Irresistible Stranger (9 page)

“Me, too.”

“So I think it would be a good idea to do something that erases all that trouble and stress from our minds.”

He did, too. He'd even had seducing her in mind, if not tonight, then imminently soon. He just didn't expect…well. His wholesome, fresh-faced teacher was skidding strokes down his chest, through wet hair, over appendix scar, past navel, down, right into his trunks. Her slim hand found him, painted agony down the length of him
with her fingertip, then closed around him. Tight. Snug. Owning him.

“Why,” he murmured, “am I worried right now?”

“Because I'm a very scary woman? A woman who's about to take away all your choices. All your stress. All your responsibility. It's going to be hard for you to deal with it.”

“It's already hard.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” The smile she shot him wasn't Lily's. The arch of her brow, the sneaky smile, then the way she slipped the bathing suit straps off her shoulders—this wasn't a woman he could trust. This wasn't anyone he'd let into his life before. This was a woman who could start fires in a man that, just maybe, no one in heaven or hell could put out.

“Lily—”

“Uh-uh. No talking. I like talking to you. I even love talking to you. But right now, this isn't about you, Griff. It's about me. This is the summer when I get to stand up and take what's mine.” She lifted her head just after taking a small nip out of shoulder. “You don't have to be mine next year or next week or tomorrow. Just right now.”

Okay, okay. He knew she was talking big. It wasn't her normal nature to do one-nighters, to throw all caution to the wind, to not give a damn about consequences. And although he wasn't exactly infamous for mentioning consequences to a woman he wanted, he invariably took care of things so there weren't any. Right now, though, they were in the hot tub, and if anything was supposed
to happen or going to happen, he assumed it'd happen in the bedroom, where he had protection.

Where he had control, for that matter.

Right then, he could have used some control.

Somewhere a phone rang. Somehow she coaxed him out of the water, onto the flat deck surface, where their wet, slick bodies cleaved from chest to thigh, belly to belly, lips to lips. At some time, the sky had lost all color, gone silky black and dangerously concealing. And his blood seemed to be pumping from a hot, dark well.

He couldn't catch his breath. It was the woman who was supposed to feel that way, not the guy. Sure as hell, not a guy like him, who'd enjoyed women from the day he was born—so the problem was her. The difference was her.

The danger was her.

She kissed. Rubbed. Danced against him with her breasts, her pelvis, the hum in the back of her throat. She reached something…lonely inside of him. Something needy and sharp. Something beyond sex and pleasure.

The deck was hard; he shifted so his weight wasn't driving her into that bruising surface. It was just a matter of twisting them around, but he heard her guttural laugh when she climbed on top. It was a chuckle of power. Maniacal female power.

Yet he saw the innocence in her face. The flush of shock and pleasure when he tightened his hips, stroked upward with infinite care until she was seated tight on him. Then came the ride, unlike any other. Her eyes turned soft and lost, focusing on him, only on him.

You'd think she'd never done this.

You'd think he hadn't. He sure as hell couldn't remember anything like this, ever, not the need—clawing with feral desperation. Not the emotional connect—like he'd die if he couldn't have her, couldn't be with her, like this, forever. Not the scalping blade of pleasure—ripping through him, tearing fast, shredding any knowledge he'd had of release in the past.

He called her name.

She called his right back.

Yearning swept over him like a tidal wave—her scent, her sounds, her taste, her textures, sending him into an uncontrollable tumble of sensation. She rode that wave with him, rocketing them both on the same shore of wildly intense release.

When it was finally over he closed his eyes, aware he was breathing like a freight train, loud and heavy. Maybe he could move for a tornado, but he doubted it.

His hands moved before the rest of him. His hands instinctively started making long, slow, soothing strokes on the body on top of him. Lily was draped all over him.

“Are either of us alive?” he murmured.

“Oh, I am. And I don't know why I ever bothered having sex before you. Why didn't you tell me it could be this good?”

“Because I didn't know you? Because I didn't know it could be this good either?”

“Yeah, right. I'll bet you tell that to all the girls.”

“I've never told anyone that. Ever.” Which was true. And should have been enough to scare the socks off him.
Whatever was happening with Lily scaled mountains he'd never before climbed.

“Hey, weren't you paying attention? I just seduced you. And personally, I think I did a fabulous job of it.”

“You sound mighty smug.”

“I feel mighty smug.”

“You should. You were the sexiest, most extraordinary lover I've ever imagined or dreamed of.”

She gave him a smile, but she pushed off his chest faster than lightning. “Okay. This being sweet to each other has gone on long enough.”

He didn't think so. She was up in a sudden flash, with a smack and a laugh and a race for the shower, making major noises about what an exhausting day he'd had, so she was headed back to the B and B so he could get some real rest. Griff felt as if he'd been doused with cold water.

Lily was totally fine. Funny. Warm. It was just…mountains had just moved, so how come she hadn't noticed? Why wasn't she guiding conversation toward “what it all meant”, and what should happen next, what she wanted, what he wanted, all that female talk that always—
always
—followed making love.

The truth was, he
wanted
that chatter. He never had before, but he did now.

As fast as she climbed out of the shower, he started trailing after her, trying to talk her out of going back to the B and B. “Why can't you just stay here?”

“Because, first off, I don't have any fresh clothes. More important, you're starting your day tomorrow with a lot to do related to your fire and your ice-cream
business and all. And third, you had a seriously awful day today, and you really need sleep. You think you'll sleep if I'm here?”

“I don't want to sleep.” He heard the plaintive boy tone in his voice, but hell. Why did he have to be mature all the time? “We could just sleep,” he promised.

She just looked at him—en route to the car. By then, the dishes were done, the towels all hung up, the cover back on the hot tub. It was irritating that she took better care of his stuff than he did. And he was still shadowing her heels like a lovesick puppy.

In the car, she finally got around to mentioning what was wrong. “Griff,” she said softly, “I feel responsible.”

“For what?”

“For the fire at your ice-cream place.”

“Huh? Did you forget something? You were with me. There's no way in hell you could be responsible, sugar.”

“Maybe not technically. But this was the second fire since I came home. Of course I didn't set them. But they both have a personal link to me. The first, because it was the mill. And the second could be—I'm mighty scared—because you've taken me on publically as a friend. Which makes me feel guiltier than a Judas. I don't know why there's a link to me, but there seems to be. And sheesh, I'm miserably, miserably sorry—”

Because it only took two stupid shakes to get to her B and B, he was stuck pulling in the drive. Louella had left the porch light on, undoubtedly for Lily. Moths were dancing in the light. Heat seeped in the shadows. Cicadas
were singing from every bush. He walked her to the bottom of the wide old veranda, and when she wouldn't let up on how guilty she felt, he just swung her in his arms. He kissed her.

Then kissed her again.

Then kissed her again.

Then just wrapped his arms around her and held on. He felt her silky hair against his cheek and neck, inhaled the warmth and smallness and sweetness of her. There was the oddest intimacy in just…holding. He could feel the shape of her breasts beneath the sundress, had an absolute, clear recollection of the breasts he'd laved with his tongue, their plumpness, the taste, how she'd arched her back with a cry at a certain, tiny bite. All those fresh memories came on lush in his head. Everything about her naked body, how he'd felt inside her. How she'd—

“Griff? Are you falling asleep up there?” She lifted her head, smiled at him from the shadows.

“I just don't want to leave you.” There'd never been a simpler truth.

“I'll see you tomorrow. Or the first moment you have time. But right now, go home, get some serious rest. That's an order.”

“Lily.” He said her name, heard the promise and wonder in his voice. He wanted to tell her he'd fallen in love, but he could see from her expression, her eyes, that she wouldn't believe him. Not now. Not yet. So he just left it like that, with her name spoken into the night air. He pressed his lips to her brow, and then climbed into his EOS and drove back home.

 

On the quiet road, the windows open to feel fresh wind on his face, he thought about what she'd said. Lily had no factual basis to believe the two recent fires were linked to her—but he believed the same. Something was wrong. Badly wrong.

People were whispering about Lily, had been from the moment she arrived, and the gossip had taken an extra-dark turn that day. It stopped when he'd turned his head or turned around, but he'd heard tail ends of it through the daylight hours—that “someone” had said how Lily was “like her dad”. That fire setting was “in the blood”.

It was completely ridiculous.

Besides which, it was completely wrong.

But someone—or a bunch of someones—was putting that talk out there. It was being said, being spread.

He wanted to ignore it, but it was starting to scare him.

 

Lily tiptoed into the B and B, slipped off her sandals, and trying not to breathe, or make any other sound, she hustled up the carpeted steps. Before she reached the top, she heard Louella call from below. “That you, Lily?”

“Yes, it's me.”

“So you're home safe.”

“You bet.”

“Then I'm going to turn off the lights and lock up good. I don't like what's happening around this town, I don't. Can't understand a…” Her voice trailed down the
shadowed hall, making Lily wonder if Louella actually talked 24-7, whether someone was there or not.

But her smile faded as she unlocked her room and slipped inside. The first time she'd seen the room, she'd loved it on sight. The mahogany four-poster, with its mound of soft, white pillows, was the-real-thing comfortable. Lace draped the long, skinny windows. Apparently like other houses this old, the bedroom had a sink against one wall, marble, gorgeous even if the mirror above it was cracked. She loved the room every time she walked in.

But right now, it was the last place in the universe she wanted to be.

She turned on the wheezy fan, shucked her clothes, switched off the light and crashed on the old percale sheets. She wanted to be with Griff, not here. The need to be with him bubbled up like a cry in her heart, a yearning coming from somewhere deep inside. Nothing like their lovemaking had ever happened to her before. It wasn't the sex.

Okay. It
was
a little bit about the stupendous sex.

But it was the other part that was even more stupendous—and dangerous. She'd felt so…
connected
to him. She hadn't let herself feel connected to anyone or anything, not deeply, since her family was torn apart after the fire. The losses had been too unbearable. Yet something about Griff reached her. He was alone the same way she was. She kept having the sense of her hand reaching his across a universe, finding the only other soul who might just understand her kind of loneliness.

She closed her eyes. Tried to sleep. When that failed,
she tried pacing the room in the dark. Then she tried brushing her hair, standing in front of the fan. When she still wasn't ready to sleep, she switched on the bedside lamp and turned on her laptop. She wasn't about to call her youngest sister in the middle of the night; she just sent her a short email, asking for a connect when Sophie had a chance.

Somewhere around four in the morning, Lily's body finally caved. She closed up, turned off, and tuned out. She'd just shut her eyes when her cell phone vibrated.

Sophie's voice was wide awake. “I've been worried to bits about you.”

“What on
earth
are you doing up?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it seems to be a newlywed thing. We start talking and can't stop. Mess around, fall asleep, start talking again. This love thing is exhausting. Now. Forget me. Fill me in.”

Lily peeled out the whole story of her meeting with Mr. Renbarcker. The fires. How she'd come home to find out once and for all what caused their family fire, and hopefully to clear their dad's name. And she was finding answers, but those answers just seemed to lead to more troubling questions.

“The only truly wonderful thing so far, was talking with Mr. Renbarcker. Everything he said reminded me of dad. How dad was so happy. I remember him laughing, playing with us, being with us. The way his arm would loop around mom when we were all watching TV or walking in the park.”

Sophie picked up that thought. “I could never believe
it, either. That dad could have caused that fire. But I didn't know if all of us were in denial.”

“That's just it. Why I had to come back. I need to know the whole truth, whatever it is.”

“Which is fine,” her baby sister said. “Only, if you're finding out things that are making you afraid, I want you to get out of Dodge.”