Riding the Storm (3 page)

Fuck.
Inviting some strange woman here was something his father would do, but why the
hell would anyone come to Bayou Blonde if they didn't have to? "Are you on
vacation?"

She
snorted. "A vacation would mean Hawaii, not some godforsaken swamp. I'm
here for work."

"What
kind of work?"

He
glanced around the room and saw the piles of paperwork and books on the floor
next to the weathered desk in the corner, which was laden with electronic
equipment, hard plastic cases and a laptop computer, which must be on some kind
of serious battery backup. He swore, wondering how the hell he'd missed all
that until now.

"I'm
a meteorologist. I'm studying the ecological aftereffects of hurricanes."

"Why
here?"

"Because
this area has been relatively untouched by human hands since it was devastated
by Hurricane Tessa twenty-five years ago." She twisted the cap off her
beer and tossed it into the garbage can at the base of the counter. "Tessa
was an anomaly, not only as a rare May storm, but in her behavior and unique
pattern of destruction. By studying how an area recovers organically from an
irregularity, we can learn how nature inherently protects itself from
storms."

Yeah,
Tessa was an anomaly all right, and so was he. What kind of mother abandons her
kid outside during the worst hurricane the bayous had ever seen? He could never
understand how he'd survived for three hours outside in the storm, the only
cover being a thin blanket and the awning above the church steps, but his
father always insisted that was how it happened.

He
wasn't sure if that was bullshit, but he knew Haley's pseudo-environmental
study definitely was. Because this area had never really recovered, and most
would say, neither had he.

His
skin tingled, and half a second later there was another lightning strike, too
damned close for comfort. He checked Haley for a reaction, but she only pursed
her lips around the beer bottle, circling the opening. He watched the way her
throat moved as she took a few long sips, and realized he'd taken two steps
toward her.

Her
mouth would feel so good around him, cool lips, warm tongue inviting him to
slide farther down her throat…

Back
it up, Remy
. And he slowly did move
away from her even though every fiber throbbed for Haley Holmes and that hot
place nestled between those finely muscled, tanned thighs. If she'd just touch
him, put a hand between his legs and stroke him through the fabric of his
cargos, he'd be okay. He'd put his hands behind his back and let her take him,
maybe instruct her to handcuff him so he couldn't hurt her, and then everything
would be all right.

Except
you hate being tied down
…

"Are
you okay?" she asked, and he hated the concern in her voice, hated the
fact that he'd let the low rumble of a groan slip from the back of his throat
as the house swayed and the wind slammed the already battered exterior, like it
wanted in.

He
knew neither the wind nor he would stop until they got what they wanted, and he
grabbed his bag in one last ditch effort to save what he could. "Since
you've already paid rent for the place, I'll be the one to vacate."

She
shook her head and set the bottle down next to her equipment. "You can't
go out there now. Conditions are going downhill—" The laptop beeped, and
she tapped the keys. Frowning, she checked an image on a small-screened
portable radar. "I don't understand this," she muttered. "This
cell isn't part of a hurricane band… it makes no sense. It's moving over us
from the wrong direction. It's almost as though it formed
on top
of
us."

There's
a reason for that.

"I'll
be fine, and so will you, as long as you stay inside the house," he said,
his voice rough with a mix of desire and fear and
Bebe, you have no idea
what you're in for
…

She
didn't look up. "Stay inside. It's too dangerous out there—we'll figure it
all out later."

He
knew he should leave, knew what the hot rush of blood throbbing between his
legs meant, but he couldn't take another step any more than he could look away
as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Reaching up, he touched his own lip
subconsciously, wondering how she'd taste against his mouth.

A
printer on the scarred old dining room table spat out a page, which she tore
loose and scanned in the greenish glow from her equipment.

"Hurricane
Center update." Dropping the page to the floor, she turned back to the
radar image. "This is way more fascinating. Amazing…

She
was talking more to herself now than to him, lost in the weather. She glanced
at her watch and then shook her wrist and frowned down at it, and he looked at
the ancient clock that had sat on the mantel for as long as he could remember.
The arms had frozen at nine-forty p.m.—the exact time he'd walked into the
damned house.

A
ragged breath shuddered through his chest. His pull was getting stronger and
threatening the entire bayou, and Haley would figure some of it out soon. Sweat
broke out on his forehead as nerves and muscles stretched. He had to get out of
here, because when lightning struck again, it was going to be too late for him
to stop himself.

Another
flash, too close, and by the time the boom hit seconds later, his body had been
taken over by its ruling member.

And
while Haley was bent over, staring at the screen, her concentration on the
impending storm outside rather than him, his brain fogged. Led by the heat of
her body, he dropped his bag and found himself pressed to her, his thighs to
her buttocks, his arousal straining to get out and into her.

She
gasped when he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her upright into
him. He gathered her shirt in his fist and pushed it up, needing to palm her
full breasts as much as he needed air. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he
heard thunder, and then the sound of electrical equipment popping.

Next,
his hands were moving faster than his brain, to unbutton her shorts and shimmy
them down. A violent tug and then they cleared her hips, and he barely heard
her say, "
Remy
, "before the windows rattled as the storm
surged forward against the house.

"Remy,
please…

With
a grunt that came out like a howl, he jerked away from her, left her standing
there with her shorts halfway down and, with no explanation, and headed outside
into the storm that was getting worse instead of better, a fact that no amount
of Haley's research and equipment could ever explain, to get it all over with.
Force Mother Nature to push him to his break point and, finally, let himself
break.

It
had to hurt less than this did.

Haley
sagged against the desk, heart pounding, knees trembling inside the shorts that
were tangled around them. What had just happened? One minute she'd been trying
to figure out where the storm cell raging above them had come from, and the next
she was at the mercy of Remy's strong hands.

Not
that she'd minded. Not when she felt the hard bulge of his arousal pushing
against her, his hands under her shirt, massaging her breasts, pinching her
nipples. His voice, gruff and low, had murmured phrases into her ear—some she
understood, though they didn't make sense.
Touch the lightning
!' Others
she didn't understand, though she knew they had been uttered in smooth, sexy
French.

Then
his warm breath had fanned the back of her neck as he'd whispered, "Need
you now," and shoved down her shorts. She hadn't had time to think, to
protest or beg for the penetration that might follow, because he'd roared like
a wounded bear and run out into the storm.

The
storm. Oh, God, he was in danger. Quickly, she pulled up the shorts, not
bothering to button them, and darted to the front door. When she turned the
knob, the door blew open and slammed painfully into her hip, nearly knocking
her off her feet. Rain stung her cheeks as she stepped outside. She squinted
into the darkness, battling the wind with every step. Her bare feet sank into
the muddy ground, and she tried to keep her thoughts on finding Remy, not on
what might be squishing under her heels.

"Remy!"
she screamed, but the wind swallowed her shout.

And
then, outlined by a bolt of lightning that made the hairs on the back of her
neck stand up, she saw him. There, a few feet away, one arm and his forehead
braced against a swaying tree. Somehow, he'd lost his shirt, and in the
backdrop of brilliant flashes and dappled shadows, the deep valleys and rounded
peaks of his incredible muscles drew her gaze, even as thunder cracked, made
her eardrums rattle.

Remy
didn't so much as flinch.

"Remy!"

She
staggered forward. What was he doing? Was he injured? The raindrops felt like
tiny needles as she struggled for every step, desperate to reach him, wondering
how she'd get him medical attention. Her van, parked in the back, would be
useless if the roads had flooded.

"Remy!"

He
didn't move.
No, please, no
. Her toe snagged a fallen branch, and she
stumbled, careened off two trees with bruising force before she lost her
footing and slipped downhill several feet. Ignoring the cutting whip of
vegetation against her bare legs, she used vines and roots as handholds as she
clambered back up the incline.

At
the top, she found herself a few feet from Remy. As the lightning flashed and
thunder threatened to rupture her eardrums, she noted his expression, one
etched in misery. Pain.

She
dragged her gaze down, to where his right arm worked furiously—and then she
sucked in a breath of rain-saturated air with such force she nearly choked. His
expression, dear Lord, his expression—not one of pain. One of pleasure.

His
long fingers pumped up and down around the jutting length of his cock. Rain
dripped into her eyes, and she blinked. Maybe the water was playing tricks on
her vision. But no. Remy was braced against the tree, which sheltered him only
slightly from the raging wind and rain, seemingly unconcerned that standing
beneath a tree was the worst place in the world—short of a golf course or
lake—to be during a thunderstorm.

She
knew it was stupid to remain out there. She knew what she risked. She knew she
shouldn't be watching.

But
neither could she look away.

Each
violent stroke of his fist caused her pulse to strum deep in her belly. Every
time his palm cupped the head of his penis, heat worked its way lower in her
body. And when he threw his head back and shouted at the storm, she felt her
vaginal muscles clench and weep.

She'd
known since the moment she saw him that she'd be willing to spread her legs for
him. Sexual inhibitions had never been an issue for her, and even if she didn't
need to bed him for scientific reasons, she'd do it for her own. She liked sex,
and he looked like he knew his way around a woman's body.

It
would be so easy to walk up and take him in her hand, her mouth. But doing so
wasn't an option. Something was happening here, something intimate between Remy
and Mother Nature, and she couldn't intrude. She could only watch from the
darkness, a voyeur captivated by a powerful image of sensual, savage carnality.

The
world spun as her own body reacted, hungry for something it hadn't tasted in a
long, long time. Desire whirled through her as ruthlessly as the wind whirled
around her, and unbidden, her hand slipped inside her unbuttoned shorts. Her
fingertips slid down her flat belly, over the tattoo that seemed to have grown
as sensitive as the day she'd gotten it. By the time she realized what she was
doing, it was too late.

Her
fingers found her slick folds, and fierce, biting pleasure radiated upward to
where rain pelted her breasts like a lover's kisses. Her hips rocked against
her hand, and she nearly cried out as she squeezed the pearl of nerves between
her thumb and forefinger, the pressure agonizing yet soothing. And still, it
wasn't enough, not when the fingers she wanted touching her were Remy's.

Lightning
and thunder exploded simultaneously. A tree went down behind the house. Whether
or not Remy had seen it, she didn't know. His only reaction was to bare his
teeth and pump his hand even faster. Faster, and the storm raged harder. Each
pull from root to crown ended with light streaking across the sky. Each thrust
of his hips came with a shift in the wind direction.

Rain
pounded her, ran in rivulets down her arm and along her finger that stroked her
pussy, the cool water easing the steamy heat there between her legs. Her
fevered skin welcomed the rain even as it burned for the touch of the man in
front of her.

"Remy,"
she gasped, and his head swiveled, his intense, glowing gaze capturing hers.

His
sensual lips parted, and he said something, something she couldn't hear. Then
his eyes closed and he turned back, braced his forehead against his forearm
where it supported him against the tree.

Creamy
moisture coated her fingers as she pushed two into her sex, where right now she
only wanted the part of Remy that jutted magnificently from between his legs.
Her internal muscles would pull him deep, ripple around his thick shaft as he
stretched her sensitive tissue and drove her to orgasm.