Burning Secrets. Elizabeth Sinclair

You should go inside and get some sleep.”

      She pursed her lips stubbornly.

      Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. What did they taste like? Were they soft, warm, moist?

      “I can’t leave it alone,” she said. “I guess it’s the nurturer in me. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve always wanted what you seem to push away every chance you get. I guess I don’t understand why I see you hurting and them trying to ease that hurt, and you just won’t let them.”

      His anger built, unreasonably fueling his need to kiss her. “Stay out of it,” he ground out.

      She opened her mouth to speak again. He could think of only one way to silence her. The one thing that had taken over every sane thought in his head. He grabbed her, hauled her into his arms, then covered her lips with his.

      At first he tried to punish her for interfering in his life, for resurrecting Paul, for making him want things he couldn’t have, but then, when her lips relaxed under his, and she showed no sign of struggle, the kiss changed. Subtly at first, then deepening by degrees. He relaxed his mouth and sent his tongue to explore the shape of her lips. Slowly, he outlined them, tasted their sweetness, learned their texture.

      Then she opened her mouth to him like a baby bird waiting for sustenance. Accepting her silent invitation, his tongue snaked between her teeth. She groaned softly, and he pulled her closer, aligning her curves with the hard surface of his body.

      Suddenly, she pushed him away. The handle on the driver’s door dug into his spine. Struggling to find his center of gravity, he took in large gulps of night air.

      “This…is…wrong,” she said, her breathing erratic, her hair tangled invitingly around her face. She brushed it away from her eyes, then breathed deep. “We have to think about…Paul.”

      Think about Paul? Hell, he’d thought of little else since the wildfire.

      Before he could voice his thoughts, she’d jumped from the car, hurried up the hedge-lined walk, then disappeared into the house.

      For a long time, Jesse sat there staring at the house, trying to get his emotions back in line. He couldn’t let this happen, this…whatever it was about this woman that drew him like a moth to a flame. Unlike the moth, in the end he’d wind up with more than singed wings. Karen still had strong feelings for Paul. He could hear it in her voice when she said his name. And no matter how right it had felt, kissing her could only mean trouble, and more trouble was the very last thing he needed right now.

      After a few minutes had passed, he saw the light in a second-story window come on. The curtain was pulled aside and someone peered out. Quickly, the figure stepped back, then pulled the shade. That simple act made Jesse feel as if he’d just been cut out of someone else’s life.

      

      All the way home, Jesse relived the kiss he’d shared with Karen. That common sense had prevailed pleased him. Who had taken the initiative and ended the kiss bothered the hell out of him. Hindsight was 20/20, but he should have been the one to pull back, not Karen. Far from a novice with women, he’d never experienced anything to equal that kiss before in his life, and it had shaken him right down to the soles of his feet. While he’d initiated it, she’d been as much a participant as he had—until thoughts of Paul stopped her. It annoyed him that she had even wanted to end it.

      However, the effect it had and continued to have on him bothered him even more. The memory of how her mouth had felt beneath his occupied his thoughts, overriding the warning bells going off in his head and most of all making him wish for things that could never be. He kept recalling how her laughter spread warmth through him, how her smile lit up her whole face, the way her touch made his skin tingle for more, the way she fit into his family better than he ever had. Without even trying, Karen had become a part of him.

      Was the woman a witch? Had she woven a spell that had them all captured in her silky web?

      No more, he told himself. It couldn’t happen again. Once was an accident. Twice would be emotional suicide. Aside from her connection to Paul, getting involved with a woman from the city had to be one of the stupidest things he’d ever contemplated.

      Hadn’t his father’s experience with his mother taught him anything? Sure, Karen would be happy now, when country life was all new and exciting, but what about after the shine wore off? What then? She’d be back in her little red sports car, speeding toward New York, back to the place that spelled safety and comfort for her. And where would he be? Would he turn into a bitter, resentful old man like his father? No. He refused to spend his life like Frank Kingston had—making other people pay for his disappointments and mistakes.

      Despite all his arguments and common sense analogies, the fact remained that Jesse could not get Karen off his mind.

      It was all a moot point anyway. He couldn’t get involved with the girlfriend of the man he’d allowed to die. But did he have to let it go that far? He was an adult, after all, not some adolescent with out-of-control hormones. All he had to do was remove the temptation.

      Couldn’t he just keep her at arm’s length, control his own emotions, tell her what she wanted to know about Paul, help her get her pictures as quickly as possible, then encourage her to leave town? He realized that it was little compensation for a life, and that nothing would ever replace Paul, but how could Jesse not help her?

      

      Still fully clothed, Karen lay across her bed. What in God’s name had she been thinking to let him kiss her? Letting him wasn’t the half of it, she corrected. How could she have responded like a twenty-dollar hooker to a man she’d just met?

      Worst of all, why hadn’t she talked to him about Paul? She couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. Yet she hadn’t taken advantage of it. When the answer—which she didn’t like at all—came, she realized it was because Jesse had pushed away all thoughts of her baby’s father.

      She lay there for a long time, thinking. What was this attraction she felt for Jesse? And why was it strong enough to veer her away from her intended path? She waited, but no answers came.

      Hell, she didn’t even know why she’d started the conversation about his acceptance of his family. He’d been totally right. She’d stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. She’d get her answers about the fire and Paul’s family, then she’d be gone, and life in the sleepy little hamlet of Bristol would go on. How it went on was none of her concern.

      When would she learn that there were some things that were better left alone? Like men with some big-time emotional problems, and dark cars that invited intimacy with a man she had no business even thinking about, much less kissing as if her life depended on it. Let the Kingstons exorcize their family ghosts. She had her own problems to contend with.

      Resolutely, she jumped up, then went to the dresser. She extracted her nightie from the top drawer. Throwing it, her towel and a robe over her arm, she headed down the hall to the shared bathroom. Her bedside clock had read eleven o’clock. She still had time before her landlady turned off the hot water, Mildred’s way of saving on the electric bill. Putting thoughts of Jesse and their encounter aside, she concentrated on enjoying a relaxing shower and then a good night’s sleep.

      Laying her nightie on the vanity and hanging her robe on the back of the door and the towel over the bar, she moved aside a shower curtain covered with all species of colorful tropical fish. She adjusted the water to the hot temperature she preferred, then stripped off her clothes and stepped under the spray.

      The silky caress of the water brought to mind again the feel of Jesse’s lips on hers, the way he gently stroked her mouth, almost as if he worshipped it. Her body began to tingle anew and not from the hot water. Slowly, she ran her hands over her skin, her mind conjuring up the image of Jesse Kingston.

      Taking the soap, she lathered her body, then massaged the bubbles into her sensitive skin. Slipping back beneath the spray, she leaned against the tiled side of the shower stall. Eyes closed, she luxuriated in the sensual feel of the hot water running over her, rinsing