Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) (17 page)

"I am telling you your
future," Matthew said in a low growl that had exactly the same menace as a
threat from a bruiser in a pub. "You will regret it, and you will be
serving a very long sentence. Leave Emily alone."

Turner threw a few retorts around
in his mind.
You put us together. I'm going straight. You're not her keeper.
Brothers don't have that much control over their families…

He kept quiet, and merely nodded.

"Right." Matthew stood
up. "I'll see you in court. Dress smart, and be prepared to be leaving in
a prison van."

It was one of those late summer
days that started cool and misty, but by ten was warm and clear. The view
across the rolling green hills of the Peak District was gradually revealed as
the clouds rolled back.

Emily and Turner had left the car
parked in a small village, and had climbed along a well-used footpath that rose
up and up. The path was less trodden as they got higher, and by the time they
came out above the valley, they were following a mere trampled line of
flattened grass.

"It's so serene. It's like a
painting."

Turner was a little way ahead of
her, carrying a small daysack loaded with snacks and drink. He stopped and
turned, studying the view. "Every time I come up here, it's different. The
weather makes so much difference to the light and the shapes, and the colours."

"You sound like an artist
yourself!"

"I did a bit of art, when I
was inside. The last time. I think I'll go back to it, you know."

Emily felt a lump form in her
throat and she looked away. "I wish you wouldn't talk about it… today is
just for us. Our last chance to be together."

Turner stepped over a tussock of
grass and grabbed her by the waist, drawing her close to him. He fixed her
firmly with his gaze, his eyes showing the flecks of orange quite clearly in
the pure light of the hills. "This is not the last time, Emily, I promise
you that. Everything I did - in the end - was for you. And it's the knowledge
that you're waiting for me that will keep me going."

"I know, I'm sorry. But we
don't even know how long your sentence is going to be."

His hands stroked up and down her
back, soothing her and exciting her. "Do you have a limit on how long
you're prepared to wait for me?"

"That's unfair!"

"Time is a funny
thing." He dipped his head and her balance shifted as his lips met hers,
pressing to her mouth with a delicious slowness. She closed her eyes and fell
into the moment, feeling his breath on her cheek and the rise and fall of his
chest against her. Just as she was pushing back at him, her temperature rising,
he pulled away.

"Some moments last for
ever," he carried on. "Some things never seem to end. But they
do." He sniffed slightly and paused, looking over her shoulder at the view
for a few seconds. "They say that the hardest, longest sentence is served
by the families of prisoners, you know. It will be easy for me, banged up.
Three meals a day and no decisions to make. But you, and my mum, and my sister,
and my nephews - that's who end up punished, in the end."

"I don't get it. I'll be
free."

He looked back at her, a sad
smile on his face. "You will understand, soon enough, and you'll remember
this moment, and I am so sorry. For everything that you're about to go through,
I really am sorry. Freedom's in the heart. Are you free? Are you doing what you
want to do, really?"

"What do you mean?"

"The journalism. The social
stuff, the activism, then the entertainment and the fluff. I haven't heard you
talk about
any
of it."

Emily pulled away from him
completely, and looked pointedly along the path that was still winding uphill.
"We have had other things to discuss."

He took her hint and began
walking on. "I know. I'm just saying, that it doesn't seem to be where
your heart lies."

"I always wanted to be a
journalist."

He half-looked over his shoulder
at her, a quirky smile on his face pulling his cheek to one side. "Emily.
People change."

* * * *

At the summit the wind was a
little stronger, and they found a sheltered spot in amongst some twisted
hawthorn bushes. From here, they could look out over many valleys and lower
hills. Grey roads snaked in and out of view, and occasionally sunlight flashed
off moving cars, causing sudden gleams and sparkles.

"It is so peaceful
here," Emily sighed, sitting down on the spongy grass and heather.

"Listen harder."

"What?"

"Shush."

Emily let her ear tune in to the
surroundings for a while.

"Now what do you hear?"
Turner asked.

"I think I can hear cars,
faintly. I heard that motorbike, anyway. Birds. An aeroplane."

"Civilisation, even
here."

"I suppose." She leaned
against him, and he slid his arm around her waist, drawing her even closer.
"But still, it's remote enough for me."

"Your brother won't find us
out here, I guess," Turner said with a suppressed laugh.

"Don't even joke about
it."

"Are you bothered? Do you
really think he'd come after me?"

Emily snuggled against his
shoulder. "Wouldn't you, in his position? Haven't you pursued Riggers and
even, let's face it, committed a crime just to ensure Riggers got sent down
too?"

"That wasn't the only
reason."

"No, but it was a pretty
damn big part of it, actually. You men get funny about your sisters.
Possessive."

"It will be fine. We've got
the small matter of tomorrow's court case, first. Then my jail time. We'll
cross the other bridges in the future."

"I don't want to think about
any of it."

"Let's not." Turner
kissed the top of her head, tenderly, and Emily tried to push out the worries
and negativity from her mind. She squirmed around to put her face in reach of
his, and he kissed her again.

Gradually his kisses grew deeper
and she broke off briefly to move around and face him fully, sitting across his
thighs with her legs either side of his waist. His hands crept down over her
buttocks, and squeezed.

"Hey." She pressed the
flats of her hands on his chest. "Play nicely."

He squeezed harder, and growled,
before kissing her hard and then nipping her lower lip with his teeth. She
giggled and wriggled, but she was completely under his power, and she felt
herself grow hot and damp.

Turner's kisses worked from her
mouth to her neck where he pulled lightly at her ear lobe. His hands roamed up
across her hips to finally come to rest cupping her breasts. Instinctively she
arched her back, thrusting herself into his grasp.

Turner whispered in her ear.
"You're wanton."

"I'm
wanting
,"
she murmured back. "Are you going to take me here, right now?"

He nibbled along her shoulder,
pulling her satin top to one side to expose her skin. "I could stop, you
know. Just at a crucial moment. Stop, and leave you
wanting
…"

She wanted to say
what, until
you're out of prison?
But she refused to even think any more about prison,
or crime, or the court case and sentence. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'd dare, but I wouldn't
want to." He sat back and moved his hands to her waist, pushing back up to
slide the slithering fabric up over her skin. She raised her hands and allowed
him to pull her top right off, so that she was sitting on him in her bra and
skirt.

"What if someone comes
along? A dog walker or something?"

"Then we charge them to
watch the show," Turner said wickedly and before she could protest any
further, he bent to her breasts and began to kiss along the swell of flesh that
escaped the top of her bra.

"Oh god…" She shifted
around on him, not sure what to do. She wanted to respond and reach out to his
waistband, and tug him free of his jeans, and pleasure him in kind. But she
also just wanted to sit back and drown in the flood of ecstatic feelings that
were rising up from her loins.

His left hand slipped down, along
her belly and her thigh, before pushing back up underneath her skirt. His
fingers sought her knickers, pulling them to one side and she cried out as his
thumb began a slow circle, taunting her.

She had to move and slow the pace
down or she'd be screaming her head off within a minute. "Let me,"
she urged, wriggling backwards, away from his tormenting fingers. She curled
her spine, and quickly undid his jeans. He put his hands on the floor and
tipped his hips upwards so that she could slide his clothes down and reveal
himself, already fully aroused and ready.

She bent further down and took
him in her mouth.

"Ahh, fuck, Emily…" he
grunted as his hands found her head and he wove his fingers into her hair.
"Go steady, I might not…"

She teased him with her tongue
like he had taunted her with his thumb, ignoring his protestations. His words
asked her to slow down but his body betrayed him as his pelvis jerked and moved
in increasing urgency.

"Emily!" He pulled her
away with a supreme effort. She gazed at him, drinking him in, each line of his
body, each twitch of his muscles, each fleeting expression that crossed his face.
For a long moment they gazed at each other, and she realised he was doing the
same: imprinting the encounter on his memory to sustain him through the coming
months.

"Come to me," he said
at last, his voice husky. "Oh god, let me fuck you."

She scrabbled out of her knickers
and grabbed for a condom, and then let him lift her up. She hovered over him,
resisting the pressure of his hands on her hips that were urging her down. She
gyrated for as long as he could bear it, until he snapped and forced her hard
onto his stiffness.

Her scream was bitten back into a
gasping sigh as he filled her and they began a slow, rocking motion. He tried
to lick at her breasts again, and sucked her nipple into his mouth, through the
lace of her bra, but she lost her rhythm as the building arousal threatened to
overwhelm her within moments.

She steadied herself, slowing
down, but Turner was becoming frantic and he drove the pace now, and she was
forced to abandon herself to his increasing need. She clung on to him, gripping
his shoulders, digging her nails in as he pounded upwards and all she could do
was ride him.

"This is not just for
today," he muttered through gritted teeth as he slammed into her.
"This is for tomorrow and next week and next month until I see you
again."

Her breasts bounced and she
pressed herself against him, wanting every part of her body to be in contact
with him. There was a liquid fire surging in her belly and she felt tears
spring to her eyes. "Oh god, yes," was all she could say in reply.
Just
fuck me
she moaned in her head, too overwhelmed to even voice it.

With a suppressed roar he began
to buck and throb and she clung on as her own orgasm followed a moment later,
and she ground herself against his pubic bone, and rode the waves of clenching,
exquisite pain and pleasure for as long as she could.

He held on tightly, keeping his
arms wrapped fiercely around her as her tears fell without apology or
explanation. He murmured low nonsense into her ear, reassuring her, bringing
her back down to earth by gentle degrees.

Emily buried her face into his
shoulder, not wanting to look up or leave his arms. Not now, not ever. But
gradually her sobs subsided and she took a deep breath before sitting straight.

"I'm s-" she began but
he put his fingers to her lips instantly, anticipating her apology.

"Don't. No. What for?
Nothing. This was beautiful. You are beautiful."

"It should have been a
special moment. I've ruined it by crying."

"You ruin nothing by having
emotions, you great twit."

She closed her eyes briefly, half-laughing.
"Oh, Turner. Oh god!" She opened her eyes in shock as her sense
returned to her. "Look at the state of us!" She scrabbled away, and
he laughed at her as she began a frantic search of the daysack for tissues and
wipes. Then she realised she was half-naked, and abandoned the bag to get
herself dressed and decent as quickly as she could.

Turner grinned at her as she
panicked around, cleaning up and dishing out drinks at the same time.
"Steady on. No hurry."

The words stung. There
was
a hurry. Every moment of this day really counted. She met his gaze and saw the
sadness there, in spite of his broad smile.

But she didn't say anything. A
part of her didn't want to speak again. She waited until he was dressed again,
and passed him a can of fizzy drink, and then they sat side by side again,
looking out over the valleys and seeing nothing but their unknown futures.

* * * *

Pearl Black was dressed in her
finest clothes, but they were all from the time before her body was ravaged by
cancer and distorted by the medication. Still, she'd spent a long hour that
morning, getting her hair and make-up right. She greeted Emily with a warm and
open smile.

"Emily, love. Thanks for
coming. How are you? Oh god. I can't get my head around it. Are you all right?
Do you want a sweet? Oh god, I can't even eat. Here, Elaine, sort out the
sweets."

She thrust the paper bag into the
impeccably-manicured hands of the woman at her side, who furrowed her brow at
Emily. "Mum, calm down. It's not like he's new to this, is it?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, love.
I just can't believe it. Can't get my head around it."

Emily thrust out her hand.
"We've not met. I'm Emily Carrera. You're… Elaine?"

"Yeah, Turner's
sister." Elaine looked at Emily's fingers like she'd never shaken hands
with anyone before.

Maybe she hadn't.