Mountain Fire
“Good god,” he whispered. “It's my fault.”
“No!” June said urgently. “No, that's not what I meant. Listen to me, Alex.” She broke free of his grasp and raised her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to meet her eyes. “It's not your fault. The person to blame is the one who killed Iain. But you have to see...you have to realize...it could have been you. And the note...maybe it was supposed to be you.”
Her brilliant blue gaze held fire and courage and something else he was afraid to define. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, drawing strength from her warmth, her slender softness. That he might have unwittingly been the means of Iain's death shook him to his core. Years of friendship and respect, blasted away by a bullet. He wasn't sure he could bear the guilt.
“Come to me.” He murmured in her ear. “Come to me tonight.” His mouth seared a hot, moist path along her jawline. He needed her, but he realized with wonder it wasn't simply sexual. It was also the desire for comfort and companionship, a sharing of sorrow.
The uneasiness icing his veins was consumed in the flame of passion. Unable to deny himself another taste of her, his lips met hers fiercely, grinding against her teeth until her mouth opened and their tongues twisted together, twirling, teasing. He crushed her against his body, hands sliding from buttocks to shoulders, melding her to fit him. “I need you, June.” Desperation filled him, undeniable and indefensible. “It's your call. Your decision. But I want you so bad. I...” he faded to a stop, pressed his mouth to hers once more. “Come to me.”
Her breath trembled out. He held her so close he could see his reflection in her eyes. She nodded. “Tonight.”
“No!” June said urgently. “No, that's not what I meant. Listen to me, Alex.” She broke free of his grasp and raised her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to meet her eyes. “It's not your fault. The person to blame is the one who killed Iain. But you have to see...you have to realize...it could have been you. And the note...maybe it was supposed to be you.”
Her brilliant blue gaze held fire and courage and something else he was afraid to define. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, drawing strength from her warmth, her slender softness. That he might have unwittingly been the means of Iain's death shook him to his core. Years of friendship and respect, blasted away by a bullet. He wasn't sure he could bear the guilt.
“Come to me.” He murmured in her ear. “Come to me tonight.” His mouth seared a hot, moist path along her jawline. He needed her, but he realized with wonder it wasn't simply sexual. It was also the desire for comfort and companionship, a sharing of sorrow.
The uneasiness icing his veins was consumed in the flame of passion. Unable to deny himself another taste of her, his lips met hers fiercely, grinding against her teeth until her mouth opened and their tongues twisted together, twirling, teasing. He crushed her against his body, hands sliding from buttocks to shoulders, melding her to fit him. “I need you, June.” Desperation filled him, undeniable and indefensible. “It's your call. Your decision. But I want you so bad. I...” he faded to a stop, pressed his mouth to hers once more. “Come to me.”
Her breath trembled out. He held her so close he could see his reflection in her eyes. She nodded. “Tonight.”