Lord of Lightning Page 4

  “Earthquakes?”

  He turned back to her. “Right. And since this is earthquake country, it looked like a chance to provide some support for the theory.”

  “Only?”

  “Only there hasn’t been any seismic activity lately. So, I’m back at square one.”

  “These lights ... are they dangerous?”

  “If you mean radioactive,” he said, returning to stand at the end of the bed, “the answer is no. The readings they generated on my Geiger counter were about as lethal as a refrigerator’s.”

  “Geiger counter?” Remembering the static she’d heard, she stared up at him. “Then that silver creature was you?”

  “That was me, the bogeyman. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’d forgotten how frightening the suit can look.”

  “You scared me but good,” she said, her laughter a heavy sigh. “I must have looked demented scrambling up that embankment.”

  He smiled apologetically. “Demented never looked better.”

  His eyes brushed over the blanket, reminding Lise that she was au naturel underneath. “Do you suppose I could have my dress back?” she asked.

  “Sure, but I don’t think the dress is going to be very comfortable. I can loan you one of my shirts. That should be loose enough not to bother your injuries.”

  A moment later he’d pulled a red flannel shirt from the mirrored dresser and was holding it up for her approval.

  “Looks good to me,” she said.

  As he handed her the shirt they both realized the problem. She wasn’t going to be able to put it on by herself.

  “How do we do this?” she said, a nervous smile surfacing.

  “Can you sit up?”

  She tried, grimacing as the pain hit. “Whew,” she breathed, settling back on one elbow. Determined, she heaved herself up again, reached for the shirt, and watched, horrified, as the blanket slid down her body. It came to rest on the fullest part of her breasts, revealing a considerable expanse of freckled cleavage. “Oh, no!”

  She clutched the blanket and dropped back to the pillow, staring at the ceiling and wishing she was unconscious again!

  “Here, I’ll hold the blanket,” Stephen announced matter-of-factly, settling himself next to her on the bed.

  Lise acquiesced. It was the only way she’d ever be able to get herself clothed and decent again. With him shielding her, she managed to get her good arm into the shirt. The injured arm was another story.

  Stephen watched her struggle, intrigued by her extreme modesty. He’d already seen her breasts, so he wasn’t quite sure what she was hiding. But she certainly intended to hide it, whatever it was. “I could help,” he offered.

  “I can do it,” she insisted, gasping with pain. She tried again, swearing under her breath. She twisted this way and that, wincing, moaning, but nothing worked, and finally she slumped back against the pillow, tears in her eyes. “No—I can’t do it!”

  He didn’t wait for her permission. He set the blanket aside and bent over her, scooping her up with an arm around her shoulders. It was a dicey situation. There were arms, hands, shoulders, and breasts everywhere. Body parts bumped frequently, and irresistibly, before Stephen finally got her into the shirt. When at last he succeeded, she dropped back on the pillow, exhausted, her shirt lying open.

  She stared up at him, blond hair flying, blue eyes tearstained, making no attempt to cover herself. The sight of her in such willful disarray was one of the sexiest things Stephen could ever remember seeing.

  “Let’s get this finished,” he said, taking charge again. He began to button the shirt, moving with feverish determination. He wasn’t doing it in deference to her earlier modesty. He wasn’t doing it for her at all. The sight of her sprawled before him in total disarray was more wanton exposure than he could handle.

  He started with the buttons at her neckline and worked his way down, trying his damnedest not to touch her. If she hadn’t been so full-breasted, he might have succeeded. As it was, he could feel her through the shirt, and the soft shimmers of movement drove him crazy. Her body’s warmth seeped through the flannel material, sensitizing his skin.

  He felt an abrupt jerk of desire in his gut, and it took his breath away. It was as though someone had caught his vitals in a slipknot and yanked the rope.

  She was getting to him again—the feel of her, the sight of her. But it was the way she looked at him that delivered the death blow to his precarious state of mind. All of that sexy vulnerability and soft agony in her eyes. What did it mean? He didn’t know how to read her. She almost looked as though she wanted him to take advantage of her weakened condition. What the hell, he thought, confused. She had all the dreamy urgency of a woman who wanted to be taken to bed.

  What do you want, angel eyes? What do you want from me?

  Lise didn’t know what she wanted. She was riveted by the things that were happening to her. She’d never worn a man’s shirt. She’d never had a man help her put on his shirt. And she’d certainly never had a man button up the shirt he’d just helped her put on!

  No man had ever looked at her that way either.

  With eyes that were silver shot and hungry. With a desire that was raw-boned and tight at the jaw. He looked as though he wanted to eat her alive. Dear Lord, he was a lion. Her stomach muscles pulled tight, and a Fourth of July pinwheel went off in her belly. The spiraling shower of iridescence was dazzling. It swirled like a gyro, filling her with breathless expectation. The sensation was so strange and thrilling, she didn’t want it to end.

  Suddenly she realized he’d stopped buttoning her blouse. His hands were poised on her body, and she could feel the weight of them against her breasts.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  She drew in a deep breath, startling herself as she moved against him. The pinwheel showered sparks again, mesmerizing her with its brightness. She’d never felt such strange, sweet stimulation. She actually wanted his hands against her, wanted to be touched.

  “What the hell,” he said softly.

  “Don’t stop.” It was a hushed invitation. Lise could hardly believe she’d said it. Glancing up at him, she wished she hadn’t! A magnificent storm was gathering in his features.

  She gasped softly as he bunched the flannel material in his fists and began to pull her toward him. Her stomach dipped into oblivion, a squealing child on a carnival ride. He was bending toward her, and his eyes were blazingly blue. He was going to kiss her.

  “Stephen—” A hot stab of pain pierced her, radiating from her rib cage. “Oh-h!”

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. A vise was squeezing off her breath. She clutched at him as he lowered her to the pillow.

  “I’ll get you something,” he said, releasing her.

  A moment later he was standing over her with a glass of water and two white capsules. “Painkillers. They’re mild.”

  The throbbing in her side had subsided slightly, but she took the medicine without question. The pain was still intense, and she wanted relief. Sinking back into the pillow, she closed her eyes and waited for the pills to take effect. Her temples pulsed, echoing the steady beat of pain in her body.

  The room hushed around her, and she wondered if he’d gone, but she didn’t open her eyes.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  The bed moved with his weight as he sat beside her. She could feel the pressure of his hip next to hers, but still she didn’t open her eyes or acknowledge him in any way. Her head was throbbing, and she needed the escape of darkness. She couldn’t stand the extra stimulation of looking at him.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she felt the odd sensation in her scalp, perhaps only seconds. It tingled vibrantly, almost painfully, crackling across her skin like tiny spokes of lightning. Was it him? It felt as if fingers were touching her, running along her forehead, smoothing her hair.

  When she opened her eyes, the pain in her temples was gone. And he was watchi
ng her, silent, an odd smile in his eyes.

  Curiosity compelled her to touch him. When she did, it was just a brushing of her fingertips over the back of his hand, but the effect was the same as if he’d touched her. A shock tingled her skin, mild and pleasantly stimulating.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  A minute hesitation. “Static electricity. The dry weather, the equipment I use. It creates a field.”

  “An electrical field.” she murmured, staring at her hand, fascinated as she glanced up at him. “How odd ... my headache’s gone.”

  She was wondering what it would be like to be kissed by a man who gave off volts of electricity, when he cupped her chin and bent toward her. Lise murmured, “I don’t think we should—” And that was as far as she got.

  The touch of his lips was sweetly charged and spine tingling. She tilted her head up in response, a soft sigh in her throat. Rivulets of excitement rippled through her, but more than any of the surface sensations, she could feel the kiss deep inside her, a clutch of sweet, hard need.

  He said her name. “Lise ...”

  He moved his mouth over hers, and excitement prickled like a million tiny needles, stinging her lips, bringing them alive. Lise had the feeling that she was glowing, that light was spilling through her, floating clear out to her fingertips. It was the most extraordinary reaction she’d ever had. The sensations were almost metaphysical, a meditation on light where every flaw was being made perfect.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” he said.

  Lise breathed startled laughter. That was the sweetest, most ridiculous thing he could have said. She didn’t care if he hurt her. She didn’t care if he tortured her, as long as he didn’t stop kissing her.

  A dull rip of pain spread through her ribs as she laced her arms around his neck. “It doesn’t matter.” she said, brushing tingly, urgent kisses over his parted lips. “Really, it doesn’t.”

  She wanted this moment to go on forever. She wanted to savor the taste of his mouth, to be in his arms, even to know the thrill of his weight on top of her, the sweet fire of his body inside hers. For the first time she wanted to make love with a man.

  And then something odd happened. Her lips began to feel prickly, as though they were going numb, and a wave of drowsiness washed over her. What was happening? The pills? “Stephen?” she murmured as her eyes drifted shut. A moment later she was sound asleep in his arms.

  The darkness that enveloped the foothills that night was nearly opaque. The moon was lost in cloud cover, and even the brightest, boldest stars seemed to have burned out. Only the fire in the quarry blazed on, an eternal flame in blue.

  The cabin was dark, no light emanating from its interior. From the front it looked as deserted and forlorn as it did the evening the children had discovered it. But around the back, through an opening in the shingled roof, a shaft of laser light shot into the heavens. The thin stream was translucent, the most vibrant shade of blue visible to the human eye. Its trajectory was the cosmos. Star-strewn infinity.

  Inside the cabin Lise slept soundly, unaware of the bluish glow that pierced the bedroom. Behind her, the door to an adjoining room stood slightly ajar. Pulses of light seeped through the narrow crack.

  A distant cry pierced the cabin’s silence. Some wild creature calling out its loneliness, calling its mate.

  Lise stirred slightly as the door opened behind her and blue light flared. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, a reflexive response, not seeing anything. She wasn’t aware of the dark silhouette of a man standing in a halo of blue light. She didn’t see him approach and stand over her.

  He touched her face, and the light flowed over her, pooling in her hair. And then he drew something from his pocket, a leather pouch, which he emptied into his hand. The two stones he cupped in his palm were as smooth as agate and as black as obsidian. Their quivering energy spilled through his fingers.

  Taking one stone in each hand, he stared at his glowing reflection in the dresser mirror. And then he looked down at Lise. Outside the cabin the quarry lights flared and the wild creature cried again.

  Four

  SUNSHINE FILTERED THROUGH the cabin window, dancing a path through the dust motes floating in the air and highlighting the freckles on the bridge of Lise’s nose. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away sleep. It only took her a moment to determine where she was. It was the second time in twenty-four hours that she’d awakened in Stephen Gage’s bed.

  This time was different, however. A man’s hand was tangled in the shirt she wore. Stephen Gage was in bed with her.

  No sudden moves, Lise, she told herself, tilting her head to check out the man lying next to her. He must have shifted toward her at sometime during the night, and the way his hand was fisted around a hunk of red flannel material made it look as though he’d given serious thought to taking the shirt off her.

  Maybe he’d been dreaming? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but that possibility did nothing to reassure her quickening heart. She was struck all over again by the size of him, evidenced by the breadth of his hand, the muscular span of his arm, and everything the arm was connected to. At five feet five, she felt physically slight, almost inconsequential by comparison. If he’d wanted to take the shirt off her, he could have, she realized. Very easily.

  She considered his face in repose and decided she saw compassion there, even tenderness. He might be the stuff of Nordic legend. He might even bring to mind the warlords who stormed her daydreams and carried her off, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the sort who pillaged, plundered, and ripped bodices. Speaking of which ...

  His chambray shirt was unbuttoned, and she found it impossible to avoid the fact that his chest was drowning in a rainstorm of golden hair. Her fingers tingled with anticipation, but if she had the latent desire to touch him there, it was swiftly suppressed by the inappropriateness of such an act. She didn’t even want to imagine herself running her fingers through a man’s chest hair.

  The tangled gold on his head, however ...

  She might have liked to tame that wildness a bit, or even to feel the delicious scrape of his beard against her palm.

  She kept her tingling fingers to herself. No telling what might happen if he woke up and found her getting familiar with his hair. The very thought gave her chills. Instead she cautiously extricated herself from his grasp and pushed up to a sitting position, wincing at the twinge of protest from her ribs.

  By the time her feet had hit the floor, she knew she was going to be all right. She wouldn’t be doing pushups for a while, but she could move remarkably well otherwise. Perhaps she hadn’t actually broken any ribs. Even the cuts on her arms looked much improved, the swelling and inflammation nearly gone.

  On that encouraging thought, she glanced at her watch. Seven? In the morning? Odd, she thought, moving toward the window for a look outside. The sun seemed too high for seven. A closer scrutiny told her the brand-new watch had stopped. The second hand wasn’t moving. She tapped the crystal hopefully. She’d only bought the thing yesterday, so there was no possibility that it needed batteries. Perhaps she’d hit it during the fall.

  Two watches in two days, she thought, turning to reconsider Stephen Gage. He could get to be expensive.

  He chose that moment to make a muffled sound and reach out, gathering the blanket to him as though it were a woman.

  Lise felt a wrench of something poignant. The suddenness of the feeling surprised her; its sharpness confused her. Her breathing deepened, and in the rising tumult, she recognized only one emotion, a wrench of longing. She wanted to be the woman he reached out for.

  The sun was beating on her back as though to remind her that she had no business standing there aching to be held by a man she barely knew. Or any man for that matter. She had to teach that morning—and she still didn’t know what time it was. She scanned the room, looking for her clothes, and as she spotted her dress draped across a chair, she also noticed an adjoining room. The closed door wa
s warped along the frame, its white enamel paint yellowed and blistered, but it was the padlock hanging just above the knob that drew her attention.

  Locked rooms had always intrigued her. Once as a child she had forced the lock on her father’s study and found him berating her mother about having had an extra glass of wine that night at a dinner party. That was when Lise had begun to suspect that men were inclined to be too domineering. And perhaps too much bother all the way around.

  She proceeded with caution across the hardwood floor so as not to wake Stephen. It surprised her when the padlock came open with one gentle tug. She opened the door just enough to peek in, and whistled softly at what she saw. The imposing array of equipment defied description. Even if she’d known what any of it was, she wouldn’t have wanted to get within spitting distance of it. Antennae, feedback coils, wires, and cables sprang like tentacles from the bank of monitors and digital readout displays that blinked at her. The Strategic Air Command has nothing on this place, she thought.

  She was working up the courage to investigate the room further when a rumbling sound caught her ear. It was coming from outside the cabin, and growing louder by the minute. She left the door the way she’d found it, closed and padlocked, and hurried to the window.

  A grimy blue Volkswagen roared up in front of the cabin and stopped, nearly disappearing in the cloud of dust it had raised. Before Lise could see clearly who it was, a pickup pulled up beside it. Oh, Lord, Lise thought, as a redheaded, denim-clad girl flew out of the Volkswagen. It was Julie.

  The pickup’s door panel said Frank’s Gas Station, and six guys piled out of the bed. Lise recognized Buck Thompson, Frank’s head mechanic, in the pack before she stepped back from the window. She’d made the mistake of dating Buck when she’d first moved to Shady Tree. It hadn’t taken her long to discover the nasty sense of humor lurking behind his boyish good looks. Buck Thompson had a mean streak a mile long. Worse, he seemed to have decided Lise was his girl, and despite her polite discouragement, she’d never quite convinced him otherwise.