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loved it,” he told her. “That was how I knew you cared.”
The silence grew thick again.
El turned away, and gazed out at the mountains. “So, ah…where did you go when you left LaRue?”
Simon sighed inwardly. She’d panicked again. There was the tense, chatty, hostess-with-the-mostess voice. Back to square one.
“I hitchhiked south as the weather got too cold for my clothes,” he told her. “I finally ended up in San Diego.”
“How did you live?”
“Odd jobs. I painted houses, worked road crews, picked oranges. Anything I could find. I got a job in a photo lab once. That was a break. The owner was so happy when he found out I knew what I was doing.”
“And the Marines?”
He shrugged. “Got an itch to travel. I was in the first Gulf War as a soldier. The second as a journalist.”
She wandered to the side of the road and brushed her hand over the waist-high mountain grass that rippled in the wind. “I had a dream once, that you were there, during that war. I saw you in a dusty desert place with a gun in your hands.”
“Don’t step off the road, El,” he warned. “It’s rattlesnake season.”
“I don’t worry about rattlers when I’m with you. Remember that time I stepped too close to a snake, and whoosh, you threw your knife and cut it in half before it could strike? Just like that.”
He laughed. “You bet I remember that.”
“Why are you laughing?” she asked. “I was so impressed.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. That was sheer, blind beginner’s luck. I made out like it was no big deal just to impress you.”
She started to giggle. “No way! You big liar!”
“Sorry to ruin the myth. All I can say is that I got right to work and learned to throw that knife for real, just in case I ever had to save you from another snake. I had to live up to my new macho image.”
“So, could you—”
“Yeah,” he said. “I could. I’m very good with a knife, and I’ve got you and that snake to thank for it. I’ll show you sometime.”
“Well,” she said. “That’s good. Reality is better than fantasy.”
“Reality usually hurts like hell,” he said.
She stopped laughing, and looked away. “True.” Her voice was subdued. “It usually does. I have to get up at the crack of dawn to make coffee and get breakfast together, so I should probably, um…”
“I’ll take you back,” he muttered.
He kicked himself. He should’ve said something slick about fulfilling fantasies, but no. He had to bring up painful reality.
She put the helmet on and climbed behind him. He could hardly believe how innocent and trusting she was. She’d grown up, but the essence of her was the same; that bright core of ineffable El, sharp wits and laughter and sweet, tender warmth. She seemed to have no clue of the danger she was in, alone in the moonlight with him and his hard-on. He could stop this bike anytime, turn around and…whoa.
But he didn’t. He savored her soft warmth against his back, her small hands clutching him. Her trust was the sweetest thing of all.
At the top of the driveway, she patted his shoulder. He braked.
“Let me grab my mail,” she said. “I was so rattled today after my errands, I forgot.” She collected envelopes from her mailbox.
He scooted back as she made to climb on behind. “Get on in front,” he directed.
She hesitated. “But I don’t know how to—”
“You won’t. We’ll just coast down the driveway,” he coaxed.
She clambered on in front of him. Her rib cage jerked in a soundless gasp as he pulled her back against his chest. They rolled the bike silently down the driveway and into the shadow of the maples.
The big house was dark and silent. The rustling leaves made a shifting, fluttering dance of moonlight and shadow. She tried to slip off the bike, but he wrapped his arm around her slim waist and held her against him. “Just a second, El.”
Her body stiffened. “What?” Her voice was a nervous wisp.
He lifted the helmet off her head and hung it on the handlebars. He brushed her hair gently back off her face. “I want something in return for showing you the ridge in the moonlight.”
He actually heard her gulp. “Um, Simon. I can’t—”
“Please.” He scooped her hair away from her cheek on one side and leaned closer. “I ask so little. Just tell me one thing.”
“What thing?” she demanded.
“Remember the night I left? When I came to say goodbye?”
“Of course. How could I forget that?”
“You were stark naked underneath that nightgown when I stripped that thing off and laid you down in the flowers. Remember?”
The mail slid and tumbled from her hands, falling to the ground on either side of the motorcycle. “Petunias,” she whispered.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” He was so close, his lips almost touched the fragrant hollow beneath her jaw.
“They were petunias,” she clarified. “The flowers.”
“Petunias. So that’s what they’re called. Just the sight of them makes me hard,” he said. “When you threw your clothes on tonight, you left off your bra.” He stroked her shoulders, the soft contours of her back, the whole graceful, sweeping curve of her spine, right down to the loose cut-offs. His finger slid under the denim waistband. “Did you leave your panties off tonight, too? Like you did that night I left?”
She hesitated an instant too long. “Certainly not.”
“Liar.” He let his breath caress her throat. “I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying.”
“Think what you like,” she said. “But you should keep your thoughts on other things.”
“I tried,” he said.
She sagged against him. “Me, too,” she whispered.
He put his hand against the outrageous softness of her cheek. She vibrated against him, a fine, rapid tremor. He touched the lustrous warmth of her hair, the delicate bones of her shoulders, the curve of her waist. He let his hand slide beneath the fabric of her T-shirt and splayed it against the warmth of her soft belly.
The top button of her cut-offs popped open without a struggle. Her only protest was a shuddering exhalation as his hand slid beneath the heavy cloth. Lower and lower, by degrees measurable only in soft caresses, in sighing gasps. His fingertips reached her curly tangle of pubic hair. “Nope. No panties,” he murmured. “Just like I thought.”
She squirmed against him, and whimpered as his fingertips teased over the silky whorl of hair. Her legs already straddled the bike’s seat, so he just pulled her back against him to give his hand the space to slide down…and his fingertips found a hot, slick paradise. She was so wet and ready. She shook at the light, glancing touch, and arched back into a bow of shuddering tension.
“I want to touch you, El,” he murmured against her ear. “I want to make you feel good. You’re so beautiful.” He waited, nuzzling her.
She moved against his caressing fingers and made a mewling sound. He’d give her every opportunity to wrench his hand away and tell him to stop. She hadn’t done it, hadn’t said it. She was all his.
Her