No Place Like Home. Robin Nicholas
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behind her closed lids, his kiss stealing her breath, that same mix of awe and apprehension she’d experienced facing the storm spinning through her. Helpless, she felt her heart race as he blew her away with his kiss.
His mouth left hers, his shirt tugging against her clenched fingers. Mariah opened her eyes, her pulse pounding as he hovered over her. Yearning speared through her. She realized now the extent to which she’d neglected her sexual side in her quest for a career.
Rafe’s breath rushed out. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Her face burned. She let go of his shirt. “Neither did I. Let’s just forget it happened.”
“Deal.”
Deal? Mariah curled her hand in a fist. Maybe he’d like her to sign a contract, too?
“I need my camera.” He pressed close again, reaching past her to open a cupboard in the back of the truck. She suffered the near choke hold of his muscled arm, his dusty shirt falling across her face. Settling into his seat, he adjusted the settings on a still camera. “I have to scout out a place to shoot from.”
He climbed out of the truck, shut the door and left her frowning after him, still feeling the effects of a kiss he’d already put behind him.
Well, she was as willing as he to ignore the kiss he’d stolen. She was especially willing to overlook the fact that she’d kissed him back.
Locating a clock among his myriad gadgets, she realized she’d wasted almost two hours sleeping. Kissing.
At some point, he’d left the highway for a northbound gravel road. Getting out to stand on the grassy shoulder, she noticed “Kansas” was no longer spread over her lap, the map rolled neatly on the dash once more. Rafe must have slipped it from her hands while she was asleep.
Recalling the startled look in his eyes, she realized he hadn’t intended to wake her at all.
She gritted her teeth. He hadn’t intended to wake her, but he’d been willing to kiss her when she did.
Stiffening her travel-weary legs, she trudged to the back of the truck, where Rafe was in the process of unlocking the hatchback. She gave him a lethal glare. “You could have wakened me.”
Then she ducked as he raised the door.
“Sorry. I’m kind of busy right now.” He pulled out a tripod with a video camera mounted on top. Hefting it to his shoulder, he lowered the hatch, brushing by her to hurry up the roadside slope.
Mariah hiked after him. Dry weeds tugged at her sheer stockings. Silk stockings. She wondered if they were an accountable expense.
Rafe stationed the tripod halfway up the knoll, fiddling with the video camera. Curiosity overrode her pique. Brushing back wispy curls the breeze blew across her cheek, she queried, “What, exactly, are you doing?”
He straightened from behind the camera and gave her a pointed look. But she couldn’t help it. Her mother claimed she’d been born asking questions.
“I’m trying to align the viewfinder. Could you step out of the way, please?”
“I don’t see what the rush is.” She tilted her face to the sky, a scattering of fluffy white clouds floating by.
He stepped from behind the camera, looming over her for a moment during which his height was imprinted on her mind. Then he grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to face the northern sky. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a storm moving by.”
For a moment she didn’t notice; there was only the heat of his strong hands cupping her shoulders, obliterating even the perpetual Kansas wind in her face. All she could think was that she wanted him to kiss her again. The way his hands lingered told her he wanted it, too.
A strong sense of self-preservation made her focus intently on the distant storm. Though acutely aware when he took his hands from her, she drew a breath of surprise at the panorama building before her.
“Oh my.” A few miles to the north an explosion of pure white cloud billowed in high puffed layers. Beneath the mass, varying shades from greenish-gray to dark blue, from glistening white to black, extended from the northeast reaches to the southwest edges of the storm. “It’s beautiful.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting a picture of it,” Rafe said dryly. She faced him with a determination meant to convey she was here to stay. He’d already raised his still camera, shooting away. Seemingly at her.
Mariah moved hastily out of range, conscious of her windblown hair, wrinkled clothes and run stockings. There was obviously no use in talking to him now. He fired off that camera like an automatic weapon, going through a roll of film in less than a minute, trading it for a fresh roll from his pocket, reloading and shooting again.
The storm was indeed a magnificent sight moving across the prairie, more imposing than when viewed from the confines of the city. Yet she felt that same safe feeling she’d felt as a child, watching the rain from the shelter of her parents’ front porch. With Rafe standing between her and the approaching front, broad-shouldered and enlightened to any danger, it was easy to understand where that sense of security came from.
Her untrained eye began to distinguish the storm darkening as it traveled in a northeasterly direction. Questions gathered in her mind as he captured the scene on film. But he seemed to have forgotten she was there.
He already regretted her presence; rather than interrupt him, Mariah took a moment to survey her surroundings. Behind her, the land rose, leveling off at a barbed-wire fence. Cropped pastures lined the roadsides, and she wondered if there were cows grazing up there. Or maybe even a horse. Like most females, she was drawn by the equine mystique.
Lightning crackled in the distance. Mariah flinched, glancing over her shoulder. Rafe’s back was to her, his camera aimed at the flashes that streaked the sky. If she found a horse and rode away, he wouldn’t notice until he ran out of film.
Calmed by his lack of alarm, she climbed to the top of the knoll and curled her hands around the fence.
Disappointment swept through her. Not a horse in sight. Not even a cow, though evidence of them lay in pungent dried chips on the ground.
The breeze seemed stronger at the top of the slope and felt good on her skin after the climb. Goose bumps pricked her arms, tingled her scalp—
Rafe reached around her, closing his hands overtop of hers, prying her fingers from the wire. Before she could protest, he swung her away from the fence. Jagged bolts dropped from the clouds, effectively closing the miles between them and the storm. Thunder reverberated, but failed to drown out his curse—likely over the picture he’d just missed. He ushered her down the weedy slope to where he’d set up the video camera, and her temper flared with each step she took.
He faced her abruptly, grasping her arms as if tempted to shake some sense into her. “Are you crazy? If lightning strikes that wire, even milesaway, you might as well grab hold of a power line! Always keep your distance from a fence in a storm.”
“Well, excuse me. But I don’t chase storms for a living.”
“I know. Your mother sends you to the basement.”
She glared at him and his hands tightened on her arms. Then they gentled. Cold then hot, he was as changing as the weather. Mariah shivered; she felt the heat. But she couldn’t help wondering if the scare she’d given him had turned his thoughts to Ann.
The breeze buffeted their bodies against each other and abruptly, he released her.
“Just…stay by me, okay? I need to get some more pictures.”
He didn’t like that he wanted her. And she liked it too much. But he clearly felt responsible for her well-being, if only because he was stuck with her.
Surprisingly, as he resumed shooting, he offered a grudging explanation from behind the camera. “That dark cloud close to the ground, beneath the center of the updraft base, is a wall cloud.”