Thirty Nights Read online

  She closed her eyes tight, imagining that she was flying up to the star-spangled sky, soaring through the Milky Way, soaring, wheeling, touching the glittering blue-white tips of the stars.

  Though he hadn’t touched her, the orgasm swept over her like a wave. No longer flying, she came crashing down, as if into the sea, and clung to him, her arms twined tightly around his neck, as she might cling onto a piece of driftwood to keep from drowning. Not in the icy Atlantic, but in the dangerous, swirling depths of her own emotions.

  “How on earth did you do that?”

  Her cheek was pressed against the front of his jacket, muffling her words. But he heard her nevertheless.

  “You’d be amazed at what technology is capable of these days.”

  “I imagine so. But surely I would have felt something different.” He must have hypnotized her. Or perhaps, she thought fancifully, on this one magical night, Hunter could have become a wizard and cast a spell upon her. “And there aren’t any wires connecting me to any power source.”

  “Wires are passé. I used radio waves with a receiver that’s not much thicker than a human hair, which kept you from feeling it. The concept isn’t really that complicated. The average computer nerd could probably make one with stuff from Radio Shack.”

  “I doubt if the average computer nerd would even think of such a thing.”

  “You may have a point.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small black box about the size of the matchboxes that her mother had once collected from famous restaurants around the world. When he flicked a small switch with his gloved hand, the renewed humming against her still tingling body caused her to gasp.

  “Hunter! Are you saying you’ve created radio controlled underwear?”

  Damn. She closed her eyes and cringed with embarrassment as she realized that her surprise had made her speak loudly enough that the driver might have actually been able to hear her over the jingling of the sleigh bells. But he didn’t turn his head, and the pace of the horse didn’t change, so she desperately hoped that perhaps he hadn’t been listening all that closely.

  “I was considering making a model boat. But it’s too cold to spend much time outdoors this time of year, it would undoubtedly crash on the rocks, anyway, and this seemed like a lot more fun. Want to test the limits?”

  He flicked the knob to high and nearly had her coming on the spot.

  “Stop that!” she hissed. “How do you know you won’t electrocute me?”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He turned the knob to off again. “Besides, you’re perfectly safe. So long as it doesn’t rain.”

  Gillian tilted her head and looked at him. “If keeping dry is necessary to prevent electrocution,” she said, referring to the moisture gathering between her thighs, “I’m in danger of looking like the bride of Frankenstein any minute.”

  He chuckled about that, seeming to enjoy himself immensely. “Wait until you see the matching bra. That’s a little trickier. I couldn’t quite get it finished before we left, but perhaps we could give it a trial run when we get home.”

  The idea of Hunter being able to stimulate her in such a way, whenever he wanted, without even touching her, definitely tipped the power in their relationship back toward him.

  “For a man who thinks light-years into the future, there are times, and this is one of them, when you’re definitely a throwback to the eighteenth or nineteenth century. Maybe even medieval times. No, even that’s not far back enough. How about the Stone Age?”

  “Are you calling me Cro-Magnon man?”

  “If the club fits,” she murmured dryly. “This is undoubtedly the most politically incorrect invention you’ve ever come up with.”

  But outrageously exciting. Gillian tried to tell herself that it was only the cold that had caused her nipples to harden like gemstones, but she knew that it was the erotic thought of Hunter’s specially created bra vibrating against her tender breasts.

  “You may be right. But I’ll bet it’s the most fun.”

  She couldn’t argue that. “I suppose,” she said, “that depends on whether I also end up picking up signals from automatic garage door openers all over town.”

  He laughed, sounding, she thought, entirely pleased with himself. “I suppose that could add an unexpected dimension to the game. But I chose a low-frequency band. You shouldn’t have to worry.”

  “Well, that’s something. You didn’t happen to sew any of those fiber optics into those briefs you’re wearing, did you?”

  “Not yet. But if you insist, I could give it the old college try.”

  “I insist.”

  His smile was slow, seductive, and she suspected he’d already expected this outcome. “I’ll say this for you, Gillian. You’re definitely exceeding expectations.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers, nibbling at her bottom lip. “I’ve half a mind to keep you.”

  “Neanderthal,” she muttered, even as she had to fight her own desire to suggest that he do precisely that.

  They came to the end of the ride, and driver and horse pulled to a stop. Gillian was pleased and more than a little relieved when she discovered that her legs were steadier than they’d felt only minutes earlier. She was also pleased when Hunter kept his gloved fingers off the control device.

  But she remained aware of it in his jacket pocket, and the knowledge that he could stimulate her anywhere, at any time, as he wished and at his will, right here in public in front of what appeared to be all the residents of the island, heightened her senses until she felt a bit like a downed electrical wire, amazed that she wasn’t throwing off sparks.

  The rest of the evening passed in a romantic blur. Hunter’s appearance at the festival earned a few curious glances from some of Castle Mountain’s residents, but Gillian suspected that was as much due to surprise at seeing the island’s famous recluse out in public as it was to his scarred physical appearance.

  They ate like greedy children, moving from booth to booth, working their way through a plethora of tasty treats: maple sugar cookies, spiced apple cider, caramel corn, creamy dark fudge studded with hazelnuts and divinity that looked like bits of fluffy white clouds and tasted like heaven. Huge outdoor radiant heaters had been set up to warm the crowds and a bonfire blazed at the edge of the ice skating pond.

  It had taken a bit more coaxing, but Gillian had gotten Hunter into a pair of rented black hockey skates, and while they certainly weren’t going to win any medals for ice dancing anytime soon, they’d managed to make several turns around the snow-bordered pond without falling down.

  She heard a voice call Hunter’s name. When they turned back toward the shore, Gillian was pleased to see Dylan skating toward her with another man and two women.

  “How great you managed to stay for our little celebration, after all,” he said, skidding to a stop in front of her with a little spray of shaved ice. His grin was warm as the roasted chestnuts Gillian had sampled earlier.

  “I’m having a wonderful time,” she said.

  He went on to introduce her to the people with him: his wife, Julianna, a science fiction author; his brother-in-law, Bram Starbuck, an astrophysicist also working at the brain factory; and his sister, Charity, who, Gillian learned, had once served on the LAPD force before returning to Castle Mountain to take over her late father’s position as chief of police.

  Charity welcomed Gillian with a warmth that echoed her brother’s, while Julianna, who reminded Gillian of a young Jackie Kennedy, was more reserved, but friendly. As was Bram Starbuck. All immediately declared themselves fans.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you out and about, Hunter.” Charity glided a little forward on her figure skates. “It’s been much too long.”

  “I’ve been tied up in my work.”

  “So Dylan tells me. Still, you know what they say about all work and no play. Besides, your friends miss you.” She hugged him with obvious affection.

  Gillian felt a little prick of jealousy as she watched Hunter hug the other woman back. When she belatedly noticed that Charity was pregnant beneath the thick down parka, jealousy was replaced by a sharp, unbidden stab of what felt uncomfortably like envy.

  “How are you?” Charity asked Hunter as she backed away. Gillian watched her husband reach out and take a protective hold of her arm to balance her on the glassy surface. “Really?”

  “Just fine,” he responded mildly. “How are things in the law enforcement business?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual.” She shrugged and glanced over at Gillian. “Castle Mountain isn’t exactly the crime capital of the world. Mostly we get calls about barking dogs, snowplows blocking driveways, that sort of thing….

  “Though we did have a little excitement yesterday.” She turned her gaze back toward Hunter. “A body washed up on the rocks below the lighthouse.”

  “Really?” he responded with studied casualness. “I suppose it was a fisherman washed overboard during the squall.”

  “That’s undoubtedly the case,” she agreed, equally as mildly. “Funny thing, though. He wasn’t a local.”

  Hunter shrugged. “It’s a big ocean. I suppose he could have washed up from the mainland.”

  “Yes.” Gillian watched the woman’s perceptive blue eyes search his inscrutable face. “That seems to be the case. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any ID on him, which, since the lighthouse is government property, means the feds are getting involved.”

  With that unsettling statement hanging on the frosty night air, she turned toward Gillian. “Did I hear that you’ve recently ended a world tour?”

  If Castle Mountain’s police chief did know about Hunter’s encounter with the mystery drowning victim, she didn’t seem inclined to discuss the matter in public.

 
Grateful for the change in subject, Gillian began sharing a few of the more colorful moments of her tour to the amusement of these people who were so obviously fond of Hunter. But she was all too aware of him standing silently beside her, lost in his own thoughts and, she felt, a great deal more tense than he had been when they’d first taken to the ice.

  “THANK YOU,” GILLIAN murmured later as they drove back through the darkened woods to the house.

  Hunter glanced over at her. “For what?”

  “For the most wonderful night of my life. I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time.”

  His grin was a slash of white in the blackness surrounding them. “And just think, the night’s still young.”

  She grinned back, sensual anticipation humming in her veins. Then the concern that had been niggling at her mind since meeting Charity returned.

  “Charity knew, didn’t she? About you being attacked.”

  “Yeah. Since it’s difficult for her to keep things off the record, I didn’t want to bring her into it unless it became absolutely necessary. But Castle Mountain is not only her jurisdiction, but the home she grew up in, and I suppose it’s only fair that she be warned. I suspect Dylan told her just enough to let her know that she’s dealing with something a lot more complicated than the usual Saturday night drunk-and-disorderly call from the Stewed Clam.”

  “Will it be a problem? Having federal agents investigating your attack?”

  “Not really. Once the phones are back in service, I’ll just have to make a few calls to Washington to keep them off our backs. Since I don’t really have any information that could prove helpful.”

  “When do you think the phones might be working again?” Enjoying being cut off from the outside world for this stolen, magical time with Hunter, Gillian wasn’t all that eager for service to be resumed.

  “It’s hard to say. The village usually gets service before the more remote places like the lab.”

  “Or your house.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mrs. Adams said the sea is calm enough for Ben to begin his mail boat crossings tomorrow.” She’d run into the housekeeper being pushed in a wheelchair by her husband at the pie-judging booth where, unsurprisingly, Mildred Adams had won the blue ribbon for her blueberry buckle.

  “I heard her.”

  “Does that mean the investigators might show up at the house before you can have them called off?”

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Hunter had no desire to think about the future. “Let’s worry about that tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled that dazzling, sock-a-guy-in-the-groin smile that had managed to knock him out every time he watched her video. “Would it be possible to pull over safely?”

  The out-of-the-blue question surprised him. Until Hunter remembered all the cider she’d drunk. On top of the cold…

  “Sure. I can find a spot. If you really need to.”

  “Oh, I really, really do.”

  “No problem.” The layers of warm clothing might be, though, he considered.

  He managed to find a gravel turnout that had obviously been plowed recently, pulled off the road and cut the engine. “The snow’s pretty deep,” he warned. “I’d better get out and open your door and—”

  “That’s not necessary.” She caught hold of his arm. The overhead light had come on when he’d opened the driver’s door, revealing the seductive gleam in her eyes. “You know, of course, that I spent my teenage years in the protective custody of nuns.”

  “I seem to recall George mentioning that.”

  “Switzerland is a very pretty country. But imprisoned as I was in that convent school, I’ve never had the opportunity to make love in the back seat of a car.” Smiling, she unfastened her seat belt, then unzipped the parka. “It’s always been one of my fantasies.”

  She shrugged out of the jacket, tossed it into the back seat and pulled the scarlet cashmere sweater over her head, revealing absolutely nothing underneath.

  Hunter swallowed. He could have been looking at her for the first time. Her breasts shone like marble in the white moonlight, but he knew that they were much softer. And a great deal warmer.

  “I thought you were the one who was worried about freezing to death.”

  “That was then.” She began wiggling out of her jeans. “This is now.”

  Hunter swore, wondering yet again which of them was more crazy and deciding that they both were. Crazy with lust.

  He helped her with her jeans, ripping them down past her knees, where they came to a stop when he reached her boots. At the same time her hands were busy on his jacket. Buttons flew from the front of his thick flannel shirt, hitting with little pings against the dashboard before dropping onto the rubber floormats.

  “Thank God you’re not wearing those damn button-fly jeans,” she said as she yanked the zipper down and took him into her smooth and dangerous hands.

  “I’ll burn every last pair tomorrow,” he promised as he tore away the scanty bit of silk between her thighs, effectively destroying his latest invention.

  They never made it to the back seat. Instead, he took her hard and fast on the reclining passenger seat, ramming into her like a wild man as her fingers dug into his bare buttocks and her hips bucked.

  The shared orgasm shuddered through them, stronger than he’d ever experienced and seemingly endless. Hunter drank in her hoarse cries of completion and resisted, just barely, howling like a triumphant timber wolf.

  Their cooling bodies were moist and slick. Still bracing himself on his arms, Hunter buried his face against her neck and considered how humiliating it would be if they had to call 911 because he was having a heart attack and Charity found him with his pants down around his ankles, like some teenager caught by a patrolling cop at lover’s lane.

  He felt as if the climax had sucked all the air out of his lungs. He obviously wasn’t alone in that regard since beneath him, Gillian was panting. Outside the steamed-up windows, a snowy owl hooted in the moon-spangled darkness.

  “That was,” she murmured finally, “even better than the fantasy.”

  “We never got to the back seat,” he pointed out as he dragged himself back to his own seat and tried to muster up the strength to pull up his briefs and jeans.

  She’d located the panties, realized they were ruined, shrugged, then began wiggling her jeans up in a way that, if he wasn’t still on the verge of death, would have made Hunter want to do it all again.

  “Next time,” she suggested, flashing him a smile as she climbed up on her knees and reached over the back of the seat for her parka.

  “Next time,” he agreed, wondering vaguely if his life insurance was paid up. Deciding that it didn’t really matter, since he didn’t have any heirs and couldn’t think of a better way to go, Hunter set about getting dressed.

  While time had seemed suspended, the dashboard clock revealed that less than ten minutes had passed since she’d asked him to pull over. And probably half of those, Hunter thought, had been spent dealing with the heavy winter outerwear. Still, what it lacked in length had been made up for in intensity.

  “Hunter?”

  “Hmm?”

  The sky overhead was still clear, resembling the dome of a planetarium. There were no new storms on the horizon. Hunter’s mind drifted to the federal agents who’d undoubtedly be arriving on the island tomorrow. He could handle them. It was whoever else might show up that had him more concerned. Not for himself. But for Gillian.

  “I love you.”

  Caught unaware, he stiffened. “Don’t.”

  She folded her arms. “Too late.”

  He could feel her looking at him, but kept gazing straight ahead, at the windshield. It was late at night, the narrow, twisting road was icy, only a fool would let his attention wander from his driving.

  And only a coward would refuse to meet his lover’s soft, imploring gaze.

  A million thoughts were spinning through his mind, most of them centered around why Gillian loving him was impossible. He was not a man who lied, not even to himself. Most particularly to himself.

  Hunter knew that he was scarred. Outside and inside. He also knew that while he could tell you, better than most, why a group of indigenous people might behave in any given way, he had no idea how to be anyone’s husband. Or father.