she worked things just right, she’d have another reason to stay.
A brief knock suddenly sounded before the door swung open and Chandler stepped in, eyes alight. “May I come in?”
It was ridiculous, the happiness that bloomed the moment she laid eyes on him. “Get in here and lock the door.”
“Why?” But he did so, a wicked smile curving his lips. Lord, she loved those lips. “What do you have in mind?”
“As if you don’t know.” She rose as he approached, the ice in the glass she held hitting the sides of the cup as she roped her arms around his neck. “I plan to have my wicked way with you—if you have time, that is.”
“As of now I do.” With one hand he pulled her closer, while the other fished a folded-up newspaper out of his back pocket. “Special delivery of the special edition. I think I might have gushed while describing your keen detecting skills, but overall I think you’ll like it.”
“You got the paper out.” With a delighted smile she gave him a quick, hard kiss. Something to whet both their appetites. “Congratulations on a job well done, Mr. Editor. I guess this means you’re about to be inundated with people wanting to know what it’s like to have a pimp for an ancestor.”
“Why do you think I’m over here instead of battling the lunch crowd at Mabel’s? I’m hiding until the worst blows over.” Setting aside the paper, he turned until he leaned back against the galley’s counter. He pulled her flush against him, his hands sliding down until her butt was cradled in his palms. “You won’t tell anyone where I am, will you?”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Smiling, she undid the buttons of his shirt, and a thrill went through her when she looked up to find the flame of desire had ignited in his cognac eyes. “But I don’t know if you are.”
“Safety’s for pussies.” A rough sound growled from him as he seized her mouth with his own, shrugging out of the confining shirt before stripping hers off with greedy, seeking hands. His touch was scorching, as hot as any brand as he loosened her jeans and again palmed her butt, this time invading past the barrier of her panties so they were skin to skin.
“Your hands are so hot.” And she loved it.
“Yeah?” His lips curved against hers as his fingers squeezed her flesh in obvious enjoyment, before he rubbed her against the hardening length against her lower abdomen. “I’m getting hotter by the second.”
“I don’t want you to get overheated.” She flattened her bra-sheathed breasts against him as she reached for an ice cube in the glass she’d set on the counter. “Let me help you with that.”
His gasp of mingled surprise and protest was sharp in the small trailer’s stillness as she slid the cube along the side of his neck, past the notch at the base of his throat and down the center of his chest. Water ran down his taut torso from the quickly melting ice, and she bent to catch it with her tongue. A low groan hummed from him as she lapped the moisture up from just above his navel, over his rigid stomach and up to where his heart thundered so strongly she could see its disturbed beat. Delighted with his response, she outlined a pectoral muscle with the ice, following its chilled path with her tongue to warm him up again. The taste of him, clean with just a hint of saltiness, was an intoxicant to her, dizzying her senses and revving her pulse until it was nothing short of a snare-drum roll. Her shallow breath mingled with his as she cruised what was left of the ice around the disc of his nipple before replacing it with her mouth.
“Goddamn it.” A shudder rocked him, and that sign of pleasure filled her with triumph. It was delicious to have him so clearly moved by her lovemaking, and it made her hunger for more. She drank in the moisture and flavor of him until he moaned, a low rumble of masculine approval, and the flesh between her thighs became engorged and slick with relentless need Just when she thought her excitement couldn’t go any higher, he bunched his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck and guided her down.
“Lower.” The word was barely intelligible as it was pushed through the locked barrier of his teeth. “Do it...oh God, Parker, put your mouth on me, please. Make me crazy...”
The word please really had to have magical properties; the mere sound of it on his lips was enough to shoot excitement through her like a drug. Her blood heated to the boiling point, her body suffused with a flush she could feel like a burn and the throb in her sex became a sweet ache to bear. He leaned back against the counter, helping her shove the barriers of clothing down just until his hardened flesh was free. The ice cube had melted away, but her fingers were still cool as they curled around him, and when he burned against her palm like a fire-heated poker, she could only imagine how her chilled flesh felt on him.
He confirmed her thoughts when his breath hitched. “Damn, what are you trying to do, make me deflate?”
Her laugh sounded sultry even to her ears. “Do you really think I could? You seem robust to me.” She gave him a little squeeze, trailing her fingertips on the supersensitive underside. His stomach muscles quivered in avid response, making a thrill of triumph bolt through her. “Impressively robust. But if you’re doubting yourself...”
“No, you don’t.” He caught her hand even as she made to retreat, something she never would have done anyway. The ferocious delight she could see in his expression was something she’d do anything to keep in place. “No woman has ever been more tempting or tempestuous than you. I can’t help but give in, every time.”
“Is it really about giving in?”
“No. It’s about trusting you with everything I am.” He closed his eyes, his head tilting back as he guided her hand to stroke him from heavy base to desire-darkened tip in a steady rhythm that matched his breathing. “Take me. Take me into you. Take my soul. Take everything. I’m yours and I know it.”
A lush unfurling of emotion sapped her strength even as it filled her with light. With that confession he gave her a most precious gift, the gift of his trust, and everything feminine in her wanted to reward him for it. She sank to her knees, her free hand slidin
g past his hip to mold the taut curve of his buttocks in her hand while she flicked her tongue over the now-glistening tip of his sex. His salty flavor spurred her on, and she leaned forward to envelop him in the warm suction of her mouth.
A sound of near agony burst from him, as if he were being tortured, and it thrilled her like a physical caress. Wet heat flowed from her innermost place, her intimate flesh pulsing so hard it was in itself a faint stimulation. She squeezed her thighs together, tightening muscles that were already tensed with arousal, until the throbbing became sweetly excruciating. She stroked him with her hand and mouth in time with her own fevered heartbeat, small releases of near-ecstasy making it impossible for her to hold still. She felt him throb against her tongue, his thrusts into her growing deeper, more wild, and ragged moans hissing from him pushed her own body to the breaking point. His pleasure was an addiction, and each sound she dragged out of him fed her habit. It drove her into a euphoric sort of madness, knowing he’d placed himself utterly at her mercy and trusted her to take care of all his needs. When he began to shudder, her body did the same, so shockingly close to climax that it made her gasp.
That seemed to be a signal for him. With jerky movements he dragged his wallet out of his pocket to retrieve protection, slid in place and jerked her up onto the counter. Hands frantic, he stripped her out of her jeans, and with her panties still hanging off one foot he shoved into her. She was already slick and ready, and to have her emptiness filled so abruptly her body convulsed with the rapture that had been building to a fever pitch. Her head flung back with the force of it, pushing her hips against him in a blind quest for more, opening her legs as wide as they would go to bring him into her. Her cries of mindless joy were soon joined with his, and as he emptied himself into her, she could almost believe they could be joined like this forever.