Murder at Sunrise Lake

Stella hugged her knees to her as the egg chair swung lightly. The moonlight spilled over the lake, highlighting the surface so that it appeared to gleam like glass. The night could have been peaceful had the music from the two cabins not been blasting loud. The conversation would swell, riotous laughter would bounce across the water to her porch and then the sound would be muffled, as if the partiers had gone inside, or closed the doors for a moment.

Sam leaned on the railing, arms across his chest, legs stretched out, looking relaxed when she knew he was aware of everything around him. Maybe that was what made her feel safe. Bailey pressed close to him. From the very beginning Bailey had accepted him, and her dog accepted few people as family.

“As for the two of us and what we’re building together, I hope we’re on the same page. I want a future with you in any capacity I can get it.”

Stella’s stomach settled nicely. Denver had been drinking when he’d given his theory about ghosts and Sam. He didn’t usually drink that much, and it hadn’t stopped him from being his usual friendly self with Sam the moment the two of them had to confront Sean and Bale when they were hurling insults at Shabina on the dance floor. Denver seemed to forget all about his dire warnings after that.

On the other hand, what had Raine said? Raine wasn’t given to fantasies, but then she hadn’t actually said Sam was one of those people or that the government was looking for him. She had said it was more likely he had enemies looking for him, enemies made while working for the government. That did make sense.

“You don’t mind being with a woman who occasionally might suddenly have nightmares and tell you there’s a serial killer on the loose?” She tried to make light of it, but there was a sudden lump in her throat and her stomach hurt like hell. Raine thought Sam might have enemies, but she wasn’t any prize. She would always have the curse of knowing if a killer was too close.

Sam moved then, in that slow, fluid way he had, straightening from the railing, covering the scant few feet separating them to stand with his legs right up against the egg chair so that all movement ceased. He bent down, framing her face with his large hands, looking her right in the eye. “I told you, Stella, and I meant it. I’ll take you any way I can get you. You accept me the way I am. It doesn’t bother you that I’m a little broken myself. You don’t need me to talk all the time. You just let me be. That’s a rare gift. You’re a rare gift.”

His thumb slid over her lower lip, a barely there caress, but it was intense and intimate, just like every touch with Sam. Maybe she fell so hard for him because Sam knew who she really was, not the mask she hid behind, that person she’d created. He knew all of her, even the panicky, ugly parts, and he seemed to accept those in her.

She didn’t know who leaned first. It could have been her. He was that compelling. The next thing she knew, she was on her feet, her body tight against his, her mouth welded to his, his hand on the back of her head, holding her still while fire flared bright and hot and out of control.

No one had ever kissed her like Sam. The world disappeared and the only anchor she had was her fists clutching his shirt. There was something beautiful and surreal that went with that rush of fire, every nerve ending in her body responding to him, coming alive for him. She was alive. The real Stella. Little sparks of electricity seemed to leap all over her skin to arc over his and jump back to her. She felt the pull of him. The way her body went boneless and she seemed to melt into him because the fire had gone that hot.

Sam lifted his head first, his arms steadying her. “Let’s take this inside before we can’t stop, Stella.”

She wasn’t altogether certain she could walk on her wobbly legs, but then she didn’t need to. He just swept her up easily, cradled her against his chest and carried her inside. Stella wasn’t certain if she actually floated into the bedroom or he really carried her, but she did know there was a fire roaring in the pit of her stomach and molten lava rushing through her veins by the time he set her down. Her hands were desperately trying to find the hem of his T-shirt to pull it off him. She needed skin-to-skin contact. He was always so warm. Hot. A raging fire to match the one inside her.