Spirit Lake (22 page)

Laurel leaned into him, hungry. Parting her lips for him, he entered her with a gentle thrust, his tongue exploring, dipping deep, reminding her she was wholly a woman. Not a girl. Not a tomboy. Not lonely.

Shimmering temperatures rose inside her. She grew impatient with his hands merely clinging to her arms. She lay a hand across one of his, moving him to the memories.

Obliging, he cupped her breast, kneading her through the fabric of her blouse and the thin cloth restraining her underneath. The nipple pebbled to a hardness she'd never experienced, its tingling pressing to be set free. Let go. Be together. Don't be lonely. Reaching up, she unbuttoned a couple of buttons on her blouse.

“I want you,” she whispered, eager for his breath to fill her lungs, to sustain her. She had to have him, to know that he was more than a dream all these years.

Theirs was a special journey. Lovers at first sight. He was strong, limber, worldly. And he knew everything. How to do it. How to make it feel good, how to be romantic. Nobody else had thought of “doing it” in a meadow, she was sure then. They stayed there all day. They had plenty of time
.

There would never be another time for them.

But was it a mistake?

Couldn't he hurry!

Unbuttoning everything to the fading dusky sunlight of his gaze, his fingers dragged lightly across the swell of a breast, sketching lines of sparks in their wake.

“You're like a flower,” he said, lowering his head to the fire erupting in her breast, spreading in a storm through her body, unsettling her in the way it begged for the hawk's mercy.

She ground her hands into his thick mane, holding on. Flinging her head back and closing her eyes, she drifted into weightlessness. He eased her back onto the grass. It smelled of clover and more promise, and of his mounting heat torching her skin.

She wanted to imprint this sensation on her mind for lonely nights to come. She heard a dove coo, a robin chirp, Cole's sharp breaths. The sky faded to pink overhead, nothing but soft color mingling with rainbows in her heart and the sheen of his skin. In the future, all she'd have to do is close her eyes, and they would be here, together. Reality imprinted on dreams. Dreams to last forever if reality could not.

At first, the hawk showed a mellower side. He came to her like the male dove, settling softly down upon his mate in the grass, their bodies quaking in blissful come-hithers. Their limbs fluttered, hers weakened by the force of his need. Her eyelids closed against the swirling colors and the spark of subdued sunlight collected in his eyes.

A rush of doubt unsettled her, of not knowing how long he would keep her. How long could he keep rising with her into the perfume of the clover? How long would she hear the music of his moans and low whispers escaping the lips tugging at her earlobes, nipping at her breasts, tasting the sensitive places between her legs?

She was about to protest, to regain reality, but the male dove—no, the hawk now—pounced, cleaving her to him.

He took off in winged splendor, flying higher, so high she would fall unless she held onto him.

His strong rhythm of flight, coursing higher, thrusting from air current to current, spun them through dizzying clouds.

Away with her he soared, faraway, until she was lost to everything and everyone but him.

All his. Captured and branded with his seed. She did not worry. For this was how it was meant to be in a wild meadow. Their meadow. No harm could come of anything so natural as the interplay between the hunter and the hunted, could it?

* * * *

THE DRIFT OF HER clothes back over her skin startled her. Evidently they had dozed. Shaking off a sweet muzziness, Laurel looked up with a smile at the source of the clothing toss.

In the dim light of dusk, Cole was already dressed and striding off, but toward the pond. He halted at the shoreline, his back to her.

“What's wrong?” She sat up, pulling on her clothes. “Cole?"

He swept her up against him, his heat abating the iciness clawing at her. She bathed in his body's hum, one heart throbbing against the other, matching the rhythm, quelling their ragged breathing to whispers.

Pressing his lips on the top of her head, he whispered, “No matter what happens, know that I care."

“I'll be...” Not all right. Alone again. Betrayed again. She had to stop loving him. “I'll be careful."

He grunted, crushing her even closer to him. “Remember? I'm the one who had to buy you window and door locks so not every Tom, Dick and Harry wanders into your cabin."

“Or Cole?"

“You're an innocent."

She couldn't deny the secure comfort his steely arms provided, or the flush of fever still coursing through her body from their lovemaking. “Maybe I haven't been innocent since that first time we came to this meadow."

“And neither have I,” he said, sighing.

They stood entwined in the gentle breeze for several moments, serendaded by the coos of whippoorwills and loons on the far side of the pond.

Rubbing her back with the flat of his palm, he whispered, “It's too perfect here. My brother couldn't have dared hide anything here. It's sacrilegous."

The whippoorwill cooed again, and she wished she had answers for Cole.

She drew him to the grass, where she could snuggle under the crook of his arm and they could watch the pond.

“See that movement?"

“What movement?"

“On the pond. The circles."

“Maybe a fish jumped. What's your point?"

“That you skip over details. That you don't notice tiny ripples, or you dismiss those little ripples in life. Things happen right under your nose and you don't notice."

“Like what?"

Like the love growing again between us, our need for each other, our avoidance of talking about the mistakes of our past and what really happened!

Leaning against him, reassured by his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, she went on. “Mike saw details. He would have noticed that the pond wasn't interrupted by a fish, but it was a muskrat working the shoreline, playing."

“A muskrat?” He nuzzled her ear from behind.

Her temperature rose. Where was the breeze when she needed it? “You've probably let a hundred clues go by because you're so focused on finding something big, like a treasure chest or a big X mowed in the meadow."

“I was too busy making love to you, Laurel Lee.” His tongue laved the outer shell of her ear, causing a stormy disturbance to descend through her body. “For me, nothing else matters when I'm making love to you."

Licking her lips, she gathered her strength. She reminded herself that he could make love, but so far she saw no evidence that he would ever be able to see beyond to the details of a commitment. They had to ease away from this growing attraction and need for each other. She, too, had to remember his purpose for being here.

“Maybe all you need to do, Cole, is look below the surface. Mike trusted you to find something. It has to be here."

Clutching her shoulders, he kneaded them in a luscious way that made her melt. “You're not suggesting I start digging up your meadow?"

“Maybe.” She drew in her courage. “But what I'm suggesting you do is dig deeper into your relationship with Mike to find clues. You say you hurt for him, but it seems to challenge you to nothing deeper in your actions."

He scoffed.

She turned to him, a breathtaking move to be so close to powerful eyes like his. They compelled her toward deep currents. She wanted to know, “You love...?”
Me? She swallowed it back
. “Do you feel love for your brother?"

“Love?"

Exasperated, she pressed, “What's your definition of love?"

A frown creased his coppery skin. Pink sky reflected in his dark eyes. “It starts with honesty and trust."

Which they were forever seeking. She swallowed for courage again. “For me, love is also responsibility."

“You already know I feel responsible for this mess."

“But love is also the taking of responsibility, and that requires a steady commitment, like the way nature paints the colors of flowers a person sees year after year, guaranteed, without fail. That color gets into your every fiber and attaches itself. And stays."

“I cared then. I care about you now."

Her heart began shutting the windows in her heart. “You care because you have to. Anything less would bring guilt."

“Is that bad?” He caught her chin in a tender grip. “I like taking care of you. You mean a lot to me."

“But that's so easy to say, and you say it all the time. Mike meant a lot to you, too. How well did you know him? Really? How much can you slow down to appreciate the detail of a person? I'm a friend, too, but what do you really know about me? To love someone, you have to commit the time to truly understand them."

He dropped his lips onto hers, and her heart fluttered, winging away with the hawk again, but warning her to stay strong.

Chapter 12

HIS KISS DIDN'T tease or taunt. It affirmed how well they meshed on several plains. Deep down, they understood how much they needed each other to soothe the loneliness. Friends, yes. A balm for the ache, oh yes. Laurel allowed the warmth of their lovemaking to move back in. She had him close for the moment and she'd make the most of however long he'd be in Dresden.

Drawing her up from the ground, he brought her close and she felt as if she were going to the well. Being one with him refreshed her spirit.

With one hand splayed hot on her back and the other toying with the nape of her neck, Cole said, “Save our meadow as part of your wildlife refuge."

She smiled into his shirt. “If you hand over the deed."

He eyed her curiously. “I'm not pursuing the title search."

The flat statement caught her off-guard. “You and David Huber aren't researching your great-aunt's past?"

“No. Right now I don't have time to stop my life for genealogical curiosity. Why do you look so surprised?"

She stepped back, rammed her hand in a pocket, then handed him the paper from the file. “Here. It's what I hoped we'd get to over dinner at the restaurant."

A puzzled look crossed his face, but she thought she detected a flare of recognition. He shook his head. “Somebody else is interested in the property. It's not me, Laurel."

“You're not the ‘W’ in this note?"

“Where did you get this? Huber's in Madison."

“I broke into David's office and took it."

“You what? Don't go making headlines on your own without consulting me."

His sudden ire stunned her. “What headlines?"

“A person of your stature breaking into a law office because you're curious about an old gangster's house, which happens to belong to an Eastern lady with ties to the disappearing Wescott brothers? How does it sound to you? Why not take a gun and shoot yourself, because something like that puts an X on your chest for Rojas.” He spun in the grass, raking his hair. “I thought we were in this together."

Laurel swallowed hard. She hadn't thought it through to that extent. “I'm sorry. I want the truth about what's going on."

“So do I!” he snapped with fire-stoked eyes, clasping her until her body trembled in unison with his.

And then he released her.

“This partnership isn't going to work, this friendship you want,” he continued in a voice coming from deep within him, “because of the truth."

Agony scorched across his face and he backed off, several steps, turning away from her to limp a few feet off into the tall grass, allowing a couple of expletives in his wake.

“Something's wrong.” She swallowed hard. “You better tell me."

Shaking his head, he turned, his face resigned to a sullen pallor. “Why didn't you tell me about the baby?"

Laurel wanted the dark earth to open up and swallow her, to steal her away from this poacher's eyes. “What baby?"

“Yours and Kipp's."

Her palms perspired, the blood thundering through her. “Why Cole? Why do you make love to me one minute, then turn on me like some rabid beast?"

“Because with you I'm made to confront emotions that I don't like, remember? I speak gut-level truth now and you fault me?"

Feeling dizzy, she turned away, slipping a hand to her forehead. The iciness startled her. “Lies are what you live by, Mr. Atlas, the man who didn't even have the guts to tell me who he really was when we first met weeks ago."

“The baby you had with Kipp was real. How can you not tell me about this? Damn you, Laurel, you're keeping me on the outside, feeding me crumbs."

“And you can't stand not having every piece of the puzzle so you can put it together yourself. Driven, as usual."

“I can't stand the feeling that for every step forward our relationship takes, you seem intent on going back a step. And it has to do with sharing—"

“You have no right to my memories about Kipp or my son."

His gaze fell fallow, tracking into the dim sunlight and away from her. “I have a son. To lose him, well, I can't imagine what you've been through. I only know how it hurts just thinking of such things."

Rippling fear engulfed her. She didn't want to relive it all. Not now. “Please don't worry about me. I appreciate that you care, but..."

Squeezing her hand, he sighed. “But you don't trust me."

Taking her hand, clasping his heat around her quaking fingers, he began leading them back to the mansion through the tall grass. For a long time, they took their time, with him limping, the weeds rustling against them, the birds crafting their thoughts. She was grateful for his respectful silence.

When he stopped to rest his leg, he raised her hand to his lips, planting a firm kiss on every knuckle. “You are strong. I was right about that at least. You've moved forward. I respect that. It's what I have to do with Mike, move forward beyond the grief, the blame."

“The blame?” She grew hot, hoping he wasn't leading to another of their disagreements.

“It's what comes between people. Blame. It's between us, for example, like a fence. A fence with no gate, no way over.” She wanted to pursue his words, but the quick brush of his lips on hers sent a tremor rippling through her. He muttered, “I'm going to kiss you more often. I love what it does."