Excavated (6 page)

“Yeah.
We got some good stuff. I’m thinking we’ll do inside the barrow either tonight
or tomorrow night.”

“Sounds
good.”

They
both stood motionless, although this should be the time when he should leave.
She really needed some sleep.

But
she wanted him. Viscerally. She wanted his lean, strong body, and his
intelligent blue eyes, and his skillful, calloused hands, and the coiled
tension she could sense in his stance.

She
wanted
him
.

“Philip,”
she began, telling herself she needed to say something to get him out of this
room. Quickly.

He
took a step closer to her. “I wasn’t groping your ass earlier.” He blinked, as
if he was surprised he’d said that.

She
frowned. “That was a definite grope.”

“I
was trying to keep you from falling.”

“Very
convenient that your hand happened to land there.”

Now
he frowned too. “I assure you—if I wanted to touch a woman, it wouldn't be
under the pretense of a random grope.”

It
was an absolutely ridiculous conversation, but it made her heart beat wildly
just the same. Her cheeks had flushed, and she was breathing unevenly. And Philip
had somehow ended up even closer to her. “I know a grope when I feel one.”

Despite
her growing excitement, she couldn't help but snicker when she realized how
foolish her words had been.

Philip
let out a huff of amusement too, his mouth softening and his eyes warming.

And
she couldn't resist anymore. She reached out and pulled his head down toward
hers.

He
responded to the kiss immediately, reaching one hand up to cup her face and
sliding the other hand down to the small of her back, pressing her against him.

His
lips were passionate, demanding. Her body softened against his, and her mouth
opened to the advance of his tongue. Pleasure and need rushed through her,
overwhelming her senses.

Soon,
she was clawing at the bare skin of his back, and he was palming the curve of
her bottom. Their tongues tangled together eagerly, and arousal had tightened
between her legs.

There
was a bed just a few feet away from them, and Lucy desperately wanted to make
use of it. But one last lingering glimmer of sense stopped her from pushing him
in that direction.

She
pulled her mouth away from his and then took an awkward step backwards.

Her
whole body throbbed shamelessly, but she made herself ignore it.

Philip’s
features twisted, as if objecting to the abrupt end to their embrace. But he
didn't argue or make another move.

Lucy
had no idea what to say. She was the one who had kissed him, and she
desperately wanted to do it again.

“I
suppose,” she said at last, “That you’ll say you weren't groping my ass just
then either.”

“Oh
no,” he said, shaking his head with a tiny twitch of his mouth. “That was
definitely a grope.”

Her
own lips wobbled in response, but she cleared her throat in an attempt to clear
her mind. “Well, I should get some sleep.”

“Okay.
I need to get to work.” He just stood there, though, still staring at her like
he might swallow her whole.

“I
guess you need to get out of the room if you’re going to get to work,” she said
at last.

“Right."
He gave his head a firm shake. “Right.”

He
finally left the room, and Lucy began to change out of her pretty suit.

She
hoped—she desperately hoped—she’d be able to go to sleep without resorting to
the predictable method of relieving the aching tension his kiss had left her
with.

She
didn't even like him. He had no right to turn her on so much.

Philip was tired,
miserable, and sopping wet.

He
didn’t appreciate feeling that way.

Lucy
and her crew had been filming for almost two hours, having started at around
ten that evening. It had been drizzling when they began, which Lucy was happy
about because it gave an effective ambiance to the shoot. But the rain kept
getting harder as the minutes passed, and now it was pouring.

The
shoot was in the barrow that evening, so at least that provided a roof over
their heads. Barrows, however, were always damp, and they were not built to
withstand rain storms.

The
ground was a mud pit at the moment, and rain poured in through the many cracks
in the walls and ceiling.

Lucy,
evidently oblivious to these conditions, was giving a perky monologue on
Neolithic burial practices. Her hair—which she’d originally styled in an
elegant updo—was now falling over her shoulders and plastered to the sides of
her face. Her ruffled blouse and tight skirt were also damp, clinging to her
body in a very distracting way.

She
was getting the details right, though, occasionally using the exact words he’d
used over the last few days as she provided a simple, accessible background on
how the original peoples of this island had treated their dead.

Philip
already knew how they treated their dead. He didn’t have to be out here tonight,
since they weren’t filming an interview segment with him. He should just go
back to the trailer. He was mostly in the way, and he was getting more and more
grumpy and uncomfortable.

But
something kept him here. The last time Lucy had suggested he go to bed, about a
half-hour ago, she had called it stubbornness. Philip didn’t think stubbornness
was the right term, however.

He
didn’t know what the right term was.

As
Lucy wrapped up her spiel, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes and never
losing her beaming smile, a sudden of burst of wind rushed through the barrow.

Arthur,
who had been sitting at Lucy’s feet—looking every bit as bedraggled as a wet
dog could look—jumped up at the sudden noise and burst into raucous barking.

Lucy
gestured to Sawyer, who had been wiping the lens of his camera of excess water.
The young man pointed the camera at Arthur as he barked and then slowly stalked
toward the entrance chamber, from where the wind had come.

Despite
his bad mood, Philip couldn’t quite suppress his amusement at the utter
seriousness of the dog, pacing and stopping and sniffing and peeking around the
corner for an approaching monster.

“Sometimes,”
Lucy said, walking over to where the dog had halted, “a girl has just got to
step into the gap for her dog.” She was speaking to the camera, and it was
impossible to miss the clever irony in her tone and expression.

She
peeked around the corner, in almost exactly the same pose as the Bichon Frise
and groomed just as impractically for the mud and rain in her stiletto heels
and pearls.

Philip
had to turn away to stifle his laughter, since he didn’t want to mess up the
shoot.

When
Sawyer said, “Got it,” Lucy relaxed and wiped streams of water off her face.

“We
better stop for the night,” Dana interjected. She’d been grinning, clearly as
amused as Philip was. When Lucy looked like she might object, Dana went on,
“Your clothes are so wet they’re getting transparent. We don’t want to
accidentally step into R-rated territory.”

Philip
was glad he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how much of Lucy’s lush body was
visible through her wet clothes.

Passionately
kissing Lucy twice in the last two days had not been good for his state of
mind. Since she’d pulled back after each time, he’d been left unfulfilled and
frustrated.

The
kiss that morning had gotten to him so much that he’d had to take care of his
arousal discreetly when he returned to the office to finish getting dressed, no
small feat since the walls were paper thin.

His
frustration and desire had been compounded by continuing to hear Lucy move
around the bedroom and then actually get into the bed.

He’d
heard the bed squeaking slightly, the way it did when one rolled over or
adjusted position, and he couldn’t help but picture her as aroused as he was
and taking care of it in the same way.

She
probably had just been getting more comfortable, but even the vague notion fed
his fantasies so intensely he had come from it.

He
dreaded what his fantasies would be like later tonight, lying on the couch—one
thin wall away from Lucy—and picturing her in her clingy, transparent clothes.

He
hadn’t been so assaulted by physical desire since he’d been in his early
twenties, and he tried resolutely to talk himself down from it.

“Philip?”
Lucy prompted, as if she’d asked him something he hadn’t heard.

“What?”

“We’re
going back. Did you want to stay out here in a wet tomb to brood with the
spirits?”

He
rolled his eyes and followed her out of the barrow, trying unsuccessfully not
to leer at the rich curve of her ass in her wet skirt.

Arthur
kept looking back at him, as if ascertaining that he wasn’t up to trouble.
Evidently, the dog was still suspicious of him.

Sawyer
and Dana walked ahead of them, Dana laughing at something he’d said. So, when Lucy’s
heel got stuck in the mud and she almost fell, Philip was the only one there to
catch her.

His
breath caught as he grabbed her and she leaned against him for balance for a
moment. Even as drenched as they were, with rain streaming down their faces, Philip
was hit with the irresistible urge to kiss her.

He
managed to resist the impulse and then prided himself on his iron control.

Arthur,
his suspicions verified by this assault on his owner’s person, launched himself
at Philip’s ankle.

“Down,”
Philip said with curt authority.

“Arthur,”
Lucy said, in much the same tone at exactly the same time.

The
dog, thus doubly chided, shrunk to his belly on the long, wet grass.

Lucy’s
face softened, and she reached down to scoop the dog up. “He doesn’t trust
you,” she said, slanting a look over at Philip as they started to walk again.

“That’s
quite clear, although he must be picking up on your vibes since I’ve never done
anything to him.”

“Here.
You carry him so he’ll get to know you more.” Without waiting for his
agreement, she thrust the muddy dog at Philip, who had no choice but to take
him.

He
tucked the squirming dog under his arm so the animal couldn’t wriggle away.

“And
what do you mean by my vibes?” Lucy continued.

“Well,
if he senses you’re always on the verge of snapping my head off, then he’ll think
there’s good reason for it—not knowing I’m an innocent victim of an irrational
woman.” He hadn’t intended to tease her that way, and he certainly hadn’t
intended for his voice to be so warm and fond.

He
wasn’t even sure where it came from.

He
could see her suppress an answering smile before she gave him an exaggerated,
outraged look. “Irrational, am I? I’m not the one who was so stubborn and proud
that he stood in the rain glowering for hours tonight rather than go to bed
like a sane person.”

“I
wasn’t glowering.” They’d reached the trailer, and Philip walked into the
bedroom after Lucy, since he was still carrying her dog.

“You
certainly were glowering. As if you thought I was going to desecrate your
sacred island by making up supernatural phenomena.”

“I
didn’t think that.”

Lucy
had picked up a towel to dry her hands and face, but she paused to shoot him a
significant look.

“I
might have at first,” Philip amended. “But I don’t now.”

“You
don’t?” For some reason, her question was almost uncertain, as if she really cared
what he thought.

“No.
I don’t think you’d make something up just to appeal to your fans.” He should
be leaving, since this was her bedroom for the moment, and he was standing in
the middle of it and dripping all over the floor. He didn’t leave. “Do you
really believe in the supernatural?”

She
shrugged and glanced away. “I do. Don’t you?”

“No.
Whatever looks that way always has a reasonable explanation.”

“I’m
sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of the events I investigate. It’s
just that science isn’t the explanation for all of them.”

Philip
thought about that for a moment, trying to focus on the intellectual question
instead of the way Lucy’s tight nipples were poking out through her wet blouse.

“You’ve
always been a kind of investigator,” she continued. “You dig up answers to
ancient questions. That means you believe there’s more in this world than we’re
aware of right now. Why shouldn’t the mysteries—the unexplainable—go deeper
than you can excavate with your tools?”

She
was utterly serious, and he responded in kind. “What have you seen?”

She
shook her head. “I’ve seen things that terrified me. Not often, but
occasionally. And maybe there were explanations, but they weren’t explanations
any scientific method could uncover.”

She
leaned down to dry off Arthur with the towel, since the dog wouldn’t stop
flapping and shaking. “You know,” she murmured, almost diffident, “for most of
human history, people knew the world was far bigger than science can explain.
Why would we assume we have all the answers now?”

Philip
stared down at her, hearing her,
knowing
her.

She
stood up with the wet towel, letting Arthur go scratch up a spot on his blanket.
“I’m not a crazy person, Philip.”

“I
know you aren’t,” he said softly. She was clever and deep and insightful and
glowing with vibrant life.

He
cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “But I don’t think there’s
anything supernatural on this island.”

“I
think you’re right. But I’m really glad I came here anyway. It will make a
great show, and the site just seems…I don’t know… It just seems
full
. Of
history, humanity, something.”

She
seemed slightly awkward, almost shy, and she started taking off her jewelry as
if looking for something to do with her hands.

Philip’s
breath caught in his throat again, and he stared at her. In a few stilted
words, she’d expressed everything he loved about this island. She’d given his
feelings words.

He
felt another hot rush of desire—the physical attraction compounded by something
more, something deeper. He felt close to her for some reason. Closer than he’d
felt to anyone in a really long time.

In
years.

“Philip?”
Lucy prompted, her cheeks flushed and her lashes lowered over a questioning
look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

It
had been a really long time since Philip had had sex, so maybe his reaction now
was just a product of physical frustration. But his whole body was pulsing,
throbbing, all of it centered on Lucy.

Her
lips parted, as if she’d seen the answer in his face to her question.

When
he saw a fire ignite in her eyes, Philip muffled a groan and reached out for
her, pulling her into a hard, urgent kiss.

She
responded immediately, eagerly, pressing her wet body against his and sliding
her hands up to his head.

Philip
had never wanted anyone as desperately as he wanted Lucy right now. And his
only explanation for the fervor was his long dry spell.

When
the need was satisfied, surely his world would make sense again.

***

Lucy couldn’t remember
ever wanting anyone as desperately as she wanted Philip right now. She had no
idea why—since her mind was wholly against it—but there was no way she could
deny it.

Their
kiss grew urgent far too quickly, and after only a minute they were pulling at
each other’s wet clothes.

There
was nothing skilled or controlled or leisurely about them as they stumbled to
the little bed and tumbled down in a wet embrace.

Lucy’s
body pulsed with need—aching in her legs, pounding in her chest. She tried to
keep kissing Philip, even as she struggled to pull off his wet trousers. Their
skin was still wet, but she felt flushed with heat.

She
gave a victorious cry as she finally pulled his trousers off, but she didn’t
get a chance to indulge it since Philip immediately pushed her back onto the
bed and peeled off her bra.

She
arched up as he lowered his head to take a nipple in his mouth. She gasped and
writhed as he fluttered his tongue against it and eagerly fondled her other
breast, but she kept working on shimmying out of her skirt, which had twisted
up like a vice.

Finally,
recognizing her efforts, Philip lifted his head and helped her, yanking her
twisted skirt and her panties down her legs.