Carla Neggers - The Widow

“You didn’t climb up Cadillac. You drove up.”

“I walked all over the summit. And it was freaking dawn. That counts.”

He looked back over his shoulder at her. “The only reason you’re shivering is because of what you have on.”

“Not enough?”

He turned back to his fire-building. “Depends on how you look at that one.”

She gave him a shove in the back with her foot. She’d left her wet shoes at the door. “You know what I mean.”

“You’re in the wrong clothes for charging through the woods in these conditions.”

“And you?”

He struck a match. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-uh. You’re in jeans. Jeans aren’t the best choice for cool, wet conditions. They’re not good insulators, especially when wet. See? Not bad for a city cop.”

The kindling and rolled-up newspapers caught fire, bright flames crackling as Owen shut the screen and leaned back on his outstretched arms, stretching out his legs. His toes were almost in the fire. He’d taken off his shoes, too. His feet struck her as casual, intimate.

They’d joined the search for Mattie, but the trail was cold, visibility marginal. Any sign of him-footsteps, trampled plants-ended after a few feet. He could be anywhere.

“Who knows about Mattie,” Abigail said. “I’ve never seen him in anything approaching clothing appropriate for a night out in the elements.”

“He could have supplies with him.”

“Or he could be shacked up with a friend, or hiding on some derelict pal’s clunker of a boat. He could have caught a ride off the island with someone…”

“Abigail-”

“I’m just saying.” She breathed out a sigh. “I don’t want to find him dead, Owen. No one does.”

“Do you have any clue what he’s up to?”

She shook her head. “I wish I did.”

“Think he’s your caller?”

“I don’t know. The caller supposedly wants to help-” She broke off. “Whatever Mattie’s doing, it’s not helping.”

“Your caller-whether it’s Mattie or someone else-isn’t helping, either. Just stirring the pot.”

“Good point.”

The local and state police and the two FBI agents had all departed from Ellis Cooper’s house. Ellis had pointedly refused to have any cruisers posted in his driveway, insisting to Lou Beeler that he wasn’t afraid of Mattie-that it wasn’t as if Mattie had done anything horrible-if he’d done anything at all.

“Ellis might as well have said I was bad luck,” Abigail went on.

“He’s upset.”

“Jason and Grace weren’t much better. But I only came up here after I got the first call. Maybe whatever Mattie’s up to has more to do with what the Coopers have going on than with me. The appointment, the sale of the house-they could be the catalyst.”

“Could be,” Owen said.

She slipped her arms over his shoulders and down his chest, leaning forward and touching her cheek to his. “You don’t care, do you?”

He grabbed her hand. “At the moment, no.” And in one move, he’d lifted her off her chair and over his shoulders, onto his lap, his arms circled around her. He grinned. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t put up a fight.”

“Fight? I’m injured.”

“I thought it was just a few scratches.”

She draped her arms around his neck. “It is. Traipsing over hill and dale after Mattie didn’t hurt my leg. It’s a little stiff, but that’s it.” She smiled, feeling the heat of the fire on her back. “I just didn’t want you to think I’m easy.”

“Easy isn’t the first word that comes to my mind when I think of you. More like determined, single-minded, dedicated…”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, I’m feeling better already.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Attractive. Sexy. Brown-eyed.”

“Shapely?”

He laughed. “Definitely.”

“Liar. I’m not shapely. I’m-” she thought a moment “-fit.”

“That’s it,” he said, his mouth lowering to hers. “I could watch you trek up and down mountains all day with that fit butt of yours.”

“Bastard,” she said with a laugh, their lips coming together before she could add anything else.

She opened her mouth to the kiss, giving a small gasp at the urgency with which he responded-all eagerness and heat. There was nothing tentative about him. He wasn’t tiptoeing around what he wanted.

He lifted her shirt and placed his palm, warm from the fire, on her stomach. “Stay with me tonight.”

“You can trust me not to go out a window on a bedsheet.”

“I’m not talking about staying in a guest room.”

“Owen…”

He eased his palm higher up her abdomen and smiled. “Yes, Abigail?”

“You’re direct, aren’t you?”

Without answering, he smoothed his palm over one breast, outlining the shape of it, curving his fingers around the nipple. “Lace,” he said. “Somehow I expected a lace bra, Detective.”

“Ah-ha. So you’ve been imagining what kind of bra I wear.”

“And you? Want to admit what you’ve been imagining about me?”

She smiled. “No.”

He slid her off his lap and got to his feet, tossing another log on the fire, then caught her by her hand and helped her up. The fresh chunk of wood caught fire with a crackle and a spark of heat. Owen didn’t let go of her hand. They walked together down a short hall to his bedroom, all dark woods and deep, earthy colors. The air was cooler there, away from the woodstove.

“It’s a beautiful spot,” Abigail said.

He lifted her into his arms and laid her on his bed, smoothing back her short curls. “Don’t think for a change. But if anything doesn’t feel right-”

“I won’t shoot you. I promise.”

He ignored her attempt at humor and kissed her forehead, her nose. “Just tell me.”

She touched her fingertips to his mouth. “I will. Thank you.”

They helped each other get undressed, her shirt going first, her lacy bra and underpants going last. Owen was very careful of her bandaged scratches, but she hardly noticed them at all, her entire body screaming out not with pain but desire, an ache that had nothing to do with getting attacked with a drywall saw.

“Owen,” Abigail said, letting her mind spin away from all that had brought her to Mt. Desert. “I like saying your name.”

She ran her hands up his back, skimming the ripple of scars, of hard muscle. She had nothing on him when it came to being fit. Every inch of him betrayed the work he did. He was tough, sexy, focused and absolutely relentless.

“Stop thinking,” he whispered, as if he’d been reading her mind.

“I’m not thinking. Not really. I’m feeling your scars.” Her fingertips caught the tip of his erection. “I guess that’s not a scar.”

“I hope to hell not.”

He took her nipple into his mouth, scraped his teeth erotically over it, then down her stomach, and lower. There were no more words after that. And, she thought, no going back. She moved under him, guiding him to her. He eased into her just a little, as if to give her a chance to change her mind, but she responded by taking him deep inside her.

That was all he required. She could feel his shudder of total abandon as he thrust into her. She threw her arms over her head and shut her eyes, sensations washing over her, emotion and physical need melting together, indistinguishable.

He didn’t slacken his pace, didn’t relent. She grabbed hold of his hips and drove him even deeper into her. She knew she was on the edge. She tried to hold back, but he urged her on, thrusting faster, harder, until she was spiraling into an orgasm that took over her entire body. She cried out, but still he didn’t stop, taking her higher, deeper, holding her there.

“Owen!”