Out Of Control (5 page)

But
she didn’t wait to hear who or what he was or to get a better look. Fueled by a
surge of adrenaline, she cut to the right and ran around the end of his truck.
She headed through the yards of her unknown neighbors, knowing the truck couldn’t
follow her there and hoping no one would think she was up to no good and shoot
her.

He
won’t get out of the truck and follow me on foot, will he? Faster, Dana. Run
Faster.

Fear
made her stride lengthen and her arms pump harder.

A
giant streak of lightning split the sky, and thunder rumbled as if it were
right beside her as she reached her back porch. Fishing the key from her
waterlogged shorts, she shoved her door open and fell into the utility room.
Slamming the door shut, she sagged against the wall, every muscle in her body
trembling. Her pulse was racing, and she thought her lungs would never get
enough air again.

I
got away, I got away, I got away.

Over
and over, like a litany, the words reverberated in her mind as they tried to
convince her that she was once again safe.

Safe.
What a joke. No place is safe.

Finally,
aware that she was standing in a widening puddle, she pulled off her soaked
clothing and tossed it into the laundry sink.

She
hurried her bedroom and yanked her robe from the bed where she’d tossed it
earlier, pulling it on and yanking the belt tight. Still shaking, she moved
through the house, slamming shut the windows she’d opened, checking deadbolts
and window locks until she was satisfied she was as secure as she could make
herself. Safe enough at any rate to take a hot shower and chase the chill away.

When
she’d caught her breath, she searched in the utility room and found a mop,
using it to clean up the rain that had come in through the open windows. As she
moved mechanically through the chore, images from her past clashed with those
created by the articles she’d read today. She had to get this done before she
turned into a complete basket case.

Tonight
she’d force herself to read again everything she’d brought home from the
newspaper. Tomorrow she’d hit the sheriff’s office and request copies of the
files of those old cases. She just hoped she could get through all the explicit
details without getting sick again.

Leaving
the mop to dry, she headed into her bathroom and turned on the shower full
force. With the hot water beating down on her, the tightness around her chest
finally loosened and her pulse rate slowed. Leaning against the tiled wall, she
willed the water to wash away both the memories and the ever-present dread.

Later,
dried and wrapped in her sleep shirt, she managed to get down a bowl of soup.
Finally, she crawled into the strange bed and tried to empty her mind. She
closed her eyes, but the image of the ominous black truck wouldn’t go away.
Others might say, in a small town like High Ridge, the man was just being
neighborly. He was harmless. What could happen in a nice town like this?

Dana
knew. Oh, yes. She knew all too well. So she’d run, just as she always had. Old
habits definitely died hard.

And
fear never went away.

Chapter
Three

He’d
had a busy day, taking care of his public business so he could take care of his
private activities tonight. In town, he’d heard all about the famous Dana
Moretti, best-selling true crime author, who had descended on his small town.
Gossip had her digging up old ghosts, but that didn’t worry him. Still it
wouldn’t hurt for him to check her out. Get a handle on her.

Meanwhile,
he had things to take care of. Things that satisfied his needs. He looked at
the small prepubescent girl in front of him, barely able to stop from smacking
his lips.

“Well,”
he drawled, “aren’t you just the sweetest little morsel. We’re going to have us
some fun.”

Watching
her cowering in fear only ramped up the lust blazing through him. When she
cried and tried to pull away, he just laughed.

“That’s
it,” he crooned. “You go ahead and cry. I love it when they cry.” Then he began
to sing. “There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle
of her forehead…”

Chapter
Four

Her
hair was spread out on his pillow like a silken fall, the low lamplight
catching the golden streaks. He could still feel the anxiety running like a
stream beneath her arousal, but the heat in her eyes told him she wanted this.
God, he hoped he didn’t fuck it up.

He
brushed his mouth over hers then traced the outline of it with his tongue,
licking the softness of her lips. When they parted, he eased his tongue inside
and glided it over the slick inner surface. Her small tongue danced with his,
tentatively at first, then exploding like a banked flame.

His
cock was so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from ramming into her. Easy,
easy, easy. This is a frightened bird you’ve got here. Don’t attack like some
berserker.

He
kissed her cheeks, the line of her jaw, licked the soft spot behind her ear
before trailing his tongue down the slender column of her neck. Her skin was
like the softest satin, so smooth against his tongue. She moaned beneath him,
delicious little sounds that made his balls ache.

Her
hands fluttered against his back, then clutched at his muscles as his mouth
found one stiff nipple. He sucked it, hard, pulling it into his mouth. Scraping
it with his teeth. Nibbling then licking it to soothe the ache. When he had the
one fully swollen and pebbled, he turned his attention to the other.

Beneath
him, she moved restlessly, her thighs bracketing his, her body trembling as he
teased and aroused her. He wanted her more than ready when he finally entered
her. This would be it. The thrust that broke down all the walls. The moment
that chased whatever demons kept her emotionally locked up.

In
slow increments, he worked his way down her body, licking the soft flesh of her
tummy, tracing the whole of her navel, until he reached the soft nest of pubic
curls. He tugged them lightly with his teeth before moving lower and taking one
long, slow lick of her slit.

Wet!

Soaked!

His
cocked flexed and his balls tightened in anticipation.

Her
moans were increasing, louder now and more frequent, as he took her clit
between his teeth and tormented it. Sliding one hand between her thighs, he
inserted two fingers into her drenched pussy, stroking her fluttering walls in
cadence with his mouth, working her nub.

He
worked her slowly, forcing himself to be patient, waking up all those dormant
nerves. Unlocking the invisible manacles. Oh, yeah, she was soaking his hand
and her hips were hitching upward, pushing against his mouth and hand.

“Oh,
oh, oh.”

Her
little cries were breathy and so arousing he was afraid he’d come just
listening to her. He pressed her thighs open wider and replaced his fingers in
her cunt with his tongue. The moment he thrust inside her, she climaxed, her
legs clamping against him, her body shaking. Hands grasping his hair, yanking.

Before
the aftershocks began to fade he grabbed the condom from the nightstand, rolled
it on, and lifting her to him with his hands beneath her ass, drove home.

Oh,
God. Oh, Jesus. Oh, holy mother.

She
was so damned tight and slick and wet and hot, like a silken fist gripping his
cock. Squeezing it.

He
closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. But then she
wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in tighter, and jerked her hips
against him. The last thread of his control snapped. He drove into her, hips
thrusting again and again, his cock dragging the walls of her pussy with each
in and out movement.

He
couldn’t hold off release any longer. Moving one hand between them, he found
her clit and stroked. Rub, rub, rub. And as she climaxed around him, he
exploded, his cock pumping hot fluid into the latex reservoir.

Lights
exploded behind his eyes and he felt as if someone had launched him into space.
They shuddered together, over and over, the only sound in the room the ragged
reverberations of their breathing.

I’m
dead
, he thought, collapsing at last, trailing kisses over her face and
neck.
But kill me again. Please.

At
last, he lifted himself and eased slowly from the tight clasp of her body, his
hand gripping his cock to keep the condom in place.

Cole
woke to find himself clutching his erection with his own hand, his skin covered
with the heat of semen where he’d jerked off in his sleep.

Swell.
Just fucking swell. He was having wet dreams like a teenager over some woman he
hadn’t even met yet. So she intrigued him. Big fucking deal. A lot of women
intrigued him, but he didn’t have fantasies about them.

Good
going, asshole.

The
image of her in the rain was still burned into his brain. Soaked, with her thin
T-shirt plastered to her breasts and her shorts clinging to her ass like a
second skin, she’d looked like something washed up from High Ridge Lake. Even
in the best of circumstances, he was sure Dana Moretti wasn’t a woman he’d be
anxious to get into his bed.

Yet
there was the fucking dream.

He
was losing his mind. That was the only answer. Or else he badly needed to get
laid. Most likely the latter. But certainly not by anyone in High Ridge.
Everyone in town would know within twenty-four hours, and five minutes later
they’d have him married. He loved this place, but it exasperated him.

Awakened
by the dream at five thirty, he decided to take a ride up into the hills where
he could watch the day come to life. The sun was barely a whisper of gold in
the sky when Cole had Thunder saddled and was riding him out of the yard. With
a thousand pounds of sleek stallion beneath him running flat out, he felt the
early morning breeze on his skin and inhaled the heady scent of horseflesh
mixed with the crisp aroma of prairie grass.

At
the top of a rise, he reined in Thunder and stopped beneath an oak. He lifted
his Stetson to wipe his forehead with his forearm. His acreage rolled away from
him in waves of green and gold, and the clean morning air sang with the music
of various birds.

He
still wanted to kick himself for the stunt last night. Why in hell had he
decided to hunt up Dana Moretti? Because Janie Milburn was telling people in
the diner that she’d rented a little house and now they’d never get rid of her?
High Ridge was small enough that Cole knew exactly what property was available
where, so locating her hadn’t been difficult.

Renting
a house had to mean she was planning on hanging around for a while. Causing a
stir in his nice little community. His gut told him a big pot of trouble was
about to boil over, covering all of Salado County with its sludge.

When
it had begun to rain yesterday, he thought offering her a ride would be an easy
way to meet her but she’d run from him like a scalded jackrabbit. She probably
thought he was some stalker trying to pick her up, and he couldn’t exactly
blame her. From her point of view, that’s probably exactly what it had looked
like.

Way
to go, idiot.

He’d
have to figure out a way to talk to her without pissing her off too much. Just
enough to get rid of her. Convince her there was nothing here to find. The
killer was long gone and people wanted their kids to rest in peace.

Maybe
he’d call Uncle Tate. See if he could drag him in early from the ranch for
breakfast and tap into the man’s instincts. They’d always been very good, an
important trait for a man who raised cutting horses.

He
held Thunder still for another long moment, trying to piece together all the
bits of information about this woman. She still remained a puzzle. He’d have to
find a better way to meet and assess her. He needed to keep his county safe
from prying busybodies and at the same time figure out why those brief glimpses
had aroused him so intensely and given him a hard-on like he hadn’t had in
months.

Loosening
the reins slightly and urging Thunder with his knees, Cole took off across the
pastureland, hoping to outrun his demons.

****

“I
guess that probably wasn’t the best way to try and meet someone.” Cole took a
swallow of the fresh coffee the waitress had poured in his cup and studied his
uncle across the booth table. The man might be pushing seventy, but he was in
damn good shape. All those years of ranching had kept his body lean and hard,
his muscles nearly like those of a man many years younger. He still had a thick
head of dark brown hair, although it was now liberally streaked with gray. Cole
knew men a lot younger who weren’t in half as good shape.