Sanctuary (15 page)

And screamed when she ran into a solid wall of chest and arms banded tight around her.

“What's wrong? What happened?” Brian nearly picked her up in his arms, but she clamped hers around him and burrowed. “Are you hurt? Let me see.”

“No, no, I'm not hurt. A minute. I need a minute.”

“Okay. All right.” He gentled his hold and stroked her hair. He'd been yanking at weeds on the outer edge of the garden when he'd heard the sounds of her panicked race through the forest. He'd just taken the first steps forward to investigate when she shot out of the trees and dead into him.

Now her heart was thudding against his, and his own was nearly matching its rhythm. She'd scared the life out of him—that wild-animal look in her eyes when she jerked her head around as if expecting to be attacked from behind.

“I got spooked,” she managed and clung like a burr. “It was just kids. I'm sure it was just kids. It felt like I was being stalked, hunted. It was just kids. It spooked me.”

“It's all right now. Catch your breath.” She was so small, he thought. Delicate back, tiny waist, silky hair. Hardly aware of it, he gathered her closer. It was odd that she should fit against him so well and at the same time seem fragile enough for him to pick up and tuck safely in his pocket.

Christ, she smelled good. He lowered his cheek to the top of her head for a moment, indulged in the scent and texture of her hair as he slowly stroked the tension out of her neck.

“I don't know why I panicked that way. I never panic.” And because the sensation was subsiding, she became gradually aware that he was holding her. Very close. That his hands were moving over her. Very smoothly. His lips were in her hair. Very softly.

Her slowing heart rate kicked up again, but this time it had nothing to do with panic.

“Brian.” She murmured it, ran her hands up his back as she lifted her head.

“You're all right now. You're okay.” And before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was on hers.

It was like a fist in the gut, a breath-stealing blow that sent his brain reeling and buckled his knees. Then her lips were parting under his, so warm and smooth, with sexy little purrs slipping between them and into his mouth.

He went deeper, nipping her tongue, then soothing it while his hands slid down over snug denim to mold her bottom and angle heat against heat.

She stopped thinking the instant his mouth took over hers. The novelty of that experience was a separate, giddy thrill. Always she'd been able to separate her intellect, to somehow step outside herself in a way, to direct and control the event. But now she was swirled into it, lapped by sensation after sensation.

His mouth was hot and hungry, his body hard, his hands big and demanding. For the first time in her life, she truly felt delicate, as though she could be snapped in two at his whim.

For reasons she couldn't understand, the sensation was unbearably arousing. Murmuring his name against his busy mouth, she hooked her hands over the back of his shoulders. Her head tipped back limply. For the first time with a man she teetered on the brink of absolute and unquestioning surrender.

It was the change, the sudden pliancy, the helpless little moan, that snapped him back. He'd dragged her up to her toes, his fingers were digging into her flesh, and the single image that had lodged in his mind was that of taking her on the ground.

In his mother's garden, for Christ's sake. In the daylight. In the shadow of his own home. Disgusted with both of them, Brian jerked her out to arm's length.

“That's what you wanted, wasn't it?” he said furiously. “You went to a lot of trouble to prove I'm as weak as the next guy.”

Colors were still swimming in her head. “What?” She blinked to clear her vision. “What?”

“The damsel-in-distress routine worked. Score one for your side.”

She came back to earth with a thud. His eyes were as hard and hot as his mouth had been, but with passion of a different sort. When his words and the meaning behind them registered, her own widened with shocked indignation.

“Do you honestly believe I staged this, made a fool of myself just so you'd kiss me? You arrogant, conceited, self-important son of a bitch!” Insulted to the core, she shoved him away. “I don't have routines, and I'm not now nor will I ever be a damsel of any sort. And furthermore, kissing you is not a major goal in my life.”

She pushed her tousled hair back, squared her shoulders. “I came here to see Jo, not you. You just happened to be in the way.”

“I suppose that's why you jumped into my arms and wrapped yourself around me like a snake.”

She drew a breath, determined to cloak herself in calm and dignity. “The problem here, Brian, is that you wanted to kiss me, and you enjoyed it. Now you have to blame me, accuse me of perpetrating some ridiculous female ruse, because you want to kiss me again. You want to get your hands on me the way you just had them on me, and for some reason that really ticks you off. But that's your problem. I came here to see Jo.”

“She's not here,” Brian said between his teeth. “She's out with her cameras somewhere.”

“Well, then, you just give her a message for me. Heron Campground, nine o'clock, site twelve. Girls' night out. Think you can remember that, or do you want to write it down?”

“I'll tell her. Anything else?”

“No, not a thing.” She turned, then hesitated. Pride or no, she simply couldn't face going back into the trees alone just yet. She shifted directions and headed down the shell path. It would more than double the distance home, she thought, but a good sweaty walk would help her work off her temper.

Brian frowned at her back, then into the woods. He had a sudden and certain feeling that none of what had just happened had been a pretense. And that, he decided, made him not only a fool but a nasty one.

“Hold on, Kirby, I'll give you a ride back.”

“No, thanks.”

“Damn it, I said hold on.” He caught up with her, took her arm, and was stunned by the ripe fury on her face when she whirled around.

“I'll let you know when I want you to touch me, Brian, and I'll let you know when I want anything from you. In the meantime ...” She jerked free. “I'll take care of myself.”

“I'm sorry.” He cursed himself even as he said it. He hadn't meant to. And the raised-eyebrow, wide-eyed look she sent him made him wish he'd sawed off his tongue first.

“I beg your pardon, did you say something?”

Too late to back out, he thought, and swallowed the bitter pill. “I said I'm sorry. I was out of line. Let me drive you home.”

She inclined her head, regally, he thought, and her smile was smug. “Thank you. I'd appreciate it.”

“YOU were supposed to bring a six-pack, not fancy wine, big shot.” Already disposed to complain, Lexy loaded her sleeping bag and gear into Jo's Land Rover.

“I like wine.” Jo kept her voice mild and her sentences short.

“I don't know why you want to spend the night dishing in the woods anyway.” Lexy scowled at Jo's tidily rolled and top-grade sleeping bag. Always the best for Jo Ellen, she thought sourly, then shoved her two six-packs of Coors into the cargo area. “No piano bar, no room service, no fawning maître d'.”

Jo thought of the nights she'd spent in a tent, in second-rate motels, shivering in the cab of her four-wheeler. Anything to get the shot. She muscled in the bag of groceries she'd begged off of Brian, shoved her hair back. “I'll survive somehow.”

“I set this up, you know. I set it up because I wanted to get the hell away from here for one night. I wanted to relax with friends. My friends.”

Jo slammed the rear door, clenched her teeth as the sound echoed like a gunshot. It would be easier to walk away, she thought. Just turn around and go back into the house and leave Lexy to find her own way to the campground.

Damned if she was going to take the easy way.

“Ginny's my friend too, and I haven't seen Kirby in years.” Leaving it at that, she circled around to the driver's side, climbed behind the wheel, and waited.

The pleasant anticipation she'd felt when Brian had relayed Kirby's invitation had disappeared, leaving a churning pit in her stomach. But she was determined to follow through, not to be chased away by her sister's bitchiness.

She was bound to have a miserable time now, but by God she was going. And so, she thought when her sister slammed in beside her, was Lexy.

“Seat belt,” Jo ordered, and Lexy let out an exasperated huff of breath as she strapped in. “Listen, why don't we just get drunk and pretend we can tolerate each other for one night? An actress of your astonishing range shouldn't have any trouble with that.”

Lexy cocked her head, aimed a brilliant smile. “Fuck you, sister dear.”

“There you go.” Jo started the engine, reaching for a cigarette out of habit the minute it turned over.

“Would you not smoke in the car?”

Jo punched in the lighter. “My car.”

She headed north, her tires singing musically on the shell road. The air rushing in the windows was a beautiful balm. She used it to soothe her raw nerves and made no complaint when Lexy turned the stereo up full blast. Loud music meant no conversation, and no conversation meant no arguments. At least for the drive to camp.

She drove fast, the memory of every curve in the road coming back to her. That too, soothed. So little had changed. Dark still fell quickly here, and the night brought the sounds of wind and sea that made the island seem a huge place to her. A world where the tides ruled dependably.

She remembered driving fast along this road with the wind rushing through her hair and the radio screaming. Lexy had been beside her then too.

The spring before Jo had left the island, a soft, fragrant spring. She would have been eighteen then, she remembered, and Lexy just fifteen. They'd been giggling, and there'd been the best part of a quart of Ernest and Julio between them to help the mood along. Cousin Kate had been visiting her sister in Atlanta, so there'd been no one to wonder where two teenage girls had gone off to.

There had been freedom and foolishness, and a connection, Jo thought, that they'd lost somewhere along the way. The island remained as it was, always. But those two young girls were gone.

“How's Giff?” Jo heard herself ask.

“How should I know?”

Jo shrugged. Even all those years back, Giff had had his eye on Lexy. And even all those years back, Lexy had known it. Jo simply wondered if that had stayed constant. “I haven't seen him since I've been back. I heard he was doing carpentry and whatnot.”

“He's a jerk. I don't pay any attention to what he's doing.” Lexy scowled out the window as she remembered the way he'd kissed her brainless. “I'm not interested in island boys. I like men.” She turned back, shot a challenging look. “Men with style and money.”

“Know any?”

“Quite a few, actually.” Lexy hooked an arm out the window, easing into a pose of casual sophistication. “New York's bursting with them. I like a man who knows his way around. Our Yankee, for example.”

Jo felt her spine stiffen, deliberately relaxed it. “Our Yankee?”

“Nathan Delaney. He has the look of a man who knows his way around ... women. I'd say he's exactly my type. Rich.”

“Why do you think he's rich?”

“He can afford a six-month vacation. An architect with his own company has to have financial substance. He's traveled. Men who've traveled know how to show a woman interesting pieces of the world. He's divorced. Divorced men appreciate an amiable woman.”

“Done your research, haven't you, Lex.”

“Sure.” She stretched luxuriously. “Yes, indeedy, I'd say Nathan Delaney is just my type. He should keep me from being bored brainless for the next little while.”

“Until you can get back to New York,” Jo put in. “Shift hunting grounds.”

“Exactly.”

“Interesting.” Jo's headlights splashed the discreet sign for Heron Campground. She cut her speed and took the turn off Shell Road into a land of sloughs and marsh grass. “I always figured you thought more of yourself than that.”

“You have no idea what I think about anything, including myself.”

“Apparently not.”

They fell into a humming silence disturbed only by the shrill peeping of frogs. At a sharp cracking sound, Jo shuddered involuntarily. It was the unmistakable sound of a gator crunching a turtle between its jaws. She thought she understood exactly what that turtle felt in those last seconds of life. The sensation of being helplessly trapped by something large and feral and hungry.

Because her fingers trembled, she gripped the wheel tighter. She hadn't been consumed, she reminded herself. She'd escaped, she'd bought some time. She was still in control.

But the anxiety attack was pinching away at her with insistent little fingers. She made herself breathe in, breathe out, slow, normal. God, just be normal. She turned the radio off.

She passed the little check-in booth, empty now as the sun had set, and concentrated on winding her way through the chain of small lakes. Lights flickered here and there from campfires. Ghost music floated out of radios, then vanished. Where the hillocks of grass parted, she could see the delicate white glow of lily pads in the moonlight.

She would walk back, she told herself, take pictures, focus on the silence and the emptiness. On being alone. On being safe.

“There's Kirby's car.”

Too much roaring in the ears, Jo thought, and forced out another breath. “What?”