Dancing in the Dark: A Novella (3 page)

Chapter
Four

He'd felt wonderfully functional. More than functional. Matt was tired and she'd known it, so she'd pushed. That wasn't fair. But they were stranded, they were alone, and she'd needed to concentrate on him or she'd continue to pelt him with questions about JP. Questions she knew he couldn't answer.

And now she sounded like she wanted to use Matt, when she didn
't. She just wanted a chance. One time to hold her for a future she knew wouldn't be. Was that too much to ask?

Yes, if it was something he didn
't want. But he did want. The proof lay in the—well, the proof was there. She laughed at herself. She was beginning to sound like a sex-starved librarian.

Annoyed
at her wandering thoughts, she turned up the radio.

Things were no better, but they did expect the rain to stop later today. Of course, then all the rain that had fallen north had to make its way south to the Gulf. That meant the river would continue to rise, trapping them here longer.

Good grief, Janey. It's flooding, your brother's missing, and all you're thinking about is that you're here with Matt.
She walked to the window. The rain wasn't coming down as hard, but the street was still flooding. Her car had water half way up the tires. Matt's old truck, too.

With time to kill before she had to wake
him, she decided to find something to read. His mother kept an eclectic mix of books on her bookshelf. She found several Vince Flynn titles, J.D. Robb's entire Roark series, and several authors she'd never heard of, one with a well-built guy in a wet T-shirt. This was not something she would have expected Matt's mother to be reading. Curious, she turned to the title page and found a handwritten inscription.
Dear Susan, with thanks for all your help. I couldn't have done it without you.

Hmm. She flipped past the title page and found the dedication. Thanks to an editor, a contest and a list of four names. One of them was Susan Kincaid.

Mrs. Kincaid―Susan―as she'd asked to be called, had helped this author with her book? More curious than ever, Janey took the book to the couch, curled her left leg beneath her, and began reading.

A half hour later, she flipped back to the dedication, growi
ng more and more surprised—amazed—at what she was reading. Yes, a fantastic romantic suspense, but Susan had read this? Helped with it?

In places, the pages scorched. Janey was scorched.

The emotions, the images. Yes, the suspense thrilled, but the romance positively blazed.

Susan Kincaid and Janey
's mother had been friends for years. They traded books all the time. Yes, her mother asked her for reading recommendations, but she'd never given her a list of top selling erotica. Not that this was erotica. Erotic in places, yes, but there was plot, there was emotion, there was fabulous characterization. All in all, a fantastic read.

But knowing her mother may have read this book seemed so much more personal than knowing she
'd read the
Fifty Shades
trilogy.

She read some more and felt a flush creep up her neck to her face. Did her mother wonder about her sex life? In graphic detail?

Yikes!

By page one hundred three, Janey had the guilty idea that she deserved this for poking her nose into Susan
's books. Because Janey'd envisioned a slightly more X-rated version of the exact scene with Matt.

Oh my.

Her taste of Matt's skin thrummed through her when the author described the heroine waking the hero from a sound sleep for the sole purpose of sex.

She finished reading the scene, her imagination taking flight.

Did she dare? Could she do what the heroine did? Matt would be warm and sleepy.

He
'd be senseless, exhausted from travel, just as he'd been earlier. In dire need of sleep. She would be taking advantage. It would be wrong.

But oh so delicious.

She had to stop. This was crazy. She was reading a book Susan and perhaps her own mother had read, while she fantasized about Susan's son. Lusted for Susan's son.

She absolutely had to stop. She closed the book and put it back on the shelf, but couldn
't resist pulling it out for one last look at the cover. She'd remember the title. She'd buy her own. Maybe she wouldn't feel so guilty if she read it at home.

Good God, Janey. You
're acting like a ten year old. Grow up!

A flash of lightning caught her attention. The storms were moving on, the rain a bit lighter. Water still flowed liked shallow rapids down the street, but her car and Matt
's truck seemed no deeper than before.

Then her gaze moved down the hill. Pressing her face against the glass, she saw one of Susan
's older neighbors, Mary Jameson, wade through the overflowing gutter in her rain boots and raincoat. Mrs. Jameson's husband was housebound after knee surgery. Janey could picture the normally very active Mr. Jameson watching his wife make her way to her car. Had she forgotten something? What could be so important that she'd cross the street to her car in a flood?

Then she saw the woman slip, try to catch herself, but fall and land on her knees. The water from the gutter washed over her, soaking her.

Janey dashed outside, down the steps, to the sidewalk. She broke into a run when she saw the older woman struggle to stand against the frantic rush of rainwater. By the time Janey reached her, Mrs. Jameson was sitting in the gutter. At first, Janey thought she'd hurt herself and was crying. Then she realized the woman was laughing.

"
Oh, God!" she exclaimed. "That'll give folks something to talk about won't it?"

"
Are you okay?" Janey bent and held out her hands for Mrs. Jameson to grab and help herself up.

"
I'm fine. Apparently there's no cure for a lack of good sense. But Bob needed his medicine, which I'd left in the car. Damn thing's probably going to wash away, so I figured I'd better get out here before that happened."

"Can I get it for you?"

"
No, no, honey. I can do it. I'm sorry you ran out here. You're soaked!"

"
I'm fine. It's just water," she replied.

"
Maybe we should hold on to each other, that way neither of us will fall down. The water feels like rapids. I can't believe how much rain we've gotten."

Arm in arm, they struggled across the street, water splashing thigh high. A burst of rain hit them as Mrs. Jameson reached inside her car to grab the medicine from the dashboard.

"Got it," she said, and turned. "Oh, darn. Bob watched all of that." She looked toward her house, where Mr. Jameson stood on crutches at the window, watching. Mrs. Jameson smiled and waved. "He's going to tell me I'm crazy," she said around a smile. "Let's get back across."

"
Watch out for the gutter," Janey warned.

It was too wide to jump, so she stood at the edge, holding Mrs. Jameson
's hand while she crossed, then the woman did the same for her.

"
Thank you," Mrs. Jameson said when they reached the steps to her house. "You're staying at Susan's?"

"
Yes," Janey replied.

"
I thought I saw someone over there last night. She's gone to the mountains with Evie, hasn't she?"

"
Yes. I was waiting for Matt. He's there now."

"
Crazy job that boy has. And what in the world is a communications consultant? I haven't been able to understand that at all. He needs to settle down." She winked at Janey. "Pretty girl might be able to convince him to stay closer to home."

"
He's happy doing what he does," Janey replied.

Moments later, as she sloshed back to Susan
's, she knew she was right. Matt would never be happy living like this, watching life rush past. Whatever happened between them, if it happened, it would be a one-time thing. She had to wrap her head around that. Daydreams were fine, but she had to live her own life. Hanging on to the hope that Matt would give up his life for hers was unrealistic.

But would he give up one day of it to her?

That, he might do.

***

  Matt woke startled. He knew where he was, knew it was raining, that the power was out, and thanked his good fortune that it was cool, otherwise the house would be too hot to tolerate.

But something wasn
't right; something beyond the rain and the power outage had his nerves on edge. Why would he feel unsettled at his mother's house? Then it hit him.

Janey.

Aw, hell. Janey's brother. No phone, so he had no idea what was going on…and no way to help her. Not that there was anything he could do.

He heard the front door open, grabbed the jeans he
'd dropped on the floor earlier and pulled them on. He was still struggling with the zipper when he made it to end of the hallway.

Janey stood there, dripping wet, soaked to the
skin.

"
Where the hell have you been?" burst from his mouth. "There's a torrent running down the street."

"
I know, but—"

"
But nothing." He hurried toward her. "What was so important you had to go out there? You didn't try to move your car, did you?"

"
No, no. Mrs. Jameson fell in the gutter. I went out to help her."

"
You couldn't get me?" he snapped.

"
You were sleeping!" she snapped back. "I'm not a child or an invalid. She needed some medicine she'd left in her car. For her husband. Who had knee surgery."

God, he was acting like a damn idiot. He
'd yelled at her for no reason.

No, there was a reason. She
'd scared him. The idea that she might have been hurt speared through him. "I'm sorry," he said, and pulled her close, feeling the shock of her cold wet clothes, her clammy
skin. "You're freezing," he added, rubbing her back. Her blouse stuck to her. "Come on. I'll run the shower. Hot water will warm you up."

"
But your mother's rug. I'm dripping."

"
It's water. It won't matter."

"
At least let me take off my shoes."

Impatient, he watched as she struggled with a buckle. In full shuddering shivers, her stiff fingers fumbling, she tried twice before he lost his patience. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her down the hall to the guest bathroom.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered, and turned to open the sliding glass door to the shower. He turned the hot water knob.

"
I can do this," she insisted.

"
And I can get the water going," he replied, feeling the water and adjusting the temperature.

When he turned, she was sitting on the closed toilet lid, grappling with the shoes. He knelt, unbuckled them and
rose. "Now the clothes."

She stood and looked at him from under her dripping hair. Her lashes were spiked and wet. She shivered, but smiled.
"You should have said that earlier."

He smiled at her attempt at humor.
"There's always later." Holy crap, why did he say that? Did he dare start that again?

Hell yeah, his body said.

Careful, his better nature replied.

"
How does a librarian remove her wet clothes?" Janey asked struggling with the buttons on her blouse.

"
I don't know," he replied, coming to her aid. "How?"

"
She enlists a spy to help her."

His hands dropped from her blouse.
"Janey—"

"
Help me, Matt. My fingers are numb."

Unable to refuse, he grasped the front of her shirt pulling it away from her skin so he wasn
't touching her breasts as he struggled with the wet fabric, with too small button holes. With the erotic temptation of Janey's breasts revealed as he undid one button after the other. Sure he was drooling, fighting the urge to touch her, he turned her and concentrated on her skirt button. That kept his attention on what he had to do, but the zipper cooperated and her skirt dropped to the floor.

She peeled the soaked blouse off and faced him in the cramped quarters of the bathroom, wearing only her now translucent bra and soaked white panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Every ounce of his blood shot south. She was freezing and he was as hard as a damn flagpole.

"
Get in the shower," he ordered, and stalked out.

***

Okay, she'd missed a chance with Matt, but then drowned rat probably wasn't one of her better looks. Janey luxuriated under the steaming water. Thank heaven for gas powered hot water heaters.

Still, Matt
had
looked like he'd wanted to feast on her. Like she was tempting. But her skin had been so cold she might've turned him off. Resigned, she shampooed and scrubbed, letting the water warm her. What seemed like an hour later, she dried with one towel and wrapped another around her soaked hair.