Nora Roberts - The Stars of Mithra - Hidden Star

Bailey felt a wave of love just from looking at them, a bond of trust and a sense of shared lives. Their voices were like music, a distant song of which she could only catch snatches.

Could go for a cold beer.

A cold anything.

How long do you think she’ll keep at it?

For the rest of our lives. Paris next summer. Definitely.

Get her away from rocks long enough.

And the creeps.

Definitely.

It made her smile that they were talking about her, cared enough to talk about her. She’d go to Paris with them. But for now, she chinked away at an interesting formation, hoping to find something worthwhile, something she could take back and study, then fashion into something pretty for her friends.

It took patience, and a good eye. Whatever she found today, she’d share with them.

Then, suddenly, the blue stones all but tumbled into her hand. Three perfect blue diamonds of spectacular size and luster. And it was with pleasure, rather than shock, that she examined them, turned them in her palms, then felt the jolt of power sing through her body.

The storm rolled in fast and mean, blocking the flaming sun, dark, grasping shadows shooting out and covering the landscape. Now there was panic, a great need to hurry. Hurry. Hurry. A stone for each of them, before it was too late. Before the lightning struck.

But it was already too late. Lightning stabbed the skin, sharp as a knife, and she was running, running blindly. Alone and terrified, with the walls closing in and the lightning stabbing at her heels….

She awoke with her breath heaving, shooting straight up on the sofa. What had she done? Dear God, what had she done? Rocking herself, her hands pressed to her mouth, Bailey waited for the shudders to pass.

The room was quiet. There was no thunder, no lightning, no storm chasing her. And she wasn’t alone. Across the room, under the slant of light from a globe lamp, Cade dozed in a chair. He had a book open on his lap.

It calmed her just to see him there, papers scattered at his feet, a mug on the table beside him. His legs were stretched out, crossed comfortably at the ankles.

Even in sleep, he looked strong, dependable. He hadn’t left her alone. She had to block an urge to go over, crawl into his lap and slide back to sleep cuddled with him. He pulled her, tugged at her emotions so strongly. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d known him less than twenty-four hours. After all, she’d hardly known herself much longer.

Pushing at her hair, she glanced at her watch. It was just after three a.m., a vulnerable time. Stretching out again, she pillowed her head on her hands and watched him. Her memory of the evening was clear enough, no breaks, no jumps. She knew she’d thrown herself at him, and it both embarrassed and amazed her.

He’d been right to stop before matters got out of hand. She knew he was right.

But, oh, she wished he’d just taken her, there on the floor. Taken her before she had all this time to think about the right and wrong of it, the consequences.

Some of this emptiness within her would be filled now, some of those undefinable needs met.

Sighing, she rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling. But he’d been right to stop. She had to think.

She closed her eyes, not to seek sleep but to welcome memory. Who were the women she’d dreamed of? And where were they now? Despite herself she drifted off.

Cade woke the next morning stiff as a board. Bones popped as he stretched. He rubbed his hands over his face, and his palms made scratching sounds against the stubble. The moment his eyes cleared, he looked across the room. The couch was empty.

He might have thought he’d dreamed her, if not for the books and papers heaped all over the floor. The whole thing seemed like a dream—the beautiful, troubled woman with no past, walking into his life and his heart at the same time. In the morning light, he wondered how much he’d romanticized it, this connection he felt with her. Love at first sight was a romantic notion under the best of circumstances.

And these were hardly the best.

She didn’t need him mooning over her, he reminded himself. She needed his mind to be clear. Daydreaming about the way she’d wrapped herself around him and asked him to make love with her simply wasn’t conducive to logical thinking.

He needed coffee.

He rose and trying to roll the crick out of his neck, headed for the kitchen.

And there she was, pretty as a picture and neat as a pin. Her hair was smooth, brushed to a golden luster and pulled back with a simple rubber band. She was wearing the navy-and-white striped slacks he’d bought her, with a white camp shirt tucked into the waist. With one hand resting on the counter, the other holding a steaming mug, she was staring out the window at his backyard where a rope hammock hung between twin maples and roses bloomed.

“You’re an early riser.”

Her hand shook in startled reaction to his voice, and then she turned, worked up a smile. Her heart continued to thud just a little too fast when she saw him, rumpled from sleep. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Sweetheart, I owe you my life.” He said in heartfelt tones as he reached for a mug.

“It seems I know how to make it. Apparently some things just come naturally. I didn’t even have to think about it. It’s a little strong. I must like it strong.”

He was already downing it, reveling in the way it seared his mouth and jolted his system. “Perfect.”

“Good. I didn’t know if I should wake you. I wasn’t sure what time you leave for your office, or how much time you’d need.”

“It’s Saturday, and the long holiday weekend.”

“Holiday?”

“Fourth of July.” While the caffeine pumped through his system, he topped off his mug. “Fireworks, potato salad, marching bands.”

“Oh.” She had a flash of a little girl sitting on a woman’s lap as lights exploded in the night sky. “Of course. You’ll be taking the weekend off. You must have plans.”

“Yeah, I got plans. I plan for us to toddle into the office about midmorning. I can show you the ropes. Won’t be able to do much legwork today, with everything shut down, but we can start putting things in order.”

“I don’t want you to give up your weekend. I’d be happy to go in and straighten up your office, and you could—”

“Bailey. I’m in this with you.”

She set her mug down, linked her hands.

“Why?”

“Because it feels right to me. The way I see it, what you can’t figure out in your head, you do on instinct.” Those sea-mist eyes roamed over her face, then met hers. “I like to think there’s a reason you picked me. For both of us.”

“I’m surprised you can say that, after the way I acted last evening. For all we know, I go out cruising bars every night and pick up strange men.”

He chuckled into his mug. Better to laugh, he’d decided, than to groan. “Bailey, the way a single glass of wine affects you, I doubt you spent much time in bars. I’ve never seen anyone get bombed quite that fast.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to be proud of.” Her voice had turned stiff and cool, and it made him want to grin again.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of either. And you didn’t pick a strange man, you picked me.” The amusement in his eyes flicked off. “We both know it was personal, with or without the alcohol.”

“Then why didn’t you…take advantage?”

“Because that’s just what it would have been. I don’t mind having the advantage, but I’m not interested in taking it. Want breakfast?”

She shook her head, waited until he’d gotten out a box of cereal and a bowl. “I appreciate your restraint.”

“Do you?”