The Stars of Mithra: Hidden Star

She opened her eyes again, and they were heavy and clouded. She shifted, swinging her legs around until she was sitting, all but in his lap. “You’re awfully strong, Cade. And so pretty. When you kissed me, it felt like you could gobble me right up, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.” She sighed, wiggled a bit to get comfortable, then confided, “I really liked it.”

“Oh, boy.” He felt the blood begin its slow, leisurely journey from head to loins and cautiously covered both the hands she had laid on his chest. “Better switch to coffee.”

“You want to kiss me again.”

“About as much as I’d like to take the next breath.” That mouth of hers was ripe and willing and close. Her eyes were dreamy and dark.

And she was plowed.

“Let’s just hold off on that.”

Gently he started to ease her back, but she was busily crawling the rest of the way into his lap. In a smooth, agile movement, she wriggled down and hooked her legs around his waist.

“I don’t think— Listen—” For a damsel in distress, she had some pretty clever moves. He managed to catch her industrious hands again before she pulled his shirt off. “Cut that out. I mean it.”

He did mean it, he realized, and accepted the new fact that he was insane.

“Do you think I’d be good in bed?” The question nearly had his eyes crossing and his tonguetied in knots. She, meanwhile, simply sighed, settled her head on his shoulder and murmured, “I hope I’m not frigid.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Cade’s blood pressure spiked while she nibbled delicately on his earlobe. Her hands snuck under his shirt and up his back with a light scraping of nails.

“You taste so good,” she noted approvingly, her lips moving down his throat. “I’m awfully hot. Are you hot?”

With an oath, he turned his head, captured her mouth and devoured.

She was ripe with flavors, pulsing with heat. He let himself sink into her, drown in that hot, delicious mouth, while the humming purrs that rippled from her throat pounded through his system like diamonds cased in velvet.

She was pliant, almost fluid, in surrender. When she dipped her head back, offering her throat, no saint in heaven could have resisted it. He scraped his teeth over that smooth white column, listened to her moan, felt her move sinuously against him in invitation.

He could have taken her, simply laid her back on the books and papers and buried himself in her. He could almost feel that glorious slippery friction, the rhythm that would be theirs and only theirs.

And as much as he knew it would be right, it would be perfect, he knew it couldn’t be either, not then, not there.

“I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.” He plunged his hand into her hair, turning her head until their eyes met. “Damn it, focus for a minute. Look at me.”

She couldn’t see anything else. She didn’t want anything else. Her body felt light as air, her mind empty of everything but him. “Kiss me again, Cade. It’s like a miracle when you do.”

Praying for strength, he lowered his brow to hers until he could steady his breathing. “Next time I kiss you, you’re going to know just what’s going on.” He rose and lifted her into his arms.

“My head’s spinning.” Giggling, she let it fall back on his supporting arm.

“Whose isn’t?” With what he considered really heroic control, he laid her on the couch.

“Take a nap.”

“’Kay.” Obediently, she closed her eyes. “You’ll stay here. I feel safe when you’re here.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” He dragged his hands through his hair and watched her drift off. They were going to laugh at this someday, he thought. Maybe when they had grandchildren.

Leaving her sleeping, he went back to work.

…She was digging in the dirt. The sun was a torch in a sapphire sky. The surrounding land was rocky and baked into muted shades of browns and reds and lavenders. Strong and pungent was the scent of sage from the pale green shrubs struggling out of cracks and crevices in the earth. With spade and hammer, she went about her work happily.

Under the narrow shade of a boulder, two women sat watching her. Her sense of contentment was strong, and stronger yet when she looked over and smiled at them.

One had a short cap of hair that glowed like copper and a sharp, foxy face. And, though her eyes were shielded by dark wraparound sunglasses, Bailey knew they were a deep, deep green.

The other had ebony hair, though it was tucked up now under a wide-brimmed straw hat with silly red flowers around the crown. Loose, the hair would fall past her shoulder blades, thick and wavy to the waist. It suited the magic of her face, the creamy complexion and impossibly blue eyes.

Bailey felt a wave of love just from looking at them, a bond of trust and a sense of shared lives. Their voices were like music, a distant song of which she could only catch snatches.

Could go for a cold beer.

A cold anything.

How long do you think she’ll keep at it?

For the rest of our lives. Paris next summer. Definitely.

Get her away from rocks long enough.

And the creeps.

Definitely.

It made her smile that they were talking about her, cared enough to talk about her. She’d go to Paris with them. But for now, she chinked away at an interesting formation, hoping to find something worthwhile, something she could take back and study, then fashion into something pretty for her friends.

It took patience, and a good eye. Whatever she found today, she’d share with them.

Then, suddenly, the blue stones all but tumbled into her hand. Three perfect blue diamonds of spectacular size and luster. And it was with pleasure, rather than shock, that she examined them, turned them in her palms, then felt the jolt of power sing through her body.

The storm rolled in fast and mean, blocking the flaming sun, dark, grasping shadows shooting out and covering the landscape. Now there was panic, a great need to hurry. Hurry. Hurry. A stone for each of them, before it was too late. Before the lightning struck.

But it was already too late. Lightning stabbed the skin, sharp as a knife, and she was running, running blindly. Alone and terrified, with the walls closing in and the lightning stabbing at her heels….

She awoke with her breath heaving, shooting straight up on the sofa. What had she done? Dear God, what had she done? Rocking herself, her hands pressed to her mouth, Bailey waited for the shudders to pass.

The room was quiet. There was no thunder, no lightning, no storm chasing her. And she wasn’t alone. Across the room, under the slant of light from a globe lamp, Cade dozed in a chair. He had a book open on his lap.

It calmed her just to see him there, papers scattered at his feet, a mug on the table beside him. His legs were stretched out, crossed comfortably at the ankles.

Even in sleep, he looked strong, dependable. He hadn’t left her alone. She had to block an urge to go over, crawl into his lap and slide back to sleep cuddled with him. He pulled her, tugged at her emotions so strongly. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d known him less than twenty-four hours. After all, she’d hardly known herself much longer.

Pushing at her hair, she glanced at her watch. It was just after three a.m., a vulnerable time. Stretching out again, she pillowed her head on her hands and watched him. Her memory of the evening was clear enough, no breaks, no jumps. She knew she’d thrown herself at him, and it both embarrassed and amazed her.

He’d been right to stop before matters got out of hand. She knew he was right.

But, oh, she wished he’d just taken her, there on the floor. Taken her before she had all this time to think about the right and wrong of it, the consequences.