When Lightning Strikes

"You sit down."

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved closer to him. Through the cool water, he felt the heat of her leg. In a quick movement, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him.

She gasped and started to pull away.

"Don't," he whispered.

She froze.

He sat perfectly still, waiting, smiling.

She didn't move, just sat there, straddling him, her knees in the dirt, water streaming down the sides of her

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face, breathing quickly. Then, slowly, she glanced down at him.

The look in her eyes almost stopped his heart. She was leaning slightly backward, a curly lock of black hair blocking one eye. The other was fixed on him, and he could have lost himself in the dazzling gold and green and gray lights of her eyes. He saw more in that instant than he'd seen altogether before this moment. He saw the dark, rich lashes that ringed her eyes and the tiny network of lines that bespoke long, lonely years in one so young. He saw pain and something else, something he hadn't seen in her eyes before and never expected to see.

It was almost desire.

Before this instant he wouldn't have recognized almost desire; it seemed a contradiction somehow, an impossibility. But now, looking up into Lainie's eyes, he saw exactly that. It was a look he hadn't seen in years?since the night he'd first taken Emily. The look of a woman who didn't know exactly what she wanted, but wanted it nonetheless.

The look of a virgin.

Sweet Jesus .. .

She leaned toward him slowly, and as she came close enough to feel his breath against her face, the desire faded from her eyes, turned almost to fear. Her breathing sped up. Her fingers tightened around his. She shifted her weight, and the movement of her nearly naked body against his sent a thousand shards of sensation shooting to his groin. He felt himself swell, strain against the soaked, twisted fabric of his drawers.

When she was but a hair from him, she puckered her lips and closed her eyes.

The kiss was quick and chaste and over almost before it had begun.

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She pulled back quickly and let out a shaky, laughing breath. "Nothing," she said with a broadening smile. "No fireworks or shooting stars. Nothing. I didn't feel anything at all. I guess it wasn't lust after all. Phew."

She grinned suddenly, then bit down on her lower lip, as if she were uncomfortable with the smile but unable to control it. The gesture made her look impossibly young and breathtakingly beautiful.

She shifted her weight, settling more heavily atop him. He could feel the hard, rounded curves of her bottom pressing into his lap, rousing him.

He groaned. She seemed completely oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking in his body.

She smiled down at him, eyes sparkling, teeth clamped down on her lower lip like a schoolgirl. Then she started talking, babbling about something.

He stared up at her, mesmerized. The water had softened her hair. Damp, glistening curls lay across her forehead and above her ears. Silver beads of water streaked down the sides of her face. Her hazel eyes were bright, unshadowed by the angry darkness that so often touched them, crinkled in the corners by her smile. Everything about her seemed suddenly softer.

It was the first time he'd seen her smile, he realized, and he was stunned by the transformation. She looked heartbreakingly young and innocent and lovely. And she had no idea how woefully inadequate that kiss had been.

He leaned toward her.

The steady stream of her dialogue dwindled into silence. A frown tugged at her thick eyebrows. She drew slightly backward. "What are you looking at?"

"You." He reached out; his fingers curled around her upper arms, squeezing gently, kneading the tender flesh.