When Lightning Strikes

God was asking of her the one thing she'd never imagined, asking her to make a choice no woman should ever have to make. She could have Killian or she could have her child, but she couldn't have both. And as much as she loved Killian, and she loved him with every ounce of her soul, she couldn't stay here, couldn't choose him over her baby. Jesus, it was so unfair....

  Killian's hands moved slowly up her body. His fingers hooked around her sagging neckline and tugged. The sweater slid down her arms and landed across her lap in a heap of red yarn.

  She shivered at the sudden change in temperature and glanced around. "Killian?"

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  "Ssh," he whispered against her ear, his breath as hot as the sunlight overhead.

  His hands moved back up, with deliberate slowness, up the flat surface of her stomach, over the damp fabric of her bra. The roughened tips of his fingers curled under the wide straps, flipped them down onto her shoulders, where they tapped lightly against her skin. Then his hands disappeared for a split second and reappeared beneath her arms. The bra pulled taut against her breasts as he took hold of it.

  He pushed the elasticized fabric down to her waist. She leaned back against him, her breasts free and bare beneath the hot sun. The feeling was deliciously forbidden, and made her forget everything except the moist heat of his breath on the back of her neck and the strong certainty of the arms around her waist.

  His fingers grazed up her naked stomach, setting off a flurry of goose bumps. His palms cupped her breasts, holding them as his thumbs breezed across her nipples, coaxing them instantly to hardness.

  She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him. It felt so good to be touched and held like this, to be stroked and cared for and protected. There was a wickedness to it, too, that added to her excitement. Out here all alone in the middle of nowhere, naked and vulnerable ...

  His hands slid out from underneath her breasts and moved to her nipples, only her nipples. Fingers closed around the pink tips, tugging, teasing. A fiery twinge of desire clutched her between the legs, sent the blood racing through her veins. She let out a breathy little half laugh that sounded more like a sigh.

  He kissed the back of her neck and trailed the hard, wet tip of his tongue along her flesh. She shivered at the strange mix of feelings: the hot sun on her naked flesh, the moisture of his tongue along her skin, the

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  rough fabric of his shirt against her back, the cool weight of the amethyst. His hands moved more ardently on her breasts, pulling and plucking and twirling her nipples until she was breathless.

  He made a quiet, clicking sound behind her, and the horse leapt into a slow trot.

  Lainie slammed down into the saddle, the leather curved around her crotch. She made a moaning sound of pleasure at the contact.

  She arched into his hand, drove her body against the hard leather of the saddle. Beneath her, the horse's gait moved in tandem with Killian's hands on her breasts. Sensations exploded in her body, so suddenly she was left dizzy and light-headed.

  "Oh, God, Killian," she groaned, feeling a hot surge of moisture between her legs.

  "Whoa," he whispered hoarsely.

  The horse stopped and Lainie immediately twisted around to reach for Killian. She grabbed air. She opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Her body felt drugged, aching with need for his touch. "Wha?"

  "Down here."

  He was standing beside her, his hands upheld. She swung her leg around and slithered down into his arms. He embraced her, held her close. The damp, sweaty smell of him filled her senses. She couldn't help herself. The need was a burning fire between her legs. Wantonly she arched forward, rubbed against him, feeling the evidence of his own desire.

  He threw an arm around her and dragged her close. Her breasts pressed against his upper arm, her head lolled back. He tied the reins around a hitching post.

  A hitching post?

  Lainie glanced around suddenly, noticing for the first time the little cabin in front of them. It sat huddled

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  against a sheer rock wall, its front door hanging awkwardly on broken hinges. Broken bricks lay scattered around the base of a serrated chimney.

  "Home sweet home for the night," Killian growled against her ear, sweeping her into his arms. She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. In an instant, all thoughts of where they were vanished, buried beneath an avalanche of awakening desire. The need for him returned, surged through her blood, and left a painful ache in its wake.

  He kicked the sagging door open. It swung inward with a creaking whine and slammed against the wall. Dust showered down from the rafters, pattered the debris-strewn floor. The sour, dank smell of mold and old dirt filled the little room.

  They came together for a hard, desperate kiss that drove the cool metal of the necklace against her hot flesh. His hands seemed suddenly to be everywhere, rubbing, feeling, stroking, bringing her nipples to aching hardness. She leaned toward him, pressed her heavy, tingling breasts against his chest. The rough fabric of his shirt abraded her nipples, teased and taunted them.

  He made a low, groaning sound at the contact and wrenched the fly of her Levi's open. The copper rivets popped free, the worn denim gaped across her abdomen. Cool air rushed in to graze her skin, made her flesh pucker with goose bumps.

  She felt a shudder of raw, almost violent need. She grabbed his shirt collar and fumbled furiously with his buttons, ripping one off in her haste to feel his skin against hers, to taste the sweet, salty tang of it. He shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it aside. Dimly she was aware of the pale blue fabric flying through the air; it landed on a skinned log bedpost and flagged downward.

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  He backed her against the wall. She hit with a thud and reached for the buttons of his trousers. Wrenching them from their buttonholes, she shoved his pants down the long, hard length of his legs.

  Still kissing, their hands urgently exploring each other's bodies, they kicked out of their cowboy boots and pulled off their socks and pants, flinging them wherever. Then his hands were at her breasts again, doing marvelous, tingling things that made her throb with need.

  He pulled back slightly, breathing hard. "Do you want to use the bed?"

  She glanced behind him to the sagging, unmade wooden bed. The mattress was yellowed and dusty and completely uninviting. They'd have to get out their bedrolls to use it. "No," she said throatily, reaching down for him. "I can't wait that long."

  At her touch, he shuddered hard. "Jesus, Lainie .. ." He ripped her panties off in a hiss of tearing fabric and flung them over his shoulder. She clutched at his shoulders, dragging him against her. They staggered backward and hit the wall again. The splintery log wall scratched her skin and banged her head, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was the cresting ache of need. It swelled and throbbed and sent feelers of fire through her blood.

  His hands slid down the curve of her back and settled at her bottom. He lifted her off her feet. She threw her arms around him and curled her legs around his thighs, lowering herself onto his sleek hardness.

  He forced her back against the wall and thrust deeper inside her, impaling her. His body pressed against hers, grinding against the secret, sensitive core of her desire. Sensations exploded in her body, left her writhing and breathless.

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  A scream tore up her throat, stunning her. She tried to hold it back, but her will was gone. All she could think about was her body, and the forbidden, sensual things he was making her feel. She clung to him, riding him, scratching his sweaty back with her fingernails. At every thrust, she gasped and arched and matched his movement, driving her slick, shaking body against his. The wall behind them cracked and shuddered, raining dirt on their hair. The smell of the dust and sweat mingled, joined the sweet scent of passion, and thickened the air.

  They rocked and writhed and thrust in a frantic rhythm that brought Lainie to the brink of madness. She clung to him, riding the rocking motion of his buttocks as he slid in and out of her, thr
usting harder, deeper. She responded wantonly, meeting him move for move, her legs locked behind his thighs, her arms curled around his neck.

  For a second, everything dwindled down to that place where their bodies were joined, sealed skin to skin. Her skin burned, and she couldn't breathe suddenly for wanting him, needing him. The ache between her legs intensified, turned from something sweet and heavy to a throbbing, desperate pain.

  "Oh, God, Killian ..." She threw her head back and closed her eyes.

  He kissed down her throat, hot, moist kisses that landed everywhere, burning her flesh. Then he took one nipple in his mouth, drawing it deep, flicking the hardened tip with his tongue.

  The release burst upon her like before, only a thousand times more intense. She stiffened and shuddered and cried out his name in a hoarse, breathy voice. Her body seemed to spiral into some great, black void.

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  Weightlessly she floated back to earth. Tears stung her eyes and slipped down her temples.

  Finally, shaking with the aftermath of their passion, she lifted her head and met his gaze. The sad, loving look in his eyes almost broke her heart. Everything that stood between them was in that look, the love, the passion ... and beneath it, hovering and dark, the impossibility of there ever being any more between them than there was right now.

  She felt a swelling sense of despair. All her life she'd waited for this moment, this emotion. She'd wanted to revel in it, savor it like a glass of fine, aged wine. But now she couldn't. She had to grab at it greedily, clutch whatever remnant of it she could before it turned to smoke.

  They should be cuddling and talking and laughing like new lovers. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many questions she wanted to ask about his life. But none of it really mattered; things like that only mattered to couples building a future together. She and Killian were just reliving a past. There was nowhere for them to go.

  With a quiet sigh, she rested her head against his damp chest and closed her eyes. They stood locked together, the sweet scent of their passion heavy in the dank air, and already it felt as if they were miles apart. There wasn't a heartbeat of joy between them, just this grave, depressing realization that it was going by too fast, that it wouldn't last.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed the damp, curly tendrils of hair from her face. His hold on her buttocks loosened and she slid down the length of his body. Her bare feet hit the floor with a muffled thud.

  She lifted her head, though it felt impossibly heavy. Their gazes met, and in his dark eyes she saw the mirror

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  of her own pain and regret. She tried to smile. "You're turning me into a real slut, Killian."

  She could tell that he wanted to smile, but he couldn't. "Give me a lifetime and there's no telling how you'll turn out."

  The words pierced her heart. "Don't," she said softly. "Don't ask that of me, Killian. I have a baby at home who needs me."

  "I need you."

  The despair increased, seeped through her body until she felt deflated and limp. It took almost more energy than she possessed to speak. "I need you, too, but all we can do is make the best of the time we have. There's nothing more for us."

  She started to turn away, to walk past him and get her clothes. The moment of their intimacy was gone, shattered. She felt alone suddenly, maybe more alone than ever before in her life.

  She took a step, perhaps two, before he stopped her. The touch of his hand on her arm was all she needed. A small, desperate sound escaped her lips as she swirled around and threw herself into his arms. He embraced her so tightly, she couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter.

  "Jesus, Lainie," he whispered hoarsely against her ear. "What in the hell are we going to do?"

  She clung to him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck, his skin slick with her tears. "I don't know."

  They stood that way for what seemed like forever, naked, clasped in each other's arms. Neither one of them wanted to be the first to turn away, but even now, in his arms, Lainie felt as if he were light-years away. As if she couldn't actually touch him if she reached out.

  Finally, as if on some unspoken cue, they both pulled apart. Lainie immediately felt a chill against her flesh,

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  and she wondered fleetingly if she'd ever really be warm again. She reached down for her jeans, which lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. "I'll get this place picked up and start a fire. You go ahead and see to the horse."

  "Yeah." The word slipped out on a heavy sigh as he reached for his own drawers and trousers.

  Lainie scooped the jeans into her arms and reached down for her socks. One lay beside the jeans and the other hung from the rickety headboard. She moved right up against the bed, her shins against the wooden frame, and reached for the sock.

  She heard a whispered rustling, like the crinkling of cellophane. She stopped, frowning, her hand hovering above the sock. "Did you hear?"

  A sharp pain, like a quick pierce of a needle, flared near her ankle. She yelped and stumbled backward.

  "What happened?"

  She bent down and peered under the bed. "Something bit me."

  Deep shadows lay heaped beneath the bed. She heard the scurrying sound again. Something moved.

  Killian leapt toward her and flung her away from the bed. She stumbled back.

  A slender, straw-colored insect crept out from the cover of the shadows. It moved slowly, six legs working as one, with two dangerous-looking pincers poised above its head. A long, jointed tail curved up over its body, ending in a sharp, hairy stinger.

  "Oh, Jesus," Killian breathed. "A scorpion." He wrenched sideways and picked up his cowboy boot, slamming the heel down on the deadly insect.

  Before she could say a word, Killian yanked a dirty blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. The musty scent of old wool filled her nostrils, sickening

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  and sour. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her through the broken door. Racing across the untended yard, he skidded to his knees alongside the stream and shoved her foot into the cool water. "Stay here." He leapt to his feet and started to turn away from her.

  She grabbed his wrist so tightly, her nails gouged his skin. He paused and glanced down at her. "Was it the deadly kind?" She had to force the question up her throat. It sounded weak and desperate and afraid. Exactly the way she felt.

  The look on his face was all the answer she needed. "Stay here," he said in a gruff voice. "I'll get the cabin ready for you."

  "I think I'll stay out here, thanks."

  "You'll need the bed," he answered softly, and in the words she heard the ringing echo of a thousand unspoken ones.

  Suddenly Viloula's prophecy came back to her. There will be a death. Lainie shuddered and wrapped her arms around her naked body, staring down at the foot shimmering beneath the mirror of the water. It felt, strangely, like someone else's foot, someone else's problem.

  Then the pain began, a low, dull throbbing at the base of her ankle, and she knew she was in trouble this time. She'd done a lot of research on the American Southwest, and she knew that scorpions were considered the most deadly animals in the desert.

  Adults rarely die, she reminded herself.

  Rarely.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, clutching the rough woolen blanket more tightly around her shoulders. The statistic wasn't quite as comforting as she'd like.

  "Never," she said with a laugh that sounded a little hysterical. "Adults never die would be good."

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  She breathed deeply, trying to keep calm. She could handle pain. Hell, she'd been through childbirth. She could handle anything.

  Time sort of slipped away from her for a second. She looked up suddenly, blinking hard. It felt as if she'd fallen asleep, but she didn't think she had. She stared out at the desert's blurry wash of sand and stone. Overhead the sky was so blue, it hurt her eyes. She shielded her gaze with a shaking hand an
d glanced back at the cabin.

  How long had he been gone? Five minutes, ten? An hour? Suddenly she had no idea. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her fear at bay.

  The pain in her ankle had dwindled. She tried to draw her leg out of the water to examine the sting mark, but she couldn't move. Her leg felt numb, as heavy as stone.

  Paralyzed. The word smashed through her, set off a terror so deep and dark and primal, she couldn't breathe. Her heart seemed to explode within her chest, setting off a pounding rush of blood through her veins.

  "C-Calm down," she told herself firmly. "It's just the c-cold water."

  She grabbed her ankle and dragged it onto the dirt. Two angry red marks spotted the tender skin in the hollow beneath her anklebone, but there was almost no inflammation or swelling.

  That was probably a good sign, she thought. Probably a really good sign.

  Paralyzed.

  She shoved the horrifying thought aside with a shudder. But it wouldn't stay gone, it kept coming back, seeping through her thoughts and filling her with a formless terror. Suddenly she couldn't stay here any-

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  more, couldn't sit here like a lump of clay; she had to move, had to force herself to walk.

  She scooted back from the shore and staggered to her feet. Her leg was numb, but not paralyzed. If she really concentrated, she could make herself walk. The realization calmed her somewhat. Thank God.

  Clutching the blanket around her throat, she limped back toward the cabin, dragging her hurt foot like some Victorian Quasimodo. "Killian!" She tried to scream his name, but couldn't manage it. Her tongue felt heavy now, as useless and numb as her leg.

  God, what's happening to me?

  Shivering violently, she limped forward. Just as she reached the cabin, the door banged open again and two men appeared in the doorway.

  She frowned, wondering who the second man was.

  "Layyynee?" The word?was it her name??seemed to come at her from an endless darkness, drawn out and lingering like the last echoing strains of music. The voice was familiar.

  The two watery men merged back into one, a tall, silver-haired man wearing jeans and nothing else. It took her a second to recognize him. Her mind felt strangely disconnected. Killian.