Night Forbidden (7 page)

“Before I put you down, though,” he said, somehow holding her against him with one arm and using his free hand to push a strand of hair from her cheek, “I’m thinking I’m gonna have to kiss you.”

“Really?” she managed to say, horrified at how breathless she sounded. Her lame foot dangled freely, but somehow her right leg had curved a bit around him. For stability, she told herself—even though he was holding her around the waist, against him, and from the feel of it, she wasn’t going anywhere. She was practically straddling the man’s hip.
Oh my God.

“Really,” he said, then waited for a fraction of a second . . . as if to give her a chance to decline . . . before moving his face toward hers. His other hand went around her, between her shoulder blades.

Because of the way he was holding her, she didn’t have to worry about him easily feeling her crystals. Their faces were right there, and so, therefore, were their mouths. His full lips were tender and soft, and she felt her own ease in response as they fit together. Sweet and gentle. Pleasure sizzled through her as he shifted, parting his lips and nibbling on hers as if he had all the time in the world to explore her texture and the way they meshed.

The sensuality of his full, soft mouth, the quick, sleek swipe of tongue between her lips, had her closing her eyes and stifling a sigh of pleasure. Ana was no stranger to kissing handsome men, but it had been a while, and this was an exceptional kiss. She rested her hands on top of those immense shoulders, feeling the fluid shift of muscle there as he eased her feet back to the ground.

Their kiss broke gently then, as she steadied herself on her feet, his arms still comfortably around her. His eyes were dark with heat and pleasure, and his lips were even more full, glistening a bit from tasting hers.

“Well,” he said. His voice, which was always very deep, seemed even deeper now. “You’ve gotten me to take off my shirt, and now you’ve got my knees fixing to give way. I don’t know if that’s what you had in mind, but it worked.”

“I didn’t have anything of the sort in mind,” she said, and deftly extricated herself from his arms. Her own freaking knees were weak, and the eel burns on her torso ached from his grip. But she hadn’t noticed that discomfort until now. She’d been distracted by the kiss.

“How about if I help you this time,” he said as she prepared to mount up on Bruiser again.

“No, I don’t—” but her words were cut off in a whoosh as he lifted her as if she were as light as Tanya, and plopped her right onto the saddle.

“It’s not because of your leg, Ana,” he said. His dark, velvety eyes were serious, but there was the underlying warmth of levity in his voice. “It’s because I know your knees are shaking just as much as mine are.”

“You don’t know that,” she said primly, gathering up the reins. But a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. He was obnoxious, yet she couldn’t resist his charm. It was okay to banter, wasn’t it?

Just so long as he didn’t get his hands up her shirt.

“Baby, I know women. And I can tell—that kiss pretty much knocked you off your feet.”

Her appreciation of his charm evaporated and she drew in an outraged breath to tell him off, but he continued with a smooth sidewise wink and a long, slow drawl, “But that’s okay. I’m not gonna make it any worse for you, sugar. At least, not right now. A gal can only take so much of Fence at a time when she ain’t used to him.”

Chapter 4

A
na was a prickly one, all right, with her long, sleek, golden body and sun-streaked hair. Prickly and crazy sexy: a great combination. Keep him on his toes while he was trying to get her on her back.

Fence wasn’t ashamed to admit—at least to himself—that his knees were still shaky. He’d been the one making the moves, but she was the one whose kiss had thrown him so hard for a loop that he started talking about himself in third person, and with a hint of his grandma’s southern.

Lordy, the last time he’d done that it had been with a Victoria’s Secret model who’d wanted to go on one of On Tap’s wilderness tours until she found out there might be snakes. Losing that gig had been the biggest disappointment of his career, and he and Lenny had moaned about it for a week.

But, hot damn, Ana’d looked
fine
walking out of the ocean like the chicks from those James Bond movies. Less like Halle Berry—though she was his personal favorite—and more like the other one, who also wore a knife around her waist. Ursula Andress. No, Ursula
Un
dress.

He chuckled aloud at that one, even though the joke was older than he was. Good thing Ana was on horseback, and just ahead of him on the way back to her house, or she probably would have wanted to know what was so funny.

If he could come up with an excuse to stay in Glenway for another day or two, see what other sort of heat he could stir up with the sun goddess, he might just hang around a bit longer.

But he couldn’t take the risk. He needed to get back to Envy—just in case something went down. And aside from that, George had grown some penicillin that had to be delivered to Elliott before it rotted or went bad or something—which Fence wasn’t quite clear on, because wasn’t it mold anyway? And hadn’t it grown from something old and rotted in the first place?

Although he loved math, chemistry was not his strong suit—except between a man and a woman, then he did just fine—so Fence figured he’d eat whatever Ana was going to cook for him and George . . . then he’d have to be on his way before night fell. At least on the trip back he’d have the memory of her sweet body with all those mad, hot curves sliding all along him to the ground.

And now he knew where to find her. How long did penicillin last, anyway? Surely Elliott would need more at some time in the near future.

By now Ana was climbing off her horse outside the little cottage she and her father shared, and Fence was walking up the low incline to the house. On the back of the weathered gray building was the laboratory, which once had been a semi-truck trailer. He’d seen the inside, and it was pretty amazing for a post-Apocalyptic world.

The house itself was one room, with a kitchen and living room taking up the lower level, along with a bathroom and, he presumed, two bedrooms on the upper level. His impression of the living space was of cluttered comfort, while the attached laboratory was pristine and neat. Nearly cold in its organization, with a great number of lights running on wind and solar power, the lab was nearly as large as the house.

Something else interesting, and a bit disturbing, he’d noticed while visiting with George—if you could call being the person carrying on a conversation with a guy whose nose was in a petri dish or his eyes clamped to a microscope the whole time “visiting.” In one of the dishes there was some of that sparkly gray stuff they’d found on the shore in Envy, that first night he’d seen Ana.

The question was: Had George and/or Ana found their own sample of the stuff from somewhere else . . . or had Ana stolen some of it for her scientist father? And if it was the former, where had they found it? And had George figured out what it was? Or did they already know?

Now, watching Ana lead the horse into a third structure, which seemed to be a barn or stable, Fence saw no reason to hurry into the house when he could be admiring her tall, golden figure. Especially now that she’d changed into a different shirt—a close-fitting one—while in the stable, and was now carrying his T-shirt. Much more interesting than an absentminded, mildly socially confused professor-type guy.

She had to be at least six feet tall, which still put her four inches shorter than him, but not small enough that he’d feel like a damned gorgon next to her. Certainly not flimsy either—she had some good definition to her arms, and other than her messed-up leg, the rest of her was firm and toned. She looked like a girl who could hold her own anywhere from the wilderness to the kitchen to the bedroom.

“Coming?” Ana asked now, limping over to where he waited for her, near a patch of daisies and a tangle of wild grapes.

“Right behind you,” he said, trying not to leer. Ogling wasn’t good manners, his mama always said. But Ana did have a fine ass, and it
was
good manners to let the woman go first.

She gave him a withering glance, as if she knew exactly why he’d offered to follow, and he felt his eyes tighten at the corners as he smiled, meeting her gaze without shame. The woman should be flattered she had his attention magneted to her like that, he thought.

Then Anna went inside, and at her scream, his smile evaporated.

“What?” He bolted into the cottage and saw her kneeling by George, who was on the kitchen floor in an unmoving heap.

“Dad,” she was saying, touching his face, patting it gently, giving his shoulders a shake. “Dad, wake up.
Dad!
”

Fence, who was not merely trained in first aid, but had also been licensed as an EMT as part of his guide services, eased down next to her and looked at the older man. George was breathing, albeit roughly, and his skin looked and felt clammy and tight, and it had a faint bluish cast beneath the gray. His pulse seemed normal, if a little fast, and his hands were cold. He had the beginning of a bump on the side of his head, probably from where he’d landed on the floor. Damn good thing it was hardwood and not stone.

Then George’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at them with a groggy expression. “Anastancie,” he mumbled, and tried to sit. “What are you—”

“No you don’t,” she said firmly, sliding her arm beneath his shoulders to keep him off the hard floor. “Give it a minute, Dad.” She looked up at Fence, and he saw fear settling in her eyes. “This is the third time in the last two weeks he’s done this.”

“I haven’t
done
anything,” George argued, but even Fence heard the weakness there. “Just got a little dizzy.”

“So dizzy you took a swan dive onto your face? Again?”

“What happened?” asked Fence, gently palpating the older man’s skull. A goose egg was forming, but it was a normal bump from a fall like this. “Before I get you somewhere more comfortable, I need to know: Do you hurt anywhere?”

“No,” muttered George. “Not hurt, except my pride—”

Fence didn’t wait any longer. He easily scooped up the older man, and before George could protest, deposited him carefully on the sofa. “Don’t need to stay on the hard floor,” he said as the man gave him a grimace.

Ana was at his side then, wedging a pillow under her father’s head. “What happened, Dad?”

“I was just a little dizzy—that’s all. Then the next thing I knew, I felt badly enough to try and sit down. I just didn’t make it to a chair.”

“How often have you been feeling this way?” asked Fence, closing his fingers around George’s wrist to check for his pulse. Not too rapid, but definitely faster than normal. He didn’t have a watch, and didn’t see a clock anywhere, so he had to estimate timing and pulse count. He wished he had a blood pressure cuff.

“I feel a little faint maybe couple times a week. I don’t pass out every time,” he added defensively to Ana . . . then seemed to realize that wasn’t necessarily a comforting statement.

She looked at Fence, who’d settled back on his haunches next to the couch so he didn’t loom over his patient. “I don’t know what to do about it,” she said. “What if I didn’t come back for a while, and there he was, on the floor all day or night?” Her face was lined with fear and indecision. “What if one time, he doesn’t wake up? Or hits his head on something really hard or sharp?”

“I’m
fine
,” George said. “I should have sat down, and I didn’t. My mistake. I won’t do it again.” He pulled up to a sitting position and the pillow fell away. Ana patted the back of his hand, and Fence noticed that her skin was much darker than her father’s—likely from the hours spent in the sun.

Yet, father and daughter shared quite a bit of resemblance: their body shapes—on him, tall and lanky; on her sleek and slender—the same light brown eyes with amber and green flecks, the same thick, wavy hair. On George it was a full head of brown turning to gray, and on Ana it was long and rippling.

“Gotta tell you,” Fence said in the calm voice he used in everything from talking down a woman—or man—who’d found a black widow in his or her tent, to coaxing a suddenly claustrophobic client through the very tight channels of the Bitch, to explaining that, yes, there was a chance of getting seriously injured on a climb up Havasu. “You know, I think you should have the situation checked out. I’ve got some medical training,” he continued—and realized that was probably a foreign concept to these post-Change people—“but my friend Elliott, who I’m taking your penicillin to, would be able to tell you exactly what’s causing the problem. So you know whether it’s something serious,” he said, glancing at Ana, “or something like you just aren’t getting enough iron in your diet. Or your blood pressure’s down or something.”

“Your friend Elliott? Back in Envy?” Ana said.

Fence nodded. “Fainting spells like this could mean anything from low blood pressure to heart problems to a bunch of other things—both minor and serious. I don’t have the expertise or the tools to diagnose it further, but Dred will.”

“Dred?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Elliott’s nickname is as ridiculous as mine. It stands for Dr. E. Drake. D-R-E-D.”

“I don’t have time to go to Envy,” grumbled George. “I’ve got things growing back there in the lab and—”

“We’re going to Envy, Dad,” Ana said firmly. “We’ve got to find out what’s wrong with you. And besides,” she added with a gleam in her eye, “I’m sure you and Elliott would have a lot to talk about regarding your experiments.”

Fence winked at Ana.
Good play, sugar.
“We can leave first thing in the morning. Shouldn’t be more than a couple days. Now . . . did you say something about dinner?”

“I might have,” she replied, giving him a smile. He sensed her relief as they both stood, but before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.

“Ana?” came a cheery voice, and the door cracked open to reveal Yvonne’s face poking around in a nimbus of golden hair. “I hope you haven’t started dinner—” She must have caught sight of George on the sofa, for her smile wavered. “Is everything all right?”

“Come on in,” Ana said. “Dad just did another of his face-plants on the floor. We’re taking him to Envy tomorrow to have him looked at.” Despite her light words, Fence heard a faint strain of worry in her tone.

“
He’s
here, Mommy,” came a stage whisper. Tanya peeked around the edge of the door. Her hair, now that it was dry, was just as full and sunny as her mother’s.

“I haven’t started dinner yet, but was just thinking about it,” Ana replied with a glance toward the kitchen.

“Well, don’t. Pete and I decided we need a little celebration tonight, since everything turned out all right today. You and George, and of course you have to come too,” she added, looking at Fence with an embarrassed smile. “And—oh heavens, I just realized I never thanked you for helping to track down Tanya,” she added, clearly mortified. She stepped into the room, moving directly toward him. “And I don’t even know your name! Ana told me if it weren’t for you following her trail, we might not have found Tanya . . . in time—” Her voice choked, but she was still smiling.

“He
made
me fall in!” Tanya said, stamping her foot for emphasis. “He said I was gonna fall—and then I
did.
” She’d come to stand half in, half out, with the doorjamb bisecting her right down the middle . . . except for her face. Both of her big brown eyes were visible and fixed on him.

Fence gave a soft, deep laugh, but inside his middle churned. He did not want to think about what had almost happened out there in that quarry today and how close he’d been to another tragedy. Instead, he focused on the little girl, who was about as cute as could be with her wild blond hair, hands on hips, and tapping foot. He’d always suspected females learned that stance at a very young age.

“That wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” he asked Tanya, crouching so he was closer to her level. “Will you accept my apology if I make it an awesomely crazy mushy one?”

“What’s a awesomely crazy mushy ’pology like?” she asked, moving into the doorway to stand fully visible, hands on hips.

“We-ell . . . it starts with a few pushes on that swing out there . . . and then it goes to a little bit of Mother, May I—and you’d be the mother . . . and then I’m fixing to show you how I followed your trail, so you can track things yourself.”

“Ten pushes—no,
twenty
pushes on the swing. Super high. Without stopping to rest or fold clothes or cook dinner like Mommy always does. And you have to push my friend Carter too. I don’t know what Mother, May I is, but if it’s good, I’ll do it. Carter can be the dad. You can be the child. If not, you have to think of another game. And it has to have running and jumping in it. And then you have to show me how to track a horse. And how are you going to fix showing me something?”

“Whoa . . . you’re letting me off too easy,” Fence said, swallowing a chuckle at her last question. “That’s a deal!”

“I’ll go get Carter!” And Tanya was gone in a flash.

Aware that Ana and Yvonne had been watching the whole interplay, he stood and turned back to them as he noticed that George had disappeared. “I’m Fence, by the way,” he said to Yvonne. “I don’t think I told you my name earlier—but you were a little distracted. Understandably so,” he added with a smile when she started to speak, still obviously embarrassed at what she felt was a breach of manners.