Love Everlastin' Book 3 (13 page)

She looked at Roan's taut
profile, then noticed the lifted, trembling hand which held a long,
pale pink envelope. "What's wrong?"

It took a moment longer for
him to respond. To her surprise, he buried the envelope beneath the
pile on his lap.

"Nothin’," he said
distractedly, pretending to show more of an interest in the other
mail.

"Roan? I know you too
well."

His troubled eyes, appearing
more amber now in the direct gaslight across from him, met hers. He
sighed, "Ma sister."

Laura blinked in confusion.
"You never mentioned you had any family outside of
Aggie.

"Aye, and for a good
reason."

Lowering her parents' letter
to her lap, she reached out with her right hand and lovingly
brushed the backs of her fingers against his temple. "You're
looking a little pale, big guy. Why would getting a letter from
your sister upset you like this?"

"I'm no' upset. Just
surprised is all."

"Oh, really. Aren't you
going to read it?"

He shot her a heated look,
one that took her aback then he sighed again and separated the pink
envelope from the others. As if perturbed that Laura had put him on
the spot, he tore through the back of the envelope and removed two
pale pink pages filled with bold print that struck Laura as being
made on a laser printer. She remained silent while he quickly
skimmed over the pages, but jerked back when he harshly balled the
papers in his right hand and shot to his feet, the remaining mail
falling to the floor.

"Roan, what the hell is
going on?"

With a guttural cry of
anger, he flung the wadded letter across the room. "Baird House
made the news in the States," he said bitterly, turning to face
Laura and trenching the fingers of his hands through his thick
hair. "So, now it seems her parents are interested in wha' I'm up
to these days, and ma little sister is plannin’ to
visit!"

He sucked in a great breath
and placed balled hands on his hips. "Over ma dead body will any o'
them set foot in this house!"

Shaken by the depths of his
anger, Laura slowly rose to her feet. "Her parents?"

Roan's irises brightened
with barely suppressed fury. "Aye,
her
parents!" he growled, trembling.
"I disowned them when they abandoned me and Scotland for a better
life in the States! Six letters in twenty-one years is wha' I've
gotten from them!" He laughed bitterly. "Wha' few letters I've
gotten from Taryn were maistly a feeble attempt to lay a serious
guilt trip on me for preferrin’ to remain in Scotland wi'
Aggie!"

"I'm sorry," Laura murmured.
She wound her arms about his middle and pressed the left side of
her head against his chest.

His anger winding down, Roan
wrapped his arms around her warm body and kissed the top of her
head. "No, I'm sorry, Laura. I shouldn't be takin’ this ou' on
you."

She laughed softly. "You
weren't." She looked into his despondently masked face, then
reached up and poked him in the chin with a forefinger. "We've had
two surprises today. Everything comes in threes." She laughed. "I
wonder what's in store for us next."

A moment's panic shadowed
his handsome features, but this soon melted into a look of pure
mischief. "Weel," he said, grinning almost ludicrously, "perhaps
the third could be o' our own makin’, aye?" She squealed in
surprise when he swooped her up into his arms and playfully nuzzled
her neck. "Like some serious lovin’," he added, and carried her out
of the room.

C
hapter 5

It occurred to Winston that
he really didn't know anything about nature. Sitting on the ground
and casually braced against the white lattice work base of the
gazebo, he indulged his external senses' need to absorb everything
around him. The morning was resplendent with warm sunshine and he
delighted in its kiss against his skin. The sky was vivid blue and
cloudless. Every so often a bird soared above him and chirped in
greeting, to which he would smile and wave. Semi-circling him were
the colorful petals of the rose garden. He filled his entire being
with the sweet fragrance with each breath he drew in through his
nostrils. Colors, sights, and sounds, and the velvety softness of
the plucked purple and white petals he held atop each palm and
repeatedly stroked, offered him more comfort than he'd ever known
in his life.

Nature alone knew the secret
to taming the beast within a man. He was more at peace with himself
than he could ever remember. At peace and truly happy. And content.
He had never before taken the time to simply bask in a day as
though he didn't have a care in the world. It was a curious thing
to do, this nothing.

He wasn't sure how he'd
gotten to the garden. Briefly, he was disappointed that it wasn't
the one in the other dimension. He wondered about the woman—who
referred to herself as the house—and somehow knew he wouldn't be
returning to her world. He didn't know why and, surprisingly, he
didn't care.

While whiling away an
indefinite time, he discovered something else about nature. She had
a name. MoNae, short for Mother Nature. He'd spent some time
mentally conversing with her, not finding it at all strange that
she replied, or that she even possessed the ability to hold a
conversation. She was a complex presence. Gentle, yet strict.
Loving, yet determined to have her way when it came to her world.
Understanding, yet intolerant of the humans' inability and
reluctance to work with her, and not for the mere betterment of
what mankind sought. Over population and architectural developments
were gradually taking away her lands, narrowing the planet's
vegetation beds.

Not so far in the future,
she had cautioned, gardens will be shut-ins, relegated to walls,
floors and ceilings, and reduced to technological care rather than
my nurturing abilities.

Winston didn't know how to
respond to that.

A fat, sassy bumble bee
buzzed past his nose. He saw but a flash of yellow and black
stripes before it flew out of sight somewhere behind
him.

It was a glorious morning,
and he closed his eyes, a smile youthening his features. The
blackness and thickness of his long eyelashes stood out in stark
contrast against the light coloring of his cheeks. He was aware he
needed a shave, but didn't care. If he could spend more days like
this feeling so utterly relaxed, he told himself he could even
contemplate going back to work for the Shields Agency. He could do
anything as long as he had times like this in which he could escape
the realities of his life.

With his wrists atop his
raised knees, the petals on his palms exposed to the sunlight, he
remained blissfully appreciative of his aloneness in the
garden.

He sensed intrusion and
lifted his eyelids. At first he saw only a fake sea of flowers in
front of him then noticed hair the color of rich sable, gleaming in
the rays of the sun. His gaze lifted until he was forced to squint.
The petals dropped from his palms as he visored his eyes to better
see the face of the woman standing before him.

For but a brief moment, he
resented her presence, until she kneeled between his parted legs
and sat back against her heels. Winston lowered his hands, this
time cupping his knees with his palms, and steadily, deeply, looked
into the mesmerizing blue of Deliah's eyes.

"Good morning," he said,
forcing a smile to bypass his nervousness.

She didn't say a word, nod
her head, or even offer a thought in greeting. But her eyes told
him everything he needed to know at this particular, most peculiar
time. They smiled back at him, smiled from within depths of such
love and devotion, his heart beat erratically behind his chest. He
couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Couldn't bring himself to touch
the shiny strands of hair beckoning him to lose his fingers in the
promised softness.

He could do nothing more
than stare at her and wonder how anyone could outshine the sun.
Even the garden's beauty faded in comparison. She encompassed
nature. Encompassed everything beautiful and serene and right about
the world.

Winston drew in a shuddering
breath when she gracefully turned and sat on the ground, snuggling
her spine against him and reclining the back of her head to his
left shoulder. He closed his eyes and tightly gripped his knees,
and inhaled her earthy, floral scent. Desire quivered through him.
Liquid flames replaced the blood flowing in his veins. The sound of
a thousand bees swam inside his head. When she gripped his wrists
and coaxed him to cross his arms against her, he fought back a
fierce notion to run from the garden before he lost all control.
But he could no more jump to his feet than he could tell her to
stop trying to seduce him. He wanted the closeness. Needed to cling
to her solidity.

Her sigh of contentment
diminished the buzzing. She released his wrists and squirmed closer
to his chest. Reflexively, he tightened his hold, then dipped his
right cheek and brushed it against the crown of her head. He closed
his eyes and repeated the gesture, basking in her softness, her raw
femininity. She shifted slightly and turned her head. Again he
found himself staring into her eyes, and he knew he was lost to her
will. She stroked beneath his chin with the tip of her nose, her
left hand kneading the heated flesh beneath his sweater. Then she
shifted again, drawing up her knees to her chest and cuddling
against him like a child craving the closeness and security of a
parent's embrace. She closed her eyes and, to Winston's
bewilderment, fell fast asleep.

For a time he simply held
her, staring into her face, wondering how long it would be before
she awakened. His back ached after a while. Nagging cramps nipped
at his arms and legs, and along his spine, but he didn't want to
move for fear of waking her prematurely. He sensed this was the
first real sleep she'd had since he'd found her.

When hours had seemed to
pass and his butt had grown so numb he couldn't feel it anymore, he
grew restless. He decided to probe her mind in hopes of uncovering
her identity, but no matter how hard he tried, he could find
nothing more in her mind but an image of the garden scene stretched
out before him. Perplexed, rattled by her ability to block him out,
he made another attempt to breach her secrets. Nothing but the
garden. Not even the hardest criminal had ever resisted his
probing.

Briefly, he wondered if the
woman in the other dimension was toying with him, demonstrating the
extent of her powers over his. It was a disturbing thought and he
dismissed it. The last thing he needed was to find himself up
against another unknown, especially one residing in a dimension in
which he had no control. She reigned there. How would she fare in
his world?

Winston was given a slight
start when he realized Deliah was looking up at him through eyelids
half-mast. Another nervous smile sprang to his mouth.

"You've abou' got ma whole
body either numb or tingling," he said lightheartedly.

She blinked up at him then
disconcertingly settled her gaze on his lips. A slight frown marred
Winston's brow. Although he couldn't read her thoughts, he was
aware of an unmistakable pull, a demand that was not spoken aloud
or telepathically projected into his mind, but rather felt. She
wanted to be kissed, and was impatient with what she believed was
his lack of interest. Now that amused him. If he were any more
interested, he would be forced to spend most of his time submerged
in a bath of cold water.

"No' until I know who you
are," he said. He forced her into a sitting position and expected
her to take the hint and get to her feet. Instead, she swiftly
maneuvered to her knees and turned to face him, somehow not
touching him with any part of her body.

He laughed, but it was cut
short when she gripped the front of his sweater and, with strength
unusual in a woman—let alone one as fragile as she appeared—she
swung him away from the gazebo. The next thing he knew, he was on
his back and she was straddling his hips.

"Wha' the—" he
gasped.

He couldn't make out her
features. The sun was blinding him. For several seconds, he
remained frozen, his mind trying to absorb what had just happened.
It wasn't until her hands slipped beneath his sweater and her
fingers eagerly pressed against the flesh below his pectorals, did
he react. He snared her wrists and rolled to his right,
effortlessly pinning her beneath him, her hands anchored to the
ground above her head. To his amazement, she wasn't the least
unnerved by this maneuver, and this irked him.

"Listen carefully, Deliah,"
he chided, scowling darkly. "It could prove dangerous to play this
kind o' game wi' a mon, do you understand?"

She smiled and he released
an explosive sigh of exasperation.

He again felt the pull, but
this one was stronger, more demanding.

"No, Deliah! I don't make
love on a whim!"

Her smile faded.

"Listen, lass, for all I
know, you could be married!"

Then he was kissing her.
Hungrily. Passionately, as if the tormenting fires in his groin
could not be doused until he satisfied her. He couldn't remember
lowering himself, or remember the initial touching of their lips.
Now, he couldn't stop. The fire was within him, burning out of
control. He'd known lust, but never passion, and this was passion.
His every sense was attuned to her reactions, and his desire to
please her outweighed his own need to seek immediate
gratification.