Thunderstruck Page 5

  “Doc, the way you’re looking at me right now—and God help me, through those glasses—is driving me nuts. It’s your call. Tell me to go, or—”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “Absolutely.” He grabbed her face, plunging his hands into her hair as he captured her mouth in an unrelenting kiss. He leaned back. “Doc, I—”

  “I need you naked, now,” she said, surprising herself with her demand.

  He grinned. “Race you.”

  Clothes scattered in a whirlwind. Somer reached for her glasses.

  He pulled her to him and stopped her. “Leave them on.” He brought his mouth down hard on hers, backing her to the writing desk. With one arm, he swept aside the few items and leaned her back, sheathing himself as he held her gaze.

  “Are you—”

  “For the love of all things merciful, fuck me, Nash.” After two years with only her electric friend for satisfaction, she was on fire. Parting her knees, she leaned back on the desk.

  “Next time,” he said, his words stilted as he entered her, groaning with pleasure.

  Somer snaked her arms around his neck, drawing him deeper. “Forget about next time,” she said, her body spiraling toward heaven with each thrust. “Just keep doing that.” Tears stung at the back of her eyes. For too long she’d been without the warmth of a man, and never with one who seemed to want her as much as she wanted him. Where this would end up was anybody’s guess.

  Lightening flashed, causing the lamp to flicker. Fat drops of rain began to splatter against the window panes. The wind had grown fierce, whistling around the corner of the tiny cabin. Caught in a vortex of passion, she barely noticed when the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

  Nash braced against the desk, driving into her with a fury that she would have never believed to be romantic, but more animalistic. Yet, she welcomed him, wrapping her legs around him, surrendering deliciously in abandon. She freed herself to enjoy their union, to push one another, transcending to where only they existed—and nothing else mattered.

  A flash of light splintered the night. “Nash,” she cried out as her body came apart in a shattering climax. He pulled her butt toward him, driving deep twice more before tumbling over into his own release.

  “The lights went out,” she blurted out, still in shock as the rain and wind continued to batter the tiny cabin.

  He turned his head, his face inches from hers. “Are you all right?” His hot breath fanned against her skin. He stepped away and, in the flash of lightning that followed, she saw him searching for his clothes.

  “You?” she asked, already saddened by the loss of his body against hers.

  “Good, yeah.”

  Good? Not the most amazing sex I’ve ever had? Then again, his situation may not have been as dire as hers had been. Her body tense and sore, she managed to find the floor and grope through the darkness to the bed.

  The sheets and quilt were once more folded at the end of the bed. “Damn you, I’m not leaving.”

  “Who are you talking to?” came Nash’s voice.

  Clearly, there was no warm fuzzy snuggling going to follow on the heels of said monkey sex. “Our friend apparently wants me to leave.”

  All at once, the light came on. Mid-reach of grabbing the folded sheets, she gave out a yelp and realized that, while she stood there in her birthday suit, Nash had already redressed. Seeing his confusion, she quickly wrapped the sheet around her.

  He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, looking away, as though searching for something to say, some sort of explanation for his actions. Excuses were the last thing Somer wanted to hear.

  “Maybe you should go.”

  He glanced at her, his hand already circling the doorknob. He didn’t look up. “I’m not sure what just happened.”

  We had sex and it was amazing. Powerful. Mind-blowing.

  “I better go check the fuse box,” he said.

  “The fuse box?” she asked.

  He kept his gaze to the floor. “Uh, yeah. Listen, about this…”

  Oh, God in heaven, she didn’t need him to say it was a mistake. “Just go, Nash. Please.”

  He opened the door and stood there a moment, as though assessing the ferocity of the storm.

  “Nash?” Her voice was lost in the din of thunder and rain. He slammed the door and her heart leapt. What had happened between them had been consensual, hadn’t it? Though in reality, she couldn’t remember how it started, only that she’d wanted him like she needed her next breath.

  She pulled on her pajamas, re-made the bed for the second time that night, and crawled in under the security of the covers. Her body thrummed with need. She chided herself for being needy, vulnerable. But in those few moments, it was as though she wasn’t herself, that they hadn’t been strangers. Rather, lovers in desperate need to appease a desire burning so hot that it was worth the risk at any price.

  She had no idea how she’d face him in the light of day. But at this moment, logic warred with sensations she hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. Deep emotional ties to a man she barely knew. Her hand drifted over her breast, tender from his lavish attention, and she closed her eyes and dreamt of when they might be together again.

  ***

  Nash barely slept. Just before dawn he showered, dressed, and headed over to the main house alone, hoping to get a start on replacing the flooring upstairs. Walking the red brick path, his gaze scanned the grounds. He noted how the storm had shrouded the pre-dawn with a heavy mist. He could barely discern the majestic oaks standing beyond the hedged garden maze at the back of the house. The air was stagnant, sultry. Sweat had beaded across his forehead just walking the short distance from the garçonnière to the house. A quick glance at the closed curtains of the guest cabin confirmed, to his relief, that she was still asleep. He needed time to think about what he would say to her today. Hell, if only he knew how to explain the explosive lust that ignited between them. He admitted that, when he’d gone over there late using food as an excuse, he’d only meant to gain an exploratory kiss. Then all hell broke loose, and it was as though his body craved her. He considered himself a considerate lover. Taking his time to get to know the woman first, taking things slow, seducing her.

  This was a damn flashfire. This nimble, bespectacled nymph had turned his head around and before he knew it, he’d had her spread-eagle on the writing desk going at it like there was no tomorrow. Seduction be damned. He was bent on hearing her scream out his name, like that was what mattered. Like he might never see her again.

  Even more strange was that she never wavered. Sure, there’d been an attraction. He’d seen it the first time when their eyes met in New Orleans on the square. But this…this defied explanation. In fact, it seemed that her need was every bit as insatiable, as consuming as his. Still, he was stunned by the sheer animalistic sex. It was the only way to describe it. Frantic. Driven. Forbidden. Certainly not to a degree that he’d ever before experienced with a woman. It was off-the-charts. And the worst part of it? The emotions that had ignited such a heated response, pummeling him to claim her, had disappeared almost instantaneously. Fuck if he understood what was going on.

  Nash reached the second floor and set to opening a few windows, praying for a breeze. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the house, leaving a vacuum.

  Turning his mind to restoration, he measured and cut the planks for the floorboards, carrying them from the work station on the second story sun porch to the bedroom.

  His mind, however, swirled with broken images—the woman in the maze, the second line parade, turning to stare into those lapis-blue eyes for the first time. He compared it to how she’d looked at him last night in the throes of passion—as though she might never see him again. Which, if he were smart, he’d honor and keep his dick in his pants for the remainder of the time she was visiting. Then again, there was always the distinct possibility that last night—his behavior and how he’d reacted, albeit poorly—might have cinched t
hings. It was highly possible that even now, she was tossing her little green backpack into that rental car of hers….

  Nash shook his head as he hauled the wood on his shoulder and carried it into the bedroom, his mind not clear, his boot narrowly missing a gaping hole in the floor. He dropped the wood at his feet, mentally admonishing himself to get a grip on his wandering thoughts. He grabbed his travel mug that kept the chicory coffee he’d brewed that morning piping hot. He needed the kick of its strong, black richness, and he needed to get focused on finishing what he was there to do.

  It wasn’t long before he was lost in his work—measuring, breathing deeply the scent of fresh-cut wood, enjoying the sound of the table saw as it echoed in the big silent house. This he understood. This he could control.

  “You’re up early.”

  His heart did a somersault at the sound of her voice. He glanced over his shoulder as he tapped the first of the new planks into place. She hadn’t left. Nash swiped his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  Somer stood at the entrance to the bedroom. She wore a plain, gray T-shirt and a ratty pair of blue jeans. Black converse sneakers covered her feet and her hair was caught up in a perky ponytail. But in his mind he pictured her on that desk, her blues eyes challenging him.

  He blinked and cleared his throat. Better to cut right to the chase, get things out in the open.

  “About last night…”

  The words came from the both of them at the same time.

  She smiled. At least she hadn’t thrown a hammer at his head.

  He stood and avoided her gaze as he scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, I guess maybe things got a little out of control,” he said, sneaking a quick glance at her reaction.

  She stepped into the room. “I guess maybe it did.”

  He chewed the inside of his lip and sighed. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

  She shifted her glasses and a hint of a smile played on her lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She took another step, her gaze curious as she looked through the gap in the floor down to the room below.

  “Careful, I haven’t nailed some of these down yet.” He held up his hand to caution her.

  “You don’t mind if I look?” Her eyes were wide, curious—almost innocent. Lord in heaven, he knew better.

  “Sure, just be careful,” he said, staying close enough to lend a hand if something happened.

  Lowering herself to her hands and knees, she inched her way to the large opening in the floor and peered down. “Oh, that’s quite a bit farther down than I thought.”

  “About twenty feet,” he replied, his heart speeding up as she seemed to be looking at something. “Hey, what are you doing?” Never mind the pretty little tatt of a Scottish thistle on her lower back.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s something over there, tucked in between the floor joists.” She braced her shoe against the edge of the opening and leaned forward, stretching to reach the object.

  Nash’s heart stopped. With a sigh, he walked over and grabbed her by the seat of her pants.

  “What the he—?” She glanced up at him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “I’m saving your ass. What are you doing?” he shot back.

  She looked back, searching the murky shadows. “It looks like…” She wrestled with something, finally tugging it free. Her foot slipped and Nash grabbed her around the waist and rolled her away from the gap in the floor. He landed on his back, as did she, atop him like a turtle, her hands and legs flailing in the air.

  “If you dare call me ‘Mr. Walker,’ I’m liable to toss you right down that hole. Understood?”

  She sighed. “Understood.”

  He sat up and she rolled off his lap, taking a seat on the floor facing him. “Look.” He searched her face. “About last night—I figure there are two ways we can handle this.”

  Amazingly, her glasses had slipped only slightly on her nose. She blinked and pushed them up.

  God almighty, he had to jumpstart his brain to remember what he’d been saying. “One, we can pretend like nothing happened. Let it go. Never speak of it again.”

  “Just one of those things?” she offered, blowing a wisp of hair from her face.

  He nodded. “Exactly, just one of those crazy, unexplained things.” He narrowed his gaze, hoping she’d go for option two. To him, it seemed the more logical of the two. “Or we could sit down later today—say, over dinner—and talk about it.” In the silence that followed he could all but hear the gears clicking in her brain.

  Finally, she stood, brushed off her backside, and hugged the brown-wrapped parcel to her chest. She peered down at him. “Option one.” With that, she turned and walked out of the room. What the hell?

  “Okay, then. Sounds good to me,” he called out after her. “Hey, whatever that is, technically it’s my property,” he added.

  “I’m aware, Mr. Nash,” she said loudly.

  “Great,” he muttered. Summoning his pride, he got up and adjusted his tool belt. “Fuck that.” He sure as hell didn’t need the crazy-ass drama that woman brought with her, anyway.

  He worked at finishing the floor, catching glimpses of her below, walking and reading from a book. He was so caught up in his endeavor to ignore her that he realized he hadn’t checked his phone all day. Pulling it from his pocket, he swore silently when he saw all the missed calls and text messages his friend, Mickey, had left him. He noted a couple of weather app alerts, as well, but would check those later.

  He dialed his foreman. “Mickey? Hey, sorry, man. Phone was on silent.” He checked his watch, surprised, too, by the time. “What’s up? Why aren’t you here?”

  “We’ve had storms here in the city since about four this morning. It’s coming down pretty hard and showing no signs of letting up. The local news doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal, but I’m telling you, you can’t see your hand in front of your face its pouring so hard.”

  Nash checked the radar on his phone and saw the giant yellow and red blob over New Orleans. The skies over Evermore had remained dismal all morning—never fully recovering, it seemed, from the storm that had popped up last night. If nothing, it had gotten more humid, a good indicator that a storm was headed their way later in the day.

  “Some of the streets are flooding. I’m not thrilled about the idea of leaving my wife alone here. What do you think?” Mickey asked.

  “Call the guys. Tell them to stay put. We’ll start earlier tomorrow after this all blows over,” Nash said.

  “Sounds good. That ghost doctor ever show up?”

  Nash glanced over his shoulder. Hell, yeah, she did. He wasn’t sure exactly where she’d wandered off to. Didn’t really care. He lifted the curtain and searched the gardens below, still partially shrouded in a ghostly mist. He hoped she hadn’t wandered too far. He made a note to see about hiring someone to come out to clean it up, trim it properly.

  A soft hand brushed the back of his neck. He smiled. She hadn’t really meant what she’d said, after all. “Hey, I’m glad you’re—” He turned and found himself alone.

  “Nash? Who are you talking to?” Mickey asked.

  A chill washed over Nash, causing gooseflesh to rise on his arms. Her rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Suddenly, the humidity seemed more oppressive. He was having difficulty catching his breath. “Mick, you all stay safe. I’ve got to run.”

  “Will do, bro.”

  Nash shook off the odd feeling that something—or someone—had touched the back of his neck. He walked through the parlor and out onto the sun porch, leaning on the windowsill, gulping in the stagnant air. He stood there in the silent narrow corridor, fighting off the unease that he was being watched. Glancing at the dark clouds on the horizon, he forced himself to get the tarp up in case there was the slightest chance for a leak with heavy rains. Setting up the scaffolding, he retrieved a large tarp folded in the sunroom and, in short order, managed to tack it in
to place.

  He hadn’t seen or heard from Somer all day and, somewhere along the way, he’d decided that, rather than wallow in his pride, he’d be smart to realize that she’d chosen to pretend nothing had happened. Maybe he should do the same.

  A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Finishing the job, he climbed down and dropped his tool belt on the floor as he walked through each of the upper rooms and began to shut the six-foot windows. He stopped to take a healthy pull from the extra bottle of water he’d stashed in his tool bag. Though warm, it wet his parched throat. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt. His skin felt hot. A strange dizziness caused his eyes to drift shut. He’d worked years in all kinds of weather and it’d never affected him, not like this. He blew out a breath. It was possible he was coming down with something.

  Glancing ahead, he saw the open bathroom door. Behind him, the stairwell appeared a million miles away. Walking with a listing gait, he tore off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. Pausing briefly, he toed off his boots and left them in his wake. Reaching the bathroom door, he thought only of the tepid water sluicing over his heated flesh. Shoving jeans and boxer briefs to his ankles in one fell swoop, he stumbled to the old claw-foot tub and yanked back the shower curtain.

  He stepped in, twisting the old-fashioned porcelain knob. The pipes, long out of use, shuddered—groaning, it seemed, at being awakened. What began as a slow rusty trickle soon gave way to a steady clear stream. He turned his face into the refreshing spray, letting the water pound his chest. The nagging nausea of the stifling heat eased into blessed relief. He braced one hand against the wall, brushing the water through his hair, lavishing in the liquid decadence. He’d never felt anything quite as good as the water gently caressing his body. Images of Somer glided into his mind—her soft curves, the swell of her hips, the sound of pleasure emitted low in her throat as he drove into her. Where had she been all of his life, this mysterious woman whose intellect he admired, whose beautiful eyes captured him so completely? He glanced down, not surprised at his rock-solid erection. He let out a low groan, sliding his hand down his shaft.