Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

“I'm glad you recognize that,” he said, just before pulling her closer and covering her mouth with his own.

The buzz was back, filling her head and flowing through her like live current. His tongue teased the corners of her mouth and she took his head in both her hands and urged him to explore more. He tasted salty like the chips and smelled like the summer day, and when he eased her back onto the quilt, she drifted down willingly. His hands made fists in her hair for a moment, then slid along her sides, one elbow coming to rest on the dock to take his weight, the other hand seeking her breast with a light caress.

She hadn't expected that heat could overtake so quickly, or that want could swell like the tide, without control and without limits, but the feel of his hand on her skin set her senses into overdrive. When his lips led a hot trail from her mouth to the side of her face, to the warm spot under her ear, to her neck, her throat, she arched her body to encourage him to keep going. When he reached the place where her shirt impeded his progress, she slid a hand between them and unbuttoned it, his eager mouth following each inch of skin as each button came undone until his mouth closed over the thin lace that covered her breast. He eased the strap over her shoulder and feasted on her flesh, his tongue's sure flickering stoking the flame right to her core. He covered her body with his and she moved against him, wanting him closer. The only thought resounding inside her was More .

“Do you want to go up to the house and…” His breath was ragged and he seemed to be struggling for control.

“No,” she whispered. “Here. Now.”

He tugged her skirt up over her hips and his fingers were inside her, stroking her nearly to insanity.

“Nick.” She gasped, tugging at his waistband and finding his zipper, pulling it down as far as she could.

“Right.” He swallowed hard. “Here. Now.”

She parted her legs wider to welcome him, and sighed with pleasure when he entered her. Her hips rocked in rhythm with his, together gathering speed and intensity like a runaway train. When the crash came, it was mighty and swift and overwhelming.

“I think the top of my head just blew off,” Emme said when she could find her voice.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I usually take a little more time than-”

“If you apologize, I'm going to have to hurt you,” she told him, her breath still uneven.

He laughed and started to say something, but as he rose up on one elbow, his attention was drawn to the top of the slope.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “We have company.”

“What?” She bolted upright, closing the front of her shirt and pulling down her skirt.

From somewhere behind them she heard the barking of a dog.

“Shit.” Nick grumbled and pulled his cutoffs up, zipped the zipper and pulled on his T-shirt. “When Herb said one of the carpenters would be stopping over, I didn't think he meant today.”

He looked down at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Other than the fact that I'm half-undressed and there's a stranger about to slide down that embankment, yeah, I'm fine.”

“I'll head him off,” he told her, pausing to lightly kiss the side of her face before standing and taking off up the slope.

What in the name of God has gotten into you? her inner voice demanded as she gathered their partially eaten lunch.

She began to smile, cutting off the voice and offering no explanation for her uncharacteristic behavior. Every decision she'd made over the past four years had been strictly for Chloe. Today she'd made one strictly for herself. She'd be damned if she was going to make excuses for it.

She folded the quilt and slipped her feet back into her sandals and started up the hill. She was whistling when she arrived at the drive, where a big, brown lab sat next to a pickup truck, and a tall, thin man stood talking to Nick.

“Emme, this is Greg. He's going to take a look at the barn,” Nick told her. When Greg turned to greet her, behind him, Nick rolled his eyes. “He thought since he was out this way, he'd stop and take a look at that back wall.”

“Great.” She smiled and offered her hand to the dog to sniff before patting him on the head. “Good timing.”

“That's what I was just thinking,” Nick agreed.

“Oh, yeah,” the carpenter nodded. “You got a weak back wall there, no telling when it's going to come down.”

“I'll be in the front hall,” she told Nick. “Nice to meet you, Greg.”

“Likewise.”

She left the grocery bag on the kitchen table and went upstairs to find a bathroom. On her way back down, she paused at the landing overlooking the driveway. Nick and the carpenter were nowhere to be seen, so she assumed they'd gone into the barn. Well, it spared them from having to come up with after-sex talk, she reasoned. She'd never been real good at that. It was just one of any number of reasons she hadn't been good at relationships.

She poked into the remaining boxes and decided to finish up the clothes to get those all out of the way. She sorted through a half-dozen pair of jeans and found the bottom of the box contained notebooks. She flipped through several, reading the subjects on the colored tabs.

“Genealogy,” she read aloud with a laugh. “Now, if I were going to…”

The packet of folded papers, held together with a small black and chrome clip, fell into her lap. She opened them flat on the floor and let out a yelp.

She took them into the kitchen and sat at the table, ironing out the folds with her hands, and began to read. A few minutes later, Nick came in through the back door.

“Em?” he called.

“In the kitchen,” she told him. When he came into the room, she smiled and said, “This is your lucky day.”

“Boy howdy, is it ever.” He leaned over to kiss her neck.

“No,” she laughed. “I found the paperwork we've been looking for.”

“You're kidding,” he paused, his lips still at her throat.

“Here, take a look.” She handed him the stack.

“Where?”

“In her genealogy notebook.”

“Of course. Where else?” He breezed through them, shaking his head. “I have no idea what any of this means, all these columns of lines and letters.”

“Neither do I. But we can find someone who knows what to do with it all, and with luck, they're going to lead us to Donor 1735. And hopefully-eventually-we'll find your niece.”

“You still think we will?”

“I think we will find the answer to what happened to her,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “For better or for worse.”

“But I should probably prepare for the worst.”

She nodded slowly. “It's always good to be prepared, Nick.”

“Right.” He straightened up and handed her the sheaf of papers. “So let's get on with it. For better or for worse, let's see where this leads…”

He lay back against the grass and watched the sun come up. He couldn't remember when he'd felt more alive.

Ali had been a joy, a treasure, from the moment she realized that he wasn't her good friend and her brother, Henry, and that her dear sister, Lori, wasn't there to save her. Too late, she'd recognized him, and only the chloroform had subdued her. He really hated to have to resort to that, but she'd been winding up for a good long scream, and in that neighborhood, screaming was bound to bring someone running.

He'd arrived at the college early to scout out the best location-that is, the location where he could remain in the shadows for the longest period of time without appearing to be trying to hide. It was, he reasoned, a very fine line. He found the perfect spot on Yarrow Street, just past a building that had a very gothic air-it looked like some type of theater-across the street from a prep school that looked deserted now that classes were over for the summer. There was a wooded area right past the main building that would give him a buffer, in case someone was about, and the gothic structure sat by itself near the road and was obviously closed. Just beyond it the road dipped down nicely, and as a bonus, a wide grass stretch surrounded it. He parked well past the streetlight and dialed her cell phone.