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Authors: Jennifer Greene
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of everything—the heat of sun and the chill of water, the whispered softness of trees and woods, the look of her own white skin under clear water, the feel of her hair sensuously streaming around her face when she slipped underwater.
In time, she stretched her limbs to the sun like a sensual kitten and then waded to shore for her shampoo. As she wandered back to waist-deep water, she spilled a little of the soft liquid into her palm and soon had a mound of sweet-smelling lather in her hair. Such luxuriousness felt delightful. A dollop of white foam fell between her breasts and trickled down; she arched her breasts for the sun and kneaded the shampoo into her hair and felt utterly, deliciously, wantonly wicked.
Richard would have been appalled to see her standing naked in the woods. So, come to think of it, would her parents. And anyone else she knew. Bree was not a brazen, sensual lady and never had been. She was just…Bree. All her life she had been just…Bree.
Maybe the shampoo bottle held a secret formula for washing away dissatisfaction, because at the moment she exulted in playing mermaid. When she dived to rinse off, her hair streamed behind her, and she played a few minutes more, although her flesh was starting to feel cold. A half hour later, shivering, she shook the water from her skin as she waded back to shore. Bending to pick up the towel, she straightened, loving the warmth of sunlight on her bare skin.
Almost against her will, she found her eyes darting around, seeking out shadows in the woods, absently scanning the densely covered rise to the top of the hill…Abruptly, her hands stopped patting her skin with the towel as if she were putting on a strip show. Then her spine straightened into a more natural posture, and she stopped whipping back her hair like a forties movie star.
Dammit, Bree. You’ve been freezing for at least a half hour, and you may as well quit acting like a damn fool. He’s not there. You knew that even before you came down here.
The softly caressing towel turned into a rubbing punishment. Would you get that damn man out of your mind?
Chapter Five
At eleven, Bree collapsed on the feather bed, tested her little finger to see if it had the energy to wiggle, discovered it didn’t, and contentedly closed her eyes. This once, she knew she would sleep. The day couldn’t have been fuller, with shopping and swimming and a quick experiment with scents and an entire evening of baking. And in the peace and silence of the woods, she was certain her nightmares were behind her.
But the dream came back in the darkest hours. Always, it was slightly different. New details would hauntingly tug at her memory: the way the clouds had hung in charcoal-gray shadows, the face of someone in the crowd, the song she’d been humming as she left Gram to get the car.
Always, the end was the same. She’d let herself be talked into taking a frail old woman outside on a frigid day—her fault. They’d shopped for hours—her fault. She’d left Gram alone—her fault. She’d wasted a few minutes bringing the car around, the exact minutes during which the purse snatcher had attacked Gram—her fault. She was the one who had let it all happen. Wrong choices…all her fault.
And the siren kept screaming in the dream. The night pressed down on her; sheets writhed around her like chains. She had loved Gram so much, and the siren kept screaming, along with a silent scream that no one else ever heard.
“ Bree. Stop that caterwauling and get your little butt down here so we can both get some sleep.”
Bree’s eyes flew open. Disoriented in the darkness, she glimpsed the illuminated hands of the clock next to her. 2:13 a.m. Vaguely, she was aware that her heart was pounding, her forehead damp, that the sheet was twisted around her.
“You hear me? If you don’t come down, I’m coming up.”
The voice was a low, lazy baritone, delivering the threat in bored tones. In fact, she heard the yawn that
In time, she stretched her limbs to the sun like a sensual kitten and then waded to shore for her shampoo. As she wandered back to waist-deep water, she spilled a little of the soft liquid into her palm and soon had a mound of sweet-smelling lather in her hair. Such luxuriousness felt delightful. A dollop of white foam fell between her breasts and trickled down; she arched her breasts for the sun and kneaded the shampoo into her hair and felt utterly, deliciously, wantonly wicked.
Richard would have been appalled to see her standing naked in the woods. So, come to think of it, would her parents. And anyone else she knew. Bree was not a brazen, sensual lady and never had been. She was just…Bree. All her life she had been just…Bree.
Maybe the shampoo bottle held a secret formula for washing away dissatisfaction, because at the moment she exulted in playing mermaid. When she dived to rinse off, her hair streamed behind her, and she played a few minutes more, although her flesh was starting to feel cold. A half hour later, shivering, she shook the water from her skin as she waded back to shore. Bending to pick up the towel, she straightened, loving the warmth of sunlight on her bare skin.
Almost against her will, she found her eyes darting around, seeking out shadows in the woods, absently scanning the densely covered rise to the top of the hill…Abruptly, her hands stopped patting her skin with the towel as if she were putting on a strip show. Then her spine straightened into a more natural posture, and she stopped whipping back her hair like a forties movie star.
Dammit, Bree. You’ve been freezing for at least a half hour, and you may as well quit acting like a damn fool. He’s not there. You knew that even before you came down here.
The softly caressing towel turned into a rubbing punishment. Would you get that damn man out of your mind?
Chapter Five
At eleven, Bree collapsed on the feather bed, tested her little finger to see if it had the energy to wiggle, discovered it didn’t, and contentedly closed her eyes. This once, she knew she would sleep. The day couldn’t have been fuller, with shopping and swimming and a quick experiment with scents and an entire evening of baking. And in the peace and silence of the woods, she was certain her nightmares were behind her.
But the dream came back in the darkest hours. Always, it was slightly different. New details would hauntingly tug at her memory: the way the clouds had hung in charcoal-gray shadows, the face of someone in the crowd, the song she’d been humming as she left Gram to get the car.
Always, the end was the same. She’d let herself be talked into taking a frail old woman outside on a frigid day—her fault. They’d shopped for hours—her fault. She’d left Gram alone—her fault. She’d wasted a few minutes bringing the car around, the exact minutes during which the purse snatcher had attacked Gram—her fault. She was the one who had let it all happen. Wrong choices…all her fault.
And the siren kept screaming in the dream. The night pressed down on her; sheets writhed around her like chains. She had loved Gram so much, and the siren kept screaming, along with a silent scream that no one else ever heard.
“ Bree. Stop that caterwauling and get your little butt down here so we can both get some sleep.”
Bree’s eyes flew open. Disoriented in the darkness, she glimpsed the illuminated hands of the clock next to her. 2:13 a.m. Vaguely, she was aware that her heart was pounding, her forehead damp, that the sheet was twisted around her.
“You hear me? If you don’t come down, I’m coming up.”
The voice was a low, lazy baritone, delivering the threat in bored tones. In fact, she heard the yawn that
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