The Stars Of Mithra. Nora Roberts

Look at me.”

      She couldn’t see anything else. She didn’t want anything else. Her body felt light as air, her mind empty of everything but him. “Kiss me again, Cade. It’s like a miracle when you do.”

      Praying for strength, he lowered his brow to hers until he could steady his breathing. “Next time I kiss you, you’re going to know just what’s going on.” He rose and lifted her into his arms.

      “My head’s spinning.” Giggling, she let it fall back on his supporting arm.

      “Whose isn’t?” With what he considered really heroic control, he laid her on the couch.

      “Take a nap.”

      “’Kay.” Obediently, she closed her eyes. “You’ll stay here. I feel safe when you’re here.”

      “Yeah, I’ll be here.” He dragged his hands through his hair and watched her drift off. They were going to laugh at this someday, he thought. Maybe when they had grandchildren.

      Leaving her sleeping, he went back to work.

      …She was digging in the dirt. The sun was a torch in a sapphire sky. The surrounding land was rocky and baked into muted shades of browns and reds and lavenders. Strong and pungent was the scent of sage from the pale green shrubs struggling out of cracks and crevices in the earth. With spade and hammer, she went about her work happily.

      Under the narrow shade of a boulder, two women sat watching her. Her sense of contentment was strong, and stronger yet when she looked over and smiled at them.

      One had a short cap of hair that glowed like copper and a sharp, foxy face. And, though her eyes were shielded by dark wraparound sunglasses, Bailey knew they were a deep, deep green.

      The other had ebony hair, though it was tucked up now under a wide-brimmed straw hat with silly red flowers around the crown. Loose, the hair would fall past her shoulder blades, thick and wavy to the waist. It suited the magic of her face, the creamy complexion and impossibly blue eyes.

      Bailey felt a wave of love just from looking at them, a bond of trust and a sense of shared lives. Their voices were like music, a distant song of which she could only catch snatches.

      Could go for a cold beer.

      A cold anything.

      How long do you think she’ll keep at it?

      For the rest of our lives. Paris next summer. Definitely.

      Get her away from rocks long enough.

      And the creeps.

      Definitely.

      It made her smile that they were talking about her, cared enough to talk about her. She’d go to Paris with them. But for now, she chinked away at an interesting formation, hoping to find something worthwhile, something she could take back and study, then fashion into something pretty for her friends.

      It took patience, and a good eye. Whatever she found today, she’d share with them.

      Then, suddenly, the blue stones all but tumbled into her hand. Three perfect blue diamonds of spectacular size and luster. And it was with pleasure, rather than shock, that she examined them, turned them in her palms, then felt the jolt of power sing through her body.

      The storm rolled in fast and mean, blocking the flaming sun, dark, grasping shadows shooting out and covering the landscape. Now there was panic, a great need to hurry. Hurry. Hurry. A stone for each of them, before it was too late. Before the lightning struck.

      But it was already too late. Lightning stabbed the skin, sharp as a knife, and she was running, running blindly. Alone and terrified, with the walls closing in and the lightning stabbing at her heels….

      She awoke with her breath heaving, shooting straight up on the sofa. What had she done? Dear God, what had she done? Rocking herself, her hands pressed to her mouth, Bailey waited for the shudders to pass.

      The room was quiet. There was no thunder, no lightning, no storm chasing her. And she wasn’t alone. Across the room, under the slant of light from a globe lamp, Cade dozed in a chair. He had a book open on his lap.

      It calmed her just to see him there, papers scattered at his feet, a mug on the table beside him. His legs were stretched out, crossed comfortably at the ankles.

      Even in sleep, he looked strong, dependable. He hadn’t left her alone. She had to block an urge to go over, crawl into his lap and slide back to sleep cuddled with him. He pulled her, tugged at her emotions so strongly. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d known him less than twenty-four hours. After all, she’d hardly known herself much longer.

      Pushing at her hair, she glanced at her watch. It was just after three a.m., a vulnerable time. Stretching out again, she pillowed her head on her hands and watched him. Her memory of the evening was clear enough, no breaks, no jumps. She knew she’d thrown herself at him, and it both embarrassed and amazed her.

      He’d been right to stop before matters got out of hand. She knew he was right.

      But, oh, she wished he’d just taken her, there on the floor. Taken her before she had all this time to think about the right and wrong of it, the consequences.

      Some of this emptiness within her would be filled now, some of those undefinable needs met.

      Sighing, she rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling. But he’d been right to stop. She had to think.

      She closed her eyes, not to seek sleep but to welcome memory. Who were the women she’d dreamed of? And where were they now? Despite herself she drifted off.

      Cade woke the next morning stiff as a board. Bones popped as he stretched. He rubbed his hands over his face, and his palms made scratching sounds against the stubble. The moment his eyes cleared, he looked across the room. The couch was empty.

      He might have thought he’d dreamed her, if not for the books and papers heaped all over the floor. The whole thing seemed like a dream—the beautiful, troubled woman with no past, walking into his life and his heart at the same time. In the morning light, he wondered how much he’d romanticized it, this connection he felt with her. Love at first sight was a romantic notion under the best of circumstances.

      And these were hardly the best.

      She didn’t need him mooning over her, he reminded himself. She needed his mind to be clear. Daydreaming about the way she’d wrapped herself around him and asked him to make love with her simply wasn’t conducive to logical thinking.

      He needed coffee.

      He rose and trying to roll the crick out of his neck, headed for the kitchen.

      And there she was, pretty as a picture and neat as a pin. Her hair was smooth, brushed to a golden luster and pulled back with a simple rubber band. She was wearing the navy-and-white striped slacks he’d bought her, with a white camp shirt tucked into the waist. With one hand resting on the counter, the other holding a steaming mug, she was staring out the window at his backyard where a rope hammock hung between twin maples and roses bloomed.

      “You’re an early riser.”

      Her hand shook in startled reaction to his voice, and then she turned, worked up a smile. Her heart continued to thud just a little too fast when she saw him, rumpled from sleep. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

      “Sweetheart, I owe you my life.” He said in heartfelt tones as he reached for a mug.

      “It seems I know how to make it. Apparently some things just come naturally. I didn’t even have to think about it. It’s a little strong. I must like it strong.”

      He was already downing it, reveling in the way it seared his mouth and jolted his system. “Perfect.”

      “Good. I didn’t know if I should wake you. I wasn’t sure what time you leave for your office, or how much time you’d need.”

      “It’s Saturday, and the long