Riding the Thunder (20 page)

Again, there was just the wind lowly whistling through the trees. Jago glanced in both directions, but spotted nothing out of place. No footprints on the walkway, but since the wind had dried off the dew that wasn't atypical. Barefoot, he stepped out into the damp morning. Going to the corner of the bungalow, he looked toward the rear of the cottages. He paused, listening. No odd sounds. A beat-up truck puttering along the road in front of the restaurant was the only manmade sound.

Walking toward the other end of the cottage, near his own, he tried to put a finger on the vague feeling gnawing at him. Before, when he'd heard the noises, he almost sensed something
off
, a danger lurking close. Now there was a void. Nothing.

He glanced down to see the cat curving around his leg. “Maybe just my imagination,” he said to the feline, and he might have accepted it as truth but for the cat's attitude. The puss was calm, curious and just tagging along. No laid-back ears, no growling. “Oh well, the riddle remains unsolved. Come on, race you back to bed. There still might be a chance Asha will wake up and want to abuse my cute little bod.”

As he placed his hand on the door to her bungalow, he heard the phone ringing in his cabin. He looked back and frowned, wanting to ignore it. There would only be three people calling him—Des, Trev or Julian. Des wanted regular check-ins, progress reports. Trev would want to gloat, which Jago could do without. But there was also his mother to consider. Always in frail health, she seemed to be slipping away from them both mentally and physically.
Though Des refused to admit there wasn't anything his money couldn't fix, Jago feared she was slowly losing her battle with cancer. Sighing resignation, he headed back to answer the call.

Snatching the phone off the table, he barked into it, “This better be good. It's not yet six a.m. here.”

Not wanting to leave Asha alone in her bungalow, and yet thinking it best she didn't hear any of the call, he moved to the front door, where he could watch Asha's cabin. He was still uneasy about the earlier noises.

“My, you're chipper this morn. Sorry, did I wake you? It's time for elevenses over here.”

Trevelyn sounded too damn smug. He was lucky he was several thousand miles away or Jago might be tempted to make his twin look a little less like him. Sometimes it was damn irritating to share the same face with one so totally opposite in temperament.

“I suppose there's some purpose to this call other than to piss me off?”

“Grouch. Isn't it enough to want to know how my twin is doing in Hicktown?” Trev chuckled, only it grated on Jago's nerves.

“Don't call them that.” He didn't snap, but his tone sounded short. He was irritated, defensive and really didn't feel like putting up with his twin's arrogance.

“Oooh, touchy. Tell me little brother”—Trev referring to the fact that he'd been born first, by a whole twenty-one minutes—“are you falling under the spell of Asha Montgomerie?”

“You know, I'd really like to punch your face right now, Trev,” he said, but it lacked real force, just typical brothers fussing.

His twin laughed. “It's been a while since we had a donnybrook. I'll give you a rain check, how's that?”

“You're on. And for your information—I'm not under the spell of Asha.”

“That's good to know. The Montgomerie sisters descend
from the
Cait Sidhe
—so I am told by Raven—a race of witchwomen from the Picts. Looking into her eyes, I can believe it. They light a fire under a man's skin, set flames to licking at his brain. I was concerned you were not strong enough to withstand their witchy magic.”

“No spells, no magic,” he stated flatly. “I'm in love with her, and if all these Machiavellian plans don't ruin my chances, I want to marry her.”

“You're daft, man!” Trev's disbelief was clear, his tone derisive. “You don't even
know
her. What? How long? Four days? You been pulling at some jug of Kentucky moonshine, Bubba?”

“No moonshine. It doesn't change anything.”

“She must be one hot lay—”

“Again, be thankful you're on that side of the Atlantic, Trev, or I'd mop the floor with your pretty face. Of course, it won't be so pretty after I finish rearranging it, but then you'll appear handsome—all scarred like a warrior true.”

“Bloody hell. You haven't gone to bed with her yet, have you—”

“Goodbye, you SOB.” Jago punched the end-call button, breaking the connection. When the phone started ringing in his hand again, he stabbed the ringer-off button, and then looked at the cat. “Just be happy you don't have a twin brother. They're the bane of life.”

As he started back to Asha's cabin, he glanced up the hill toward the drive-in. He noticed that on the far end of the last row, you could see down onto the bungalows from there. The black truck—at least he thought it was the same one that had gone up the road a few minutes ago—was parked there, motor off. Jago stared at the vehicle for several minutes, then went back to his cabin to slip on shoes and a sweater. He tucked Asha's gun into his belt, intent on going up the hillside, checking out who owned the truck, and what he was doing in the drive-in at this hour.

When he came out, the truck was gone, no sign of where it had vanished.

Jago's head hit the pillow, a sigh and a smile on his lips. He had driven demons away from the door—with the aid of his trusty sidekick . . .
What's His Name
—vanquished an irritating brother with his rapier repartee, and now both the conquering heroes were ready for a well-earned nap.

Rain now lashed at the window, but it was a soothing sound, nothing like the noise that had come before. Sleepy, Jago rolled over and pulled Asha back against him, the action natural, as if he'd done it a thousand times. The heat in his body instantly escalated; his poor aching groin complained. Still, he did his best to ignore that hard cramp of lust, reminding himself, after the last ten months of feeling little more than apathy, it was oddly enjoyable to experience this voracious need.

Asha rolled in his arms until she was facing him. The minx was awake. Uh oh, visions of gasoline and lit matches came to mind. She wiggled her toes, performed a small, drowsy stretch and then rubbed her ankle against his. She asked groggily, “Where did you and your shadow sneak off to?”

“We went chasing monsters away from the door.”

“Ah, knights in shining armor are so sexy.” She gave a low, throaty chuckle that nearly made him come undone.

“This is nice.” He hooked his leg over hers and used it to nudge her closer. “Rainy, lazy morn. Just us cuddling.”

The cat waddled up his thigh and rumbled a deep purr, causing them both to chuckle. He butted against the back of Jago's arm. If he were human, he'd be saying,
What about me
?

“Just . . .
nice
?” She ran the tip of her index finger over the edge of his upper lip, then his lower. Her glowing eyes studied his face, hungrily taking in every detail of his reactions to her.

“Okay . . . very nice.”

Stroking her thumb over his eyebrow, she said, “You know, the cat will need a rabies shot and all the childhood kitty disease shots and boosters so you won't have to worry about him getting sick.”

The feline's head jerked up at the mention of shots and he glared at Asha.

Jago laughed. “I don't think he's keen on the idea of someone poking him with a needle. Can't say I blame him. I don't like needles either. Big bad Trev nearly faints at the sight of them. It's so funny.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Only, why am I expected to foot the expensive bill of his continued existence? He seems to have done very well before showing up here to adopt me.”

Annoyed, Asha started to shove away from him, but he held her firm. She struggled in his arms. “Oh, yeah, I can see where a cat would crimp the style of Mr. Jetsetter—”

“Whoa, Asha, I was teasing. The ridiculous beast is growing on me.” He glanced at the cat, who was settling down to take a nap on his hip. “Literally. I'm playfully protesting—adjusting—to something new, unfamiliar to me. We can find a vet Monday and haul his sorry arse there, and I'll happily pay the bill. Things are moving a little fast—for us both—but we know something rare, something special is
happening between us. I'm sure each of us has been burned in relationships before. It would be nice if we came programmed to go straight to the person who was the perfect mate for us. But then, maybe Fate tosses us some jerks along the way to make certain we appreciate how extraordinary it is when the real thing walks into our lives. I could tell you where I think this is heading, but then I doubt you're ready to believe me. So, why don't we just relax, listen to the rain and enjoy being together. Or . . . I could tell you that when you walked through the door of The Windmill, it was like you materialized from the sun's blinding shafts, an image branded into my memory, so that when I'm old and gray I'll recall that instant and how it moved me . . .
changed
me.”

Feeling his life distill to this single moment in time, Jago reached out and took her braid. With slow movements, he undid the stretchy band around the ends, then unwound the three sections of auburn tresses. In the dimness of the bedroom her hair appeared almost brown. He couldn't see the golden threads woven through the mane, but he could feel the silken softness as he pushed his fingers into the heavy mass. He arranged the long length over her shoulder, draped it so it fanned out. His mouth crooked at one corner as he noticed how the strands fell across the outer curve of her breast, almost clinging to it.

“Smart hair . . . lucky hair.” He lightly traced the roundness of her full breast with the tip of his index finger.

She half closed her eyes; her breathing shifted, shallow, faster. “I . . . I cannot think . . . when you are doing that, Jago.”

“Me neither.” He closed the path of his finger to where he was circling just around the rim of her nipple. “Thinking is highly overrated anyway.”

“Hmm . . . I agree.” She shifted, pushing on his shoulder until he was flat on his back and she was on her knees, straddling his hips. She said with a wicked grin, “Before this
goes any further, I think I should warn you that I'm multiorgasmic.” She leaned forward and impishly lapped at his nipple with her hot little tongue. His breath drew in on a hiss and he had to fight to keep his body from bowing off the bed.

“Ah, you are? Clever lass . . . ah . . . you are. Impressive. Delightful. Am I lucky or what?” He chuckled, thinking how happy Asha made him.

That caused him pause. He'd been content before—pleased, thrilled, entertained. He'd enjoyed various aspects of his life, such as when he saved Mershan International a bundle in a takeover. But had he ever really been happy? Just happy?

She ran her hands up his chest and then over his shoulders. “Well, actually, that's not quite the truth. I think I
would
be multiorgasmic if I had a man worthy enough.”

“Even better. Certainly sounds like something that would make me ‘rise' to the occasion. So you
think
you could be this ‘sexual marathon maven' if someone were to hold
up
his end of the bargain?” He gave a faint up thrust of his pelvis to punctuate his question.

She flexed her hips so that the V of her crotch settled perfectly over the ridge of his erection taut against his belly. “Ah, think? I'm rather positive I could be.”

“I think you would be, too. Multiorgasmic is my new favorite word.”

His hands on her waist, he splayed them, then worked them up her ribcage, holding her tight. He jerked her to him, his mouth opening on hers, hot, demanding a response, demanding her surrender. Covering her lips with his, Jago coaxed, wooed, teased, challenged, until she opened and allowed his tongue the entrance he solicited. He sighed, having found what he'd been seeking his whole adult life.

The weight of her breasts rested on the tops of his hands, tempting him to enjoy their fullness. He loved the feel of
the cotton T-shirt, how the material stretched out over them. His deft fingers moved upward, squeezing her breasts. She liked that. Oh, did she like that! Only, she wanted more. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, felt them hardening as the knot of desire tightened within them both.

Rearing up, he captured one tight budded breast with his mouth and drew on it through the thin cotton, sucking hard. She cried out as the spasm of a climax ricocheted through her, shocking her, catching her off guard. Clearly, she'd never expected the orgasm to hit before he was even inside her body. Neither had he.

“One,” she gasped, then laughed.

“Oh, that's a tossed gauntlet if ever I heard one.” His mouth moved to her other breast, pleasuring it with teeth and tongue, sucking rhythmically until he made her shatter yet again. This time she was anticipating it, tried to resist but couldn't, then finally succumbed to the force. He smiled at the play of expressions on her face revealing all.

“Ah . . . ah. . . . oooh,” she panted.

Jago grinned unrepentantly. “Two.”

Scooting back so that he was half sitting up, he kissed her luscious mouth—gently now, just for the sheer delight in kissing, as if he could do it for hours. Then he grew cognizant of the soft cotton pressing against his bare chest, the spots damp from his mouth, and the friction was suddenly unbearable. He wanted to be flesh to flesh with Asha and nothing else would do.

Evidently, the same thought filled her, for she pulled back to let her hand dance over his feverish skin, snaking it between their bodies. Her tongue tip peeked through those well-kissed lips as she placed her palm along the blatant bulge in his sweatpants. Then she was pushing them down, her fingers curling around his rigid, pulsing length. He was hard, very hard, and heavy in her grasp, pure male power, a visible manifestation of how deeply he wanted her. Her
thumb rubbed back and forth over the ridges in his flesh, making his body buck with each gentle, curious stroke; then she brushed her thumb pad up and over the tip, almost savoring his softness.