Look, But Don't Touch. Sandra Chastain
the other side. I live behind the church.”
She turned off the highway and drove over the bridge. Her headlights flashed on the church ahead. “Well, I’ve been with a lot of men, but this is a first.”
“Been with a lot of men? Are you always so candid?”
“In my business, I have to be.” She shook her head. “Here I am picturing you in your underwear and I find out you’re a priest.”
Picturing him in his underwear? Satisfied a lot of men? That’s when it hit him. She was a hooker, a high-priced call girl. And she thought he was a priest. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A priest? Not me. I just rent the little house in back. I like the solitude.”
“You already told me you weren’t an ax murderer so I guess I’ll trust you on that.” She looked him up and down without seeming conscious of the gesture. “Although I don’t know if trusting you is a smart idea.”
She returned her eyes to the road. With every bump, the tension grew.
He could smell the rain, the leather of his pants, the hint of flowers that seemed to come from her hair.
As they reached the church, lightning suddenly split the sky, revealing a very old adobe structure with a tiny steeple and a fenced yard. She jumped at the flash of light and laughed self-consciously. “I’ve seen a lot of chapels like this in my travels,” she said, “though seldom illuminated by the hand of God himself! Are we being warned, do you think?”
He was beginning to wonder the same thing. In spite of the defroster, the windshield was still fogging and the wipers had slowed to a jerky crawl. The El Camino and the wipers hesitated at the same time lightning struck again. His nerve endings were vibrating like danger flags caught in the wind.
The engine died and the headlights went out.
“Damn!” his driver swore. “I can’t believe this. First your bike wrecks and now my wheels have died. What’s next?” She gestured to the sky. “And who knows how long this storm will last.”
“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting a hurricane, so I’d say it’ll blow itself out pretty quick. We can call your…friend at the Palace. I’m sure he can send someone after you, or I’ll be glad to drive you when the storm stops. I don’t want to hold you up.”
She took a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage. I truly am sorry if I caused you to go off the road. But you aren’t responsible for me. Once the engine cools down, it’ll run fine.”
He’d turned her down when she’d first offered her help. He should have insisted that she go. He hadn’t. Now he had a woman on his hands he’d like nothing more than to get his hands on. “You may know your cars but you don’t understand about Texas. This is flat-land out here. A hard rain and the low areas flood. I think you’re stuck for a while.”
A crack of thunder emphasized the danger of the storm.
She shivered and he had an almost overwhelming urge to slide his arms around her narrow waist. “You’re probably right. My Ellie has a mind of her own.”
“Ellie?”
“That’s what I call the El Camino. When something isn’t right, she just stops until it is. Which is pretty much what I do. Tell you what, if you have any coffee, I’d love a cup—particularly if you have a little brandy to spike it with,” she said, running her tongue over her lips.
“No brandy,” he said, trying to adjust his lower body, which had started to take on a life of its own. If he sat here, his thigh touching hers any longer, he would incinerate. “Only beer or coffee. But just sit tight a minute. I’ll unload the bike before we go inside.”
“I’ll help,” she said as she opened her door, which was immediately caught by the wind.
If there had been any dry spots left on their clothing, there were none by the time they got the bike into his shed.
Finally he replaced her ramps inside the truckbed and started toward his small adobe house. The woman hesitated.
“Come on in, dry off and wait for the rain to stop.” Jesse unlocked his door and stood aside. His guardian angel eyed him uncertainly, then moved past him. A sharp pang ran through him as she entered. It was a cardinal rule: when he spent time with a woman it was at her house or on neutral ground and he always went home before morning. Now, he’d let a stranger inside.
But this was different, he told himself. She didn’t know his name. And he didn’t know hers.
“I don’t have a clothes dryer,” Jesse said, “but I’ll build a fire and you can get warm.”
Warm? If she felt the way he did, she’d be better off if he turned on the air conditioner. As he walked over to the corner and crouched in front of an adobe fire-place, Cat sat on a stool and removed her boots.
Moments later flames were licking at the wood. Satisfied that the fire was burning, he stood. “I’m going to get out of this wet shirt and make the coffee,” he said. “The bathroom is through that door. There are towels on the shelf.”
Cat let out a sigh of relief and headed for the door. The bathroom made her smile. A large claw-footed tub filled almost the entire room. On one wall were shelves filled with towels and…rocks. She supposed he must collect them. Her host was obviously a man of the earth. At least he wasn’t a man of the cloth—which was good, considering the way she was feeling. She lifted a towel and turned to go back out to the fire when she spotted a blue flannel shirt hanging on the back of the door. It was soft and dry and smelled like sage, the same smell she’d been so conscious of in the truck. She took in the scent and felt it fuel the fire crackling inside her skin. Moments later, after shedding all her wet clothes, she was snuggled inside the flannel shirt that almost reached her knees.
“Did you find what you needed?” her mystery man asked, rounding the corner into the bathroom and coming to an abrupt stop only inches away from her. At her inadvertent yelp, he apologized. “Sorry. I see you found something to wear.”
“If you need your shirt, I’ll take it off,” she offered, reaching for the top button, then stopped. She’d be completely nude.
“No, that’s okay. It looks much better on you.”
“It’s very soft,” she said, sliding her fingers up and down the flannel fabric. “It feels…good.”
Jesse let out a deep, hot breath. She seemed to be sending him an invitation, but he couldn’t be sure. He desperately tried to hold on to his last thread of control. Then he saw the top of her breasts peeking out the vee of the shirt. She was every man’s wet dream. The thread snapped.
He groaned and reached for her.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice low and tight.
He kissed her.
Silently, hungrily, she responded with such passion that it scared him. She kept her eyes open as he slid his hands beneath the shirt. He started for a moment when he touched her bare hips, then moved slowly upward and cupped her breasts. He felt the pounding of her heart as she slid her arms around his neck and melted against him. He tore his lips away for a moment. “Are you sure about this?”
“That I want you? Absolutely! That it’s smart? Not at all. Now, stop talking and make love to me.”
He lifted her in his arms.
2
BETWEEN KISSES they were soon naked and breathless on his bed, covered with a down comforter that gathered them close and cushioned them in warmth.
He plunged his hands into her hair, pulling it, kneading her scalp as his hot breath brushed her skin. His lips captured hers in great hungry gulps while his hips ground against her, his arousal pulsating with need. The power of his appetite demanded that she meet his every move with