Tempest in Eden

A satisfied male growl rumbled in his throat as his mouth worked its way up to hers. Their lips met. For a long moment they were still. Their lips were closed as they pressed together. That was enough. But not for long.

At the same instant, ravenous hunger overcame them. Their mouths opened greedily, seeking to appease and to be appeased at one and the same time. His tongue plunged deeply into the soft recess of her mouth to thoroughly explore and investigate. It toyed with the tip of hers. When it tired of playing, it thrust again boldly into the wet, silky harbor of her mouth.

His hand on her breast became more possessive and much more arrogant in its caress. He fondled the smooth plumpness and rubbed his fingers against the delicate peak. Her nipple firmed to a hard bud of awakened passion between his gently squeezing fingers.

Shay purred her contentment, drew her arm more tightly around his neck, and pressed her knee higher, which acquainted them both to the strength of his desire. She moaned with longing and arched closer to the rigid flesh.

His eyes sprang open, and he froze.

He stared at her in horror and incredulity as she sleepily opened her eyes and smiled at him. For an endless span of time, while the seconds ticked by ponderously, he only stared at her, wide-eyed and still.

Then in one swift motion he pushed away from her and rolled off the bed. The sheet became entangled in his legs, and he kicked at it furiously. It came off her body, leaving her lying there completely exposed to his glazed eyes. She was disoriented by his sudden motion and couldn't yet understand what had happened.

"What—?" He looked around him wildly as though trying to establish where he was.

Shay loved the sight of his magnificent body and the mussed unruliness of his black hair, but she wished he wouldn't shout. She had a pounding headache and a burning, sour sensation in the pit of her stomach. Groggily she sat up, raising a hand to her head in an effort to stop

the blinding pain.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in a shout that might just as well have been crashing cymbals in her head.

With bleary eyes that refused to focus clearly, she looked up at him. "Sleeping. Until you started kissing me." She held out a beseeching hand. "And please don't shout."

"I wasn't shouting. Do you think I want to wake everyone up? And I wasn't kissing you."

"Oh, yes, you were," she insisted, smiling up at him. At least she thought she was smiling. She seemed to have little control over her muscles. Lord, her head hurt. And why was it so bright in there? "Would you please draw the curtains clo—"

"I wasn't kissing you," he repeated, pushing each word through his teeth. "That is, I didn't know I was. I was dreaming and you … you…" His words faded to an agonized moan as he turned away and covered his face with his hands. That his eyes hadn't been able to stay off her reclining form was reason enough for the conflict inside him. "I can't believe this."

She closed her eyes against each blasting word that seemed to splinter into her ears straight to her brain.

She wanted to scream at him, but all her vocal cords could manage was a hoarse croak. "Nothing happened. You're getting angry all over again for no reason."

When he spun back around, he was almost snarling. "Angry! I could easily murder you." He ripped the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, knotting it clumsily.

She bolted off the bed, heedless of her own nakedness and sparked to life by his indignation. "Why?"

"Why?! Why?" He was shouting now. "You compromised everything I stand for, that's why. Only an easy tramp climbs in bed with a man, especially with a man who's given her no encouragement."

Without thinking, she swung her arm wide, and her palm cracked against his cheek. At that moment the door opened behind them. "Is something wro—?" Celia's concerned question died on her lips. Her eyes bounced from her naked daughter crouched over the bed as if she were about to be sick to the enraged minister who was also naked save for a sheet wrapped around him and Shay's red handprint on his cheek. Celia gave a choked gasp and pressed trembling fingers to her chalky lips.

Ian lunged toward Shay, grabbed the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around her. But his strong arms were too great a temptation to her weakened body and whirling mind: Despite the insulting, inaccurate name he had called her, she slumped against him, clutching at the sheet around his waist to maintain her balance.

At that moment, John arrived in the doorway, pulling his robe on over his pajamas. He stared at the scene before him in mute astonishment.

"Dad—" Ian began.

"Son, how could you?"

"Please don't shout," Shay mumbled miserably.

"I didn't do anything," Ian retorted. "She did." He thrust Shay away from him and, when she swayed drunkenly, forced her down on the side of the bed. The impact sent a jolt of pain up her spine to explode out the top of her head. She groaned in agony. "She was in bed with me this morning when I woke up."

Celia hiccuped a sob and buried her face in her hands. "Celia, I swear to you," Ian said earnestly, "that I didn't do anything improper with your daughter."

His placating words pierced through Shay's dazed mind, and she snapped her head erect. "Well, it wasn't because you didn't want to, pastor." She lurched to her feet. "Whether you admit it or not, you were kissing me." She stopped to swallow and shuddered with nausea.

The room was spinning around her. Ian's blue eyes were hard with accusation as he glared down at her. "Your hands were all over me. You kissed—" She tried again to tell him in no uncertain terms just what she thought of him, but nausea rose in a sickening wave. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the bathroom and slam the door behind her.