Her Montana Man. Laurie Paige
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on water, warm and sparkling. “We can have both,” he murmured, then proceeded to show her.
With sure touches that spoke of their experiences long ago, he brought her to pleasure so intense she cried out in shocked delight. He smothered her cries with kisses and his own panting efforts at control. When at last she lay still beneath him, he turned them to the side and smoothed the damp clinging tendrils from her face.
With her nose snuggled against his chest, she floated in some peaceful sphere where nothing touched her—not doubts or worries or anything of a mundane nature.
She murmured contentedly when he began moving again. It had always amazed her how quickly she could respond again when she was in his arms.
“I want you again,” she told him in wonder. “How can I want you again so soon?”
“Because,” Pierce said, and rolled over her, finding the sweet nest between her thighs. “I won’t be able to stop this time,” he warned as the banked passion flared with astounding speed.
She opened her eyes, dark green now with passion. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He breathed deeply when she moved against him, away, then arched up to meet his downward thrust. His mind glazed over as the hunger took hold.
At her whimpering gasp of need, he thrust deeper.
He guided her hand between them, encouraging her to ride the tide between them while he plunged into the hot center of her, nearly going over the edge but managing to hold it together until she cried out as the pleasure overcame all other senses. He thrust once more and went into the mindless abyss with her.
It was a long time before either of them moved.
The tick of the clock finally penetrated the haven where he drifted in perfect peace. The ringing of the telephone jarred the tranquility of the afternoon. He reached past her shoulder, picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.
“Uh, Chelsea, this is Kelly.”
Chelsea stiffened as reality forcefully returned. “Hi, Kelly,” she said, using her friend’s name to warn Pierce to be silent.
“Fran is looking for Pierce,” Kelly said. “She’s his secretary. She says he had a meeting at two. She called me when he didn’t show up or answer his phone or beeper.”
Chelsea was intensely aware that his head was pressed to hers so he could hear the conversation. She looked a question at him. He shook his head.
“Should I go over to his house and see if he’s there?” Chelsea asked.
Kelly didn’t reply for a heartbeat. “Uh, no. I was hoping he was at your place.” She laughed. “Actually, I thought you two might be…uh, how should I put this—in the sack? The sparks were flying from more than the fireworks last night.”
The blood rushed to Chelsea’s head so fast she went dizzy. “Don’t get any ideas,” she advised her friend, and carefully kept her gaze from Pierce. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. If I see him.”
“Okay, thanks. By the way, I’m having a birthday dinner for Mom Saturday night. That’s tomorrow. You’re to come.”
They said goodbye and hung up. When she glanced at Pierce, he seemed deep in thought. She squirmed to remind him he was nearly lying on her.
Muttering a curse, he sat up. “I’m supposed to be at a meeting.” He flung on clothing as fast he could.
She pushed upright. With a pillow behind her back and the sheet covering her, she watched him silently, no expression in her eyes. She didn’t know if she felt regret, anger or what. She wondered about him, but not for long.
“Stupid,” he said aloud. He thrust his feet into his shoes. “That was stupid. I thought I was immune to you. What a laugh.”
She blinked back the raw hurt, but said nothing. His disgust was directed at himself and his weakness—stupidity, to use his term—in succumbing to passion. Darkness gathered inside her, a void that carried the weight of the world in it. Ah, well, she hadn’t expected a rose garden….
“I thought it wouldn’t matter, who you were or that we’d once been lovers. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be the one to walk away this time.”
Her eyes widened at the implied accusation. “You did last time.”
“Like hell.”
She reviewed her memories. “You did. You said you didn’t want a long-term relationship.”
He strode toward the door. “I still don’t.” Then he walked out.
She stayed in bed until she heard his car start, then leave, the purr of the engine rapidly dwindling on the still afternoon air. Only then did she shower and dress in fresh clothing and go out on the deck to read.
Instead of opening her book, she sat there, staring at the mountain peaks to the west. Once she’d thought Pierce was her knight in shining armor and they would live in a beautiful castle in an enchanted kingdom.
She smiled in sympathy for her younger, more idealistic self. In truth, she’d never expected a fairy-tale ending, but she’d thought they would marry and have children and grow old together.
Now, eight years later, she was wiser and more skeptical about life and love and happily ever after. But it had been a lovely illusion.
Chelsea woke from a light doze when a car door slammed. “Around back,” she called out. She expected Kelly to appear, but two men came around the corner. One was Holt Tanner. The other was a man she hadn’t met, but she recognized him as the sheriff.
“Dr. Kearns, Sheriff Reingard,” Holt introduced them.
She stood and held out her hand. “Please, call me Chelsea, both of you.”
The sheriff took her hand and held it. “I’m Dave. It’s good to have you onboard, Chelsea. I was against bringing in outsiders, but Pierce convinced me we needed the best in this case. From the details in your report, I think he was right. Welcome to our community.”
Chelsea sized him up. Early fifties. Dark eyes. Surprising, given that his hair was blond. He was graying at the temples, she noted, and his face was somewhat florid. A couple of inches under six feet. His grip was firm, his hand smooth. Not overweight but at the top of his range. Nothing a good exercise program wouldn’t fix.
She eased her hand from his and thanked him. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Soda?”
“A soda,” the sheriff requested.
“Tea, if you have it,” Holt said.
She prepared iced tea for her and the deputy, a soft drink for the sheriff. After she returned to the deck, they went over her report. The sheriff questioned her extensively on the results of the autopsy.
“Four months,” the lawman murmured, gazing out over the lake. “Harriet Martel.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Pierce said he’d never seen her with anyone,” Chelsea mentioned. “Did you?”
The sheriff laughed, a deep, pleasant sound. “I’m not out on the town very much myself. My wife and I have five children. I spend my spare time at the soccer and baseball fields in summer. In the winter we rescue hunters from blizzards.” He shook his head in exasperation, then laughed again.
Chelsea smiled, too, amused as the sheriff reached into a pocket and removed a pistachio. He ate it absently and tossed the shell over the railing into the lake, obviously lost in thought. She wondered if she should make a citizen’s arrest for littering or maybe polluting the lake.
“Well,” he said at last, “here’s what I think we should do. Holt, take Chelsea over to the library this afternoon and question the staff. Maybe she can pickup on something we missed, sort of a woman-to-woman thing, especially with Molly Brewster. Molly found Harriet,” he