Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic (12 page)

He could swear she was holding the crumbling cliff together with the force of her will.

“Let the dog go!” he yelled past the lump in his throat. The entire yard tilted toward the ocean, and he was suddenly sliding down the slick grass toward her. “Hang on to the damned tree!”

As if she knew he would come for her but not the dog, she shook her head again. Conan thought he’d have a heart attack when the dog slurped his face with his scratchy tongue. He still couldn’t reach the woman clinging for her life. She was an arm and a leash length’s away, with a widening chasm of dirt and tree roots between them. He didn’t think grabbing tree roots would hold the dirt in place.

He could smell mud and flowers, and he swore he could smell her terror. For a moment, he contemplated using the leash as a rope, but it was a flimsy piece of plastic meant for a small dog and not reliable.

He jerked on the damned leash to show he had the animal, and she finally released it so she could wrap both hands around the tree trunk. Conan slid the leash grip around his wrist and stretched out both arms to Dorrie. He belly-crawled as close to the chasm as he dared. Toto scrambled over his back.

Before he was even within arm’s length, the piece of earth she kneeled on broke off, and he nearly swallowed his tongue on his cry of anguish. His lungs froze as she clung to the tilted tree trunk, momentarily suspended over thin air, her long skirt billowing like a flag as the cliff fell out from under her.

He blinked in amazement as, holding the tree with both hands, Dorrie swung her legs back to solid ground in an artistic ballet leap. He came to his knees in hopes of catching her. It was just like watching one of those Chinese sword-fighting movies where the characters flew into the air, sashes and clothes flying like flags. He swore she floated before she swung back to the safety of his arms, and the world was real again.

Beyond them, the tree followed the landslide of mud.

Conan hauled her slender, shaking form closer and hastily yanked both of them to their feet on the treacherous grass. With the dog’s leash on one arm and Dorrie on his other, he dashed up the sloping lawn, back to the safety of the highway. The crashes of earth, trees, and statuary resounded above the roar of ocean and wind, but he wasn’t turning back to watch for fear he’d turn into a pillar of salt.

Not until they collapsed against his car, and Conan drew her tighter in his arms, could he admit they’d both almost ended up as bloody carcasses on the rocks. She was so damned soft and fragile! And shivering so hard, he had to hold her up.

They’d almost
died.
He could have done nothing if Dorrie had disappeared off the cliff and shattered on the rocks below—except go over with her.

Left wide open and more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be again, Conan tried to slow his pounding heart by focusing on the magical woman in his arms, on her soft sweater and unfettered curves and rapid breathing.

She wept, and he kissed her hair, reassuring himself as well as her that they were safe. She was trembling so hard, he wasn’t certain she even noticed his kisses—until she turned her face up to him, and it was the most natural, life-affirming action he could take to continue kissing her.

She smelled of earth and rain and a subtle flowery scent all her own that grew stronger with the heat they were generating. All he wanted in this moment was to know they were alive and breathing and the blood still raced through their veins. She was light in his arms as he lifted her closer, and her mouth was eager and inviting despite the shivers.

She kissed with a ferocity and thirst for life that matched his own, and lust hit him with the force of hurricane winds, shaking him straight to his core. He wanted her so badly he could have taken her on the car hood.

Then headlights swept along the road and the dog barked.

She ducked away, burying her face in his shoulder. Still shaking, she didn’t push out of his arms, though. Or maybe he was the one shaking. He’d never experienced a kiss like that in his life. She’d jarred him straight out of his head and into the moment.

But now that he was back in reality land— “What the
devil
were you doing out there!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that she didn’t have room to shudder.

“Oh, God, I don’t know. How did you get here just when I needed you? Thank you. Thank you. I don’t think I can stand up anymore.”

And she fell like a dead weight against him.

Cursing, Conan opened his passenger door and lifted her inside. The dog scrambled up of its own accord, prancing his muddy paws over Dorrie’s skirt and licking her face. She slumped over, unconscious.

Terrified that she’d gone into some kind of shock, Conan tested her pulse—the extent of his first aid knowledge other than resuscitation for drowning victims. She was still alive. He belted her in so she wouldn’t slide to the floor. Her thick curls slumped down the loose knit of her sweater, dragging the neckline with them to reveal the curve of her breasts. Conan didn’t even halt to admire the sight.

Rushing around the car to his door, he remembered to stop and verify that her Prius with all the crap for which she’d risked her life was locked. He grabbed her purse from under the jumble, set the lock with her key, then slid behind the wheel of his car and scratched off down the road.

He’d never
ever
seen anyone pirouette out of thin air. Or been kissed as if he were a superhero when he’d done utterly nothing to deserve it. But he damned well wasn’t losing this woman until he solved a few mysteries.

His own pulse racing as if he were on fire, he took the hill turns at excess speed, nearly losing control of the Mercedes on the fallen gravel but jerking back to the pavement. Beside him, Dorrie moaned, and he slowed down so she wouldn’t fall over.

His phone rang as he hit the on ramp to the freeway. He punched the Bluetooth button when he recognized the ring and yelled before the other party could speak. “Oz? Is your batty mother-in-law around? I need her,
now.”

Waiting for a reply, Conan finally noticed the damp grass stains seeping through the knees and seat of his pricey jeans. The chill soaked into his bones. He listened while his brother told someone to find Gloria Jean. Reality was sinking in.

“I’ve been trying to reach you since you emailed last night.” Oz shouted through the speaker. “Why haven’t you got back to me? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Long story. Need to know how to revive a woman in a faint. I’m heading for the emergency room, but they’re likely to laugh me out of existence if it’s just a faint.” Dorrie did have a flare for drama, but Conan didn’t think this was intentional. He just wasn’t certain that an impersonal hospital was the right place to treat a miracle woman.

A woman he damned well better keep from his family until he figured out what in hell she was.

“Shit, you let some female in that cave of yours, and she ran screaming into the street, right?” his older brother asked facetiously.

“Screw you, big brother,” Conan replied without hostility. “She just pirouetted off a falling cliff. We’ve got some bad mojo happening.”

Oz whistled, and then a feminine voice intervened. “Conan? I have Mom on my cell. She says you can stop at a store and pick up some ammonia, but it would be faster to head for the hospital. They’ll have what you need there.”

“Stop using your ‘poor, baby’ voice on me, Pippa. It doesn’t work on me any more than on Oz, and I have a right to panic. She’s out cold. Even her dog can’t wake her. Have you ever been in a hospital emergency room? I’ll take my chances on a drugstore first.”

He swerved off the first exit and peeled down the road to a shopping center.

“It was worth a try,” his sister-in-law replied sweetly. Pippa was anything but sweet, so he knew she was still trying to pacify him with her magic voice. “But if you crash your car, you won’t help any. Slow down. I’m not too stupid to recognize the sound of squealing rubber.”

“I can head into town if you need me,” Oz said, apparently taking the phone from his wife. “I like long stories.”

“Yeah, don’t we all. You’re not getting this one. Not yet. Not until I know it’s safe. Remember the Librarian’s warnings.”

“Yeah, that’s why I called. She just sent me a message. Said
Call home.
I thought of ET and called you. So the old lady is not apeshit crazy yet?”

Conan would have laughed at his producer brother relating him to a movie about a lost space alien, but he was cruising for a parking space. “The Librarian’s still crazy, but not apeshit yet. I’m here. Go get ready for Donal’s dinner party. Talk later.”

He hung up, backed the car into a handicapped space, and glancing at Dorrie’s closed eyes, dashed for the store.

He threw a five at the shocked cashier and raced out with a dollar’s worth of ammonia. Opening the passenger door, he pried the plastic cap off the bottle with his teeth, and swung the acrid stench under her nose.

She spluttered. Thank the heavens for crazy Malcolm mother-in-laws. Conan waved the bottle again, and Dorrie rolled her head back and forth on the high back of his leather seat.

When she started coughing, he capped the bottle again. He would have left it in the parking lot, but he had a suspicion the remedy might come in handy. He recapped the bottle and stored it behind the seat.

He massaged her hand as she came around. “Dorrie? Do I need to take you to the emergency room? Are you hurt? You’re scaring the shit out of me, I hope you realize.”

His insides lurched at the winning sight of her lips curving upward. He didn’t know if the smile was for him or if she was dreaming. He couldn’t help hoping that beam of sunshine was for him. He told himself that was because after all they’d been through, he deserved that reward, but he was pretty certain he was lying to himself. He had a knot in the pit of his stomach that he’d never experienced even when being tugged into the undertow at Waimea.

“If you don’t speak soon, it’s the emergency room for you, Miss Franklin,” he warned.

“No,” she murmured, finally stirring to hug Toto, who was licking her face again. “Food,” she added, a small V forming between her eyes.

Remembering women complaining about blood sugar plummets, Conan dug in his glove box and found a bag of peppermints. He peeled off a wrapper and slipped one between her lips. “What kind of food?”

“Protein. Carbs.
Famished,”
she said around the candy. She finally opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I’ve never done that before.”

He would translate protein and carbs into steak and potatoes but he figured cheesy pizza was more her style, and there was a restaurant in this same block of shops.

He had the insane urge to pick her up and carry her there, but that was probably because he wanted all those tight curves in his arms again. He had his own reaction to racing blood, but it wasn’t sweets he craved. One kiss hadn’t been enough.

“Never done what before?” he asked, holding her hand to help her out and hoping she could stand on her own. “Never kissed me before?”

Her fingers fluttered like a restless bird against his rough palm, but he refused to let her go, and she let herself be pulled from the car. She swayed. He held on until she was certain she was steady. Then he kept her hand in his anyway. Just her scent aroused him, and he was aware of her in ways he couldn’t grasp. Yet.

She still clutched the damned dog, but at least she was awake and looking around.

“Embarrassed myself so thoroughly,” she replied with what sounded like puzzlement. “I think I’d like to pretend none of that happened, and we’re just out for a Saturday night drive.”

“Not happening, babe,” he said, marching her off to the pizza place. “I saw you fly. That simply wasn’t human.”

“I can’t fly,” she said flatly, but she didn’t release his hand as she examined the outdoor tables. “I’m pretty good at
t’ai chi,
but I’m a worker bee, not an athlete.”

Dorrie saw Conan’s skepticism, but she couldn’t explain what she didn’t understand herself. She was pretty certain she’d been holding on to that piece of cliff until he’d arrived, that she had literally prevented the earth from falling by pulling together the energy she experienced and holding it grounded to the tree. And she was so exhausted and hungry, it felt as if she’d actually performed that superhuman effort. That could easily be her mother’s melodrama speaking. But she was glad she had Conan’s hand to keep her grounded.

She was more than glad. She was tingling from head to foot from his kiss alone. If she let herself remember how his arms and chest had felt, how his strength had held her together…she’d be a puddle of wax. Maybe it was a reaction from the adrenaline rush, and she was too weak to fight her attraction to him.

“I saw you floating,” he said firmly. “The cliff fell out from under you. I almost had a heart attack. And then you were flying through the air, clinging to that tree—which fell into the ocean as soon as you released it. If that scene had been in a movie, I would have rolled out of my seat, laughing at the impossibility.”

“You’re not much on action flicks, I take it?” She chose an empty table near the railing where she could tie up Toto, tucking her muddy skirts under the table, out of sight. That she’d terrified him so thoroughly tumbled loose a barrier inside her. She wasn’t certain how to react.

“I like them real,” he agreed.

Real. She didn’t know what that was anymore. Had that kiss been real? No one had
ever
kissed her with such passion. It was hard to imagine it from a man who didn’t know the world existed when he fell inside a computer.

Dorrie ran her hand through the terrier’s fur, but the dog didn’t seem in the least fazed by their experience. Toto licked her fingers, and she thought perhaps she ought to wash, but she didn’t want to stand on her own just yet. She pulled a package of antibiotic washcloths from her purse.

Even in his muddied t-shirt and jeans, Conan looked like the most stable, the most sane, the strongest person she’d ever known. And she’d still managed to rattle him. Badly. She could tell by the way he kept pushing his hair from his face and scrubbing at his five o’clock shadow. She’d bet a month’s salary that he normally never noticed his hair, or he’d get it cut more often. She was starting to understand the damned man.