* * *
Dressed in her lacy pink nightgown, Vivian sat on the edge of the bed. The house was quiet. Kyle had gone up to his room, probably to do things she’d resolved not to think about. Hunter had gone out to check on a colicky mare that the vet had treated earlier. But he’d be back soon. And he’d take out his frustrations on her, in bed.
At least for now, she had an interlude of peace and quiet—time to calm her screaming nerves, time to think about Will and to mourn what could never be.
Strange, she felt closer to him now than she had when he was alive. It was almost as if she could feel his spirit near to her, giving her comfort, even returning her love.
She had kept the pages she’d written about their make-believe affair. They were safely hidden in a plain manila envelope that she’d slipped between the king-sized mattress and the box springs, as far under as she could reach. Hunter would never have a reason to look there.
The news of Will’s murder had rocked her world and banished her hope of anything real between them. But it hadn’t stopped her from loving him. She had hidden the pages before his death and hadn’t looked at them since. But she would keep them always. Maybe, in her memory, what had been make-believe would become real.
The urge to read those pages again, imagining herself in Will’s arms, was almost unbearable. Maybe, just for a moment . . . But no. Hunter was due back soon. She couldn’t risk the danger of discovery. As unloving as he was, he was very possessive of her. He had even threatened to kill her if she ever cheated on him. Better safe than sorry.
Good advice, she told herself as she heard the front door open and close. As Hunter’s footsteps approached the bedroom door, she slipped beneath the covers, lay back on the pillow, and prepared herself for what she knew would be more like punishment than lovemaking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ERIN LAY IN BED, STARING UP INTO THE DARKNESS. THE GLOWING numbers on her bedside clock read 1:45. She’d been trying to sleep for almost three hours. But it was no use. Even though she was physically and emotionally exhausted, the thoughts in her head, swirling and clashing like the winds of a tornado, refused to let her rest.
All nerves and movement, she sat up and swung her legs to the floor. The house was quiet. Beau was asleep in his old room. He would be flying back to DC after Will’s funeral. For now, Rose had moved into the old housekeeper’s quarters off the kitchen. Soon she’d be going home as well, to prepare for the permanent move to her land on the creek. Then, except for Carmen coming in to work, Erin would be alone in the house, maybe for a long time to come.
But it was the thought of Luke that was keeping her awake. The terror, the worry, the burning love that filled every part of her. How much longer would he be in her life? How would he bear it if he lost his freedom for something he hadn’t done? And how would she live if she lost him?
Dressed in the oversized cotton tee she wore as a nightshirt, she thrust her feet into leather slippers and wandered out onto the porch. The night was warm and clear, the stars a spill of diamond points across the ink-black sky. Insects hummed in the darkness. A coyote call, echoing from the foothills, touched her heart with melancholy.
Luke’s rig was parked outside the duplex. The windows were dark. Was he sleeping after a long day of working in the heat, or was he awake and restless, just as she was, fearing what the next day would bring?
Now that the sheriff had concluded that Will’s murder and Roy’s weren’t committed by the same person, Luke was almost sure to be arrested and jailed again. It was only a question of when. For all she knew, it could be as soon as tomorrow.
The next few hours could be all the time they had left.
Suddenly she was moving, crossing the porch, hurrying down the steps, keeping close against the house where, she knew, her movements wouldn’t trigger the security light. Luke had told her to keep away from him. But a wall of fire couldn’t have stopped her now. She had to go to him—to offer him the one gift she had to give, and to hold the memory of that giving forever.
The night breeze fluttered the thin shirt against her body. She felt its soft warmth on her skin and thought of Luke, touching her, loving her. In the quiet darkness, she could hear her own beating heart.
She passed the shelter of the house and crossed the open ground. The moon and stars lent enough light for her to see Henry, hunting in the backyard. She left him in peace and moved on.
As she mounted the front porch of the duplex, a shiver of doubt swept over her. What if he wasn’t here? What if she offered herself and he sent her away like a naughty child being banished to her room? What if he’d met some woman in town and called her, and . . .
Stop it!
Summoning her courage, she tried the doorknob. The door was locked.
She rapped lightly on the wood, once, then again. Agonizing seconds passed before she heard a stirring inside, the faint creak of floorboards, the metallic click of a sliding lock. The door opened cautiously at first, then swung inward. Luke stood framed in the doorway, his hips wrapped by a hastily grabbed towel, which he clutched with one hand.
There was no need for questions. An unspoken understanding flowed between them as they faced each other in the darkness. With his free hand, he pulled her inside, closed the door and locked it before gathering her close. “Damn it, Erin,” he whispered, his mouth brushing her forehead. “This isn’t the way I wanted it to happen.”
“It doesn’t matter. I just want it to happen.” She kissed him, her lips parting and softening against his. His body smelled of clean soap and felt like rough velvet through her thin shirt. Her trembling fingers reached down for the hand that held the towel around his hips and pulled it free. The towel caught between them for an instant, then dropped to the floor. He stood naked in her arms, his erection jutting hard against her belly. There was no fear in her, only wonder, desire, and a sureness that, whatever might happen in the days ahead, she was meant to be his.
He kissed her, tongue probing deep, igniting heat, hands raising the hem of her shirt to clasp her buttocks and pull her against him. Need rose in her, hot and hungry and raw. Her body molded to his, thrusting against the sweet contact that sent pleasure rippling through every part of her. She shuddered with the first release. Then, sensing that there was even more where that came from, she pushed again.
Luke groaned. “I think we’re in the wrong place for this,” he muttered, sweeping her to the bed.
By the time he lowered her to the pillow, Erin’s shirt was gone. She lay looking up at him in the faint moonlight that filtered through the blinds, loving the sight of him as he leaned over her—the muscular shoulders and arms, the mat of black hair that narrowed below his chest to trail down his belly, and most of all his face, his expression blending love, tenderness, and anguish. Neither of them spoke of it, but he knew, as she did, that if things went wrong, this could be their last night together.
Raising a hand, she ran her fingers down his cheek. He turned his head and kissed them, then bent to nuzzle her small, firm breasts. Taking his time, he nibbled and sucked each nipple to an aching nub. She gasped with pleasure as each small tug deepened the pain of wanting him inside her. Luke was an experienced lover—that was a given. It would be like him to prolong her first time, heightening her pleasure and making sure she was ready. But the urge
to give herself was more than she could hold back. She thrust her hips against him, needing, demanding.