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She slowly extended her arms over her head. The rough scrape of bark against her skin heightened the sense of erotic danger. “Uh…what’s this all about, sir?”
“The recent prison break at the maximum security women’s prison on the other side of the ridge.”
“Oh, that.” How could a superstar jock have so much imagination? “But I’m nothing more than an innocent hiker.”
“Then you won’t mind if I search you.”
“Well…only to prove how innocent I am.”
“Sensible. Now spread ’em.”
She inched her bare legs open. He knelt behind her and shoved them farther apart. His stubbly jaw abraded her inner thigh as he pushed down her socks and bracketed her ankles with his fingers. He rubbed his thumb in the hollow just beneath the anklebone, igniting an erogenous zone she hadn’t even known existed. He took his time running his hands up her bare legs and along the backs of her thighs. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. She waited for him to reach the hem of her shorts, only to be disappointed when he bypassed those convenient leg openings and pushed up the back of her T-shirt instead.
“A prison tattoo,” he growled. “Just as I thought.”
“I got drunk at a Sunday school picnic, and when I woke up…”
His fingers settled in the smooth curve of her spine, just above the waistband of her shorts. “Save your breath. You know what this means, don’t you?”
“No more Sunday school picnics?”
“A strip search.”
“Oh, please, not that.”
“Don’t fight me or I’ll have to get rough.” He slipped his hands under her T-shirt, pushed up the front of her bra, and dragged his thumbs over her nipples. She moaned and her arms fell.
He pinched her nipples. “Did I say you could move?”
“S-sorry.” She was going to die from sexual ecstasy. Somehow she managed to get her rubbery arms back to their former position. He drew down her zipper and pushed her shorts and panties to her ankles. The cool air brushed her bare skin. She pressed the side of her face against the rough tree bark as he played with her bottom, kneading it, skimming the crack with his thumbs, testing to see how far she’d let him go with this wicked game.
Very far, as
it turned out.
Finally, when she was so crazy with need, she could barely stand, she heard the slide of his zipper. “One last place to look,” he said huskily.
And then he turned her to face him, kicking away her panties and shorts. His eyes were half-lidded, opaque with desire. As though she weighed nothing, he picked her up and set her spine against the tree trunk. Splaying her legs, he stepped between them. She wrapped her calves around his hips and entwined her arms around the strong column of his neck. He opened her with his fingers, tested her arousal, and finally claimed what was, at that moment, indisputably his.
He was so strong that, even as he drove deep inside her, he made sure the rough bark didn’t abrade her skin. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathed him in, and climaxed long before she wanted to. He expected more from her. After letting her rest for a moment, he began to move inside her again, filling her, luring her, commanding her to join him.
The waterfall streamed beside them. Its crystalline gush mingled with her rough breathing, with his hoarse commands and husky endearments. Their mouths fused, swallowing the words. He dug his fingers into her bottom. A surge…a rush…and they, too, joined the flood.
Afterward they said nothing. As they headed back down the trail, he moved ahead of her, and she shocked herself by starting to cry. Those old feelings of wanting to belong had once again taken root inside her.
Dean walked faster, increasing the distance between them. She understood him too well. He slid in and out of relationships like other people changed clothes. Friends, lovers…It was all so easy. When one relationship ended, he had a long line of people waiting to step into the void.
He turned and called back to her—something about having worked up another appetite. She faked a laugh, but her pleasure in their encounter was gone. What had started out as nothing more than a silly sex game had left her feeling as fragile and defenseless as the child she’d once been.
A letter that had been forwarded from Seattle arrived from Virginia the next day. When Blue opened it, a photo slipped out. Six schoolgirls wearing filthy clothes and teary smiles posed in front of a simple wooden building in the jungle. Her mother stood in the middle, looking exhausted and triumphant. Across the bottom, Virginia had written a simple message. They’re safe. Thank you. Blue gazed at the picture for a long time. As she took in the face of each girl her money had saved, she let go of her resentment.
On Thursday afternoon, four days after the hike in the Smokies and two days before Nita’s party, Blue put the finishing touches to the walls. The murals no longer bore more than a surface resemblance to the original drawings, nor did they resemble the gooey landscapes of her college years. They were something else entirely—all wrong—but she couldn’t make herself fix them.
Everyone had honored her demand to stay out of the dining room, and she’d scheduled the grand unveiling for tomorrow morning. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. The air-conditioning in the farmhouse had broken down that morning, and even with a portable fan and the dining room windows open, she felt hot, nauseated, and more than a little panicked. What if—But she wouldn’t think about that until after Nita’s party. She pulled her damp T-shirt away from her body and stood back to observe her disastrous, misguided work. She’d never done anything she loved more.
She’d finished her last bit of scumbling—using a piece of cheesecloth to blend some shadows for a softer edge—and begun cleaning up when she heard cars approaching. Peering through the open window, she saw two white stretch limos pull up. The doors opened and an assortment of gorgeous people spilled out. The men were all huge, with big necks, bulging biceps, and massive trunks. Despite the differences in the women’s skin color and hairstyles, they could have come from a cloning factory for the young and luscious. Pricey sunglasses perched on their heads, designer purses dangled from their wrists, and revealing clothes draped their lithe bodies. Dean Robillard’s real life had just come calling.
Dean had gone off to the neighboring horse farm again, April and Riley were running errands, Jack was holed up at the cottage working on a song, and Nita had stayed home for once. Blue pulled out what was left of her ponytail, combed through her sweaty hair with her fingers, and refastened it into a somewhat neater arrangement. As she pushed aside the plastic and stepped out into the foyer, she heard the women’s voices drifting through the screen.
