Lucky’s Lady

CHAPTER 13

SHE LOOKED LIKE AN ANGEL. HER HAIR SPILLED golden and silky across the pillow. Her lashes lay like tawny lace fans against her cheeks. Her mouth was soft and rosy, relaxed in sleep. Lucky looked down at her, something twisting painfully in his chest as he reached out to touch her but stopped himself, his fingers a scant inch above her face.

She was giving and caring, strong and brave, everything he'd ever given up on finding in a woman, and he couldn't allow himself to indulge in anything other than her body. That, of course, was heaven itself. What he felt when he was inside Serena was incredible. She took away the coldness, chased back the darkness, made him feel alive instead of caught in some bleak plane of existence. He could take her five times a day and never get enough of her. He'd never felt such an insatiable yearning for a woman, had never had his needs met with such sweet absolute surrender.

He wouldn't have believed it possible of the woman he'd first encountered in Gauthier's, but that cool, controlled woman wasn't who Serena really was. Too bad for him, he thought, his mouth twisting in a wry parody of a smile.

Serena wasn't cold and hard. She was a warm, golden temptation. Heaven was losing himself in her, hell was knowing he couldn't stay. She would want too much from him. She would want things he couldn't give. He couldn't let her get that close.

In the first place, he was terrified of what she would see-the things he'd done, the things he'd seen, the cold blackness that surrounded his soul and crept in on his mind. In the second place, he was terrified of what would happen. He had spent the past year putting himself back together, painstakingly reconstructing himself from the fragments Ramos's hell had left him in. Now those fragments balanced one against the other like a house of cards. One wrong move and it would all come crashing down.

He needed his peace, his solitude, his art. That was all. He had stripped his life down to those bare essentials because he couldn't tolerate anything more. He couldn't be around people because their presence irritated him, like air blowing across an exposed nerve. By necessity his focus had to remain inward, concentrating on holding himself together. He couldn't need a woman whose job was to poke around inside people's minds, ferreting out their secrets, taking them all apart to see what made them tick.

He slid from the bed without disturbing Serena, stepped into his jeans and zipped up, leaving the button undone. He dug a cigarette from the pocket of his T-shirt, hung it from his lip, and wandered across the room to the French doors that still stood open. Thunder rumbled in the distance, an appropriate accompaniment to everything that was going on inside him and around him; a portent of a coming storm within and without.

He had a bad feeling about this business with Chanson du Terre. He had from the beginning and it was only getting worse. Opposing forces were pushing against each other, building pressure. Something was going to have to give. Digging a match out of his pocket, he lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, wondering which side would give in first.

Gifford Sheridan was an old man. Ferocious and hardheaded, to be sure, but an old man nevertheless. If he had a son to inherit or a granddaughter who wanted to stay, things might have looked better. As it was, the deck was stacked against him, against Chanson du Terre, against the swamp.

On the other side stood Tristar and Len Burke. Burke, who reminded Lucky too much of his old nemesis, Colonel Lambert, a man who had known no boundaries when it came to getting what he wanted. Where would Burke draw the line? And what of Shelby? Lucky knew all too well how far she was willing to go to get what she wanted.

Mason Talbot struck him as little more than a pawn to be used by Tristar and Shelby. He was too laid-back to instigate anything. Too dimwitted in Gifford's opinion. But he would have his uses. He would make a perfect figurehead to rally the town around in favor of economic growth. And once Tristar was in place and Mason was ensconced in the legislature in Baton Rouge, he would make a very attractive spokesman for the chemical industry.

Lucky's gaze drifted back to the bed and Serena, who was frowning and mumbling in her sleep, her hand sweeping against the mattress where he had lain. The load had been dropped squarely on her slender shoulders, and while she seemed determined to uphold her grandfather's wishes, would she only be delaying the inevitable? She had said Gifford's ploy wouldn't hold her here. What would happen when she left?

«Lucky?» she whispered, rousing herself like a sleepy kitten. Blinking against the soft light, she sat up and combed back a handful of honey-gold hair from her eyes. Lucky watched and said nothing, savoring the sight of her as she drew the ivory cotton sheet up demurely over her breasts, a gesture that struck him as sweetly incongruous considering everything they'd done together in bed.

She tilted her head and blinked at him. «What are you doing?»

«Havin' a cigarette,» he said. He took a deep drag and exhaled a plume of smoke in demonstration.

Serena frowned as she slid from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her like a Grecian gown. «You smoke too much,» she chided him softly as she padded across the faded carpet. She cuddled against him, not waiting for an invitation, but sliding her arms around his lean waist and nuzzling her cheek against his bare chest. She tilted her head back to look up at him. «You shouldn't smoke at all. It's bad for you.»

Lucky couldn't hold back a soft, incredulous laugh. He stared down into her earnest face, something like wonder rising inside him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given a moments thought to his health. Not because he doubted bis own mortality, but because he didn't care. For a long, long time he'd felt as if he had nothing left to lose, including his own life. When he first returned from Central America, he spent night after night staring at a 9mm Beretta, his death awaiting him in a sleek black casing filled with hollow-point ammunition. The only thing that kept him from sticking the thing in his mouth and pulling the trigger was the knowledge of what it would have done to his parents, who were staunchly Catholic.

He had lived with death as a constant companion and now Serena stood looking up at him, warning him of the dangers of smoking.

«Why is that funny?» she asked, looking annoyed with him.

Lucky sobered. «It's not.»

He turned without leaving her embrace and crushed his cigarette in a decorative china cup sitting on a stand. «Happy?»

«Hardly.» Serena sniffed. «That was my great-grandmother's teacup.»

«This old house is full of stuff like that, isn't it?» he asked, looping his arms loosely around her. «Antiques, heirlooms, family treasures passed down and down.»

«Yes,» Serena answered, her own gaze wandering over a dozen things in this room alone that had seen generations of Sheridan's come and go. «It's like a microcosm of history. It ought to be renovated and opened to the public as a museum.»

«Instead, it could be razed and lost forever.»

She looked up at him, her brows pulling together over troubled dark eyes. «Could we not talk about it for a while? I'm so tired.»

Lucky ran a hand over her hair, an unexpected wave of sympathy sweeping over him. He would have liked to have taken her away from all the problems, protected her, kept her all to himself for a little while, but that wasn't an option. He knew he should have steeled himself against the tenderness stirring inside him as he looked down at her, but he gave in to it for an instant, leaned down, and kissed her. She looked tired. She looked confused and battered. What could it hurt to offer her a little comfort?

Her lips were soft and warm beneath his. Eager, yearning. She clung to his kiss as if it might intoxicate her past thinking. She pressed herself against him as if she wished to be absorbed directly into his body. The desire to protect her rose up even stronger inside him and he tried to push it back. He couldn't be anyone's savior; he had all he could do just to hold himself together.

When he lifted his head he touched her cheek and murmured regretfully, «I'm sorry, chere. I know you didn't ask for this fight.»

«It's mine by birthright, I suppose,» Serena said, drawing away from him. She wandered in the little pool of lamplight, absently touching objects on the table and dresser with one hand and clutching the sheet to her breasts with the other.

«It's ironic, you know,» she added, trying unsuccessfully to smile. «I left here because I thought my life was somewhere else, because I didn't think I'd ever become my own person if I stayed. And here I am…» She gestured to the room, to the house in general, looking around her with a vague sense of bewilderment. «Here I am. They say you can't go home again. I can't seem to get away.»

«You'll be able to get away permanently if your sister has her way,» Lucky said, watching her with a hawkish gaze. «Is that what you want-to be out from under the burden of your heritage forever?»

Serena looked around at the room, feeling the personality of the great house bearing down upon her. She was too tired to fight it. Resignation flowed through her and her shoulders sagged. She would be forever tied to this house in a way time and distance couldn't alter even if she wanted them to. This was her home. It would always be her home. Chanson du Terre was where her roots were and they went two hundred years deep.

«No,» she said softly.

She didn't want to see the old house destroyed. She didn't want to see strangers living here. She didn't want Tristar Chemical building a processing plant where the old slave quarters stood in silent testimony to past lives. She didn't want to see high wire fences surrounding what once had been cane fields. She wanted Chanson du Terre to be owned by a Sheridan; she just didn't want it to be her.

«Then you'd better be ready for a fight, sugar,» Lucky said. «Len Burke means to have this land. He'll fight dirty to get it and your sister will be there right beside him.»

«It's not Shelby I'm worried about.»

He gave her a guarded look. «Don't underestimate her, Serena. I don't think you realize what she might be capable of.»

Serena shrugged off his warning and the niggling doubts that had taken seed in her own mind over the past few days. Shelby was flighty and selfish, but she wasn't ruthless. «She's my sister. I think I probably have a better idea of what she's capable of than you.»

«Did you think she was capable of abandoning you in the swamp?»

The jab found its target, hitting the nerve with stinging accuracy, but Serena stubbornly shook it off. «We've been over that ground before. She didn't intend anything bad to happen. Shelby doesn't think things all the way through. She doesn't consider all the consequences of her actions, just the immediate effect.»

Don't count on it, sugar, Lucky thought, but he kept the idea to himself. He supposed it was only natural for Serena to have a blind spot where her twin was concerned. What kind of person could look at their own flesh and blood and see evil? He only hoped that blind spot didn't keep her from seeing something truly dangerous before it was too late.

The explosion came just before dawn. It rattled the windows and shook the foundation of the old house. Serena was able to smell smoke before she was fully conscious. She shot up and out of bed, the instinct to flee danger pumping adrenaline through her bloodstream.

It took several seconds for her brain to catch up, sorting through the questions of where she was and what was the source of the danger. Her room was dark and in the aftermath of the blast the only sound was the rumbling of thunder. For a moment she thought that might have been all that had awakened her, but then the scent of smoke came again. It drifted in through the open French door, carried on a strong cold breeze that heralded the coming storm.

Grabbing her robe and throwing it on hastily, she rushed to the open door and looked out across the gallery and across the yard. A ball of orange glowed in the distance, and flames licked up the side of the machine shed. Shouts cut through the silence and men arrived at the scene, their shapes silhouetted against the brightness of the fire.

Serena whirled toward the bed, suddenly thinking of Lucky, but he was gone. His absence struck her like a physical blow, but there was no time to contemplate where he had disappeared to, or when or why.

She grabbed clothes out of the wardrobe without looking and jerked them on, not bothering with underwear. She stepped into her tattered espadrilles and ran out onto the gallery, down the steps, and across the garden, flying as fast as her legs would take her toward the building that was already engulfed in flames.

Workers were directing hoses at the conflagration by the time she got there, but to no avail. Fire was devouring the building. James Arnaud rushed back and forth between the workers, shouting to be heard above the roar, telling them to concentrate on wetting down the part of the enormous old wooden shed that wasn't already ablaze.

«What happened?» Serena yelled, grabbing his arm and his attention as he paced past her.

«Hell if I know,» he snapped, his thick dark brows set in a V over furious eyes. «I heard the blast and came running. It was probably lightning. All I know is we've got most of our equipment in there and we're gonna lose it all if we don't get this fire put out!»

«Has anyone called the fire department?»

«They're on the way and they'd better get here fast. We might as well piss on this building for all the good we're doing.»

He shrugged her off then and went to help with the seemingly futile business of dousing the shed. Serena stood back helplessly, watching, squinting into the brilliance of the flames, the heat searing her cheeks even from a distance.

Above them the sky lit up with a network of white lines, and thunder boomed like cannon fire. Thick, rolling storm clouds were illuminated in the fluorescent glow of the lightning, black and swollen like enormous sponges.

«Come on, rain,» she shouted.

Mason came running from the house in pajamas and a robe, his thin brown hair standing up, his glasses askew. He wore a pair of polished oxfords but no socks.

«My God, this is terrible!» he said, tugging on the belt of his robe. He stared up at the blaze, the flames reflecting eerily in the lenses of his glasses. «I've called the fire department. They're on their way.»

«I was just praying for rain,» Serena said. Fat drops splashed down on them from above and she turned her face up to the heavens.

Mason stared at the fire as it consumed the huge shed like an angry, voracious beast, devouring the walls, lapping at the heavy equipment within. «All that machinery. I hope to heaven Gifford's insurance is up-to-date.»

The rain began to fall harder. In the distance came the sound of sirens.

Mason took Serena by the arm. «We ought to get out of the way. There's nothing we can do here.»

She reluctantly backed away from the heat, feeling helpless as she thought of Gifford. She felt as if she were failing him somehow. It was absurd, she knew, but that didn't stop the old feelings of inadequacy from surfacing. Somehow she should have been able to prevent this. She should have been able to stop the destruction.

The rain came beating down now, cold and hard, soaking through the silk blouse she'd grabbed at random, matting her hair against her head, blurring her vision. Still the flames leapt into the night sky, roaring and crackling, mocking mother nature's efforts to put them out. There came a splintering sound and part of the roof caved in, sending a cloud of orange sparks billowing upward. Mason pulled harder on Serena's arm.

«Serena, come on!» he yelled urgently. «There's nothing we can do. It's not safe here!»

He dragged her back a few more steps. Lightning lashed across the sky. Thunder exploded in a deafening blast. The wind picked up, shaking the trees and bending the tongues of flame that shot up from the burning building. The rain came harder in a fierce downpour, finally shrinking the fire, tamping it down. The first of the fire trucks roared up die driveway. Mason pulled Serena back another few steps.

«Let's go!»

They hadn't taken three steps toward the house when the second explosion came. In the periphery of her vision Serena saw the ball of flame burst through the ravaged wall of the building. From that point on what took only a split second in reality registered in her brain in slow motion-men running, fire rolling outward, lumber and shrapnel hurling in every direction.

She later remembered opening her mouth to scream, but not hearing anything. The invisible force of the explosion hit her in the back and flung her to the ground like a rag doll with Mason right beside her. She hit the ground with a bone-jarring bounce, gravel and crushed shell digging into her skin. Then everything went blessedly black.

«Total loss,» the claims adjuster said with the gravity of one imparting the death of a loved one. He stood in the doorway of the dining room, cupboard in hand, a small, apologetic man of forty-five with receding dark hair and eyes like a spaniel. There was soot on his hands and forearms and one big smudge of it across his high forehead.

He had arrived practically on the heels of the fire department, along with the neighbors. A fire was a major event in these parts, an occasion for people to gather and gawk and offer support to those who had suffered a loss. There was no two-week wait for the insurance man because chances were he would be standing there watching as the last of the rafters fell into the ashes.

«A total loss,» he repeated morosely. «The building and everything in it. It's still smoldering in places.»

«Cool!» John Mason exclaimed, scrambling down from his seat. «I'm gonna go see it!»

Shelby scowled at her son. «You most certainly are not. You stay away from there, John Mason. Just look what happened to your father and your aunt Serena!»

Serena sent her nephew a meaningful look. She sat in her chair, still trembling, her ears ringing, pain biting into her body in various places. There were cuts and scrapes on her hands, knees, chin. Her cheeks and forehead wore a dark blush from the heat of the fire. She had yet to make it to the shower, and her hair hung like damp strings around her head. She still wore her ruined fucksia silk blouse and red slacks.

All in all, she didn't make a pretty picture, and Mason had fared little better. She looked over at her brother-in-law as he sat staring down into his coffee cup with a vacant expression. His fine hair stood up in little shocks around his head. His robe was torn and dirty. There was a cut on his left cheekbone that stood out like a line of red ink against his ashen skin.

Serena imagined they both looked as if they had been mugged and left for dead, but they had to count themselves lucky. Two of the men who had been struggling to fight the blaze were now in the hospital, seriously injured by flying debris from the second explosion.

«Gifford had his insurance paid up, didn't he, Mr. York?» she asked, unsure whether she was whispering or shouting. She felt as if she were wearing cups over her ears.

York regarded her with his spaniel's eyes, looking like he was afraid she might call him a bad dog and send him away. «Yes,» he said hesitantly. «The premiums were paid up. There's no problem with that at all.»

«Are we to take it there is a problem elsewhere?»

«Er-well-«He shuffled his feet, then glanced down quickly to see if he tracked in mud. «I'm afraid, yes, there is.»

«Oh, for pity's sake!» Shelby snapped as she poured herself a second cup of coffee. «Spit it out.»

She sat in Gifford's place at the head of the table, prim and lovely in a green silk dressing gown, her hair twisted neatly in back, looking as if an explosion and fire were nothing to disturb her normal daily routine.

York swallowed hard. «Well, I was just on the scene with the fire marshal, as y'all know, and there seems to be little doubt but that this was arson.»

«Arson?» Serena said in disbelief, a chill going through her. She shook her head, rejecting the possibility and all its ramifications. «No. It was lightning.»

York looked woebegone. «Ah-well-begging your pardon, Miss Sheridan, it wasn't. The fire was deliberately set. There really isn't any question of it. It was quite a sloppy job. You see,» he said, becoming more animated at the prospect of sharing some of his expertise, «there was one big hot spot in the southwest corner of the shed and trailers leading out from it. That is to say, lines indicating a fuel path. There was alligatoring in the charred wood, giving the indication of rapid, intense heat, and signs of spalling in the concrete floor. It's very apparent that someone poured gasoline or a like substance all around and simply lit it up. And from what we could tell by the remains of the one tractor, a fuel path led directly to it. I'd have to say someone meant it to blow up.»

Serena sat back in her chair, pressing one hand to her lips and banding the other arm across her aching ribs. No one at the table said anything. She looked across at the chair Len Burke had occupied the night before, eating their food, drinking their wine, telling them that Gifford would have to be persuaded to sell-one way or another.

«You understand that until this matter is cleared up, my company won't be able to make a payment on your claim, I'm afraid. I'm sorry,» Mr. York said, sounding reluctant once again. Delivering bad news was evidently not his forte. He squeezed his clipboard. «I really am sorry.»

«Mr. York,» Mason said, mustering a faint version of his affable politician's smile. «Surely you don't believe one of the family is responsible for this horrible crime?»

«Oh, no, well-er-that isn't my place to judge. There will have to be a full investigation, you understand.»

«But Mr. York,» Serena said, trying to pull her mind away from thoughts of Burke, «some of that equipment will have to be replaced immediately. How do you suggest we do that if your company isn't going to make good on the claim?»

York appeared to give earnest thought to the question, making a series of faces that caused the soot smudge on his forehead to wriggle like a shadow puppet. Finally he looked her in the eye and she thought he might burst into tears. «I don't know,» he said. «I'm sorry. Really I am.»

After several more rounds of questions, explanations, and apologies, the claims adjuster took his leave to have a second look at the rubble with John Mason hot on his heels.

«What a horrid little man,» Shelby said, selecting a muffin from the basket Odille brought in as if it were her most important task of the day. «No wonder his wife is having an affair with the vice president of the bank.»

Serena shot her a look. «Shelby, for heaven's sake, we have more pressing issues to discuss.»

«Serena's right, sweetheart,» Mason said gently.

«What's an affair?» little Lacey asked, staring owlishly up at her mother.

Shelby beamed a smile and stroked a hand over her daughter's blond curls. «That's something cheap, trashy women do, darling. No need to worry your pretty head about it.»

«E-vil,» Odille intoned dramatically, drawing back from the table with the empty coffee urn clutched in her long, bony hands. Her turquoise eyes burned like blue flame, settling on each face in turn. «Dat's what come dis house. E-vil. Lord have mercy on us all.»

On that ominous note she backed out of the room, her thin mouth stretched into a line of supreme disapproval.

«My God,» Shelby sniffed in affront, pulling together the lapels of her dressing gown. «I don't know why Gifford keeps that woman on.»

«She's a witch,» Lacey said nonchalantly, reaching for a muffin. She dug one out of the basket and scampered out of the room, calling for her brother.

Serena rubbed her temples and sighed. «Arson. Your Mr. Burke sending Gifford a little warning?»

There was a beat of stunned silence, then Mason came to life.

«Oh, Serena, you can't possibly believe Len Burke had anything to do with this!» he said with an incredulous laugh. «Mr. Burke is a respectable businessman representing a respectable company. You can't honestly believe he's an arsonist!»

Serena looked at her sister and brother-in-law with grave eyes. «Well, I certainly wouldn't want to believe the alternative.»

«That one of us might have done it?» Mason said, arching a brow above his glasses. «Really, Serena, you've been spending too much time with your patients; you've becoming paranoid. Shelby and I were in bed. I don't mind saying I highly resent your entertaining such an insulting notion. Just because we're in favor of selling doesn't mean we'd burn the place to the ground.»

«My stars, Serena, is that what you really think of us?» Shelby said, her agitation building visibly as she stirred sugar into her coffee. Dots of color bloomed on her perfect cheekbones; her mouth tightened into a thin line. She glared at her sister, her demeanor of calm vanishing as instantly as mist. «Accusing your own sister and brother-in-law! I don't know what's become of you up in Charleston. You're like a stranger to us!»

Serena pressed two fingers to her temples and sighed heavily. She was battered and exhausted. She felt as if all her tools for dealing with people had been stripped away from her. Certainly her energy for dealing with her twin's endless dramatic mood swings had been.

«Shelby, can we please dispense with the constant theatrics?» she said through her teeth. «I didn't mean to accuse you. I was only saying that Mr. Burke would stand to benefit by this fire. It could have been set as a warning or with the express purpose of destroying the machinery. Either way, Gifford is out of money he can't afford to lose.»

«Well, I think it's preposterous,» Shelby pronounced indignantly. «I find Mr. Burke perfectly charming.»

Serena couldn't find the strength to roll her eyes.

«The fire might not have had anything to do with the sale of the property,» Mason pointed out. «Gifford has cultivated his share of enemies over the years. Why, not a month ago he had to let go of some of his hired men. It caused hard feelings, I can tell you. Then again, plenty of people stand to gain by Tristar coming here, Serena,» he said, contemplating his coffee. «This is a small town; I imagine word is out by now. Gifford is preventing people from getting jobs. Someone might have decided to persuade him to change his mind.»

Serena pushed herself up from the table, her eyes on Mason, an unpleasant smile turning the corners of her mouth. «My, what an interesting choice of words.»

«What are you going to do?» Shelby asked, looking up at her with suspicion.

«First, I'm going to take a long, hot shower. Then I'm going to go out into the swamp and get Gifford to come back here if I have to drag him by his hair.»

Lapsing into unconsciousness seemed like a more attractive choice, but Serena didn't see that she could afford the luxury of sleep. Forcing herself to plant one foot in front of the other, she pushed open the dining room door and left.

Shelby stared after her, waiting in breathless silence for the sound of a door down the hall closing.

«Well, that's just wonderful,» she said sulkily. «She's going to bring Gifford back here. That's all we need. Damn her, why couldn't she just stay out of this?'

Mason reached for a muffin. «Don't worry yourself about it, peach. This could turn out just fine. Gifford is bound to get disheartened sooner or later. If he comes back and sees the kind of damage that fire did, realizes what he's going to have to go through to replace the equipment and so on on… he may just give up.»

«I certainly hope so, Mason. I certainly hope so.»

Serena let herself into her room, aching to fall across the bed and cry herself to sleep. Instead, she turned and nearly fell into Lucky. He grabbed her by the shoulders in a grip that could have bent iron and held her at aim s length, his gaze sweeping over her, wild and intense.

«Mon Dieu,» he muttered breathlessly. «Look at you. Are you all right?»

«Oh, I'm fine except for the heart attack,» she said sarcastically. «Is there something intrinsic in your makeup that compels you to frighten people? Did someone sneak up on you during your potty training or something?»

Lucky swore under his breath, letting go of her and turning to pace the bedroom floor. He ran a trembling hand over his hair and rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled to school his breathing to normalcy. «I heard about the fire. Explosion. People being taken to the hospital.»

Serena bit back the flippant remark that sprang instantly to her tongue. She stood back and studied Lucky as he paced. He'd been afraid for her. It was clear in his eyes and the set of his mouth. It was clear in his struggle for control of his emotions. She made no comment but felt a flare of something like hope in her breast. The granite man who cared about no one had been frightened for her.

«I'm all right,» she said quietly. She let her knees give way and sank down on a little Victorian dressing stool, toeing off her ruined espadrilles and starting on the buttons of her blouse. She watched Lucky move back and forth along the bed, tension rolling off him like steam as he forcibly calmed himself. «Where were you?'

«I had business to take care of.»

«You certainly have strange working hours.»

«I have a strange life,» he admitted dryly. «You may have noticed.»

Serena arched a brow. «What? Everyone I know lives in a swamp and picks their teeth with a commando knife.»

She dismissed his dark look and started to shrug off her blouse, but stopped herself as she realized two things simultaneously-she wasn't wearing anything underneath it and Lucky's eyes had suddenly settled, hot and glowing, on her chest. It wasn't that she felt modest around him. But a wild sensation fluttered in her middle. A deep, primal fear combined with excitement that took no notice of her need for control. Nor did it seem to care that the path it wanted to drag her down led to heartache. She managed to head it off at the pass and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the protests of her aching legs.

«I have to take a shower,» she said, her fingers clutching her blouse together between her breasts.

Lucky stared at her. All the anxiety he had felt channeled itself into the one emotion he could understand and deal with-lust. When he'd heard about the explosion he'd nearly gone wild with thoughts of Serena lying burned and twisted among the rubble. Now she stood before him, looking bedraggled and a little bit afraid, but alive. Her dark eyes were wide and soft as she stared up at him.

He closed the distance between them with two long strides. His fingers pulled the blouse from her hand and peeled the two halves back as he pulled her gently into his embrace. With reverent care he bent and pressed his lips to each scratch that marred her face.

«I have to take a shower,» she mumbled again, her breath catching as Lucky's mouth settled on the pulse spot in her throat. «I have to go to Gifford's.» She gasped and arched her back as his hand carefully claimed her breast, but tried valiantly to hold on to her train of thought. «Will you take me?»

Lucky raised his head, his smoldering gaze capturing hers, an unconsciously tender smile turning one corner of his sensuous mouth. «Oh, yeah, chere. I'll take you. Absolutely.»