Deadly Harvest

“She was just so ignorant and she’s going to cause a panic or start a lynch mob or something!” Rowenna said. Oh, God, she’d been an idiot. Why was she even trying to defend herself?

 

“Get in the car. Before a lynch mob comes for you,” he commanded.

 

She lowered her head, bit her lip and did as she’d been told.

 

She looked straight ahead as they drove, but she could feel the condemning glances he shot her way as he navigated the streets back to his rental house.

 

He pulled into his driveway at last, and as she got out of the car, she was uncomfortably aware of the absolute stillness of the night.

 

It even seemed as if she could actually feel the darkness, too.

 

She still felt him eyeing her off and on as they headed toward the back door.

 

“I can go home, you know,” she said softly, as he turned the key in the lock. “I can just take a cab.”

 

He stood on the porch and looked back at her. “Great. You do something stupid, I get angry—so that’s it. You want to go home.”

 

“I just meant that if you’re that angry, maybe I should go home,” she told him.

 

“No, you should accept that you have to be careful. You can’t go spouting off like that to people. Why don’t you just admit that you were wrong and promise that you won’t go crazy like that again?” he said, an edge still in his voice. “That’s a lot better than running away, don’t you think?”

 

Run away? From him? Was that what she was trying to do? She had finally gotten what she wanted. She’d spent years waiting for someone she could care about again, and now…

 

Now he was here, but the dreams and the nightmares and the fear were holding her back, threatening to ruin everything.

 

She stared at him. “All right, it was stupid. But she just made me so mad! It’s attitudes like hers that probably caused the deaths of all those supposed witches centuries ago, and listening to her, it just made me think that maybe we haven’t come that far and…”

 

Her voice trailed away.

 

“We should probably go in,” he suggested. “Instead of putting on a show for the neighbors.”

 

She was relieved to see that his anger was fading at last, and that just the hint of an amused smile was playing over his lips.

 

“Good idea,” she said, and followed him up the steps.

 

A light was burning softly in the dining room, casting a gentle glow out through the old pantry-turned-back-porch where they entered. She looked into his eyes, his expression a mix of the quizzical and frustrated, like a warm stream of silver and storm, and she couldn’t help herself. She just smiled and kissed him. She dropped the bag holding her new toothbrush and let her handbag slide to the floor, and she slid tightly into his arms. She closed her eyes. It had been a horrendous day. She didn’t want to think about the horrible end that unknown woman had come to. The world’s evil could touch anyone at any time, but she couldn’t let herself think about that, couldn’t let herself fall prey to the visions playing at the corners of her mind.

 

She fought to hold on to the wonder of this moment, to the delicious feel of his body, warm and vital and close to hers, and the sweet, expert teasing of his kiss, hot and wet and evocative of the intimate passion they had so recently shared. They broke apart and stared at each other. A smile played over his lips again, and the single dimple in his cheek deepened. She pressed herself against him, glad just to be held there for a moment, to feel his hand, large and strong, cradling her head. Against his chest, through his shirt and jacket, she could hear the beat of his heart, and when he lifted her chin, she was glad for the feel of his lips again, the wicked and tantalizing dance of his tongue.

 

And then his hands left her face and began dealing with their clothing. Their jackets were discarded first, and of the rest of their clothes followed as they headed toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms, then somehow wound up on the sofa instead.

 

There were things she was coming to know so well about him, she thought now, as passion drove them together toward the heights. Things she loved, like the way he could be awkward and sensual and incredibly sexy all at once. Or the scent of him, subtle and unique, the sound of his laugh, and the way he would smile, until that smile began to fade as he looked at her and passion took over. She couldn’t resist the deep storm color of his eyes, which could burn like cold steel. She loved the way he held her, the way he moved, the way he surged into her, as if the very survival of the world depended on their climax. She loved the way he held her, if only for a few moments, as if she were the most precious being in the world, once their ardor had been slaked. He was holding her that way now, and then he laughed as he looked around the room and surveyed the mess they’d left behind them as they’d raced for the comfort of the couch.

 

He went to turn off the lights while she collected their clothing, and then they made their way upstairs and back together again. Later, as they lay entwined and silent as sleep began its descent, she found herself blinking rapidly, trying to stay awake.