Chapter Twenty-Three
TWENTY-THREE
THE first drops hit the ground with fat plops, and Kirby quickened her pace.
The search group she’d joined had parted ways at the fork of the path.
She’d chosen the route to Sanctuary, and now she shivered a bit as the rain fell through the overhanging limbs and vines to soak her shirt.
By the time she reached the verge it was coming down hard, wind-whipped and surprisingly cold.
She saw Brian, hatless, shoulders hunched, trooping up the road to her right.
She met him on the edge of the east terrace. Saying nothing, he took her hand and pulled her onto the screened porch. For a moment they simply stood dripping as lightning stabbed the sky in pitchforks and thunder boomed in answer.
“No word?” Kirby shifted her medical bag from hand to hand.
“Nothing. I just came over from the west side. Giff has a group that took the north.” Weary, Brian rubbed his hands over his face. “This is getting to be a habit.”
“It’s been more than twelve hours since she was seen.” Kirby looked out into the driving rain. “That’s too long. They’ll have to call off the search until the storm passes. God, Brian, we’re going to find her washed up after this. It’s about the only explanation left. Her poor husband.”
“There’s nothing to do now but wait it out. You need a dry shirt and some coffee.”
“Yeah.” She dragged her wet hair away from her face. “I do. I’ll take a look at your hand while I’m here and redress it for you.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’ll decide that,” she said, following him in, “after I take a look.”
“Suit yourself. Go on up and get something out of Jo’s closet.”
The house seemed so quiet, isolated in the violent rain. “Is she here?”
“As far as I know, she’s out too.” He went to the freezer, took out some black bean soup he’d made weeks before. “She’ll take shelter, like everybody else.”
When Kirby came back fifteen minutes later, the kitchen smelled of coffee and simmering soup. The warmth eased away the last of the tension in her shoulders. Leaning against the doorway a moment, she indulged herself by watching him work.
Despite his bandaged hand, he was neatly slicing thick slabs from a loaf of brown bread he’d undoubtedly baked himself.
His wet shirt clung to him, displaying an attractive outline of muscle and rib.
When he looked over at her, his eyes were a cool, misty blue that made her stomach flutter pleasantly.
“It smells wonderful.”
“Figured you hadn’t eaten.”
“No, I haven’t—not since a stale Danish this morning.” She held out the shirt she’d taken from his closet. “Here, put this on. You shouldn’t stand around in wet clothes.”
“Thanks.” He noted that she’d changed into some of Jo’s dull gray sweats. They bagged on her and made her seem all the more delicate. “You look lost in those.”
“Well, Jo’s a good six inches taller than I am.
” She lifted a brow as he tugged the wet shirt off over his head.
His skin was damp and brown and smooth. “God, you’re attractive, Brian.
” She laughed when his brows drew together in what was obviously confused embarrassment.
“I get to appreciate your wonderful build on two levels, as a doctor and as a woman. Better put that shirt on, or I might lose control, on both counts.”
“That could be interesting.” Letting the shirt dangle from his fingers, he stepped toward her. “Which would come first?”
“I never let personal leanings interfere with professional obligations.” She trailed a finger up his arm, then down to his wrist. “Which is why I’m going to examine that wound first thing.”
“And second thing?” Before she could answer, he cupped his hands under her elbows and lifted her. When their mouths were level, he leaned forward to toy with her lips.
“Excellent upper body strength.” Her voice was just a little breathless as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Your pulse is a little elevated,” she murmured, checking the one at his throat with her mouth. “Just a little fast.”
“I’ve got a case on you, Doc Kirby.” Brian turned his face into her hair. It smelled of rain and lemons. “It doesn’t seem to be passing. Fact is, I’m starting to think it’s terminal.” When she went very still, he shifted her until he could see her eyes. “What do you want from me, Kirby?”
“I thought I knew.” Her fingers tingled when she skimmed them over his face. “I’m not sure anymore. Maybe whatever case you’ve got is contagious. Do you have this ache around your heart?”
“Just like it’s being squeezed.”
“And this lifting and sinking sensation in your stomach?”
“All the time lately. So what’s wrong with us, Doc?”
“I’m not sure, but—” She broke off as the screen door slammed. Voices rose and invaded the kitchen. Sighing, Kirby laid her brow against Brian’s until he shifted her hips and set her down.
“Sounds like Lexy and Giff are back.” He kept his eyes on Kirby. “Some of the others are likely with them, and they’ll be looking for a hot meal.”
“Then I’ll help you dish up some soup.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He lifted the lid on the pot, letting steam and scent escape. “We’re going to have to finish this conversation sometime or other.”
“Yes, we are.” She opened a cupboard to get bowls. “Sometime or other.”
* * *
FROM Nathan’s porch, Jo watched the rain and smoked restlessly.
He’d tried the television when they came in, hoping for a weather report.
The cable was already out, so they settled for the radio.
Static hissed out, along with the announcer’s listings of small-craft advisories and flash-flood warnings.
They’d lose power if it kept up much longer, she thought. And the ponds and rivers would certainly flood. Already she could see puddles forming and deepening.
“No word yet.” Nathan joined her on the porch. “Some of the search party’s taken shelter at Sanctuary to wait this out.” He laid a towel over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. Why don’t you come inside?”
“I like to watch.” Lightning stabbed the sky and sent an answering jolt into her stomach.
“Quick squalls like this are hell to be out in, but they’re exciting from the right vantage point.
” She took a deep breath when the sky went hot and white.
The sting of ozone lingered on the air. “Where’s your camera? I took mine back home.”
“In the bedroom. I’ll get it for you.”
Impatient, she stabbed out her cigarette in a broken shell. Too much energy, she thought. It was pumping through her, pounding at her. She all but snatched the camera from Nathan when he brought it out. “What kind of film do you have in here?”
“Four hundred,” he said quietly, watching as she quickly examined it.
“Good. That’s fast. I want fast.” She lifted, aimed at the rain-lashed trees, the swinging moss.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, then snapped with the next burst of lightning.
“Another, I want another.” Thunder rattled the air as she changed angles, her finger as itchy as if it were on the trigger of a gun.
“I need to get down, shoot up at that tree.”
“No.” Nathan bent to pick up the towel that had fallen from her shoulders. The overhang offered little protection. The two of them were rapidly getting soaked. “You’re not going out there. You don’t know where or when we could have a lightning strike.”
“That’s half of it, isn’t it? The not knowing.
The not caring.” She tossed back her head.
Recklessness streaked through her, glowed dangerously in her eyes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with you, or when I might get hit next.
I don’t seem to care. How much are you going to hurt me, Nathan, and how long will it take me to get over it?
And how long before one of us does something cruel, indifferent, or foolish? ”
Before he could speak, she grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. “I don’t care.” She dug her teeth into his lip.
“You need to care.” Enraged with fate, he caught her face in his hands, pulled her back. His eyes were as dark and violent as the storm whipping the air. “I want you to understand that when I do hurt you, I won’t have a choice.”
“I don’t care,” she repeated, pulling his mouth back to hers. “I only want now. Right now. I want you. I don’t want to think, I don’t want either of us to think. I just want to feel.”
His mind was already hazed as they stumbled through the door. She bobbled the camera, laughing and moaning as he tore at her shirt. “Fast,” she managed. “I still want fast.”
He tumbled with her to the floor, and the camera thudded lightly on the carpet as they ripped off clothes and shoes.
Her hands were tangled in her shirt when he thrust inside her.
She grappled to free them, the momentary thrill of being helpless and bound adding another layer of excitement.
Then she was free, and her fingers dug into his hips to urge him to drive deeper, and harder.
He couldn’t stop himself, and let the speed, the heat, the fury of mating rule them both. If her need was frantic, his was desperate. To take her, to have her, to keep her. One more day, one more hour. A dozen lifetimes.
If his punishment for his father’s sin was to fall in love, so terribly in love, and lose, he would take every moment he could steal before payment came due.
She cried out in grateful relief when the orgasm stabbed through her. His body plunged violently in hers, then stilled. His breath was ragged as he pushed himself back to stare down at her. “Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
“Fast, and heartless.”
“Yes.”
His hand closed in a fist. It was exactly what he’d given her. “Do you think it’s going to stop at that?”
She closed her eyes briefly, then willed herself to open them. “No.”