Foxfire Light (9 page)

Leaving her jacket and towel on a limestone ledge, she waded into the water, its coolness almost shocking her hot skin. When the water reached her waist, she pushed off to begin a leisurely crawl.

Linc climbed out of the cab of his truck and paused to stare at the log cabin. He wasn't entirely sure of his motive for stopping, except that he'd been drawn here after Jessie's revelation to him that Joanna had stopped to apologize. It didn't make a lot of sense why that mattered and the prospect of delving too deeply
into the reason why it did made him uncomfortable.

The cabin looked quiet and unoccupied. His glance went again to the New Yorker parked near his truck. Its presence confirmed the cabin's inhabitants had not left. With a little shrug to rid himself of his brief indecision, Linc walked to the door and knocked. The screen door rattled in its frame at the pounding while the wire mesh kept him from seeing anything more than shadowy forms inside the cabin.

No sounds came from inside to indicate his knock had been heard. He started to knock again, then changed his mind, opening the door instead.

“Hello! Anybody home!” His voice seemed to echo through the empty house as silence answered him. Linc walked in, letting the door close behind him. “Reece?”

Nothing. He crossed the living room to the screened door leading onto the back porch. His gaze, always alert to his surroundings, moved absently about the room. It ran automatically to the large window that overlooked the lake and its shore, since that was where he suspected the occupants of this home were. Linc paused when he noticed the boat wasn't beached on the shore, reaching the conclusion that Reece had obviously gone fishing and probably taken Joanna with him.

He would have turned around and left if he hadn't glimpsed some movement in his side
vision. When he looked to see what it was, he forgot all about leaving. Joanna was wading ashore, her sun-golden limbs glistening.

The jewel-colored swimsuit was molded to her figure like a second skin, boldly outlining the jutting swell of her breasts and the curve of her firm hips. He was conscious of the quickening rush that disturbed his senses, proving he was vulnerable to the attractions of a shapely body—if he had any doubts.

She picked her way along the rocky shoreline to a ledge of rock. Linc watched from the window while she toweled dry and rubbed the dampness from her honey-dark hair. There was a supple grace to her movements, a natural earthiness that was innocently sexy.

It didn't occur to him to go to the porch door and alert her to his presence. He was content to leave her unaware that she was being observed while his mind played back its impressions of their previous meetings and coupled them with the facts he'd learned about her from Reece. She had aroused his interest as few women had these past years.

When she slipped on her beach jacket without bothering to tie the front closed and started toward the cabin, Linc reached in his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it and shaking out the match although he continued to hold it between his fingers.

Everything about him—his stance, his posture—indicated disinterest toward the blonde girl approaching the cabin—everything except his
eyes. They were alive to her, watching as she picked her way, barefoot, over the rough ground.

In spite of himself—it seemed—Linc was stirred by the freshness of her beauty and the intelligence that was such an integral part of her features. Although she had the face, the figure, and the coloring for it, there was nothing about her that suggested a dumb blonde. The more he learned about her, the more she seemed to challenge him.

When she climbed the steps to the porch, Linc half-turned so he would be facing the door when she entered the cabin. Her lips lay against each other in a relaxed curve of contentment as she crossed the threshold and paused to close the screen door, the towel swinging in one hand.

Joanna didn't immediately see him standing there. Something warned her of his presence before her eyes made the adjustment from bright sunlight to shade. Perhaps it was the smell of cigarette smoke or a faint sound. It might have been some sixth sense that alerted her to him.

When she saw him standing there, so motionless and catlike in his quiet study of her, her heart did a somersault and never properly regained its former location. This failure was concealed by the quick erection of her defenses. Joanna had long ago learned that sometimes the best way to defend herself was to attack.

“How did you get in here?” Her voice was husky.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I knocked
but no one answered,” Linc Wilder explained somewhat casually. Joanna watched him toss a burned-out match into an ashtray.

“No one answered the door and you walked in anyway?” She made it a challenge, conscious of the uneven hammering of her pulse under the steady regard of his tawny eyes.

They gleamed with amusement and the corners of his mouth lifted. “Since the car was outside, I presumed someone was here. I figured you or Reece were down by the lake so I took the liberty of taking a shortcut through the cabin instead of walking around it. I happened to see you from the window when you were walking up from the lake so I waited here.”

He made it all sound very plausible, which Joanna supposed it was. It was just that she felt so awkward and self-conscious whenever she was around him, probably because she hadn't made a very good first impression. But she didn't want to admit that it mattered, especially not to him.

“Why are you here?” she demanded. “If you came to see Reece, he's fishing. You can come back later or leave a message for him.”

“I didn't stop to see Reece.”

The statement caught her off guard. Her hand crept up to close the front of her jacket. She was suddenly conscious of her scanty attire and wasn't sure whether it had been caused by the lick of his downward glance or the touch of a light breeze from outside.

“I can't think why you would want to see me. I
don't want to see you,” she said with an attempt at callous indifference and turned away to walk to the kitchen. She could hear the even tread of his footsteps above the silent patter of her own bare feet as he followed her as far as the doorway and stopped.

“Jessie Bates mentioned you stopped to see him this morning.” His statement seemed to contain a request for an explanation.

“So?” Joanna opened the refrigerator door to take out the pitcher of lemonade. Since he showed no signs of leaving, it would have been rude not to offer him some refreshment. “Would you like a glass?” She threw him a glance over her shoulder.

“Yes, thank you.” He waited until she had poured a glass for each of them and was crossing the kitchen to the doorway where he stood. “He also told me that you apologized to him.”

“I did.” Joanna held out a glass to him. He took it, then turned aside so she could pass. “I told you I owed him an apology. Didn't you believe that I actually meant to tell him?” Her senses reacted to the brief seconds of closeness when she moved by him.

“I guess I was wondering whether you went on your own or if Reece suggested it,” Linc replied.

Joanna pivoted a little sharply, the lemonade sloshing in her glass. “I didn't get around to telling Reece my intentions. He doesn't even know about it yet, so you can stop wondering,” she retorted.

It was difficult to hold his look, so she sought a
chair. Sitting down, Joanna crossed her long legs and struggled for that cool sophistication her mother had worked so hard to instill in her. On the surface, she appeared to achieve it. Linc crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray and continued to stand.

“I decided it was better to ask the question than to arrive at any more hasty conclusions,” he said.

“Are you having doubts that I might not be the spoiled, ill-mannered brat you thought I was?” she mocked him.

“It's possible you might even be human.” The devilish light in his eyes taunted her.

“The next thing you know you'll be admitting I have feelings,” Joanna warned him lightly.

“I might even concede there were extenuating circumstances for your behavior,” Linc suggested.

“I don't know if I could take the shock,” she countered.

“Then let's just say you've improved my opinion of you.” A half-smile slanted his mouth, crooking it in an attractive manner.

She was stiffened by the feeling that she had to guard against liking him or end up being hurt. It brought a dryness to her voice. “I'd ask what that opinion is, but I don't think I would like it.”

“Why?” Her reply sharpened his interest.

“Probably because you strike me as the type who believes women belong in the home.” She gave him a cool look. “Isn't it the motto of the hills to keep them barefoot and pregnant?”

“Are you for it or against it?”

“Against it, of course,” she flashed. “It's old-fashioned and ridiculous. Why?” She was suddenly suspicious of the apparent innocence of his question.

“I thought you might be planning to go native. I notice you're barefoot but I didn't know if you were pregnant, too.” The golden flecks in his eyes were dancing with pure mockery.

Her stomach was churning with a violent emotion, which she believed was akin to anger. She pushed to her feet, discarding the lemonade glass on a side table, not trusting her hand to hold it and not throw it in his face.

“I'm not going native and I'm not pregnant. I was swimming as you very well know.“ She was on the verge of losing her temper, and was shaking with the effort to keep it under control. “I'm not going to turn myself into a baby factory for any man.”

Linc tipped his head to one side. “Has someone asked?”

Joanna realized that she had allowed his remarks to grow out of all proportion. She was suddenly embarrassed and at a loss for words. Aware of her reddening cheeks, she held her head a little higher.

“I don't see any point in continuing this conversation,” she declared on a note of pride, and would have swept past him in a grand exit, but his hand caught her arm.

Joanna stopped at the contact, before any pressure had been exerted to halt her. As a
result, she was positioned to one side of him. She didn't turn her head to look at him, but merely swung her gaze, elevating its angle the necessary degrees to center on his rough-hewn features.

“Did you lose your sense of humor again?” His low voice was rich and smooth with amusement. “You are very sensitive, aren't you? Your pride is easily pricked even though you pretend to have a thick skin.”

She had been accused of a lot of things by various men friends but none had ever suggested she was sensitive or easily hurt. Her gaze wavered under the probing inspection of his eyes. Joanna let it fall to the hand on her bare forearm, sun-tanned and strong. Its easy touch managed to hint at the potential of power in his grip. A warmth radiated from it, sensitizing her skin.

“Do you know what your problem is, Joanna?” Linc's all-knowing tone provoked a response.

“No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not,” she retorted acidly.

When she lifted her gaze to his face, she saw that her remark had transmitted very little of its sting. The fanning lines at the corners of his eyes were crinkled in silent laughter.

“You always want to have the upper hand in a conversation. The minute you lose control, you run.” A trace of wryness flitted across his expression. “You can dish it out but you can't take it.”

“Is that right?” Joanna attempted to mock him but it sounded weak even to her.

She was nervous and on edge, trembling from an inner turmoil she couldn't define. She wanted to escape this conversation, but how could she after what Linc had just said? A little desperately, she tore her gaze from his face to search the room as if something in it would provide an excuse.

“Why are you frightened?” Linc asked with a steadiness that started a flood of panic.

“That's ridiculous! I'm not frightened of anything,” Joanna denied and started to twist away from the loose grip of his hand.

But he shifted his hold, changing it from her arm to the curve of her waist and turning her as he turned so they were squarely facing each other. When that was accomplished, he cupped a large hand to the side of her neck where her pulse was visibly throbbing.

“Aren't you?” he challenged quietly. “Then why are you trembling?”

“I'm not,” she lied.

Her hands were braced against his waistline to maintain the space between them, but he was so close that she could see the individual flecks of gold in his light brown eyes and the masculine texture of his skin stretched across his angular features, shadowed slightly by the shaven growth of his beard.

She was conscious of his flatly muscled stomach and the width of his shoulders and chest. With each breath, she was inhaling the tang of
tobacco smoke that blended with the natural odor of his body, a combination that seemed to stimulate her senses. Joanna wasn't comfortable with the way he was affecting her.

“Are you afraid of sex?” His seemingly idle question skyrocketed her pulse, turning her thoughts in a direction she didn't want them to take.

The hand on her neck moved, showing disinterest in the rapid escalation of her pulse as his fingers absently traced the underside of her jaw and paused to let his thumb rub the point of her chin.

“Sex is a normal, biological function. Every living thing is designed to reproduce through one method or another. The birds and the bees do it. The human species is gifted with the capacity to enjoy it.”

She was distracted by his reference to birds, the single word triggering her memory. When he lowered his mouth onto hers, her lips parted in surprise. There was nothing hesitant about his kiss, nothing tentative or uncertain. Yet neither was there force. The pressure of his mouth was warm and firm against hers, moving over her lips and tasting their natural softness.