waist, pulling her close. “You are so much more than you know. And I want so much to show you. I want you to understand what you were to me then, and what you are now.”
She closed her eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath as she prepared for the moment. As the glow in her hands faded, she allowed herself to flatten her palms against his chest. There was no danger of fire now, other than a searing internal one.
He was so warm, his chest so broad, strong. Protective.
And then his sweet breath caressed her lips, his body inching, tentative, gentle, towards hers. This was happening. It was really happening.
“There he is!”
The high-pitched voice belonged to a young woman. Ashling’s eyes shot open, only to be blinded temporarily by an intense stream of light coming from a cell phone’s flashlight aimed directly into Hawke’s face. For a moment it seemed to her that his eyes glowed orange, but perhaps it was only the temporary brightness that caused the illusion.
“For crap’s sake,” he said quietly, pulling Ashling behind him, his hands protectively grasping her waist.
“You’re Hawke Turner,” said another female voice. “Oh my God, it’s really you.”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, defeated. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and the wall that he’d seemed to erect around them was gone now; they’d penetrated, invading his space. Taking away his chance to be close to Ashling.
And a part of her admired him for managing to retain any modicum of politeness after being stalked up a hill in the dark, but part of her wanted him to tell the women to get the hell out and go home.
“Would you sign this?” One cocky fan had walked right up to him, a pen in hand, and pulled her shirt down, exposing the upper part of her breast.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, still the essence of politeness. “I’ll sign your arm. How’s that?”
“Well, I’ll take what I can get.”
He’d etched his name into the body parts of five women before they finally left the two alone, and even then Ashling had the sense that more irritating fans were tucked nearby, hiding, waiting for the chance to pounce.
“I should take you home,” he said apologetically. “We’re not going to have any peace here.”
“Sure,” she said.
They walked quietly for a time, neither daring to talk about what had been broached earlier. There was too much of a risk that they were being followed by those who would have loved to hear their private interaction.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said when he’d brought her to her door. “Fuck it, no. I need to see you again. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Ashling bit her lip, resisting the urge to invite him in. He was being a gentleman, and she should be a lady. And much as she wanted him, maybe it was best to keep a friendly distance. After all, there was his career to consider.
“I’d like to see you too,” she said. “But you’re leaving soon, right?”
He laid a flat palm against the door frame, leaning towards her. Light ribbons of heat stroked her neck. His heat. His beautiful, inviting warmth. “Maybe,” he said. “If nothing keeps me here.”
“What would…keep you here?”
“This place. The freedom that comes with it. The beauty of the countryside. The open sky. And you.”
Gently he pressed his lips to hers; tender, inviting, caring. She felt herself falling, spinning downwards, a bird in flight that had lost its abilities. His hand was on her cheek and she moved into him, pressing herself forward, feeling his every inch of heat against her.
“I see,” she said as she eased away. “I see.”
As she watched him go, her heart seemed to melt and shatter at once; a piece of silver which had gone hot and cold in her chest.
She wanted nothing more than to keep him in Woodland Creek. And yet she knew that she had no choice but to push him far, far away.
7
“ R anach,” said Ashling when she saw the old man the next morning. “I need you to
She closed her eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath as she prepared for the moment. As the glow in her hands faded, she allowed herself to flatten her palms against his chest. There was no danger of fire now, other than a searing internal one.
He was so warm, his chest so broad, strong. Protective.
And then his sweet breath caressed her lips, his body inching, tentative, gentle, towards hers. This was happening. It was really happening.
“There he is!”
The high-pitched voice belonged to a young woman. Ashling’s eyes shot open, only to be blinded temporarily by an intense stream of light coming from a cell phone’s flashlight aimed directly into Hawke’s face. For a moment it seemed to her that his eyes glowed orange, but perhaps it was only the temporary brightness that caused the illusion.
“For crap’s sake,” he said quietly, pulling Ashling behind him, his hands protectively grasping her waist.
“You’re Hawke Turner,” said another female voice. “Oh my God, it’s really you.”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, defeated. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and the wall that he’d seemed to erect around them was gone now; they’d penetrated, invading his space. Taking away his chance to be close to Ashling.
And a part of her admired him for managing to retain any modicum of politeness after being stalked up a hill in the dark, but part of her wanted him to tell the women to get the hell out and go home.
“Would you sign this?” One cocky fan had walked right up to him, a pen in hand, and pulled her shirt down, exposing the upper part of her breast.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, still the essence of politeness. “I’ll sign your arm. How’s that?”
“Well, I’ll take what I can get.”
He’d etched his name into the body parts of five women before they finally left the two alone, and even then Ashling had the sense that more irritating fans were tucked nearby, hiding, waiting for the chance to pounce.
“I should take you home,” he said apologetically. “We’re not going to have any peace here.”
“Sure,” she said.
They walked quietly for a time, neither daring to talk about what had been broached earlier. There was too much of a risk that they were being followed by those who would have loved to hear their private interaction.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said when he’d brought her to her door. “Fuck it, no. I need to see you again. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Ashling bit her lip, resisting the urge to invite him in. He was being a gentleman, and she should be a lady. And much as she wanted him, maybe it was best to keep a friendly distance. After all, there was his career to consider.
“I’d like to see you too,” she said. “But you’re leaving soon, right?”
He laid a flat palm against the door frame, leaning towards her. Light ribbons of heat stroked her neck. His heat. His beautiful, inviting warmth. “Maybe,” he said. “If nothing keeps me here.”
“What would…keep you here?”
“This place. The freedom that comes with it. The beauty of the countryside. The open sky. And you.”
Gently he pressed his lips to hers; tender, inviting, caring. She felt herself falling, spinning downwards, a bird in flight that had lost its abilities. His hand was on her cheek and she moved into him, pressing herself forward, feeling his every inch of heat against her.
“I see,” she said as she eased away. “I see.”
As she watched him go, her heart seemed to melt and shatter at once; a piece of silver which had gone hot and cold in her chest.
She wanted nothing more than to keep him in Woodland Creek. And yet she knew that she had no choice but to push him far, far away.
7
“ R anach,” said Ashling when she saw the old man the next morning. “I need you to
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