Riding the Thunder Read online

  As she reached the roof, her eyes alit on Tommy sitting on a chaise along with the other college kids. Joy sat right behind him. Laura seemed unable to move as Tommy and she locked eyes. He stared at her—trying to judge her mood, she guessed.

  Whatever he felt, it didn’t matter. She merely wanted to find Junior and get the hell out of here, but first, she had to stop staring at Tommy.

  Joy leaned against his arm, deliberately brushing her breasts against him. Laura felt like vomiting. She couldn’t stop the picture of Tommy and Joy having sex from flooding her mind. The image would keep her from sleep tonight; of that she was sure.

  Tommy smiled, as if hoping to draw one from Laura. Damn him! She wanted to dump an ice bucket in his lap. Flashing him a Medusa-on-the-rag glare, she went in search of Junior.

  She asked several people. No one had any idea where her date had disappeared. Despite everyone staring, Laura didn’t care. She just wanted to leave.

  Melody was suddenly at her elbow. “Laura, what’s wrong?”

  She almost recoiled from the other girl’s touch, except she was desperate. “I came with Junior. I want him to take me home. I don’t feel well. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Junior went off with Jess and Carl a bit ago. Carl’s brother is a bootlegger. Bet they’re off drinking. You don’t want Junior to drive you home if he’s liquored up,” Melody warned.

  “Well, he has to take me home sooner or later.” Laura was nearing panic. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold it in.

  Melody grasped her hand. “Take a deep breath, Laura. Don’t give these idiots a show. Let’s you and me go dangle our feet in the pool. When my dad comes to pick me up, he can drive you home. We don’t want you out with Junior. That jerk can’t handle liquor. Why did you come with him?”

  “His mother and my mother . . .”

  “Enough said.” Melody rolled her eyes. “How I ended up with Davey Dean. Mothers and their well-meaning intentions are a pain in the tush.”

  “What’s up?” John Carlyle inquired from behind Melody and Laura.

  Melody’s eyes flicked to John and then guardedly to Laura. “Laura’s looking for Junior. She wants to go home. I told her she’s welcome to come with me when my dad picks me up.”

  John reached out and roughly took Laura’s arm. “That’s okay, I’ll take her.”

  Laura leaned back. The bourbon fumes mixed with the cinnamon breath spray he used to mask the alcohol made her stomach roll. John was with Tommy’s group. And very drunk.

  “Thanks . . . I’m going with Melody.” Laura tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

  “Don’t be like that, sugar. Let go of that Goody Two-Shoes image and live a little.” John leered. “Come on, baby, I’ll take you.”

  Suddenly, Tommy was there. “Let go, John. She’s just a kid.”

  Laura wanted the roof to open up and her to fall through; maybe she’d break her neck and none of this would matter.

  John chuckled. “Kids don’t have tits like that.”

  The music fell silent so everyone heard his vulgar comment.

  “Take your hand off Laura—now, John, and apologize to her.” Tommy’s voice was steel. He moved between them, like some medieval knight ready to do battle for a damsel.

  “Tommy, what’s she doing now?” Joy whined at his elbow.

  Tommy picked up Joy’s arm and pulled her toward John. “Dance with John, while I take Laura home.”

  Laura yanked away. “Melody is giving me a ride. You stay, Tommy, and play with your little friends. Come on, Melody.”

  “Right behind you, hon.” Melody flashed Tommy a killing glare.

  “Laura . . .” Tommy turned to follow her, only to have Joy latch on to his arm.

  Laura didn’t slow. Her steps carried her down the stairs, and to the shallow end of the pool. She finally stopped and gasped for breath.

  “Laura, stay here. I’ll call my dad to come and get us. This crowd’s getting ugly. There’s going to be trouble. The chaperones should’ve never let those college kids stay.” Melody patted her arm. “I’ll be right back.”

  Laura kicked off her satin shoes and sat down on the concrete edge, little caring if the rough surface ruined her gown. Tomorrow she’d burn it. Neither did she worry that she wore stockings. The water felt like liquid silk. Surprised, as she’d had no idea the pool was heated, she closed her eyes, wishing she could swim. It would be so lovely to swim until she was exhausted; then her mind wouldn’t be filled with images of this horrible night.

  Gathering her skirt, she stepped down on the half-moon steps, into water swishing over her knees. It was so soothing.

  Suddenly, someone took hold of her arm and pulled her back. She blinked to seeTommy leaning toward her. “Come on, Laura, I’m taking you home.” He tugged her in his direction . . .

  “Asha? Asha?”

  It took Asha a minute to adjust. Once more, the pool was covered over like a greenhouse and it was October, not a May night over four decades ago. Jago held her arm and hauled her from the pool. Netta and Liam were behind him, their expressions etched with the same look of worry. Jago led her to a chaise, then pushed her to sit.

  “Are you all right?” Netta padded over and sat on the lounge next to her and gave her a hug.

  “I’m fine.” She grasped for any excuse to ease their concern. “Just a little lightheaded. I haven’t drunk enough Pepsi today. My sugar’s down. If someone will get me a cola?”

  “I’ll fetch it.” Netta jumped up and hurried to the clubhouse.

  Liam and Jago exchanged glances, clearly dubious. Asha glared at them, defiant. That was the only explanation she was going to offer.

  How could she tell them she’d just slipped into another person’s life?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jago broke the surface of the water and then grabbed the edge of the lime green air mattress Asha lazily floated upon. The lowly male in him was mesmerized by that sexy display of glorious curves, as if she were served up on a bed of lettuce—an open-face sandwich for him to devour. And boy, did he hunger to do just that! Overriding the primitive pounding in his blood was concern about Asha zoning out on them earlier.

  “Are you all right?” he queried, playfully trickling a handful of water down that barely covered spine and derrière.

  Asha shivered, then laughed. “You mean have I relapsed into zombieitis in the five minutes since you last asked?”

  “I guess I’m being a pain?” He chuckled.

  “No, you’re rather sweet. Thanks. Really, I’m fine.” She reached out and stroked his cheek with her thumb. Her smile vanished; the look in her cat eyes turned into one of a soul-deep ache as they traced over his face. Instead of dropping her hand, she traced his jawline, then her index finger outlined his lower lip.

  Mercy. Jago’s body twanged, the sound of a taut bow being plucked. Sexual, yes, hitting his groin with the force of receiving a kick; then the vibration moved up his chest and lodged dead center. In his heart. Oh boy, he was in trouble. Her expression of such wonder demanded a kiss, but he knew it was a trap. The instant he kissed her, he wouldn’t want to stop. While sex on an air mattress definitely had possibilities, not with an audience and especially not when one over-protective brother would be one of the watchers.

  He settled for gently taking her wrist, his thumb brushing the now livid bruises left by that jerk Faulkner. Anger boiled in him that the creep had dared touch her. Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss to each purple mark. Asha’s eyes dilated; those long, black lashes batted surprise at the gesture. Another punch to his gut.

  He treaded water, slowly towing the raft toward the shallow end of the pool, out of splash range of Liam and Netta, who were still diving off the board. Mesmerized by Asha’s lovely face, he worried about what had happened to her when she entered the pool. Not enough Pepsi just didn’t cover what he’d witnessed. Other than appearing pale, she seemed to have recovered. Even so, Jago couldn’t erase the sc
ene from his mind: She had entered the swimming pool and then froze like a statue.

  As he’d watched her, a minute of puzzlement passed before the realization hit him that something was wrong. Okay, he’d been drooling—a horny idiot, no blood in his brain, that had gone south the minute she’d thrown off her black robe and revealed that killer body in all its glory. It’d taken a minute for logic to override his libido. Could anyone blame him? Nothing could’ve prepared him for Asha in the barely-there suit. The metallic fabric shimmered, woven so it appeared dark gold one instant, then nearly black the next. It hugged her breasts and hips as though spray-painted on, the iridescent flicker of material emphasizing her to-die-for body. The impact stunned him, his whole system going into sensory meltdown. He’d remained where he was, waiting for Asha to come to him, afraid if he moved even one inch, he’d go after her, lay her on the poolside and take her, right then and there.

  Never had his gut twisted in such an agony of animalistic wanting. His arm had slipped off the drain, skinning his elbow as he absorbed the psychic punch of seeing her. He’d have bet a chunk of change Miss Asha Montgomerie would come out in a prim and proper suit, not something that made Netta look like she wore a Mother Hubbard. Finally it registered in his hormone-riddled brain that Asha had frozen in mid-movement as she entered the pool. Blood drained from him; he raced to reach her, Liam behind him. His heartbeat was rapid, erratic. Not from swimming. From dread. He told himself there was nothing wrong with her, yet he couldn’t quell his panic. He’d reacted the same way when that creep had dared touch her in the diner, only this was tenfold.

  Though there wasn’t anything in Julian’s report on Asha having it, epilepsy was his first thought. Terror gripped him as he feared she’d slip into a grand mal and would slam her head against the steps before he could reach her. Instead of a seizure, she merely stood, unmoving, cold to the touch. Her heartbeat, though a little slow, was strong, steady. He looked into those tawny eyes, dilated, unfocused. Downright spooky.

  Then they’d fixed on his hand, where he had hold of her arm, and blinked several times. Gradually, color flooded her waxen skin. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he held until then, warm relief had flooded through him.

  He didn’t like to think Asha had lied to him, but the way she evaded his questions afterward caused him to feel certain there was more to it than a lack of sugar. But for the life of him, he couldn’t deduce what.

  Like the bizarre incident in the restaurant earlier, biding his time wasn’t easy when he wanted to demand answers.

  Desmond and Trev were often bulls in a china shop when they wanted something done. Jago preferred to hang back, study a matter from all angles, and then ultimately decide the best course of action. At this moment, he felt the pounding of his rash Mershan blood. He wanted to grab Asha and insist she tell him what she was hiding, shake the answers out of her. Even more compelling was the urge just to kiss her senseless.

  With a groan of agony, he surveyed the tiny strip of metallic fabric that followed the line of her graceful spine down to the thong and then her firm round buttocks. How was a man to stay sane, let alone carry on an intelligent conversation?

  “You’re sure you’re fine?” he asked again.

  Her eyes roved over his face in a ghostly caress. He felt it as if it were a physical touch. His body jerked, painfully.

  “Want me to do a handstand to prove it?” She stuck out her tongue at him playfully.

  “Oh, brother.” He rolled his eyes, envisioning her doing handstands in that bathing suit. “In that case . . .”

  Before she anticipated his actions, he’d flipped the mattress sideways, just for the thrill of catching her. His right arm was under her thighs and his left across her back; Asha felt nude in his embrace. The idea slammed into his body with a wall of fire. It wouldn’t surprise him if the water in the pool around him started to boil.

  “Someone shoot me—please,” he muttered with a laugh.

  Her gaze fixed on his chest, then slowly traveled up his neck, his jaw, mouth and finally met his stare. He’d never felt a woman’s eyes move over him the way Asha’s did: lasers burning into his skin. His heart pounded against his ribs to the point of bruising. Just remembering to breathe was an effort.

  As with most things in his life, he usually was willing to hang back and study a woman from all angles. Asha made him want to forget his staid nature, pushed him to do something rash such as grab her by the hair and drag her off to his lair—hmm, bungalow—and make mad passionate love to her. It was unsettling, these desires, these needs that Asha provoked in him. That lush small mouth opened slightly, as if she could almost taste his kiss. He noticed her breathing was as erratic as his. It caused her breasts to rise and fall in slight jerks. Closing his eyes, he fought for control. Opening his lids, he looked into the fathomless eyes he could drown in.

  “You do know where we’re headed, don’t you, Asha?”

  She stared at him with a doe-in-the-headlights expression, shook her head yes, then no. He had the feeling she was barely aware of what she did. So was he.

  It was that simple: One door closed in his mind and another opened. Staring into those amber eyes with a dark grey circle around the iris, Jago accepted Fate. He’d looked into the eyes of many women, yet somehow as he gazed into Asha’s he couldn’t recall any of them.

  Life suddenly became very complicated.

  He doubted she was anywhere near ready to trust him enough to let him close. He scared her. While part of him rose to that power, reveled in her female skittishness because it bespoke how strongly their chemistry worked on an animalistic level, it meant he’d have to bide his time, earn her trust. Not an easy prospect when the craving to claim her burned in him, to brand her as his, a need as elemental, as vital as drawing his next breath.

  Romance was complex enough, but when you tossed in the fact he was here flying a false flag as part of Desmond’s schemes, any sort of a relationship would be built on extremely treacherous ground. How could he say trust me when Asha didn’t even know his real name? She knew he was connected to Trident Ventures’ attempt to buy the horse farm. Clearly she was devoted to her brother, and there was little doubt Liam Montgomerie wanted to hold on to that farm at all costs. Once she understood the full scope of Mershan International’s plans, Jago had a feeling the fur would fly.

  Tamping down on the flickers of rising dread, he sighed and put her on her feet. Double damn. If he were Trev he’d go after her, no holds barred, and allow the chips to fall where they may. This wanting of Asha went bone deep. Not just the physical craving, it was everything beyond that: He wanted her in his life.

  His chest had a strange pressure. Accepting how his world had changed in just two days would take a bit of time. Even so, he wouldn’t run from the enormity of what was happening between them. This was the one area where he let his Mershan blood rule: When he saw something he really desired, he didn’t hesitate. His Harley back in England, the deal he’d made with Derek for the Shelby—both were impulsive purchases. He’d never regretted the motorcycle and figured he wouldn’t be sorry for buying the car. He’d had to have them, so he didn’t hesitate. That same drive to claim Asha burned in his gut. He wanted to stick her in the Shelby, drive non-stop to Las Vegas and marry her. He couldn’t. He might look like Trev, but on the inside, that path wouldn’t suit his conscience simply because it wouldn’t be fair to her.

  Asha laughed musically. “You keep asking if I feel all right, only I think I should ask if you feel okay. You have the strangest expression on your face.”

  Looking for a release of his frustrated mating drive, he stalked her, backing her up to the end of the pool. “I’m not all right. What did you expect? You’d waltz in here in that take-me swimsuit and I’d not go into hormone overload? Here’s the plan, Asha—”

  “Oh, you have a plan, do you? Smart man.” Eyes dancing, she laughed.

  He growled as her back hit the edge of the pool. Planting a hand on the wall on e
ither side of her, he leaned to Asha, invading her space. Letting her feel the heat off his body. “One time offer—you and that itsy-bitsy, backless suit get out of this pool, wrap that robe around you, and get the hell to your bungalow before I count down from one hundred, or I’m coming after you—and if I get my hands on you, nothing will stop me from taking you. Do you understand, Asha?”

  He leaned closer. He could almost taste her mouth, the hint of Pepsi on her breath, and it was nearly enough to let loose the primal lust rippling under his skin. Asha nodded. Still, she foolishly played with fire. He figured coming at her like a Category 5 hurricane would send her running. Rather surprisingly, he could see her mind struggling. One part of her wanted to run and not look back; the other was tempted to dance with the devil. The thought skittered through her mind to do something wild and wicked. He could read her that plainly.

  “Don’t consider it, my Scottish lass. I mean every word I say. Run, or there won’t be any sleep for either of us tonight.” He smiled a predator’s threat, then began counting. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight . . .”

  He lifted her by the waist and plopped her cute little tush on the pool edge. Her cautious side finally kicked in. She blinked, slowly rising to her feet, water dripping from her body. He kept counting. Grabbing her robe, she clutched it to her chest. Her brown eyes softened, intense longing swirling within. Blasted woman wouldn’t let him be chivalrous!

  “Damn it, Asha—seventy-nine, seventy-eight . . .” With an easy push, he levered up on his arms, dragging his body out of the pool. Water sluiced off him. “Seventy-three—I get my hands on you, there’s no turning back.” He made a swipe at her as if to grab her, then laughed as she squeaked and finally ran.

  Watching that firm derrière moving away, Jago contemplated if he might’ve just done the most stupid thing in his whole life. Stupid, but honorable.

  “Being honorable sucks.” He sighed in frustration. “Jago Luxovius Mershan, you’re one lucky sonofabitch—or cursed. Right now, I’m leaning heavily toward cursed.”