Mountain Laurel (11 page)

But dusk soon turned to darkness, making it impossible to read, so she set the book aside. The wind died completely, leaving the chilly night air disturbingly quiet. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and shivered.

The trees on the edge of the woods were barely visible, the blackness behind them haunting. An eerie creaking of wood and a fitful rustling in the bushes filtered out of the blackness. It could be anything; a deer, a raccoon, a squirrel...a bear.

"There's nothing out there. Nothing!" Hugging her knees to her, she couldn't tell if her shaking was from cold or fright.

Grasping the half-filled bottle of wine that Ginny had forced her to bring, she took a hefty gulp, then another. When a muffled crack was followed by a thump, she stared round-eyed into the ebony night. Something stirred in the underbrush. She couldn't see a thing, but her mind conjured up the vivid image of a hulking brown grizzly thrashing around, sniffing for its dinner...which could, as likely as not, very well be her.

Stop it! It's an opossum or a raccoon or a skunk
. Wine trickled over her tongue and warmed her throat as she took another long draw. "Or a werewolf," she added right out loud, suddenly chuckling at her own fear. The muscles in her limbs slowly relaxed and tingled with heated weight.

"Let 'im come. I'll whack 'im in the head," she muttered, taking another sip from the bottle. Giggling, she thought of her first meeting with Michael and wondered if she really would have hit him.

"Of course I wouldn't have," she muttered. Sliding her legs up close to her body, she hugged them to her with one arm. The other kept lifting the bottle of liquid warmth to her mouth.

"What if he doesn't come home?" she wondered aloud. Imagining him with some gorgeous woman was easy. Would he hold her like he held me on the dance floor last night? The memory of his kiss rushed over her like a powerful wave. He'd made her feel things she'd never felt before. Her senses had tingled with heightened awareness, and a deep-seated hunger had rumbled inside her, a hunger she knew couldn't be satiated by food. A tiny groan escaped her lips as she rested her head in her knees.

What would happen when he came home? How was she ever going to explain this to him? He expected you to talk to Ginny about the meaning of responsible adult behavior, a small voice nagged her, not make up some fantasy date! Her shoulders sagged with a heaving sigh.

"He will never understand."

"Laurel?"

Smiling up at a slightly blurred Michael, she slowly blinked, wondering if her mind was conjuring up her fantasy. If her imagination was the culprit, it couldn't have done a better job! The dark suit he wore accentuated his well- proportioned body. He looked good enough to eat! Then she wondered if she'd merely thought the words or spoke them. She leaned her head back against the wall, hoping to stop his image from wavering.

"Are you okay?" His eyes were soft with concern.

"I am now." She grinned stupidly. "How did you find me?"

"I heard you talking. What are you doing here?" He sat on the step near her, his hand gently surrounding her ankle. Before she could answer, he asked, "Is it Ginny?"

She nodded. Watching him pick up the wine bottle, she heard a tiny bit slosh in the bottom. He questioned her with a glance, a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

"I was cold," she explained.

"Let's go inside. I'll start a fire and fix you something hot to drink."

"Wait. Wait, Michael," she said, scooting over beside him. The sudden movement made her head swim and she put a hand on his solid shoulder for support. "Can we talk first?"

"But you're cold. Come on—"

"No, no. I'm toasty warm. I want to talk. I need to."

"Okay," he nodded. "There's a problem with Ginny?"

"More like a dilemma," she muttered. "But I don't want to talk about her." She wrinkled her nose and waved a hand through the air, wanting to push the subject aside. "I want to talk about me."

"You?" He tried hard to keep the amusement from his voice.

"Today you said I couldn't have an affair—"

"I said I thought you weren't that kind of person," he corrected. "You couldn't handle that kind of thing."

"I want to know why not."

"Well," he said, unable to control his lopsided grin. "Let's just call it an educated guess."

Michael stared into her glazed eyes. Her body slowly swayed away from him and she gave a tiny jerk to balance herself. He was more than a little surprised at finding her here. Something pretty serious must have happened to make her sit here alone in the dark.

He inhaled sharply, her weight pressing into him as she slid onto his lap. He felt her fingers lace behind his neck. She rocked backward and he steadied her; one hand spread across her stomach, the other on the small of her back.

"I think I can do it, Michael," she whispered.

Her wine-sweetened breath passed lightly over his face. His heart thumped wildly. The muscles in his stomach grew painfully taut. Her soft, parted lips silently called his name, and an urgent need to answer welled up in him. But he couldn't. Doing so wouldn't be right.

Although he'd known Laurel only a short time, he was sure this behavior was not part of her character. Something else motivated her actions, and he was determined to find out what it was.

"I take it your talk with Ginny didn't go well?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about her."

"And you feel you still need to prove something?" he pressed.

"Shh." Kissing the frown from his brow, she said, "I know I can do it. And you can help me."

"Wait." Lifting a hand, he gave a gentle tug on her arm.

"Kiss me, Michael."

She lowered her lips to his. Her mouth was warm and sweet, as he knew she would be. Desire overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes, he ran his tongue lightly across her silky skin. Helplessly, he deepened the kiss, wanting to taste her sweetness. She opened herself to him, eager for his exploration.

The fabric of her sweater was like velvet as he slid his hand around to rest on her waist, his thumb caressing the soft swell of her breast.

The kisses he planted along her jaw made her arch her back and offer him her neck. He kissed it, feeling the blood pulse rapidly through her veins. Her fingers wove through his hair, drawing his head backward, and she once more pressed her mouth to his.

He drew her closer and ran his hand over her hip and down along her outer thigh, then closer to the heat that was beckoning him. Laurel gasped at his intimate touch, and he quickly removed his hand from where he'd tucked it between her corduroy-clad thighs.

"Please," she moaned.

"Laurel." Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the cabin, away from her, in an attempt to control the desire roaring inside him.

"You don't want me?" Laurel asked, drunkenly hurt but seeming somehow relieved.

She untangled her fingers from his hair and swayed away from him. He put both hands around her waist to steady her, and when she laid her head on his shoulder, he took the opportunity to slide her down his legs a bit. If he hadn't, he was sure she would notice his body's response to their kiss.

Wisps of her hair tickled his jaw as she buried her face in his neck. He smoothed it back, liking the silky feel against his hand. She was sweet-scented, and he filled his lungs with her fragrance. He felt her chest rise and fall as a tiny sigh escaped her lips.

"You make me feel so good, so safe," she murmured against his skin. He closed his eyes, fighting the tingle that coursed along his spine, the desire that curled in the pit of his belly, and knew she was anything but safe.

"Laurel, listen to me." He spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "I don't know what happened between you and Ginny tonight. I don't know what made you come here. Or what it was that made you drink the rest of that bottle of wine." He stopped and stroked her hair for a moment before continuing. "But I do know that what happened between us just now wouldn't have happened if you weren't...if you hadn't been drinking.

"There's no reason to be embarrassed or anything," he added. "And if you want to talk about your problem with Ginny, I'm still here to listen." He stopped, waiting for her response.

"Laurel?" He looked up at the bright, twinkling stars and listened to her soft, even breathing, the only sound in the still night air.

Chapter Five

"L
aurel?"

Contentment washed over her as she woke to the husky male whisper. Wanting nothing but to slip back into her blissful slumber, she sighed.

"Come on, now. Wake up."

With her head pressed against his chest, Michael's voice was a soft rumble in her ear. He brushed back a strand of her hair, his fingers warming a trail across her cheek.

"We've been sitting here long enough. It's time to go in."

"In?" It took a laborious effort to open her eyes. Feeling disoriented, she sat up and rubbed lightly at her eyes. She was in the cab of Michael's truck, parked outside Jim's cabin. "How did I get here?" she asked.

"I carried you to my truck. Then I drove here." His mouth split with a grin as he teased, "You certainly couldn't stay at my house all night, now, could you?"

"You're right, I couldn't do that," she feebly agreed, but she was sure he hadn't heard as he was already out of the truck and walking around to open her door.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You need to get to bed."

It wasn't until she had stepped onto the porch that she remembered the way she had acted earlier, practically throwing herself at him.

"Oh, Michael." Embarrassment flooded her and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

"What?" he asked, alarmed. "What is it?"

Tilting her head, she gazed at the night sky. Gleaming stars winked and sparkled, unnoticed by Laurel in her shame. Dropping her arms to her sides, her shoulders sagged. A rueful twist tightened her lips before she spoke.

"I'm not even going to bother to apologize for my behavior." She frowned, fixing him with a steely stare. "You'll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that the Laurel Morgan you've seen tonight is not the real Laurel Morgan. I'm not a drinker. But then, I guess you figured that out."

"What worries me," Michael said, leaning his shoulder against the porch post, "is the reason that it happened."

"Ginny." Laurel couldn't quite keep her frustration hidden as she sighed her sister's name. "If there's one thing I've learned in the last three days, it's that I can't go on trying to be Ginny's mother." Shrugging her shoulders, she shook her head as she continued, "I mean, I don't know how to handle her anymore. One minute she's sweet as pie, then the next she's snippy, rebellious and hateful."

"I've heard of that. I think it's called adolescence," Michael teased.

Her frown softened at his good-natured razzing.

"Yes, I guess you're right. But, the funny thing is, I don't remember ever being like that."

"None of us do," he chuckled. "Don't worry so much." He took a step toward her. "I have a feeling things will work out just fine."

She looked into his eyes, wishing she knew what he was thinking.

"You get to bed," he said gently. Michael planted a quick kiss on the tip of her nose and whispered, "And remember what I said. Don't worry."

He stared at her, and for a split second his eyes lit with a mischievous gleam. "It's all going to work out."

Then he turned to jog down the stone steps, failing to notice the puzzled expression on Laurel's face as she wondered what he was up to.

~ ~ ~

"Wake up, sleepy head!" Ginny hopped onto the bed, tugging at the quilt that was tightly tucked around her older sister.

"Ginny, please," Laurel groaned, "stop bouncing. And leave me alone. I came in late." She tried to pull the blanket back over her shoulders.

"I know! You two sat out in that truck for over an hour!"

Laurel's eyes popped open.

Ginny laughed.

Struggling to sit up, Laurel thought through all the implications of that sentence. She had slept, cuddled against Michael's chest, for over an hour? And he just sat there and watched her? Her hands unconsciously clutched at the blanket as her whole body broke out into a sweat.