When Lightning Strikes

She let her legs fall open farther and arched against his hand. Her hips ground into his palm, matching the fast, circular motion of his hand. She writhed and moaned and twisted her hands in his hair.

  Lainie had never felt anything like this in her life. Her whole body trembled, ached. Deep inside, deeper than she'd even known existed, a fire had started, slow at first, just leaping flames, but with each stroke of his hand it burned hotter, until now she was damp with perspiration and writhing with need. It seemed as if everything she was lay beneath his questing finger, as if she'd magically dwindled to a speck of throbbing, painful desire. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, floating, straining, reveling in the heat of his touch.

  She wanted to reach for him, to hold him in her arms and tell him what she felt, but her arms felt heavy and drugged. She couldn't move, couldn't draw a breath. "Killian," she whispered, tossing her head and thrusting her hip against his hand. "What are you doing to me?"

  He pulled back from her nipple. Cold air rushed across the hardened peak, made her shiver at the sudden chill. Straining toward her, he pressed hot, moist kisses along her throat. "Loving you," he drawled, kissing her again on the mouth.

  The simple words exploded in her heart. She threw her arms around him and clung to his sweaty back, re-

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  turning his kiss with an abandon she'd never experienced before, never even imagined. His huge body angled atop hers, pressed her deeper into the fleecy bedroll.

  And still his hands worked their magic on her body, building her desire to a throbbing, aching crescendo. Her heart was pounding against her chest, drowning out every sound except for the ragged hiss of her breathing. It felt as if it would explode any second.

  A frustrated sigh escaped her. "Now, Killian," she murmured. 'Wow ..."

  In a sweeping motion, he wrenched off his pants and rolled on top of her completely, covering her body with his. The hot, hard length of him pressed into her, drove her deeper in the bedding. She moaned softly at the contact and tightened her hold on his back. His legs slid down along hers.

  She felt the heat of him everywhere, scalding her flesh. His hardness pressed the sensitive, aching spot between her legs and made her breathing shatter into weighty gasps. She waited for him to push inside her, but he didn't.

  It drove her crazy with need. She clutched him, said his name on a broken sob. He kissed her, teased her until she couldn't think for wanting him.

  She arched up and kissed him, losing herself in the heady taste of him. No one had ever kissed her like this before, and she knew suddenly why. This was the taste of love, the feel of it, the smell of it. Love wasn't about wedding rings and fairy tales and knights in shining armor. It was sweet-tasting and smelled of sweat and hurt so badly sometimes, you wanted to die.

  And it was about pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jesus, the pleasure. Never again would she mistake lust for something else. This was desire, this was

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  passion. She felt it surging through her body like electrical current, singing and burning the forbidden corners of her body and soul.

  He filled her with a scorching heat, a throbbing need that made it difficult to think about love or lifetimes or everlasting. Even about children in other times. For a heartbreakingly perfect moment, she felt suspended, poised in a darkness where nothing mattered except the sweet ache between her legs and the hardness pressed against her body.

  Then he slipped inside her and she couldn't think of anything at all. He moved slowly forward, stretching her body until she thought she'd burst from the exquisite torture. She said his name in a shuddering, moaning little voice and clung to his damp back.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and angled himself onto his elbows. His face, drawn and lined by restraint, loomed above her, filled her vision. Tiny, sparkling droplets of sweat clung to his forehead, dampened the silvery hair that stuck to his face.

  He moved slowly, rocking in and out of her body in a timeless, ageless rhythm that brought her past pleasure to the aching, desperate precipice of pain.

  "Oh, God," she whimpered, hooking her nails into his back and riding the motion of his body, matching it with desperate, bent-kneed thrusts of her own.

  She responded with an abandon she'd never known before. Nothing mattered, nothing but the painful ache between her legs. She clung to him, arching, driving her hips up to meet his downward thrusts. Their bodies merged, melded together in a scalding coil of fire.

  She arched against him, quivering, clutching him against her, grinding her hips against his. Suddenly it hurt to want him so much. She couldn't stand it, couldn't breathe. A low, throaty moan escaped her. She

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  groaned, tossed her head from side to side. Her body was poised, straining toward release. She needed it, oh, Jesus, she needed it now. Panting, almost weeping, she arched toward him.

  "Oh, Killian," she groaned. "Oh, God . .."

  It exploded through her all at once, a violent, shuddering release that left her gasping. She screamed out, clung to him as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through her body, leaving her weak and trembling.

  Killian felt her release. It throbbed around his hardness in an erotic, pulsing tide that drove him mad with wanting her. He thrust into her one more time, deep and hard, burying himself in the hot, wet sheath of her, losing himself in her moist sweetness. His need erupted, spilled itself into her welcoming warmth with a force that made his body jerk. He closed his arms around her slick, trembling body and clung to her like a drowning man.

  When the shudders subsided, he drew her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck. They lay there a long time, neither one speaking, neither one needing to. The crisp, cool air hung heavy with the scent of their passion.

  Killian let out his breath in a long, low sigh. A remnant of their electricity tingled through his body, left him full of strange, lingering sensations that were unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He felt .. . complete, as if the empty years had been washed away and forgotten.

  He'd never felt this before, not even with Emily. Sex with Emily had been loving and gentle and caring, but if he was honest with himself, there'd always been something missing. Even after all their years together, she'd somehow remained virginal, untouchable and un-

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  touched. He'd thought that was how ladies were, all that they could be.

  Lainie had begun like that; she'd touched him reluctantly if at all, she'd squeezed her legs together and been afraid of the intimacy of his touch. But the fire had swept her fear away, and without it, she was as bold and sensual and needy as he.

  He smiled. The world and all of its possibilities opened up to him suddenly, offered him a future he'd never allowed himself to imagine. A new beginning for a man who'd thought life was a dead end.

  He stroked the line of her back, feeling the sheen of moisture that clung to her flesh. Turning slightly, she opened her eyelids. There was a dazed look in her eyes. Then not so dazed. A slow smile curved her lips as a blush spread up her cheeks. One quick spurt of a giggle shot from her mouth before she bit down on her lower lip. "So that's what all the hoopla's about," she said.

  He grinned down at her, knowing it was a wolfish, predatory smile and not caring in the least. Christ, he felt predatory right now, and territorial, too. He wanted her again, damn it, wanted her in a way he'd never wanted another woman, and never would again. He wanted her body, her soul, her heart, and he wanted them for a lifetime. "Not quite, darlin'."

  She gave him a slow, sensual smile that made his blood race. "There's more that feels that good?"

  He laughed softly, pulling her close. "You can't imagine what I can do with my tongue."

  "You're wrong," she whispered hoarsely, twining her legs around his, locking her ankles behind his. "I'm imagining it right now."

  He gave her a slow smile and slid his hand down

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  her stomach. "Ah, but fact is so much better than fiction."


  She trembled beneath his touch, "I'll never doubt that

  again."

  Chapter Twenty-four

  r

  Sunlight shot through the trees and gilded the dirt, played on the water in a shifting, magical pattern. The faint, familiar aromas of coffee and bacon and powdery dirt filled the air.

  Killian tossed the last of their supplies into the saddlebags and turned to look back at Lainie. She sat beside the fire, her head bowed, her sweater sagging off one shoulder. She was poking a stick into the dirt, swirling it around to create a puffing cloud of dust. The last hardy flames of the near-dead fire flickered light against her face, cast her in dancing shadows.

  At the sight of her, he felt a painful swell of emotion. He shook his head, sighing. Christ, he'd made love to her for hours, and he was still aching with the need to touch her again. Grinning, he strode toward her.

  "Hi," she said softly, without looking up.

  He sat down beside her, leaning close. "I know we should head out, but I can think of a better idea, if you're willing,"

  She turned to him slightly, trying to smile. Her eyes were sparkling with tears.

  His smile faded. "Regrets?"

  She shook her head. It was a flutter of soft movement against his shoulder. "Never."

  "Then what?"

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  "I was just thinking about Kelly." She sighed, sagged tiredly against his body.

  He stroked her hair and said nothing.

  "She's my life.... She has been from the moment I conceived her. Until Kelly, I was . .. lost."

  Silence fell in after her words, broken only by the crackling hiss of the small fire and the far-off whisper of a breeze. He knew instinctively that she had more to say, so he remained quiet, waiting, offering her the wordless comfort of his arm.

  "For a while, you made me forget everything," she said softly. "And I can't tell you what that meant. I've spent a lifetime unable to forget anything. I carry around my past like some dark anchor around my throat, dragging me forever downward. But this morning ... none of that mattered."

  "Maybe if you talked about it . .."

  "Killian, I've had so much therapy, I could tell the plumber my past. It's not talking that helps you forget something; it's having another moment, another memory to replace it." She turned to him, looked at him through huge, bright eyes. "That's what you gave me just now, Killian. And I'll treasure it forever."

  He touched her face, wishing he could simply accept her words and let the matter drop. But he needed her suddenly, needed to soak her up inside him and know everything about her. Before he could ask, though, she leaned toward him, so close that he could see the pain in her eyes.

  "I ..." She looked down, bit her lower lip. "I ... want to tell you about my life now." She forced a hollow laugh. "You should know who you're sleeping with."

  "Lainie?"

  She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head.

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  "Don't stop me, Killian. I've never done this before, not really. I've told, but I've never shared. With you ..." She looked up, met his gaze. "With you I want to be different." He stilled. "Okay."

  "I hate to be predictable, but it starts with my folks." She shivered violently and looked away, gazing at the pond in the distance. "They were young, and they never should have had children. Heroin addicts, both of them. I was in withdrawal for the first week of my life." She gave another bitter laugh. "What chance did I have, right? Anyway, they tried to take care of me, but of course, they couldn't, and one day when I was ten years old, they just left." He frowned. "Jesus ..."

  "My mom was found dead of a drug overdose a few months later, but Dad .. ." She shrugged. "He never came back. After that, the state stepped in and moved me from one foster home to another. That went on for years. At first I really tried to fit in, but after a while you stop caring." She looked up at him, staring at him through eyes that were heartbreakingly honest. "That's when I started partying pretty heavy. For years I moved in a drug-induced haze, not caring, not being cared about. Just one of the millions of kids who drift on city streets at night. Alone ...

  "It was on one of those nights that I was ... raped. It was a bad scene, really stupid. I was at a party, pretty loaded up, way too young, and I met a couple of older guys. We ... got high and they ..." She looked away, her eyes glazing with tears that didn't fall. Her voice fell to a whisper. "They didn't think a girl like me had a right to say no."

  He stared at her, feeling a young girl's pain and fear wash over him in a chilling wave. He wanted to say

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  something, offer some comfort, but it would have sounded so cheap and hollow. So he said nothing at all.

  After a long silence, she went on. "For a long time, I believed them. It sent me into a suicidal tailspin, a downward spiral that ended behind bars. But strangely, it was the bars that saved me. Finally I found a place where I belonged, or thought I did. Oh, at first I fought the orderlies like a wildcat . .. but they had ... ways of keeping you down.

  "Then one day, everything changed." She smiled, a sad, wistful curving of the lips that reached her overbright eyes. "Dr. Gray?the institution's head shrink?told me that it wasn't my fault, that every woman has the right to say no. It took a long time, a long time, but after a while I started to believe her. She helped me take control of my life and start over. I got my GED and started writing in the hospital. I tried never to look back, but sometimes, at night ..."

  She turned to him, met his gaze, and he could see the challenge in her eyes. She was waiting for him to pull away, to tell her that she wasn't good enough for him.

  "Lainie," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I love you."

  She gave him a trembling smile. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear that." She squeezed her eyes shut. "It's so damned unfair."

  "What is?"

  She opened her eyes. "That I would find you now, one hundred years in the past."

  It struck him like a blow. Suddenly he thought about all the things she'd said?heroin addicts, withdrawal, foster homes, shrinks, GEDs?and the information took on a new, horrifying meaning. The words that before had meant so little, now meant everything. He stared

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  down at her, speechless. It felt as if a huge, unforgiving weight were pressing against his lungs, suffocating him.

  Jesus, it was true.

  "What is it, Killian?"

  He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He could only stare at her in horror. "It's real, isn't it? Every crazy thing you've said. You really are from the future and you have a daughter waiting for you at home."

  She nodded. "It's true."

  He sagged forward, buried his face in his hands. "Oh, Jesus ..."

  She touched his back. "Killian?" He wrenched away from her and stumbled forward blindly. It's true. It's true. The damning words circled through his mind and stabbed his heart with every breath. He'd finally found the woman of his dreams and she was only that ... a dream. She was here for a moment, a second?just long enough to wrench his heart out of his chest and slice it in half?and then she was going away.

  Leaving him. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering in a horrifying flash what his life had been for the last fifteen years. And how goddamn different it had been since Lainie stumbled into it. She'd brought a light with her, made him examine the ugliness of his soul and try to change it. But he'd changed for her, damn it, for her. And now she expected him to go back to his old life without her.

  He couldn't imagine how much that would hurt. Yes, he could, he realized dully. He knew exactly how much it would hurt. He'd done it before .. . when Emily died.

  He glanced back at her, saw her still sitting by the fire, her face streaked with tears, her mouth trembling and sad.

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  The image of her burned through him, lodged in his soul. He would never forget this moment as long as he lived. It would be one of those memories of which she spoke, o
ne of the anchors that would mire him forever in the love he'd found too late.

  Desperately he spun around, looked east.

  Somewhere, not more than thirty miles away, the rock that lightning struck thrust up from the desert floor. The twisting, ragged red stone wall that would take her away from him.

  Could he do it? he wondered suddenly. Should he do it?

  The answer came to him on the sly voice of the wind, filling him with a wild, unreasonable hope. All he had to do was miss the Rock, or get them there too late on Sunday. Anything ...

  She materialized beside him. Through a haze, he saw her hand, pale and small, against the worn blue of his shirt. Her touch was everything he'd dreamed of all his life, gentle and loving and soft.

  "We should get going," she said quietly, looking up at him. "We have a long ride ahead of us."

  He answered distractedly. "Yeah, sure."

  "Do you mind if I ride in front today? I ... I want to feel your arms around me."

  "Sure," he said, touching her chin, seeing the telltale silver tracing of her tears. He knew in that instant what he would do. There was only one thing he could do, and he didn't care if it damned his soul to hell. He wasn't meant to be a hero. "I'll hold you all day. And I won't let you go."

  Lainie stared out at the desert, barely seeing anything beyond the hairy, curved tips of the horse's ears. Beyond, the world was a smear of gold and brown and

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  red, floating beneath a cloudless blue sky. Hot sunlight burned her face, made the heavy sweater feel damp and scratchy against her skin. She was so tired that she imagined a small, welcoming cabin in the midst of the nothingness before them.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting Killian's embrace soothe her. But there was no comfort, not really, not even in his arms. There was only a crushing sense of loss.

  She was leaving him. So soon . . . when she'd only just found him . ..

  It was so damned unfair, and she wished she could dredge up some remnant of the anger that had always buoyed her through the bad times. If she could be mad, really, really mad, she could straighten her spine and scream at God and come out swinging.

  But there was no anger in her anymore, no strength of spirit, no blacken-your-eye belligerence. There was only this sinking sense of despair, of having lost what she'd never even hoped to find.