Mariah Stewart Read online

  Ro­using her­self from the wa­ter, she to­wel-dri­ed her legs, no­ti­cing for the first ti­me that her skin had ta­ken on an omi­no­usly de­ep sha­de of pink. How many ti­mes du­ring the day had she put on sun­s­c­re­en?

  She re­ac­hed in her be­ach bag, se­ar­c­hing for the sun­s­c­re­en. Sud­denly she re­cal­led lat­he­ring her­self with the whi­te cre­am whi­le she was in the bat­h­ro­om ear­li­er that mor­ning. In her mind's eye, she cle­arly saw the tall brown bot­tle res­ting on the si­de of the bat­h­ro­om sink, right whe­re she'd left it.

  Jody stuf­fed her be­lon­gings back in­to the bag, then fol­lo­wed the pat­ter­ned car­pe­ting from the po­ol­si­de lobby to her ro­om, men­tal­ly be­ra­ting her­self for be­ing so ca­re­less.

  I hadn't ex­pec­ted to be out the­re for so long, and I hadn't in­ten­ded on fal­ling as­le­ep, she re­min­ded her­self as she went in­to the bat­h­ro­om to hang up the wet to­wels. I tho­ught Jeremy wo­uld be back ear­li­er…

  The sight of her own fa­ce and body in the mir­ror ma­de her he­ad swi­vel aro­und in sur­p­ri­se. Was her skin re­al­ly that red? Or was the skin that had be­en co­ve­red by the bi­ki­ni re­al­ly that whi­te? She le­aned clo­ser, not be­li­eving her eyes. Co­uld she ha­ve got­ten that much sun to­day?

  May­be on her way back from din­ner she'd stop at the drug­s­to­re and pick up so­met­hing for sun­burn. She hum­med as she sho­we­red, hum­med as she was­hed her ha­ir. The hum­ming stop­ped when her skin se­emed to tig­h­ten as she be­gan to to­wel-dry it.

  Every fi­ber of cot­ton se­emed to ab­ra­de, as if the to­wel we­re ma­de of san­d­pa­per, and she fi­nis­hed drying by pat­ting the to­wel on her skin. She didn't pa­nic un­til she lo­oked back in­to the mir­ror and saw just how red she was.

  Lob­s­ter red. Cra­yon red. Fi­re en­gi­ne red.

  I must ha­ve so­met­hing with me, she mut­te­red, rum­ma­ging in her su­it­ca­se for so­met­hing, body cre­am, lo­ti­on… so­met­hing that might help.

  Jody fo­und a jar of skin-ca­re lo­ti­on and so­ot­hed a wi­de whi­te swath on­to her arms, but it only se­emed to ma­ke the skin fe­el mo­re ta­ut.

  Swell, she mut­te­red as she blow-dri­ed her ha­ir. When she fi­nis­hed, she tur­ned her back to the mir­ror and lo­oked over her sho­ul­der, trying to ga­uge how badly she was bur­ned on the flip si­de. Had she even ap­pli­ed sun­s­c­re­en to her back?

  Jody win­ced as she drew her bra straps over her sho­ul­ders. The thin sa­tin straps lay li­ke ro­ugh bur­lap on her ten­der skin. She ig­no­red the dis­com­fort as she pul­led a whi­te top over the bra, then slip­ped on a short skirt. It to­ok only abo­ut thirty se­conds for Jody to re­cog­ni­ze the truth of the si­tu­ati­on. The skirt tig­h­te­ned li­ke a vi­se aro­und her wa­ist, the pres­su­re mo­re than she co­uld stand. She to­ok off the skirt, the shirt, and the bra, and tos­sed them on the bed in dis­gust.

  Well, this is a ni­ce ket­tle of­fish, she mum­b­led, stan­ding in the mid­dle of the ro­om in her pan­ti­es. How can I go out to din­ner if I can't put any clot­hes on?

  Her eyes drif­ted back to the clo­set in­si­de the mo­tel ro­om do­or to whe­re the red silk num­ber was pin­ned to its han­ger.

  With a sigh, she slip­ped it off the ho­oks and over her he­ad. It skim­med her skin li­ke a whis­per. And a short-sle­eved shirt wo­uld pro­vi­de a lit­tle co­ver, hi­ding the ob­vi­o­us fact that she was we­aring very lit­tle un­der the dress. She slip­ped her fe­et in­to high he­els and gro­aned. Bet­we­en the still-so­re gash on her right fo­ot and her sun­bur­ned so­les, her fe­et hadn't fa­red much bet­ter than the rest of her.

  He­re she had lit­tle cho­ice. She had her he­els, her run­ning sho­es, and her flip-flops. The he­els it wo­uld ha­ve to be. Jeremy sa­id the res­ta­urant was just a few blocks away. She sho­uld be fi­ne. And if her fe­et hurt when she got the­re, she co­uld slip her sho­es off and no one wo­uld be the wi­ser.

  Jeremy did a trip­le ta­ke when Jody an­s­we­red the do­or. The red silk dress was soft and al­lu­ring, fe­mi­ni­ne yet sexy.

  It was al­so the sa­me co­lor as her fa­ce. And her arms. And every ot­her inch of skin that wasn't co­ve­red.

  They stop­ped at the cor­ner ac­ross from the mo­tel, wa­iting for the light to turn gre­en so that they co­uld cross. Jeremy's eyes nar­ro­wed and he le­aned for­ward. We­re tho­se blis­ters on her no­se?

  Jody, me­an­w­hi­le, was trying to ig­no­re the fact that her skin felt li­ke glo­wing em­bers and her lips felt as if they we­re be­gin­ning to swell. In­si­de the high he­els, her fe­et pro­tes­ted every step.

  "J­ody, that burn lo­oks re­al­ly pa­in­ful."

  "It is." She bit her bot­tom lip.

  "Did you put so­met­hing on it?" He to­uc­hed her arm and she flin­c­hed.

  "I didn't ha­ve an­y­t­hing in my ro­om. I didn't ex­pect to be stu­pid eno­ugh to ha­ve so­met­hing li­ke this hap­pen. I tho­ught we'd stop at the drug­s­to­re on the way back and pick up so­met­hing for sun­burn. I'll bet they see lots of sun­burn down he­re."

  "Are you su­re you want to go out to din­ner?" he as­ked.

  Jody nod­ded. "I'll be fi­ne."

  She ho­ped she'd be fi­ne. She wo­uld be fi­ne. She'd wa­ited a li­fe ti­me for a man li­ke Jeremy. She'd ha­ve to be fi­ne.

  The­re wo­uld be a twen­ty-fi­ve-mi­nu­te wa­it for a tab­le, they we­re told when they en­te­red the res­ta­urant.

  "Want to wa­it at the bar?" Jeremy as­ked. "It lo­oks as if the­re are a few sto­ols left the­re on the end."

  "Su­re." Jody to­ok Jeremy's hand, and le­aned he­avily on it as he hel­ped her on­to the tall, high-bac­ked bar sto­ol.

  Jody le­aned aga­inst the hard wo­oden back, then shot for­ward with a lurch.

  "J­ody, are you su­re you're all right?"

  "My back is a lit­tle sen­si­ti­ve, that's all." And the so­les of my fe­et are on fi­re, and my thighs are mel­ting un­der my skirt. Ot­her than that, I'm per­fectly fi­ne.

  Jody bit her bot­tom lip, won­de­ring if she'd be ab­le to sit thro­ugh an en­ti­re me­al wit­ho­ut spon­ta­ne­o­usly com­bus­ting. Un­con­s­ci­o­usly, she ran a knuc­k­le ac­ross her chin.

  Jeremy to­ok her hand away and pe­ered clo­ser. "Jody," he told her, "yo­ur fa­ce is star­ting to blis­ter."

  "Damn, are you se­ri­o­us?"

  He le­aned clo­ser still.

  "I think yo­ur no­se is blis­te­ring." He tra­ced her lips with one gen­t­le fin­ger. "And it lo­oks li­ke yo­ur bot­tom lip is swel­ling."

  She se­ar­c­hed in her han­d­bag for a mir­ror. Fin­ding a com­pact, she ope­ned it and fo­und her­self pe­ering at a cre­atu­re with lips as big as sa­ucers and bub­bling blis­ters ri­sing up on her fa­ce li­ke tiny vol­ca­no­es.

  "Oh, no!" she cri­ed. "Lo­ok at me! My who­le fa­ce is star­ting to swell up!"

  "Calm down, Jody, it isn't that-"

  "I lo­ok li­ke I've had a run-in with kil­ler be­es!" She held both hands in front of her fa­ce, as if to shi­eld what she per­ce­ived as a hi­de­o­us vi­sa­ge. "Jeremy, lo­ok at my lip. I lo­ok gro­tes­que."

  Jeremy til­ted her fa­ce to the light. It wasn't his ima­gi­na­ti­on. The blis­ters we­re get­ting lar­ger. Vi­sibly lar­ger.

  "Lo­ok, how abo­ut if we skip din­ner, and well go find a drug­s­to­re right now and we'll get so­met­hing to ta­ke the sting out."

  "The­re's a phar­macy two blocks in that di­rec­ti­on." She po­in­ted in the op­po­si­te di­rec­ti­on from the mo­tel. "I saw it on Sa­tur­day."

  "Okay, so well walk…" He pa­used. She was cle­arly on the ver­ge of te­ars. "What?"

  "I can't walk two blocks. I’ll be lucky to ma­ke it back to the mo­tel,"
she told him mi­se­rably. "The so­les of both my fe­et are bur­ned."

  "Okay, then, I'll go to the drug­s­to­re. You wa­it right he­re. I'll be right back." Jeremy sig­na­led to the bar­ten­der. "Anot­her dub so­da-lots of ice, ple­ase."

  He tur­ned to Jody and sa­id, "Ke­ep sip­ping the so­da and let the ice rest aga­inst yo­ur lips. It'll help a lit­tle."

  She nod­ded and wat­c­hed him di­sap­pe­ar thro­ugh the crowd aro­und the front do­or.

  Was this the worst luck in the world? She co­uldn't re­call ever ha­ving had a sun­burn this bad. It hurt to mo­ve. Her fe­et hurt un­mer­ci­ful­ly.

  And he­re she was, with the most in­c­re­dib­le man in the world. If he to­uc­hed her to­night, she'd die of pa­in. If he didn't, she'd die of reg­ret. She pra­yed he'd find so­met­hing mighty po­tent at that drug­s­to­re, a won­der drug that co­uld to­tal­ly anes­t­he­ti­ze only the ner­ves that con­t­rol­led pa­in whi­le le­aving the ple­asu­re cen­ter in­tact…

  Wit­hin mi­nu­tes, Jeremy was stri­ding back in­to the bar, a plas­tic bag be­aring the na­me of a cha­in drug­s­to­re swin­ging from his left hand.

  "Aloe," he told her, hol­ding up the bag. "How do you fe­el?"

  "Li­ke I sto­od too clo­se to a vol­ca­no," she told him, ad­ding, "and at the sa­me ti­me, I'm fre­ezing from the air-con­di­ti­oning."

  Jeremy to­ok off his jac­ket and slid it gently over her sho­ul­ders. "Is that bet­ter?"

  "A lit­tle. Thank you." She shif­ted slightly in her se­at. The mo­ve­ment left her slightly na­use­ated.

  "J­ody, do you want to le­ave?"

  "I just don't fe­el very well all of a sud­den. I'm sorry."

  "Sto­mach qu­e­asy?"

  She nod­ded.

  "You might ha­ve sun po­iso­ning. Let's get you back to the mo­tel and ta­ke ca­re of that burn."

  "I can wa­it till you've eaten."

  "No, I don't think you can."

  "But, Jeremy-"

  "No buts. Let's go." He of­fe­red her his hand to help her down from the sto­ol, and she to­ok it gra­te­ful­ly.

  She pic­ked her way slowly thro­ugh the crowd on her scre­aming fe­et. On­ce out­si­de, she re­mo­ved her sho­es and to­ok the steps at a sna­il's pa­ce.

  "You lo­ok li­ke you're ha­ving a hard ti­me the­re. Fe­et re­al­ly hurt, do they?"

  She nod­ded her he­ad.

  "He­re," Jeremy star­ted to put his arms aro­und her as if to lift her. "I'll carry you."

  "No, don't pick me up." She bac­ked away from him. "My si­des, my back, my hips… an­y­p­la­ce that you wo­uld ha­ve to to­uch me to carry me is scre­aming right now. I think I can ma­ke it if I walk sort of on the si­des of my fe­et."

  "All right, then, let's get you back to yo­ur ro­om and co­ver you in aloe."

  The one- block walk back to the mo­tel se­emed en­d­less.

  "J­ody," Jeremy sa­id as he clo­sed the do­or to her ro­om be­hind them, "you're go­ing to ha­ve to get out of that dress."

  "So­me­how, that so­un­ded bet­ter last night," she tri­ed to joke abo­ut her si­tu­ati­on.

  "And it will aga­in in a few days," he kis­sed the si­de of her swol­len mo­uth with gre­at ten­der­ness. "But right now, we ha­ve to ta­ke ca­re of this burn."

  "I'll put my bat­hing su­it back on," she told him.

  She duc­ked in­to the bat­h­ro­om and clo­sed the do­or, le­aving Jeremy hol­ding a bag of aloe gel. She emer­ged a few mi­nu­tes la­ter, the bi­ki­ni co­ve­ring the vi­tal parts but lit­tle el­se.

  Jeremy sig­hed. That swe­et body he'd lo­ved the night be­fo­re-that per­fect body that had se­emed to fit his li­ke a glo­ve-was fri­ed to a crisp.

  "So," she sa­id, cle­aring her thro­at ner­vo­usly. She'd dre­amed all day of ha­ving tho­se skil­lful hands of his ca­res­sing her body aga­in, but she'd be­en ho­ping for a mo­re ple­asu­rab­le ex­pe­ri­en­ce than she was bo­und for this ti­me aro­und. "Sho­uld I just stand he­re and you can po­ur that stuff on my back?"

  "No, I think you ne­ed to get a to­wel and spre­ad it ac­ross the bed. Then you can lie on the to­wel, and I'll po­ur the aloe on. You're al­re­ady blis­te­ring in pla­ces. I’ll just ke­ep re­ap­plying it."

  Nod­ding wit­ho­ut lo­oking him in the eyes, Jody ret­ri­eved a bath to­wel from the bat­h­ro­om and spre­ad it on the bed, then pa­in­s­ta­kingly lo­we­red her­self on­to it, fa­ce down.

  Lord ha­ve mercy. This was Jeremy's best fan­tasy and worst nig­h­t­ma­re.

  So ne­ar, he sig­hed, yet so far.

  "May­be you sho­uld start with my sho­ul­ders."

  Jeremy po­ured the co­ol gel in­to the palm of one hand and gently be­gan to apply it to her sho­ul­der bla­des.

  "Sorry," he told her when she flin­c­hed.

  "It's just that it's cold. Ke­ep go­ing."

  He po­ured a lit­tle aloe di­rectly on­to each of her sho­ul­ders and smo­ot­hed it as kindly as he co­uld down in­to the small of her back.

  "How do­es that fe­el?" he as­ked.

  "It's still cold, and my skin's still hot."

  Jeremy spre­ad a lit­tle over the tops of her hips and she gro­aned aga­in.

  "Want me to stop?"

  "No."

  He pe­ered at her sho­ul­ders. The gel he'd ap­pli­ed had to­tal­ly so­aked in­to her skin. He re­ap­pli­ed the co­oling sub­s­tan­ce over the en­ti­re area.

  Jeremy drib­bled a few drops of aloe ac­ross the backs of her legs, then gently be­gan to rub it in. Jody mo­aned, and his mo­uth went dry. Tor­tu­re. She­er tor­tu­re.

  "Don't wor­ry-the aloe sho­uld help a lot. My gran­d­mot­her was a gre­at be­li­ever in na­tu­ral re­me­di­es. When we we­re lit­tle, it was aloe for sun­burn, po­ison ivy, any skin ab­ra­si­on, re­al­ly."

  "Who's we?"

  His mo­uth went a lit­tle dri­er as he pon­de­red an an­s­wer.

  "My brot­her and I."

  "You ha­ve a brot­her?"

  He pa­used be­fo­re res­pon­ding.

  "I had a yo­un­ger brot­her," he sa­id softly.

  " 'Had'?" She shif­ted on­to her el­bows and lo­oked over her sho­ul­der. "What hap­pe­ned?"

  "He di­ed a long ti­me ago."

  "Oh, Jeremy, I'm so sorry…" She ma­de a mo­ve­ment to turn over and he stop­ped her from fa­cing him. He just co­uldn't go in­to it right then.

  "It was a long ti­me ago," he re­pe­ated. "Anyway, my gran­d­mot­her had no fa­ith in mo­dern me­di­ci­ne. Saw a doc­tor on­ce in her li­fe, when she had pne­umo­nia and my aunt to­ok her to the hos­pi­tal. As luck wo­uld ha­ve it, she pic­ked up an in­fec­ti­on whi­le she was the­re and it kil­led her. She was eig­h­ty-se­ven and didn't lo­ok a day over six­ty-fi­ve. Ne­ver used an­y­t­hing but aloe on her skin."

  "Oh, well, then. Po­ur away. I wo­uldn't mind lo­oking a few ye­ars yo­un­ger."

  "If you lo­oked any yo­un­ger, I'd be ar­res­ted for what I'm thin­king."

  She la­ug­hed for the first ti­me sin­ce he had ar­ri­ved at her ho­tel ro­om ear­li­er in the eve­ning, and he re­ali­zed then how much he had mis­sed the so­und of her la­ug­h­ter. In that mi­nu­te he knew he wo­uld do wha­te­ver it to­ok to dri­ve away her pa­in and bring that smi­le back to her fa­ce.

  "Are you fe­eling bet­ter?" he as­ked.

  "A lit­tle. My back and sho­ul­ders aren't qu­ite as tight."

  "Go­od." Jeremy drib­bled a bit down the back of her leg to the calf, and she shi­ve­red un­der it. With su­re hands, he rub­bed the co­lor­less re­medy in­to the skin, mar­ve­ling at the strength and sha­pe of the legs right the­re un­der his no­se.

  Pur­ga­tory, he tho­ught. This must be what pur­ga­tory is li­ke.

  "Okay. Flip si­de." He tri­ed to for­ce a lig­h�
�t­ness he did not fe­el in­to his vo­ice. How to to­uch her and not want to ma­ke lo­ve to her aga­in?

  "I think I can ta­ke it from he­re." Jody rol­led over and sat up. "Thank you, Jeremy. I'm be­gin­ning to fe­el less li­ke a burnt of­fe­ring and mo­re li­ke a hu­man be­ing."

  He didn't bot­her to pro­test.

  "I'll just do yo­ur sho­ul­ders and yo­ur fa­ce," he told her, "and you can do… well, you can do the rest of you."

  He wat­c­hed si­lently as she eased the li­qu­id on­to her arms, on­to her chest, on­to her ab­do­men. She had just re­ac­hed her hips when he de­ci­ded he co­uldn't watch an­y­mo­re.

  "I'm go­ing to run back to my ro­om to get a few things," he told her. "And I'm go­ing to stop in the res­ta­urant and pick up so­me co­ol drinks, so­me ice, and so­me hot wa­ter and tea bags, then I'll be back."

  "What's the tea for?"

  "Are you awa­re that yo­ur eyes are half clo­sed? If we don't do so­met­hing to­night, they might be swol­len shut by to­mor­row mor­ning. We may be ab­le to avo­id that if we pack tea bags on yo­ur eyes now. And I'm go­ing to stop back at the drug­s­to­re. One bot­tle of aloe is not go­ing to be eno­ugh."

  He pa­used, lo­oking down at her, then ad­ded, "I'm not su­re that we sho­uldn't ma­ke a trip to the ne­arest emer­gency ro­om."

  "For a lit­tle sun­burn? No, I'll be fi­ne to­mor­row. But Jeremy, you don't ha­ve to stay he­re to­night," she told him, al­t­ho­ugh she wis­hed that he wo­uld. "I'm af­ra­id I'm not much com­pany."

  "I pro­mi­se to let you ma­ke it up to me." He kis­sed the top of her he­ad, abo­ut the only spot on her body that wasn't glis­te­ning with aloe.

  "You're very go­od to me, Jeremy." She wat­c­hed, thro­ugh swol­len eye­lids, as he un­loc­ked the do­or.

  "You ha­ve no idea of how go­od I in­tend to be to you. But first, let's see what we can do abo­ut this sun­burn."

  Chapter 8

  The no­te on the pil­low re­ad, Go­ne for cof­fee. Be back in 5.