Microsoft Word - 49A4A6F0-66E5-28F3CF.rtf

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places,
events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination
and used fictitiously.

Edited byRaeleneGorlinsky.

Cover art bySyneca .

Shadows Present

Michele R. Bardsley

Chapter 1

Eight years ago

Isabella Bradley almost fainted from sex-crazed delight when her college roommate and
best friend, Sierra, introduced her brother, Jag Masters.

He was more than six feet tall with broad shoulders, lean hips, and tight, tight jeans. The
white T-shirt showed off the sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. He had
chocolate-brown eyes, a smile that promised all kinds of wickedness, and a face sculpted
by the gods. The thick, curly brown hair that she’d seen in a family photo was hidden by
a decrepit Indiana Jones hat.

She fell in lust with him right then.

His gaze took in her too-thin frame, her frizzy red hair, her dorky glasses, and the smile
on his lips fell away.

“So you’re the frea—”

“Jag!” Sierra stared at her brother in shock.

“I don’t believe in psychics,” he said, unapologetic. “Maybe she needs that kind of ruse
to get attention. She’s not much to look at.”

Izzy’s outraged gasp matched Sierra’s.

“You moron!” Sierra thumped his chest with her fist. “You’re insulting one of my
dearest friends.”

Isabella blinked, knowing her nervous reaction made her eyes look silly and owlish
behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she willed them
away. She had expected Sierra’s brother to be more like, well, like Sierra. The fact his
gorgeous looks hid a black heart didn’t stall the gut-clenching lust holding her hostage.

Izzy had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with Sierra at theCaliforniahome she shared with
Jag, since it was hours closer than her Gran’s place inNevada. Sierra had lost her parents
in a car accident when she was sixteen and her then nineteen-year-old brother had raised
her. Now, at age twenty, she was in her second year of college. Izzy was also twenty, in
her second year of college, and was an orphan, too. Her parents had died in a plane crash
when she was five. She was the only survivor of the crash and she walked away with
amnesia and a new gift. No, a new curse.

She’d spent her life friendless and lonely with only her grandmother as good
company…until she met Sierra. The perky blonde didn’t care one whit about Izzy’s
reputation as a mind-reading freak.

“It’s okay, Sierra. I scare him. He thinks I can read his thoughts.”

“I do not.” His hostile stare settled on her.

“Yes, you do.” She met his glare with the calm reserve she’d cultivated over the years
from dealing with jerks just like him. Bullies couldn’t take a stare-down for too long,
especially when they sensed no animosity from the opposing party. “I don’t read minds.
I’m clairvoyant.”

“Yeah, right.” He snorted and dropped his gaze. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

After that regrettable meeting, Jag was polite but distant and spent a great deal of time in
his studio, ignoring her and his sister. He came out for the Thanksgiving dinner Izzy and
Sierra cooked, offered his thanks, but not his help for doing the dishes, and returned to
his studio.

Izzy could take his animosity toward her; she was used to that kind of narrow-minded,
mean-ass behavior. But even though Sierra tried to keep them occupied with shopping,
movies, and other such distractions, Izzy knew her friend was hurt by Jag’s iciness. Early
on Saturday evening, Sierra retired to bed complaining of a headache. By Isabella’s
estimation, the only real pain her friend suffered was named Jag Masters.

She attempted to watch television, but not even the usual brain-candy shows distracted

her from the angry restlessness scratching at her. She tried to read a book and when the
previously riveting mystery failed to catch her interest, she dragged out her journal and
stared at the crisp white pages. It seemed no activity would squash her festering
emotions. No activity, save one: Yelling at Jag Masters for his selfish, ridiculous, childish
behavior.

It gave her great pleasure to stomp across the living room to the slim door near the
kitchen entrance. It led down to the basement, to the moron’s studio. Sierra said she’d
never seen it and the one time she’d opened the door and set her foot upon the stair, Jag
had given her such a fright, she never tried again.

Isabella’s hand hovered above the knob. Despite her burning desire to give the big oaf
what-for, she was reluctant to intrude on his personal space. If he didn’t allow his own
sister into the studio, how would he feel about a stranger—a woman he’d made clear he
disliked—marching down the staircase to yell at him?

She grabbed the knob. Let him get mad at her. He’d listen to what she had to say, like it
or not, then he’d never have to see her again.

All the same, Isabella was quiet as she entered the dark space. She crept down the stairs,
flickering yellow light from the left of the staircase guiding her toward the floor. When
her bare feet touched cool concrete, she breathed a sigh of relief. The achingly beautiful
strains of an unknown song drifted to her; she peeked around the corner, her heart
pounding so loud it nearly drowned out the haunting tune.

Jag stood at an easel, a huge canvas swirled with dark colors. All around the studio were
dozens of paintings that looked nearly identical. A huge twisting darkness swirled
endlessly. Within the tornado of darkness floated a face of a woman with green eyes and
flowing red hair. The features of the woman were indistinct, faded and fuzzy like an old
photograph. But she looked familiar all the same. She looked like…no. That was
impossible.

“What do you want?” His voice was deep, its rasp a testament to the hours he’d spent
down here without speaking to anyone. He turned and looked at her, his face a mask of
pain, his gaze tortured. Other than a pair of ratty jean shorts, he wore nothing. Paint
spattered his bare chest, his arms, his legs, and even the thick curls of his hair.

“I…” Izzy swallowed heavily. How had he known she stood here watching him?

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” He put down the brush and the palette and walked
toward her with the same easy, deadly grace a panther used to stalk its prey. “What the
hell do you want?”

“You are…” Her heart stuttered as he stopped within inches of her and stared down at
her, a frown creasing his lips. She saw the tick of his jaw, the way his hands fisted.
Danger rolled off him in waves of black energy, a feeling so frightening and intense, it

forced the breath from her lungs.

She’d made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake.

Izzy turned to flee, but Jag grabbed her arm and twirled her around, whipping off her
glasses and tossing them onto the small table near the studio’s entrance. “I knew it was
you. Didn’t you think I’d know? How long have you haunted me? How goddamned long
have you been in my head? I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and
squared her shoulders. She waved toward the paintings. “I’m not her. I could never be
her. Look at me.”

His gaze lowered to her face. Whatever he saw confirmed she was the vision of his
paintings. His eyes darkened with desire. “Your eyes,” he whispered. He trailed his
fingers through the silky strands. “Your hair.”

“No. Jag, I’m not—” Her heart clenched. Beauty had never been hers. The woman, even
indistinct, was gorgeous. How could he confuse the freak with the goddess?

His lips claimed hers, but it was not a gentle possession. There was an aching hunger in
the demands of his mouth, a long-denied need fusing their kiss. Even though fear
throbbed a tempo in her veins, she reacted to his desperate desire, flinging her arms
around his neck and holding on for dear life. His intensity seemed to drain her then re-
energize her, over and over, until she was limp and wanting.

He kissed the underside of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the dimple at the base of her
throat. The thin T-shirt provided no protection from the onslaught of his lips as he lifted it
and found her naked breasts. No bra. Why didn’t she put on a bra before— “Oh God.”

His tongue swirled around her nipple, then he suckled the taut peak. She clutched his
shoulders, her knees weak and her legs useless. Heat zipped to the core of her body,
tendrils of bliss wrapping around her.

“Jag.” He had to stop. She’d never been with a man. She’d never kissed one, either. No
one wanted to date a weirdo. But right now…dear heavens. Jag suckled her other breast,
his hand diving into the loose-fitting shorts to slip under her panties. His finger found her
sensitive clit and she cried out when he tested the wetness of her pussy. Oh yes. Right
now, she felt like a sensual, powerful,normal woman.

“I want to be inside you.” He scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of
feathers and took her to a blanket-covered futon in the corner of his studio. He flung her
onto it and dropped on top of her, his mouth and hands paying homage to her body.
Protests and explanations died on her lips as he removed her clothes.

She tried to touch him, too, but found herself clinging to him rather than offering him the

same kind of sensual overload he perpetuated on her. He was everywhere, a ravenous
beast that sucked her nipples and kneaded her breasts. He trailed a line of wet heat across
her stomach then crawled between her thighs to nip at the sensitive flesh of her pussy.
His tongue stroked the inner folds of her womanhood. He was not patient or kind as he
lapped at her clit then sucked it hard. She couldn’t keep track of the sensations, couldn’t
figure out how something so terrifyingly intense was the most beautiful thing she’d ever
experienced.

Pleasure ribboned through her; a deep sensation of pure joy spiked, radiated, and
shattered. She screamed as she arched, her hips lifting from the futon to press against his
mouth. He soothed her throbbing clit with his tongue and she settled into the mattress,
limp and sated.

Before she could offer her thanks, her blushing wonderment, or even beg for more, Jag
rose above her and nestled the tip of his cock at the entrance to her pussy. She swallowed
the sudden knot in her throat. His gaze was on her face; the same black desire leapt in his
eyes, pinning her with fright.

“Jag. I’ve never—” Her words died as he pushed inside her, his penis tearing through her
hymen and filling her tight sheath with his hard length. Streaks of pain made her thighs
clench.

“Get out of me. It hurts.”

“You’re a virgin.”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she nodded. He kissed her until she relaxed. After a few
moments, she realized her vagina had stretched to accommodate him and while she still
felt some discomfort, and no small amount of fear, she didn’t want this experience to end.

He moved, slowly, only increasing his pace when she guided her hips to match his
movements. The obvious pleasure he took from their lovemaking turned her on and her
cunt grew slick with renewed desire.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Isabella. My Bella.”

He raised her arms above her head, loosely locking her wrists with one of his hands. The
other he used to balance his weight as he plunged into her faster and harder. “So tight.
Yes. Oh yes. I’m coming.” He thrust so hard it felt as though he touched the entrance to
her womb.

He collapsed on top of her, his body still shuddering from release. She wrapped her arms
around him, feeling blissful and strange and inexplicably incomplete. Something was not
right between them. Though her body felt well-loved, her soul required more. Seconds
later, Jag rolled off her and propped his head on his elbow to stare down at her. Isabella
smiled shyly, resisting the urge to cover up her body.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For ridding me of the shadows.”

She stared at him, puzzled, and realized his expression was not one of gratitude, but held
an odd relief—as if a terrible burden had been lifted.

“No one sleeps in my studio, but me. I require privacy.” He sat up and she watched the
muscles of his back contract as he searched for his shorts. “You should have never come
down here.”

“T-that’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” She sat up and dug through the blankets
to find her own clothes. Jag turned, his eyes alight with nothing more than amusement,
and dangled her T-shirt and gym shorts from two fingers. She snatched them from his
paint-spattered hand and rose, hurriedly putting them on. Screw the panties. The sooner
she got away from Jag, the better.

“Did you expect a declaration of love?” He rose, donned his shorts, and stared at her
with the coldest gaze she’d ever seen.

No words would form. What could she say? She hadn’t expected love, but what about
tenderness? As she looked at him through the tears in her eyes, she realized, then, that Jag
had taken the only thing he wanted from her. Oh, not her virginity. That was a bonus. He
believed he had purged himself of the woman in the paintings—Isabella had served only
as an effigy.

“I hope it worked,” she said, her voice choked with sorrow.

“What?”

“Fucking me to get rid ofher .” She grabbed a palette knife from the easel and went to
the first painting her gaze landed on. Jag’s hoarse denial spurred her actions. Her pain
blinded her to the vandalism of his soul-driven work. She didn’t care.She didn’t
goddamned care. She stabbed through the canvas, tearing at it until strips of cloth drifted
from the wood frame. Then, emotions spent, she dropped the knife. It clattered to the
floor, a sharp echo that danced with the heartrending music still floating through the
room. Without looking back, she left the studio, grabbing her glasses off the table as she
walked out.

The ungodly wail of despair chased her up the stairs and away from the man who’d
claimed her….

Chapter 2

Present Day

The small boy’s fearful brown eyes dominated her dream. She saw the tiny scar above
his eyebrow, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, his tiny mouth open in a silent
scream. Surrounded by darkness and blinding rain, she struggled toward the boy. She
smelled the wet earth, felt the rocks scrape her hands as she fell. She scrambled to her
feet and ran. The unending drops of water soaked her shivering skin, but she pushed
onward.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

With a lunge, she wrapped her arms around the frail little figure. The resignation in his
brown eyes chilled her. Solemnly he touched her cheek and whispered, “Too late.”

Isabella bolted upward, clutching the patchwork quilt to her chest. Shudders racked her
body as she gulped in deep breaths. Tears wet her cheeks.

No, no, no, no. Not again.

Remnants of fear clung to her in the dark bedroom. She buried her face into the old,
familiar blanket, reaching for any kind of comfort.

“Oh God. Not this. I can’t do it.” Sobs racked her body.

Nothing she did would matter. Hadn’t she proven that? Isabella sucked in a breath and
choked back the rest of her tears. She’d learned long ago that she had no choices. Weary
acceptance made her shoulders slump.

The last wispy layers of the nightmare faded, but her skin crawled with residual fear. She
slept on a too-soft mattress that occupied an elaborate bronze frame. Across from the bed,
a white marble hearth housed a low-burning fire. She glanced at the rose-covered
wallpaper and elegant mahogany trim and frowned.Where the heck—oh yeah .Silver
Creek. Cripes . She took a deep breath to still the pounding of her heart.

A terrible ringing thrummed in her head. She pressed her palms against her ears, but the
unceasing noise wouldn’t stop. She pulled away her hands, realizing with shaky chagrin
that the trill of the phone had woken her.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Izzy?” Her grandmother’s gravelly voice pierced the static-filled line. Isabella blew out
a relieved breath. Gran’s voice had comforted her on nights long ago when childhood
monsters had haunted her dreams. But her grandmother no longer held sway over Izzy’s
demons. She knew the truth now: Monsters were real. Some were so evil, so vile, they
could never be vanquished and the ugly memories they created could never be purged.

She had learned those bitter lessons all too well.

“Izzy? You there?”

“Yeah.” She grabbed the clock off the nightstand and groaned. “Jeez, Gran. It’s
nearlymidnight.” Damn. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she’d only been out twenty
minutes—if the restless fear-filled journey into dreamland could be considered sleep.

“Midnight? So what?”

Izzy rolled her eyes. Her grandmother’s motto should be “Screw propriety.” When she
figured something needed to be done or to be said, she did or said it, and never waited
around for the so-called “right moment.” According to Gran, there was no such thing.
There was doing it or not doing it. Virginia Matthews, age seventy-six, was a lot like an
Old West Yoda.

“I’m staying inRenountil the end of the week.”

“Gran! You’re already supposed to be here.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

No. Never. Stop asking.Isabella bit her lip to keep the words from spilling out. Every day
for the last three months Gran had asked the same question. Dread curled through her,
stabbing at her conscience like hot knives, and seeped into the raw wounds left by guilt
and self-damnation.

Izzy stared at the red strands of hair draping her nightshirt. She took a curl with the
unoccupied hand and looped it around a finger. “I managed to pull the sheets off the
tables and inventory the bar. We’re going to need some more rum—last year it seemed
like everyone wanted Long Island Teas.”

“It’s only February. We don’t open until April.” Gran’s voice was soft, reproaching.
“Your gift is a blessing, not a curse. You can’t abandon your true calling in this life. Your
mama, God rest her soul, never—”

“There’s a lot of work to do.” She tugged on the curl. “I can’t get this place ready by
myself.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t talk about it. Sit there and fester.” Her grandmother paused. “Why
don’t you just enjoy being alone?”

Isabella settled against the pillows, released the trapped curl, and rubbed her left temple.
Alone. That one word described her life all too well. “It’s scary here at night.”

Her grandmother chuckled. “There isn’t a soul there who would hurt you. Even the

ghosts are friendly.”

The line clicked then the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Gran wasn’t much for saying
goodbye. As Isabella hung up the phone, she shivered. This afternoon, the saloon’s
silence had felt like heaven, but now it was too much like the quiet of her mind when
they had been searching for Jessica.Why hadn’t —Isabella clamped down on her
thoughts. She wouldn’t think aboutRenonow. Or little Jessica. Or the fact that her psychic
abilities had not only failed her, they had completely abandoned her. Sleep. Yes, she
needed sleep, but she couldn’t possibly close her eyes now. Besides, she didn’t want to
sleep, not yet.

The fire in the hearth crackled, reminding her that there wasn’t any more wood in the
bedroom. The flames sputtered, allowing enough light for shadows to creep around the
room. She sighed. The wood was stored outside in the shed, which meant she’d have to
tramp around in the cold desert air. Goosebumps pimpled her arms at the mere thought of
leaving the bedroom. On top of the impending storm and bitter cold, the lights in the
outside hall, stairs, and bar had gone out earlier in the evening.Another electrical problem
that would cost a fortune to fix. Last time she checked only the lights in the kitchen were
in working order.

The nightmare, the one she’d been unable to escape, coupled with Gran’s reminders of
ghosts, made her feel particularly vulnerable. She kicked aside the quilts, uncovering a
Stephen King novel,The Shining . She picked it up and shook her head at her own
foolishness.

“That’s what you get,” she muttered as she dropped the book and pushed off the quilt,
“for reading a scary story while stuck in a ghost town.”

She sighed. Time to go downstairs and grab the damn firewood. And she could raid her
stash of Hershey’s Kisses from the kitchen freezer.Chocolate. Now there was a suitable
motivation to get her ass out of bed.

Isabella pulled her pink bunny slippers from underneath the bed then reached inside the
nightstand’s drawer and grabbed the flashlight. As she walked to the door, the bunnies’
fuzzy ears flopped back and forth, tickling her ankles. Just as her hand touched the cold
brass doorknob, she heard a groan, a creak, and an “ooooooohhh.”

Her hand clenched the knob, but she couldn’t find the courage to twist it. She debated
diving under the covers to hide until morning came and sunshine swept away all the
shadows and her fears.

A storm had been brewing all day and was still threatening to unleash its fury. In an old
building like this one, creepy noises were common and made worse by the fierce wind
and ominous thunder. She just hoped it wouldn’t turn into a snowstorm.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She stepped onto the landing, stopping when

cold uneasiness pooled in her stomach. She touched the smooth wooden railing with her
fingertips and looked down. The only discernable light was the moon shining through the
big square windows. She nibbled her bottom lip as she glanced to the blackness waiting
for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Her grandmother believed Irene O’Malley, the daughter of the first saloon owner,
murdered by her fiancé, haunted the upper story. As a psychic, Isabella accepted many
weird things about life, but the belief in spirits of the dead wasn’t one of ‘em.

She decided chocolate was worth facing the dark and, if necessary, an irate female ghost.

Hurrying wasn’t an option with the unwieldy slippers flopping around, but at least her
feet were toasty-warm. She shuffled toward the stairs.

The wind lashed at the building; the windows rattled and shook.

Letting out a startled scream, she nearly turned around and fled to the safety of the
bedroom. She took several deep, shaky breaths until she calmed, then pointed the
flashlight at the stairs.Chocolate awaits, remember?

* * * * *

Jag finally found the town ofSilverCreek,Nevada. He’d passedVirginia Cityfive miles
ago—which felt more like a hundred on the steep, winding mountain roads. He checked
the map spread on the passenger seat of the Jeep. Thishad to be the place.

The ghost town, a summertime tourist attraction, wasn’t much to look at. Six buildings—
two tall, three squat, and one crumbling—leaned against each other like drunken soldiers
trying to stand at attention.

The sun had set about half an hour ago and dusk slowly settled into night. Wind whipped
through the parched street and dust swirled, dancing to the brewing storm’s ominous
tune.

Yellow light flickered in an upstairs window of the structure second on the left in the
misshapen row of derelict buildings. Jag resisted the shudder, knowing he only
procrastinated the inevitable by staying in the Jeep, watching the shadowy movements in
that window.

Wind roared suddenly, viciously, startling Jag out of his reverie. Thunder rumbled.
Seconds later, lightning cracked open the dark, rolling clouds.

Goddamn it. He didn’t want to see her. That night so long ago when he took her virginity
and hoped to purge the demon woman from his mind, haunted him far more than the
paintings ever had. He felt as though Isabella had taken that palette knife to his heart
when she savaged the very first painting he’d ever created of the red-haired woman. He

deserved the pain she had inflicted, the loss she’d imposed. He’d kept that painting, held
on to the reminder of cruelty and regret—hers and his. And the need to make her pay for
that night—and every goddamned day since—had festered in his heart.

Jag gripped the steering wheel, shored up his courage, and drove the Jeep to the Silver
Creek Saloon Hotel and parked next to a white Honda.

Reluctance clawed at him. A deep foreboding, the same heavy feeling he’d experienced
when Sierra packed up Georgie for a weekend trip to Tahoe, settled heavily in his gut.

He got out of the Jeep and took the three rickety steps to the plank wood street in front of
the saloon-hotel. Just as his boots thudded onto the wood, the skies opened and rain
poured down.

The knob rattled as he opened the creaking door. For the thousandth time, he wondered
why Isabella had chosen this dilapidated old place for a retreat. Musty smells of dust and
disuse assailed his nostrils. The door clicked shut behind him.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he faced a large room. On the left was a
staircase. He discerned cloth-covered objects in the occasional flash of lightning. He’d
probably scare the woman to death if he stumbled upstairs. Should he yell for her?

The dread he’d been trying to ignore bloomed in his stomach.

Jag tugged on his old for-courage fedora and made a decision. He’d go upstairs. He put
his hand on the rail and stepped up. Too late, he heard the creak, registered the presence
on the stairs.

Strong, white light blinded him and he stumbled backwards.

“Who the hell are you?” Isabella sounded frightened but determined. The light swung
down and he reared back, but the huge flashlight clipped him on the chin.

Before he had time to utter “ouch,” the damned fool woman launched into him with
enough force to knock him to the floor. He threw his arms around the flailing female
before landing on his backside with a painful thud.

He clamped his arms around her. Thick, lavender-scented hair covered him, clogging his
ability to breathe. His hat had been knocked off. The suffocation-by-hair ceased
suddenly, and Jag inhaled a deep breath, only to find his face squeezed between the
rounded swells of two pert breasts.

“Are you okay?” he asked against the soft, sweet-smelling flesh pressed to his lips.

White-hot pain shot through him. It emanated from his groin and slivers of torment
rocketed through him.

The bitch had kneed his crotch.

“Shit!” He released the wiggling mass of femininity. His senses focused on the sharp
ache that stole his breathand his will to live. “Goddamn it!”

An elbow found its way between his ribs as she scrambled off. Jag heard her light
footsteps as she retreated. She’d chosen to run into the dark, eerie section of the decrepit
building, which he assumed was the saloon.

Not that he damned well cared right now. He just wished dying would stop taking so
long. After years had passed—or maybe it was only five minutes—the pain dulled
enough for Jag to climb to his feet. He picked up his hat and plopped it on his head.

Against his better judgment, he cautiously picked his way through the dust-covered
tables and chairs. Where the hell was Isabella? His heated emotions melted under the
ever-present foreboding. Isabella hadn’t recognized him and she was obviously terrified.

His boots thumped the dusty wood floor, a ghostly echo in the cavernous room. Rain
pounded against the stained glass windows. Lightning flashed, and Jag spotted the long,
wooden bar to his right.

He scanned the dark interior, but couldn’t see any other exits or doors. His little psychic
had taken refuge behind the only place to hide.

His groin ached still, but at least the pain had subsided to a bearable level. Jag knew
she’d reacted from fright and self-preservation. He needed to calm her, to reassure her.
Yeah. That’s it. He would throttle herafter she was reassured.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Jag promised in a soft voice. He stopped in front of the long
brass and wood bar. Attached swivel stools lined the front and he put a hand on one as he
peered over the edge. The vinyl felt slick underneath his palm. He heard a soft whoosh as
the cushion depressed under his arm’s weight.

“Freeze, dirtbag.” Isabella popped up from behind the bar. Startled, Jag stepped back.
She pointed a tiny gun right at his chest.

“Wait a minute.” He put up his hands in the age-old gesture of surrender.

Sweat broke out on his brow as she carelessly waved what appeared to be a derringer at
his heart.

“Don’t make a move or I’ll—I’ll shoot,” she said in quivery voice.

She moved the gun in an awkward motion. Jag gritted his teeth. She had probably never
shot a weapon in her life. He swallowed heavily. If he wasn’t careful, she might

accidentally plug him one.

“Okay. Just take it easy,” he said, keeping his hands up.

She waved the tiny gun again, and he noticed the jerky motions. It appeared the weapon
had a limited range of movement. He looked closer and saw a long hose hanging from the
“gun.”

Realization flooded him.

The stupid girl held a soda gun, which was attached to the bar. He grimaced, stamping
down a kernel of admiration. She had a lot of nerve, even if she was out of common
sense.

“What the hell are you doing? If you’re going to point a weapon at someone, you’d
better be prepared to use it.” He reached over the bar to yank it out of her grasp.

A gush of soda water blasted him in the face. The cold liquid invaded his eyes, nose and
mouth, causing him stumble sputtering from the bar.

* * * * *

Isabella dropped the soda dispenser. Her heart thudded in her chest.Control the fear . She
spun around and opened the nearly invisible door behind her. It led directly to the
kitchen. Surely she could find a more viable weapon there.

Hands shaking, she opened drawers then groaned when she realized the silverware,
including butcher knives, were in storage. Maybe she could break open a liquor bottle
and…and well, hell, she’d think of something.

The kitchen door creaked open, admitting the tall, shadowy man.

Isabella stilled, pressing her back against the cabinets. She put a trembling hand against
her mouth to stop the scream welling within her. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Maybe he
would think she’d run toward the stairs….

“I know you’re in here, Isabella.”

His deep voice reassured her…for about a second. Three things sent mental alarms
clanging. He knew her name. He also spoke in a tone of voice adults reserved for unruly
children and the insane. And he sounded like…no. Never. In eight years, he’d never
once, notonce , attempted to contact her.

His footsteps warned her that he had walked further into the kitchen. His movements
were slow, deliberate. Isabella knew he would find her soon. The cave-like darkness of
the small kitchen would not protect her.

Run, her mind screamed, but instinctively Isabella knew the man stood between her and
the door. He would catch her easily.

Her choices were few: Wait for him to stumble onto her or launch her own attack.

Before she could decide, his presence loomed before her, his boot finding her bare toes.

“What the—” he exclaimed.

Isabella screamed, then started to kick and jab. The man cursed fluidly, but somehow
managed to secure her wrists. She twisted one out of his grasp and scraped his neck with
her nails.

“Enough!” he bellowed, grabbing her hand again.

She found herself helplessly pinned between the counter and the man’s muscular body.
His shirt was wet from the soaking she’d given him and as he pushed closer, her thin
nightgown dampened. To her horror, her nipples pebbled against his chest. Her lips
touched the small bit of flesh showing through his unbuttoned collar and her nose reached
the point below his collarbone. She breathed in an earthy, masculine scent.

“Let me finish a damn sentence before trying to wallop me again,” he demanded.

His annoyed voice sounded familiar. Her heart soared in joy, but her mind flashed to the
night Jag had taken her virginity and offered nothing in return. How could she claim any
tenderness for him?

She clenched her teeth, trying to hold her body away from his, but he’d left her no room
to maneuver. Fear sluiced through her and a tidal wave of dread enveloped her.

“Hello, beautiful one.”

Oh dear God. It was him.

Did he think she hadn’t seen the painting called “Beautiful One”? That she didn’t know
he’d created her torment and pain and humiliation for all to see? It hadn’t mattered that
the woman’s face was only half-seen. The minute she’d laid eyes on it, she’d known his
inspiration for the painting had been her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her lips scraped against the rough material of his
shirt. Relief shuddered through her when he stepped back. Still within his embrace, she
felt an uncomfortable, tingling sensation. He had hesitated, his entire body thrumming
with a tension she couldn’t define. The air around them thickened with an odd
expectancy.

The realization of his identity collided with the sure knowledge he despised her. Why
shouldn’t he? She had destroyed one of his precious paintings. She had treated him as
callously as he had treated her. Who had been more cruel on that night so long ago?

Isabella lifted her head and gasped. His face was too near. Though her eyesight had
adjusted to the darkness, she could not clearly make out his features. His breath fanned
her cheek. The fedora’s brim scraped the top of her head.

Eons passed. She felt trapped, breathless, frightened.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

His head dipped closer, and she forgot to breathe. Then he let go and moved back.
Isabella sagged against the counter. “Think we can get some light in here?”

Isabella swallowed despite the dryness in her throat. “The light switch is by the door.”

She heard his footsteps, the click of the switch. Dim light illuminated the utilitarian
kitchen.

The man turned and leaned a hip against the opposite counter. His slow grin mocked her.
He crossed his arms, waiting for her response.

“Jag Masters.” She tilted her head. “I should’ve recognized that stupid hat.”

Isabella watched Jag’s eyebrows form a deep V as he frowned. “It’s my lucky hat.”

His rakish charm might have oozed its way into the hearts of the society women he dated
now that his paintings, sans the ones of the red-headed woman caught in a vortex, had
made it in the big time.

Nausea roiled through her as she thought about the desperate little boy in her dream
vision. She stared at Jag. He was connected somehow. She stopped believing in
coincidence when she was five years old and walked away the only survivor in a jetliner
crash. Jag had reappeared in her life on the same night she’d had her first vision in more
than three months.

Isabella watched Jag’s dark eyes narrow. His mouth thinned. She took a shuddering
breath, suddenly chilled by the look glittering in Jag’s eyes. He didn’t change positions,
but she felt the shift in his body all the same. The dark danger that had so attracted her
then, and even now, vibrated from him.

She wasn’t a stupid naïve girl anymore. She was a grown woman who knew the
difference between love and lust. She knew physical attraction meant nothing.Nothing at
all.

“Why are you here?”

His shrug was casual, but a dark worry hovered in his eyes. He took off his hat, held it
by the crown, and rubbed his free hand through his already tousled brown hair. Isabella
sensed his puzzlement, his deepening dread.

“Jag, what’s wrong?”

He put on the hat and tugged the brim down until it shadowed his eyes. “Sierra and her
son are missing.”

Chapter 3

“Sierra has a son?”

“If you hadn’t quit college, run back home, and lost touch, you would’ve known she got
married, had a kid, and got divorced.”

The censure in Jag’s voice flayed her conscience. Isabella flinched, the accusation of her
abandonment wrapping in her anguish. The little boy who entered her dreams, begging
for help…Sierra’s son.

“You shouldn’t have punished her for what I did to you. She was devastated when you
left.”

Isabella met Jag’s gaze and saw the shadow of guilt lurking in his eyes. So Jag took
some responsibility for her leaving? Good. She was thrilled he felt bad. It was amazing
he felt anything at all for anyone, considering his heart was carved from ice.

“I know what I did. But I couldn’t—”

“Risk seeing me again. Not even if it meant sacrificing the only friend you’d ever had.”

Her laugh was bitter. “I thought I was the psychic.”

“You don’t have to be a psychic or a psychologist to know why you ran away like a
scared rabbit.”

“Screw you.” Isabella hurried out of the kitchen, knowing Jag would follow her. She led
him up the stairs, to the bedroom, and left him staring at the smoldering fire. She entered
the small bathroom, shut the door, and changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. After
pulling on socks and tennis shoes, she brushed her hair. She sucked in a deep, fortifying
breath then opened the door.

She passed Jag, ignoring him as she reached for the overnight bag near the door. She
placed it on the bed and opened dresser drawers, looking for necessary items. She filled
the bag with jeans, sweaters, and make-up.

In the firelight, Isabella saw how tired he looked. Despite the dark shadows under his
eyes and his unshaven jaw, however, Jag was still handsome. He reminded her of the
dashing, mysterious rogues she read about in her favorite historical romances. Except
without the honor and love that made those men so attractive.For heaven’s sake, get a
grip.

“She ran away, too. From me.”

Isabella met his weary gaze. “Sierra’s not missing?”

“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I don’ t know. I just feel….”

“Like something’s wrong.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at the bag and frowned. “Where are you going?”

“With you. That’s why you came out here, isn’t it?”

“No.” He sounded mechanical. Empty. He watched her, his gaze enigmatic.

She fumbled with the socks in her hands then shoved them into the bag. She zipped it
shut and told herself that Jag had no power over her. Still, she couldn’t stop the flutter of
emotion that took wing in her stomach. How could she desire him? How couldhe wanther
? There was no logic to the way her breath hitched, her heart pounded. Even now, with
just his gaze on her, her pussy grew wet and her breasts ached for his touch.

There had been no one else for her. In eight years, she hadn’t taken another lover. It
wasn’t fair the way she paid homage to Jag by keeping herself pure for him. She knew he
hadn’t thought twice about sleeping with other women. She knew, damn it, that it was her
heart, her soul, that had been offered as sacrifices with her virginity. He had offered
nothing. To her shame, that night he had asked for nothing. And she gave herself,
anyway.

Just as she would again.

When he grasped her arm and pulled her into his embrace, she knew she was going to
give in to him. The reason he came here was for her. He needed her the same way he’d
needed her eight years ago.

To purge the demons.

His kiss was unexpectedly gentle. He slipped his tongue into the seam of her lips and
deepened his possession of her mouth. She melted into a puddle of doubts and desires. He
unsnapped the metal buttons of her jeans and pushed them off her hips; they stalled at her
shoes, but he jerked them off along with her panties. She looked down at her white Keds
and laughed.

He smiled, too, but the amusement didn’t reach his gaze. The desperate hunger she saw
in his eyes stalled her breath. Her heart flipped over in her chest and pounded in an erratic
rhythm. “Jag.” His name…permission or protest?

She backed away, watching warily as he followed her, gasping with fright when he
pinned her against the door and reached under the T-shirt for her breasts. He toyed with
them under the thin fabric of her bra, cupping and kneading before encircling her nipples
with eager fingers. Her nipples hardened, tingling with pleasure. She trembled, her pussy
contracting with need, wet with desire.

“You never deny me.” He released her breasts and fumbled with the zipper of his jeans.
“Why?”

He lifted her and, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, he slid his hard cock into
her. His hands kneaded her buttocks as he pushed her against the wall and slowly fucked
her. Sweat dripped down her neck; his tongue caught the droplets before sucking her
flesh. “Why?” he whispered at the shell of her ear, his movements increasing.

“Yes, oh yes.” He pounded into her now, no longer tender. “My beautiful one.”

He strained for completion as she held onto him, her arms clutching his back, her legs
tightening around his waist. She felt just as needy, as desperate.

He cried out, pushing his cock deep inside as his orgasm overtook him. “Bella!” He
shuddered with release, his body trembling with aftershocks. He kept her pinned to the
wall and stared at her. “Goddamn it. Why did you let me?” He sounded so tormented, so
uncertain.

Tears pooled in her eyes. “Because I must.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No. You don’t.”

He pulled out and put her down, but her legs nearly buckled. He kneeled, grabbed her
thighs, and licked the inner creases of her pussy. Her clit was ready for his tongue.
“Please,” she begged. He parted the slick folds, took the sensitive nub between his lips,
and suckled.

Her orgasm burst, streamers of joy winding through her, holding her hostage for blissful

seconds until they faded and left her weak-limbed and utterly satisfied. Jag helped her
slide to the floor and they sat together against the wall, leaning shoulder to shoulder.

“I don’t regret that night,” said Jag. “I tried.”

“I’ve seen the painting. ‘Beautiful One’. Is that your idea of attempted regret?”

“No.” He kissed her shoulder. “That’s my idea of attempted gratitude.”

* * * * *

Attempted gratitude? Who was he kidding?Isabella stomped downstairs, through the
saloon, and into the kitchen. She’d lost her bunny slippers in her earlier flight from Jag.
She’d have to find them in the morning.

She pushed through the door, flipped on the light, and headed straight to the freezer
humming in the back right corner. She had to move a package of steaks to get to her
chocolate stash. She took out two Kisses, popped one into her mouth and moaned with
pleasure. Already the chocolate worked its magic, making her feel better. She unwrapped
the other one and as it melted in her mouth, she thought about Sierra. What had happened
to her friend? Was the boy in the vision Sierra’s son or someone else’s troubled child?
Was it a vision at all? Or just a bad dream?

The storm still raged outside. Rain battered the saloon while the wind shrieked and
rattled the windows. The lights flickered, stabilized, flickered again…pop! Everything
went dark.Terrific. Now all the lights in the saloon were history.Oh well. She could eat
chocolate in the dark. She turned around, dove into the cold recesses of the freezer for the
bag, removed it, and slammed shut the lid.

A firm hand grasped her shoulder and she screamed. The candy she’d just plucked from
the bag fell to the floor as she spun around. Jag stood in front of her with a lighted
lantern. Its yellowish glow highlighted the angles in his face.

“You scared the hell out me. And you made me lose my chocolate!”

His brows rose as he gauged the size of the bag in her hands. “Looks like you got a
year’s supply.”

“Shows what you know.” She dug around in the bag and tried to ignore him, but he
stared at her with his dark, dark eyes. A frisson of awareness skittered down her spine,
bursting in her stomach like a thousand butterflies.

“Isabella.” The way he said her name caused her to shiver again.

“You’re not the kind of man to apologize for his boorish behavior,” she accused. “You
didn’t track me down for a quickie, either.”

“Maybe we need to do a slowie.” He put the lantern on the freezer. His lips hitched into
a half smile. “Maybe I did come to apologize. Maybe I’m sorry.”

Isabella popped another chocolate into her mouth. She saw him look at her lips with
ravenous intent and she swallowed the candy only half-chewed. “You’re a liar. You want
me to use my freakozoid powers to help you track down your sister.”

“You gonna share those Kisses, Bella?”

She unwrapped one for him and offered her hand. A perfect teardrop chocolate rested on
the middle of her palm.

Jag lifted her palm to his mouth. He took the proffered sweet between his lips, his tongue
tracing a tiny circle. Then he raised her wrist to his mouth. Her pulse stuttered as he
dragged his bottom lip across the flesh, up to the juncture between her forefinger and
thumb where he dipped his tongue.

Trembling, she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. Instead, he kissed the tip
of each finger and placed her hand against his stubbled cheek. “I want another Kiss.”

Jag’s gruff voice made her tremble. She handed him one still wrapped, not wanting to
repeat the intimate experience of his tongue against her flesh. He took off the foil and bit
into the candy. She couldn’t help but watch him devour the tiny morsel and remember
she’d just seen that same look in his eye when he took her against the wall upstairs. He
leaned down….

“No.”

But it was a weak protest. Already her body felt like she’d eaten a hundred chocolate
candies. He lowered his head and melded her lips to his, keeping the pressure gentle, the
purpose tender. The bag of Kisses fell from her hands as she wound her arms around his
neck.

He worshipped her mouth, keeping his movements slow, sensuous. He nibbled her
bottom lip, traced the upper lip, and played out a gentle assault on her mouth. After
torturing her this way for far too long, he parted her lips with his tongue and mated with
hers. This was seduction, not desperation, and it scared her far more than the dark need
that had driven Jag to take her twice before. His actions now were too close to making
love. This wonderful, tender kiss introduced the improbable idea they shared physical
intimacy because they felt deep, abiding emotion for each other.

It was the one lie she could not allow herself.

She pulled away from him, putting a hand against her swollen lips. He smiled, as if he’d
known the direction of her thoughts and felt the same. Did sorrow flicker with the

lantern’s light in his eyes? Or did she still harbor hope he felt something more than lust
for her?

“I want to strip you naked, bend you over the freezer, and take you from behind.”

She sucked in a breath as lust leapt like a flame in her belly.

He cupped one breast and rolled the taut peak between his thumb and finger. His other
hand unbuttoned her jeans and slipped inside to stroke her clit. “I want to slide my dick
into your warm, tight pussy while your naked breasts brush against the freezer top.
Hmmm. Those beautiful, hard nipples will scrape against the cold lid. “

She bit her lip, her gaze melded to his, unable to draw away from his wicked hands and
his lust-filled eyes. He backed her against the freezer and stroked her clit with one hand,
and pinched her nipple with the other. Pleasure-pain fluttered deep.

He kissed her neck and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Every time I see you, I
want to fuck you.” His hot breath fanned the shell of her ear. “Just think of us, naked and
sweating, you against the freezer and me, inside you, fucking you as hard as I can. My
hands are on your hips, I’m slamming into you, and I’m watching your beautiful ass as I
pump my cock into your sweet little cunt.”

The gathering heat in her core exploded into white-hot pleasure, and she screamed her
release, bucking against his hand and clinging to his shoulders as her orgasm rocketed
through her, stealing her breath, stalling her heart. When she collapsed against him, he
gathered her into his arms, grabbed the lantern, and carried her all the way upstairs and
into the bedroom.

He stripped her first, pulling the thick quilts up to her chin, then he shed his clothes and
rolled inside the covers with her. “We need to get some sleep. We’ve got to go to Tahoe
tomorrow.”

“Is that where you think she is?” asked Isabella. “If she’s not really missing, do you
think it’s wise to try to find her? Obviously, if she wanted you to know where she was,
she’d tell you.”

“Unless she couldn’t.”

“You don’t have any reason to believe otherwise.”

“Other than my gut feeling? No.” He gathered her close. Her cheek rested on his chest
and she listened to the thu-thumping of his heart.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

“I’ve fucked you enough.”

Isabella knew he wasn’t talking about sex, but about his, until now, unapologetic use of
her to eradicate the dark fiends eating at him. She couldn’t let him take all the blame for
their explosive, lust-crazed encounters. She felt an indescribable connection to him—she
had since the first time Sierra had shown her a picture of Jag. She’d give him whatever he
needed, whatever he wanted, and he knew it. But he probably didn’t know why. Hell,she
didn’t why.

“So what’s the story on this old place?” he asked, tucking his arm around her shoulder.

She laughed. “Are you that bored?”

“No.” His fingers traced her arm. “I need a distraction.”

“There are all kinds of distractions. Some are better than telling old stories.”

“Yes, but tonight…for right now, I need old stories.”

“Okay. But I won’t hold it against you if you start snoring.” She snuggled into a more
comfy position. “Silver Creek was built right after the Comstock Lode was discovered.
Some rich veins were found up here, too, but nothing like the Lode. This town’s as old as
Virginia City, but was abandoned in the 1890s. In the 1970s, the State of Nevada decided
to open Silver Creek up for tourists and my grandparents bought the saloon. I grew up
here, after my parents died. My gran thinks this place is haunted.”

She’d told the saloon’s story to tourists many times and knew how to hook a crowd. She
waited to see if Jag would be reeled in. Moments passed before he bit.

“So who is supposed to be haunting this place?”

She waited, a smile ghosting her lips, and stared at the fireplace. The fire burned low and
darkness crept around the room like a hungry beggar. Finally, she relented in her silence.

“Irene O’Malley. She was a dancehall girl here in 1872. She was murdered by a man
named Johnny West.”

“A jealous rage,” he guessed.

“Yes. Irene’s father was the piano player. He affianced her to a rich miner named
William Connors. Johnny was her lover and when he found out about the impending
marriage, most people thought he went crazy and strangled her.”

“I suppose he got away with it.”

“Nope. William got a drunken mob all riled up and they went to the jail, forced the
sheriff to open the cell, and hung Johnny from the nearest tree.”

“Frontier justice.”

“Maybe. This was Irene’s room. When I was twelve, I found a diary hidden behind a
loose brick in the fireplace. It was her diary. She loved Johnny a lot. I can’t believe he
would kill her.”

“Sometimes, you don’t know what people are capable of. The ones you love, the ones
who love you…those might be the ones you should fear. Love doesn’t offer much
protection.”

“No,” she said, thinking of Jessica, of monsters, and of the love a mother and father had
to bury with their daughter.

“Do you ever, uh, sense her? You know,” he wiggled his fingers against her stomach,
“use the force or whatever?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“But it does work, right?”

He wanted reassurance that she could help him find Sierra and his nephew. She couldn’t
give him that, not really, not when her so-called gift had disappeared like so much desert
dust, but she lied anyway. “Yes, Jag. It works.”

Chapter 4

The next day, Jag returned from a morning trip to Reno. He found Isabella in the saloon,
in a sitting area near the bar, curled up on a red-velvet settee under the large picture
window. He’d woken her only after he’d showered and dressed, still determined to rein in
his Bella-inspired lasciviousness.

She was dressed in jeans and a pink sweater. Her wealth of hair, turned copper by the
sunshine, had been twirled into a pile on top of her head. His gut clenched. Sharing her
bed last night, just holding her, listening to her…he felt more at peace watching her drift
into sleep than he had felt doing anything, even painting, in the last eight years.

“I got munchies and gassed up the car.” He dropped beside her on the ridiculously ornate
couch.

“How are the roads?”

“Muddy and slow-going. It’s a good thing we’re taking my Jeep and not your Honda.”

He frowned. “It’s starting to snow. The sooner we leave, the better. It’s almost noon.”

Isabella stood and stretched, giving Jag a tantalizing view of her backside. He swallowed
heavily and shifted on the couch.

“Did your friends in Tahoe hear from Sierra?”

He managed to remove his gaze from her behind as she turned around. “She stopped by a
couple of days ago. According to the Kellermans, she seemed distracted and jumpy. She
said she was going to our family cabin with Georgie.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s near Emerald Bay.” He sighed. “Sierra’s always done her own thing. She probably
is just running away from me. Sometimes I’m too—”

“Cranky, crazy, caddish?”

“Intense.” He grinned. “She’s been known to take off and not tell anyone. Especially
me.”

He watched as she pursed her lips and shook her head. “You think you’re overreacting?
You don’t really believe that, do you?”

It wasn’t unlike Sierra to do whatever fancy struck her, but she’d never endanger George
or intentionally worry him. She said she would be gone for a while, but she never
mentioned going to the cabin. Why had he come all the way to Silver Creek to get
Isabella, the one woman who hated him, who owed him nothing, to ask for her help? His
gut instincts were screaming that his sister and nephew were in trouble. And if asking
Isabella for help—yeah, right—served his ultimate goal, so much the better.

“I just want Sierra and Georgie to be okay.”

He felt the touch of Isabella’s hand on his shoulder and looked up. Her face had softened
and her sympathetic gaze pierced him. “They’ll be okay,” she said.

Jag cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He stood and felt her hand slide off his shoulder. He
shoved his hand through his hair and realized he’d forgotten his hat in the car. Damn. He
saw Isabella staring at him, her brows raised. “Let’s get going,” he said.

* * * * *

As Isabella picked up her overnight bag from the floor, a familiar, dark warning threaded
through her. The chill seeped into her limbs.No, wait. Stop, please. She clutched the bag’s
nylon straps, feeling the material rub against her stiff fingers, she grabbed for the bit of
reality. The sensations took over. Her vision blurred. No longer safe, no more peace.

Cold. So cold. It’s raining and it’s muddy. Where’s Mommy? Help me, Mommy! I’m
scared. Yucky water and no food. I want a Popsicle. A green one.

Bad man is here.

Run!

I can’t.

Screams. Blood. Retribution.

Isabella blinked, but her vision remained cloudy. Someone gripped her arms, spoke to
her. So cold…she shivered, her teeth chattering.

“Bella! Come back to me. C’mon, sweetheart.”

The gruff-spoken words filtered into her consciousness. She clung to them like a lifeline.
She was okay. She was fine. Then everything snapped into place and Isabella realized Jag
had her by the shoulders, his scowling countenance inches away.

“Are you okay?”

She stared at the movement of his lips then focused on Jag’s face. He looked pale despite
his tan, rugged features. “I need to s-sit down, p-please.”

“You feel like ice. What the hell happened?” asked Jag as he lowered her to the settee.

Isabella shook her head, unable to speak. She watched him grab a throw from a
wingback and wrap it around her. His arms stayed around her shoulders, holding the
blanket in place. She couldn’t help but enjoy the comforting weight of his arms. She
selfishly leaned into his embrace, stealing as much of his warmth and strength as she
could.

The cold dissipated. Soon, her teeth stopped chattering and her body stopped shivering.
Strangely reluctant, she withdrew from Jag and shrugged out of the throw. His arms fell
away, but his scent lingered around her. She still felt his strength buoying her. She looked
at Jag and saw the questions in his eyes.

“He’s three years old. He has Sierra’s eyes and a little scar—” She touched the area
above her left brow.

“We were playing the Hulk. I was chasing him through the living room. He fell and hit
his head on the sharp corner of a table.” Jag looked down at his hands. “Sierra told us
about a hundred times not to run in the house.”

She smiled with him at the memory, finding it somewhat difficult to believe that the dark
and dangerous man she knew could act carefree enough to play with his toddler nephew.
“What I saw—”

“What did you see?”

“Georgie.” She shook her head. “It could be present, past or future…or not it all.
Nothing’s a guarantee.”

“We need to go.”

As soon the saloon was locked up, they got into Jag’s Jeep. As they drove away, Silver
Creek became, once again, a row of forgotten buildings.

“How long have you lived at the saloon?”

“I used to only come up in the summers, but I moved up here permanently in
November.”

Silence settled in the car. Only the soft whoosh of the heater and the tires crunching the
gravel road interrupted the quiet. Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, but Isabella knew
it was just the pre-show. Soon the storm would hit full force. They needed to get to Tahoe
before it did.

A chill caressed Isabella and a tow-headed little boy appeared in her mind. His arms
were outstretched and he was screaming. The image disappeared, but it left her breathless
and trembling.

She couldn’t face another ordeal like the one she had just been through. Three months
hadn’t been enough time to recover from her failure, from losing Jessica—a little girl
she’d never even met.

By the time they had traveled the winding road down the mountains and got onto the
highway, Isabella felt drowsy. She yawned a couple of times.

“With this crappy weather, it’s going to be a few hours before we reach Tahoe,” Jag said.
“Why don’t you recline the seat and get some rest?”

“What if you need me to drive?” she asked as she pushed back the seat.

He glanced at her with a cocked eyebrow. “I’ll let you know.”

She heard his light sarcasm and resisted sticking out her tongue. She wondered what it
would be like to have Jag around all the time, then wanted to kick herself for even
thinking about him as a permanent part of her life.

Fool.She closed her eyes.There’s no happily-ever-after for us.

* * * * *

Jag looked at Isabella’s sleeping form in the passenger seat. Her mouth, slightly open,
pursed and her pink tongue flicked across her bottom lip. The scent of her perfume
intruded on his consciousness. Lavender. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt a surge in
his groin. He clenched the steering wheel and decided he’d better keep his gaze on the
road.

“Is it still snowing?” Isabella said in a sleep-tinged voice, startling Jag out of his
thoughts. He glanced at her. She smiled at him, stretched in a cat-like way that made his
mouth dry, and adjusted the seat to an upright position. He peered out the window and
frowned. “Yes. It’s getting worse, too.”

“We almost there?”

“What should’ve taken less than two hours is turning into an all-day trip. We just entered
the mountain pass.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour.”

“And we’re just now getting out of Reno?”

“Yep.”

The trees, tall and straight, spread their green limbs graciously upward, pointing to the
gray clouds that strutted across the sky. The road twisted up through the thousands of
prayerful trees and only an occasional house wedged into the mountainside marred the
continuous beauty of the forest.

The next half hour was spent in silence as Jag maneuvered on the narrow road. The snow
fell thick and fast and he slowed as the road twisted and curved like a bad roller coaster.
He watched the snow splat the windshield in a thick, furious display. He glared at the
unforgiving sky and saw white with slashes of gray. He felt as temperamental as the
weather. They should have left much earlier. It was already late afternoon. Soon, it would
be dusk. The Kellermans’ home was technically an hour away, but the threatening
blizzard would double the time it would take to get there, hell, maybe even triple it.

“I can barely see.” Jag slowed, or tried to, to no avail. The car skidded on the slick road,
fishtailing. Before he could blink, they were doing 360’s until the Jeep decided
backwards was best, and slid off the road, down a slight grade, and into a pine tree.

His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. He tugged the seatbelt straining

across his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Isabella. She looked whiter
than the snow, but he couldn’t detect any obvious bumps and bruises.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

Jag got out of the car and viewed the damage. Both back tires had burst, and the Jeep’s
back end was caved in He looked up the hill, still able to see the road, but damned sure
the only way his car was getting out was a tow truck and prayer. He returned to his door
and opened it. “We’re stuck. There aren’t many cars on the road and we’ll need to flag
one down if we’re going to get out of here.”

“Don’t you have a cell phone?”

“No. Don’t you?”

She shook her head. She unhooked her seatbelt, grabbed her purse, and got out of the
car. He met her in the front of the mangled Jeep.

They stared at each other. She looked tired, unsure, and shaken. She rubbed her neck
with one hand. Protectiveness rushed through Jag. He took her arms and turned her
around. His fingers slipped over her shoulders, kneading the tight knots in her muscles.
“Relax,” Jag said softly. “Let me do this for you.” She bent her head forward, exposing
the soft, cinnamon-speckled skin of her neck.

Little darts of fire erupted in his stomach as he massaged her. Jag wanted to pull out the
pins holding her hair and feel the silky texture of the red strands. A vision of her naked
body pinned under his burned through his mind. He imagined her hair spread like fire-
silk across her pale, freckled breasts as he took her.

“Isabella,” he whispered. She turned around and he saw the spark of desire in her green
eyes. This was crazy. They had a damned good chance of freezing to death out here if
they didn’t find help. But he couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop wanting her.

Jag put his hands on her cheeks and stroked the fine bones of her face. Then oh so
slowly, he lowered his head and nibbled her bottom lip. Urged by the desire roaring
through him, Jag pressed his lips against hers, demanding entrance. All he could hear was
Isabella’s breathless gasp. All he could feel was the throbbing of his heart as it crashed
against his chest. He wanted this warm, beautiful woman who was destroying him inch
by inch with her response.

Jag drew away reluctantly. It occurred to him that a quickie in the snow wasn’t the best
idea, though the heat in her gaze made him think getting frostbite might be worth it.

She looked at him dazedly. “That was…nice.”

“Nice?” He thought it was a fantastic, blood-boiling, melt-your-pants kind of kiss and
she’d thought it wasnice ?

Isabella nodded, but he saw her lips tremble. “Yes, it was very nice.”

“I see. I suppose you could do better?”

“What?”

He shoved his hand through his hair then gestured at her. “I’m asking if you think you
can do better than that kiss.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Probably.”

“Prove it,” he drawled. “Kiss me.”

He nearly lost his breath when Isabella leaned forward and placed her palms against his
stubbly cheeks. Taking a swift breath, she softly kissed his chin and each corner of his
mouth. She ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip then placed her mouth against
his. His lips allowed her entrance and she tentatively tasted his mouth.

A low sound caught in his throat and he pulled her closer. He thrust his tongue into her
mouth, mated with hers, before he drew away to kiss the underside of her jaw. He nibbled
on her ear and trailed feathery kisses along her cheek before claiming her mouth again.
Her sweet scent drugged her senses. She thrust trembling fingers into his thick hair and
pulled him closer, moaning when his lips trailed a fiery path down her neck.

Jag lifted his head and looked at her, and found her eyes muddled with desire. He
stroked her cheek with his forefinger, then reached into her hair and pulled out the pins
trapped in her hair. Red curls rained down upon her shoulders. He took a strand and
rubbed it along his jaw.

“Jag?”

She looked at him with such longing, his hard-on jumped inside his jeans.Frostbite be
damned. He wanted her. He always wanted her. Then he sighed and dropped the
confiscated curl.

“Hypothermia may be worth it,” he said hoarsely.

Isabella smiled. “I can see the headlines now. Couple freezes to death while having sex
on hood of Jeep in below-zero weather.”

“But they died with smiles on their faces.”

She laughed and he suddenly felt all was right with the world. “Let’s go.”

Jag gestured for her to go ahead of him. She presented her slender back to him and
climbed up the small hill. He watched her sweet ass, his gaze sweeping up her back to
trail the curve of her spine with an invisible finger.

* * * * *

Isabella watched the snow swirl from the murky clouds cluttering the sky. The frigid air
nipped at their exposed faces, but both wore gloves and thick coats. It felt good to breathe
the fresh mountain air. The smell of pine trees mingled with the earthy scent of wet grass.
It wasn’t a long walk to the roadside. Jag stood beside her, looking up and down the road
for any signs of cars or houses. She peered down the mountainside and took in the
crashed Jeep. They were damned lucky to have walked away.

Isabella spied a large rock under a shelter of trees and walked to it. Were Sierra and
Georgie okay? She contemplated opening her mind just a crack to see if she received any
impressions, but what if she failed? What if she saw something she didn’t want to face?
Besides, to get a good impression, she needed more information. Isabella shoved aside
the excuses in a flash of self-recrimination. She didn’t want to try because she was afraid.
As much as she wanted to help Sierra and Georgie, she couldn’t help but think about
Jessica and how her gift had failed that little girl.

She watched Jag stomp along the road, obviously trying to stay warm and think about
what to do next. He was a man who made his decisions and stuck by them. She envied
Sierra because her friend had Jag’s love. And love was the one thing Jag could never give
to her.

The rock was probably damp and cold from the snow, but the surrounding trees had kept
its surface from becoming too wet. Isabella climbed the stone and sat down, pulling her
legs up. She rested her chin on her knees and stared at the snow-encrusted mountains
rising into the gray sky. The highway ribboned through the flurry, a bare black line in the
white. It was too quiet. The freezing air whispered across Isabella’s face. Why had she
opened herself to Jag? It had taken him, what, ten whole minutes after he arrived at the
saloon to get into her pants?

It would have been easier to stick a knife in her heart—it was the same kind of pain.
They had an explosive attraction, a deep need for physical intimacy that they somehow
failed to translate emotionally. Hah!He had no emotions. She craved his presence like the
desert craved the rain. What would it be like to have someone care about her soul-
deep?I’ll probably never know.

“We better walk,” said Jag as he leaned against the rock. “Maybe we can reach a phone
or someone’s house.”

“Okay.” She hopped down. Then she sneezed.

Jag yanked off one of his gloves, drew her close, and checked her forehead.

She stared at him with raised brows. “What are you doing?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, releasing her and putting on the glove. “Not too cold,
are you?”

“I’m freezing my ass off, Jag. So are you.”

“C’mon, walking will get your circulation going.”

As they trudged up the mountain, Isabella felt the tentative touch of Jag’s hand. He
grasped her gloved fingers and squeezed. For some reason their clasped hands made her
feel better. They didn’t speak, but she felt no need for words.

Cars were scarce and she knew that walking to Tahoe, at least fifty miles away, wasn’t
an option. She kept in shape by running, but that many miles up a mountain was more
exercise than she wanted.

“How does your power work?”

“It didn’t come with a manual.” She glanced at him. “I get impressions. Sometimes from
people or objects…sometimes I get forewarnings.”

“You saw Georgie. He was in trouble.”

“Yes. But it doesn’t mean much. Not really.”

“I think it does.”

“Why did you paint ‘Beautiful One’?”

“I regret the way I treated you that night. I still don’t understand how I could have
painted your face before I even met you. The first painting…” He cleared his throat. “I
created the first one about a year after my parents died. I couldn’t stop. That image…it
wouldn’t release me.”

“You were able to let go after we—”

“No.” He stopped, turned, and cupped her cheek. His eyes were filled with sorrow. “I
never let you go.”

Chapter 5

“Yes, you did.”

“You gave up on me. You letme go, Izzy.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It doesn’t matter who left who or even what
happened that night—or any night since. We’re not meant to be together.”

“Did one of your visions show you that?”

“No. All I had to do was listen to my heart.” She pulled out of his embrace, away from
his all-knowing gaze and wicked hands. Her body was his, she wouldn’t deny him—or
herself—the pleasure they created together. But he was lying to himself and to her if he
believed they had somehow made a soul connection. The painting of the “Beautiful One”
was not an “attempt at gratitude” or homage to her lost innocence. It was pure ego. It was
Jag showing off his skill as an artist. It was anything,anything , but what she wanted it to
be—a declaration of his love.

She didn’t wait to see if he would follow her. Instead, she cast her gaze ahead and
stopped. “Jag!” she shouted excitedly. “Look! It’s a payphone!”

They jogged toward the phone, but their relief was short-lived. Isabella looked at the
phone in silent disbelief. Someone had severed the receiver from the phone. Only a silver
cable hanging uselessly from the metal enclosure was left.

“It figures,” she muttered. Isabella tried to shrug but it turned into a shiver. She stood
behind Jag and listen to him cuss a blue streak.

He whirled around suddenly, startling her. “Now what are we supposed to do?”

Since Jag directed the question to the trees behind her, she didn’t respond. He glared at
the forest as the vandalism was its fault. Snow fluttered on his straight nose and slanted
cheeks. His hair, what little she could see under the fedora, curled around his shirt collar.
His gaze was shuttered, keeping her out. Jag’s eyes were not windows to the soul, but
opaque reflections.

“We should get going,” he said, turning around.

Isabella trudged behind him, wiping a few tendrils of wet hair off her forehead.A fairy
godmother or a magic lamp would come in real handy. She looked at the sky, hoping for
a ray of sunshine or a sliver of blue, but only saw the ugly gray clouds and the constant
barrage of snow. It was getting darker, too. Dusk was falling and soon, it would be night.
She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sharp smell of pine. The rhythmic sound of sticks and
gravel crunching wetly under their feet reminded Isabella of a commercial she had once
seen on television. The advertisement consisted of people munching on chips to the tune

of—

“Isabella,” Jag cried out. Her head jerked up just as she heard the squeal of tires on wet
pavement. She spun around, blinded by the bright lights of a large car speeding toward
her. Before she could open her mouth to scream, her body was flung to the ground.

“Bella? My God!” Stones dug into painfully into her back. She felt a heaviness on her
chest and could barely breathe. After a moment she realized she felt constricted because
of the huge male body on top of her.

“Jag?” she said into the shoulder plastered against her mouth. He didn’t answer and
terror filled her. Had the car hit him? Was he okay? Then she felt his hands stroking her
hair. Amazement filled her. His entire body was shaking! Did Jag feel something other
than lust for her, after all? He would have tried to save anyone stupid enough to walk in
front of a car, her rational side warned. She felt him slowly adjust his position until he
could see her face. His dark eyes were stormy and his mouth was a thin line. She licked
her lips nervously.

“Jag? I’m not dead. You can let me up.”

He gave her a harsh look then pressed his lips against hers. Startled, she opened her
mouth. He thrust his tongue inside, tasting her until she felt weak. Abruptly, he stopped.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” He gave her another fierce look before he rolled off.

She sat up dazedly. He offered his hand and she took it. Her knees felt wobbly as she
stood, but Jag steadied her. She wiped mud off her jeans.

He plucked a twig from her hair and threw it on the ground. “We should get going before
anything else happens.” Before Isabella could answer, Jag began a brisk pace up the
mountain. As she hurried to follow him she couldn’t help but notice the way his damp
jeans tightened on his buttocks. The man had muscles to die for! Her eyes traveled
downward to his lean hips. He had such a cute butt.

She peered into the surrounding forest. A thousand eyes, brighter than the stars, seemed
to stare at her from the branches. Tiny shudders dotted her spine and she moved closer to
Jag. He didn’t comment on her sudden appearance at his side. When what seemed like a
century had passed, she touched his shoulder. “Could we stop a minute? I need to catch
my breath.”

He nodded and led her to a large, brown rock that jutted out from a copse of trees. She
sank onto its hard, rough surface and sighed gratefully. It felt like soft mattress to her sore
backside. “How long have we been walking?” she asked.

Jag glanced at his watch and threw her a teasing grin. “Thirty minutes. Are you going to
make it?”

“Of course,” she lied. She didn’t feel like taking another step, but damned if she’d tell
him.

“The air gets thinner the farther we go,” he said. “Walking uphill in this altitude isn’t
exactly recommended exercise.”

She glanced at Jag suspiciously. “You’re not even out of breath,” she accused.

“I work out.”

“I can tell,” she muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

Isabella was saved from answering when a white Lincoln pulled up on the shoulder. Its
headlights briefly blinded her before the driver turned them off.

She saw Jag frown then he crossed his arms over his chest and moved in front her. She
got on her knees and peered over his shoulder. “What are you going to do, play chicken
with that car? I’m laying odds on the Lincoln.”

“Shut up. What if it’s the same car that almost hit you?”

Isabella’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “Surely you don’t think someone
intentionally tried to run over me?”

“Maybe the temptation was just too great.”

She didn’t retort to Jag’s sarcasm because the car window on the driver’s side caught her
attention. The glass slowly descended. As Isabella tried to see into the car, an older man
with shocking white hair popped his head out. “What the hell are you two doing?” the
man asked in a gravelly voice. “Don’t you know it’s snowing? You can catch pneumonia
in weather like this!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, friend,” Jag said.

The old man raised a shaggy eyebrow then chuckled. “Don’t see how, huh? For one
thing, I have a car with a heater. It’s dry in here, too.”

Isabella felt her heart rate return to normal. She thumped Jag on the shoulder. “We’ve
been looking for a ride. Here it is!”

She punctuated the statement with a sneeze.

“Sounds like your wife’s coming down with a cold,” the man called out. “I own a cabin

rental place about twenty miles down the road. I’ll take you there and you can use the
phone to call whoever you need to.”

Isabella stared at Jag, wondering why he was suddenly so indecisive.

“We’d appreciate your help, sir,” he finally said. He turned around and helped Isabella
off the rock. As they crawled into the back seat of the Lincoln, she sighed with pleasure.
Jag enclosed her in his arms and pushed her head against his shoulder. She didn’t protest,
but snuggled close.

The old man eased the car off the shoulder.

* * * * *

“My name’s Jag Masters and this is Isabella,” Jag said. He tugged on one of Isabella’s
loose curls and heard a soft snore escape. She must have been more exhausted than she
let on. “I think she’s asleep.”

“A little thing like that? I’m not surprised. Personally, I like ‘em with some meat on their
bones. Now my wife—there’s a fulsome woman. By the way, I’m Elias Winters. How
come you’re on foot? Did your car break down? Where is it?”

Jag laughed. The man fired questions like a machine gun. “We had an accident and
neither one of us carries a cell phone. We were hoping to find a ride or a house.”

“Ain’t nothing ‘round here, son. You’re lucky I came along. Nobody’s traveling these
roads—it’s getting dark and looks like this snowstorm is going into a full-on blizzard. So,
where are you newlyweds headed? Tahoe?”

“What makes you think we’re newlyweds?” Jag questioned in shock.

Elias caught Jag’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’ve been in love with my wife, Mary,
for forty years, so I think I can recognize the emotion by now. Did you know that there’s
only one person for you in the whole world? Just one. Guess that makes you and me
lucky men.”

Jag opened his mouth to deny being married to Isabella, but she shivered and stalled his
response. He tightened his hold around her shoulders and looked down at her. The
strangest sense of comfort invaded him as he brushed her forehead with a light kiss. He
inhaled her scent. She still smelled like lavender and heaven. Jag caught Elias’ knowing
smile in the mirror and stiffened. Isabella was not for him. Maybe they could enjoy a
brief relationship, but he knew enough about himself to realize no woman should be
burdened with his darkness—not the even the only one who wasn’t afraid of it. Besides,
he couldn’t feel for her. Not after what he planned…oh hell. What difference did it
make? He couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He didn’t understand the need he felt for
her, the ache in his heart that eased when she was around.

He heard Isabella murmur and shift, pressing her breast into his ribcage. The temptation
to reach under the coat, under that sweater, and squeeze that hard little nipple nearly
overwhelmed him. He felt the tell-tale surge to his groin and groaned softly. The fantasy
of taking her in the snow invaded his mind. She could hold on to the Jeep’s grill while he
slipped his cock between her buttocks. Maybe he would show her a new way to love, a
new way to satisfy a man.

* * * * *

“Isabella?”

The dark sexy voice invaded her dreams. Someone tugged on her arms, but she resisted.
She wanted to explore the sensual promises the voice seemed to hold. She snuggled
closer to the warm body next her.

“Bella? Honey, it’s time to wake up.”

“No, it’s not,” she murmured. A whiskered chin brushed her cheek. Like a blossom
opening to the sun, Isabella opened her mouth and caught the lips connected to the voice.
His mouth was warm, wet. When her tongue touched his, she moaned. Her whole body
seemed to burn. The lips moved away and nuzzled her throat.

Isabella slowly opened her eyes. The toasty contented feeling of her dream world
vanished as her gaze captured Jag’s. His eyes were darker than the night, a black molten
liquid that told of his desire. He cupped her chin and tasted her lips with a whispery
touch.

“C’mon, sleepyhead. Elias is waiting for us inside the house.”

Isabella allowed him to usher her out of the car. She had a weird feeling something had
changed between them, but she wasn’t sure what. Snow slapped at them as they dashed
across a small yard and entered an enclosed porch. The cabin’s door swung open and a
tiny woman with hair almost as white as moonlight ushered them into the house. “Come
in, come in. My goodness! I’m Mary, Elias’ wife.”

She gestured for them to follow her and led them into a bright yellow kitchen. “Sit and
drink your cocoa. The cinnamon toast will be ready in a minute.” The woman flashed
them a smile then bustled around the kitchen, removing plates from the cabinets and
silverware from a drawer.

“You poor dears,” she said as she worked. “Walking in that blustery snow after wrecking
your car! Goodness, goodness.”

“Ma’am, we just need to use the phone,” Jag said. “You really don’t need to go to all this
trouble.”

“Oh, you can’t use the phone!” She said with a dismissive wave.

“I can pay for the call,” he said in such a boyish tone that Isabella rolled her eyes.

“Oh dear me, no,” the woman laughed as she put two plates onto the table. “The storm
has knocked out the phones.”

Isabella looked at the buttered pieces of toast slathered with sugar and cinnamon and felt
her stomach growl. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had cinnamon toast?”

Jag gave her a look that could bend nails. “Don’t you know how to cook cinnamon
toast?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“No, but I can make a mean bowl of Cheerios,” he said, picking up a piece of toast.

Isabella chose the most sugary piece and bit into it. “Just throwing something together
doesn’t count as cooking. Besides, the environment in which someone cooks,” she looked
around the cheery kitchen, “and eats in makes a lot of difference.”

“Oh really? How?”

“Environment has everything to do with creating enjoyable experiences.”

Jag’s look could have re-melted the butter on their cinnamon toast, not to mention her
bones. “We’ll have to talk about that more in-depth later.”

If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he was flirting. She heard Jag’s quiet
chuckle and decided to ignore him and his double entendres. Instead, she looked at their
hostess, who had sat down and was unashamedly listening to the conversation.

“I remember when I was a newlywed,” Mary said. “Elias and I would argue like this all
the time. Do go on. It’s so refreshing.”

Isabella’s jaw dropped open. “We aren’t—”

“Going to argue any more, are we?” Jag finished. She looked at him incredulously. He
slightly shook his head and gave her a just-go-along-with-it look. What was he doing?
And why did Mary think that they were married?

“This is the best cinnamon toast I’ve ever had,” Isabella said between mouthfuls. She
saw Jag nod his head in agreement as he stuffed half a slice in his mouth.

“Call me Mary,” the older woman said with a pleased smile. “On rainy days I used to fix

cinnamon toast and cocoa for my daughter. But she’s grown now. In fact, she’s a new
mother herself. I have a two-month-old grandson, Jason.” Mary sighed then turned her
attention to Isabella. “Are you feeling okay, dear? Elias said you might be coming down
with a cold.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Mary patted Isabella’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad. But I have a terrific recipe for chicken
soup I could whip up just in case.” She tilted her head. “You know, honey, you sure look
familiar.”

“No, I don’t think—”

“That’s right! I saw you on the news a couple months ago. You found the body of
Jessica Taylor in that Dumpster. Downtown Reno, it was. Oh what a shame…what a
shame.”

Isabella pushed away the thought of Jessica, but bile rose in her throat and she felt
nauseated. What had she been thinking? Going on a silly goose chase with a man who
didn’t really know her or, for that matter, really like her, to save a woman she hadn’t
spoken to in eight years. What had possessed her? And now she was trapped…with Jag.
No way out, either.Trapped. She sucked in a breath.

“I’m so sorry. That must have been a horrible ordeal.” Mary patted her hand again. “I
know the world has more in it than what can be seen or touched. My great-grammy had
the sight. Did they ever catch the monster who killed that little one?”

Isabella shook her head.

“Well, folks, it looks like you’re out of luck,” Elias said as he walked into the kitchen.
“The roads to Tahoe are blocked. Blizzard’s starting full force. Good news, though.
Weather guy on the radio says it should be clear as a bell in the mornin’.” He looked at
Isabella and frowned. “Anything wrong?”

“I’m afraid I’ve upset the poor dear. “ Mary smiled at her husband. “But there’s nothing
some cinnamon toast can’t solve.” She released her chair to Elias and bustled to the
stove. Isabella watched Mary as she sprinkled cinnamon on buttered slices of bread.

“Be glad to give you a room,” Elias said. “No need to pay for it seeing as how you’re
already out a car. I can give you all a lift to Tahoe in the morning—soon as they get the
roads clear…and if’n this storm stops.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabella saw Jag shake his head. “I had insurance on the car,
Elias, and insist on paying you for a room. We’ve already put you out enough. Do you
think the phone lines will be connected again in the morning?”

Elias rubbed his chin. “Don’t see why not. Like I said, storm should let up by then.
C’mon I’ll show you where the cabin is.”

Isabella felt her stomach drop to her knees. She was expected to stay in a one-room cabin
with Jag? She knew what would happen. He’d seduce her or she’d seduce him…any way
it happened, they’d end up having hot sex…she blinked.What was the bad part again?

She swung around to face Jag and her knees buckled. Pure lust lit his gaze. She doubted
she’d have enough time between the door closing and her clothes coming off to take a
single breath. The very idea he wanted her naked made her gut-wrenching nervous and
horny. How was it possible they could do this…this unknowablething …to each other?
She knew he had just as difficult a time resisting the sexual impulses as she did. He
scared the hell out of her.

And she didn’t care.

They followed Elias outside. He pointed to a cabin still visible in the blowing snow and
handed Jag a key. The cabin was ten feet or so away. “You need me to walk ya’ll out
there?”

“No, sir. Thank you.”

Elias nodded and returned to the warmth of his kitchen and his wife.

Isabella turned to Jag and found his head descending toward her. His lips claimed hers.
His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring the inner edges. Her heart pounded with fear
because she sensed the dark need in his touch. She wanted to struggle, to slap him
senseless. She didn’t want to feel the burning sensation ripping through her body before it
settled, hot and heavy, in her pussy, wetting her panties.

He didn’t end his violation of her mouth, but his gentled the kiss and nibbled her lower
lip. She couldn’t stop a moan of pleasure from escaping. He released her shoulders and
stroked her throat with his strong fingers. His lips tasted her earlobe.

“God, I want you, Isabella,” he said in a heavy voice. His hands continued their search
under her coat with feather-soft touches on her shoulders, arms and ribcage. He didn’t
hesitate to cup her breasts and to lightly pinch the stiff nipples through her sweater.

Isabella gasped at the entirely too enjoyable sensation. She discovered her hands had
slipped under his leather jacket, under his T-shirt to touch the curly hair on his chest. She
felt his heart thumping erratically against her palms.

“Jag, what are we doing?”

He grabbed her hand and lowered it his jeans. She clasped his hardness and he groaned,
rubbing against her slender fingers.

“Jag,” Isabella breathed, aroused and frightened at the same time.

He was going to break her heart again. He was going to rip out her soul like he did that
night so long ago. She wished she had the willpower to stop him. To walk away from the
lust and…the love she harbored for him.

Isabella took a deep breath when Jag raised his head to look at her. His eyes were a black
river of desire and his lips swollen from his feasting on her. Gently, he touched her
cheek. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he led her off the porch and along what might have once been a
path, now filled with snow, to the cabin. Tall trees blocked out the night sky, but snow
still splattered against them.

She wanted Jag; it was as simple and as complicated as that.

Chapter 6

The winter-sweet smell of pines invaded Isabella’s nostrils as they reached the cabin. Jag
inserted the key and opened the door. “This is the only cabin left,” Jag said as they
entered.

“How lucky for us.” Isabella watched as he turned on the lights. A dial on the wall
allowed the lights to be adjusted from to dim to blinding, and of course, Jag chose dim.
He placed his hands on either side of her on the wall. The gentle invasion of his tongue
sent sparks of heat to the pit of her stomach. Jag stopped kissing her and in one swift
movement, he stripped off her coat. The sweater went next, followed by her bra. His gaze
slid to her breasts. He leaned down and suckled her left breast. Her nipple hardened as
pleasure cascaded through her. He moved to her other breast and gave it the same sweet
treatment. Isabella grabbed his shoulders and moaned. Jag lifted his head and gave her a
dark, sensuous smile.

Isabella bit her lower lip. He drew his forefinger across her cheekbone then tugged her
lip. “I want you.”

God, she wanted him, too.

“It’s cold in here. Let me get some wood and we’ll make a fire.” He gave her a wicked
grin. “Although I like the one we have going right now.”

She watched as he went to the rick of wood next to the hearth. He bent over to gather a
few pieces, giving her a view of his rear. Good Lord! Was every part of the man

tempting? She looked away from Jag and concentrated on the details of the cozy cabin.
The main feature of the only room was the large oak bed, complete with feather pillows
and an old-fashioned quilt, pushed against the east wall. To the left of the bed was a stone
fireplace. Facing the fireplace were two ivory-clothed wingback chairs. A yellow afghan
hung from the back of one chair.

Two doors were opposite the bed. Curious, she went and opened them. One led to a
roomy closet and there was a tiny bathroom whose only noticeable feature was the
wallpaper decorated with itty bitty blue ducks.

Isabella closed the doors and went into the small kitchenette, located three steps away
from the fireplace. Oak cabinets lined around a stove and refrigerator and were
conveniently filled with assorted plates, glasses and utensils.

She heard the small whoosh of flames that signaled Jag had the fire going and left the
kitchen, skirting the rather large bed. Obviously the small cabin had been intended for
couples who wanted romance. She sat down on the bed and sank into the soft mattress.
From her cozy perch, she watched Jag pile more wood into the hearth. The firelight
bathed his face in gold, emphasizing the high angles of his cheeks. He was so handsome
he took her breath away. Damn, her hands were trembling. How could Jag affect her this
much?

“Quarter for your thoughts,” Jag said, interrupting her mental ramblings.

“A whole quarter?”

“Inflation.” He grinned. “You look sad.”

“You think I’m sad?” She leaned back on her elbows and thrust her breasts upward.
“What do you think now?”

He crossed the room in three steps and tumbled onto the bed with her. “Hmmm. You feel
good,” he said, nibbling on her neck. She squirmed beneath him, her hands trying to get
under his shirt. “It turns me on when you move like that,” he whispered in her ear. Her
heart missed a beat as he kissed the underside of her jaw then trailed a wet line to her
collarbone.

“Sweet Isabella,” he murmured. “You taste so good. Must be all that chocolate you
devour.” He plunged his hands through her hair. “Just like silk. I love your hair.” He
lowered his mouth to hers and pushed against her pelvis, letting his body tell her how
much he desired her.

She wound her arms around his neck and splayed her fingers through his hair. It felt
silky against her fingertips. He nibbled her lips then kissed the point of her chin. He
kissed her neck, tasting a sensitive spot behind her ear. She gasped and the grip he had on
her waist tightened.

She rubbed against his chest, wanting to get closer, wanting to feel more of him. With a
muffled curse, Jag set her away long enough to rip off his clothes and the rest of hers. It
took way too long to shuck the rest of their clothing and they fell upon each other like
two starving people presented with a feast.

She felt tiny shivers race up her spine and swallowed a groan when Jag cupped her
breasts and laid a gentle kiss on each one. He nuzzled her neck again and pinched her
nipples with his fingers. She gasped at the incredible sensations. He bent his head and
laved her hard nipples, sending intense pleasure curled through her.

He shimmied down her torso and grasped her waist. His tongue dipped into her navel
then he trailed a line of heat to her pussy. There was no prelude, no coy seduction. He
suckled her clit…then his tongue stroked her. A swift heat plunged through her and
caused her thighs to tremble.

He moved his hands to grasp her behind. He tasted her more fully and a thousand electric
sensations singed her body. Her fingers dug into his flesh and she threw her head back.
The more he licked, suckled, worshipped, the more her body strained to end the torturous
feelings flooding through her.

* * * * *

Jag knew the moment Isabella shattered. Her fingernails dug holes into his shoulders and
her cry sang to his soul. He pressed even closer, tasting his prize, delighting in her
sweetness. Her convulsions teased his chin and he nipped her center. He kissed his way
back to her mouth and grinned at her stunned expression.

He cupped her bare breasts, knowing they fit his hands too perfectly. He suckled each
coral tip, nipping gently when he heard her indrawn breath. Reluctantly he stopped and
gathered her closer. He groaned when she rubbed against him. Her nipples felt good
against his chest. He pressed his hardness against her pelvis. Roughly, he caught her
buttocks and squeezed. She looked up at him, desire still evident in her green eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he said as he cupped one of her pale breasts. “It’s not over yet.”

“Thank God.” She reached down and grasped his cock. Her fingers glided over him,
causing his member to jerk in pleasure. He closed his eyes and allowed her to continue
the sweet torture, clenching his fists to keep from throwing himself on her and plunging
into her hot depths. Not yet. No…he wanted something else from her.

“I’m going to roll over,” he said, catching her chin in his hand. “You’re going to kneel
between my legs and you’re going to take my cock into your mouth.”

She sucked in a breath and her gaze darkened. Her fingers squeezed his penis, her other
hand reaching down to cup his balls.

He did just as he said…and so did she. Without a single word of protest she bent to his
cock and sucked on the tip. Her mouth felt warm, silky, and her tongue…it slid up and
down, around, sucking the tip before gliding to the base. She played with his balls,
cupping and squeezing and all the while her sweet lips pleasured his penis. She wrapped
her fingers around the base and stroked as she licked and suckled the top of his cock. The
pleasure was intense, a gathering fire in his groin. She was relentless, her strokes of hand
and tongue faster and deeper until he came, spurting his seed into her mouth. She drank it
all, licking his pulsing cock like it was forbidden candy.

She crawled on top of him and rubbed his cock with her wet pussy. He cupped her
breasts, traced her ribcage, and kneaded a creamy white hip. His tan hands were a stark
contrast against her pale skin. She writhed under his minute ministrations, gasping when
his fingers found the pulsing nub hidden among her red curls.

Watching her face contort with pleasure nearly undid him, but her positioning herself
above him and sliding his still-hard cock into her slick cunt made him as hot and horny as
virgin with his first woman. She leaned forward until he caught her breasts and suckled
those beautiful, hard nipples. Her pussy clenched him tightly and she rose, riding him in
an uncertain but eager pace. He kneaded her breasts, pinching the taunt peaks, delighting
her breathy moans. She captured his gaze with luminous desire-filled eyes, sparkling
emeralds demanding all he had to give.

With a hoarse cry, he grabbed her hips and plunged into her, creating an urgent, smooth
rhythm. His body, which hadn’t known a woman in months, enjoyed hers savagely. She
was tight, encasing him in a velvet sheath he couldn’t resist feeling again and again. He
nearly lost it when she cupped her own breasts and tugged on the coral buds.

“I’m so close. So close.” Her eyes drifted shut as she rode him and played with her tits,
and made him insane with her fearless quest for pleasure. He kept the rhythm but released
one hand to thumb her clit with short, quick strokes. She shuddered. “Yes,” she cried.
“Yes, Jag. Oh God…oh please…”

She screamed, her orgasm so strong his cock slipped out, her sweet come slick on the
flesh between his hips.

He wouldn’t let her recover. He wouldn’t let her deny him anything. She was his.

“I want you to come again.”

“No. Can’t.” She collapsed against his chest, sweaty and limp. He scooted from under
her and she stayed face-first in the sheets, still shivering from the intensity of her orgasm.

God, her ass was beautiful. Round, perfect, white…his cock jerked at the very idea of
taking her from behind. He was close to coming, still in the throes of sexual ecstasy,
when he parted her buttocks and inserted the tip of his cock into her anus.

She jerked away, lifted her head to peer at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He licked his lips, knowing his desperation, his need showed in his face. “Please. Trust
me.”

She looked at him, assessing him, and nodded. She leaned forward and pushed her ass
toward him. He re-inserted the tip of his cock into her anus, shuddering at the tight feel of
the flesh around his penis. He knew this was different for her, that it was not something
she’d done before…and knowing this excited him more. He reached around her hip and
stroked her clit.

“Isabella, put your hand here.”

She did as he asked, rubbing her clit with eager fingers. He only sheathed the tip of his
cock inside her—they didn’t have lubricant and he didn’t have patience. For now this was
enough…for now. He would have time to teach her more. He wouldn’t let her run away
from him or what they shared together.

Mine. Isabella is mine.

He moved slowly, his hands on her hips, her groans as she stroked her clit bringing him
closer to the brink. He pushed the sensitive tip of his cock into that tight little hole again
and again until he felt on the very edge of orgasm, then he took out his penis and
wrapped his hand around it, stroking it, hard and fast, until he came. He cried out as
pleasure battered at him and watched as his seed spurted onto Isabella’s buttocks.

He was breathless and weak, his body sweaty and shaking from one of best goddamned
orgasms of his life. Isabella was breathing heavy, her moans telling him she was close to
coming again. He rolled her over and took her clit into his mouth, sucking it until she
bucked against him, her cries of release echoing in the room.

After a long shower, Isabella and Jag snuggled together in bed—minus the sheets—and
enjoyed the coziness of the thick coverlet. He gathered her against his chest, shifting to a
more comfortable position. He brushed away the wet strands of hair sticking to her
forehead.

Her gaze captured his. “Do you regret it?”

“No.”

Her eyes searched his face and he felt as if she were waiting for something from him.
Then suddenly he knew. Rejection. The emotion hovered as a palpable thing between
them. She expected him to reject her. Guilt crept through him. Because of him, she
believed she wasn’t worthy of love and respect. It wasn’t her fault she’d given herself to
a man who could not give her forever. And she deserved forever. But this time…no, he
couldn’t make promises he would never keep. He wanted her pain, her sorrow, her

anger—he wanted it because that’s the way he felt when she accepted his edict to leave.

He kissed her. “I don’t regret anything that’s ever happened between us save one…that I
hurt you.” The lie curled inside him like a dead thing.

“I had choices, too.” She placed a hand against his jaw and gave him a look that made
his heart ache. “I chose you.”

She snuggled against him again, and soon her breath evened out and he knew she slept.

He stared into the darkness, not quite sure why he couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted—
physically and emotionally. He heard the creak of wood as the wind battered the exterior.
For a minute more he listened, then closed his eyes. They popped back open when he
heard a moan and felt Isabella’s restless shifting.

Isabella muttered incoherently. He sat up and looked down at her. Moonlight from the
window above the bedstead caressed Isabella in its silvery light. Her red hair flowed
around her, her skin looked pale and sweat beaded her face.

He leaned forward and put his palm against her forehead. She felt cool but she was
drenched in sweat. Her lips moved as if she were speaking, but made no sound. He
tucked the blanket under her chin and smoothed away the hair from her face.

Isabella sprung upward, her green eyes pinning his. “He’s gone. Where is he?”

Jag’s heart flip-flopped. Her face held a desperation no human being should experience.
“Bella? Why don’t you lie back down?”

He couldn’t help the way his voice trembled. She was scaring the hell out of him.

She continued to stare at him in terror. “I can’t let this happen again! He’s in trouble.”

“Who’s in trouble? Why don’t you—”

“He’s so little,” she whispered. “He’s wearing a striped navy blue shirt and navy shorts.
His knees are skinned. Somehow he’s lost his sneakers but his socks are on his feet. He
has a rock in his hand. He won’t let go, says it’s a present. He won’t let go of the
rock…won’t let go…won’t let go—”

Jag shook her lightly. He wanted to wake her, to make her stop speaking in that awful,
dead voice. She slumped in his arms, sobbing.

His heart pounded against his chest and sweat beaded his upper lip. Dear God, what was
that all about?

“Isabella?”

To his surprise, she was out cold, limp as a rag doll in his arms. He patted her on the
back. She didn’t move. Jag pushed her gently into the pillows. “Bella?”

Her eyelids fluttered, but she still didn’t move. Jag felt frustration roar through him.
What was the matter with her? He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Don’t leave me,” she murmured in a hoarse voice, without opening her eyes. “I don’t
want to be alone.”

His fear and confusion melted underneath her request. She needed him tonight and by
God, he wouldn’t fail her. He’d figure the rest out in the morning. Jag gathered her in his
arms, marveling at the way she fit so snugly next to his body. He stroked her hair away
from her face and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Don’t worry, beautiful one. I won’t leave you.”

Chapter 7

Isabella woke lazily, stretching her arms outward and arching her back. Although the
night was almost over, dawn had not yet crept in. She shivered, feeling something dark
and strange tug at her memory…a dream. A very bad dream. She frowned, trying to
remember, but her mind refused to reveal anything else. As she stretched, her rear end hit
a decidedly male chest. She gasped and rolled away, sitting up on the other side of the
bed.

Jag slept sprawled against the cotton sheets, shameless in his nakedness. Isabella was
tempted to draw the sheet over his waist, but the view was just too good. She ruffled the
curls on his chest then touched the tiny nipple protruding among the dark hairs. He
shifted closer, drawing his arm around her. She snuggled against him and smiled.

Sadness filled her. Maybe the dream had nothing to do with their journey to help Sierra
and Georgie and everything to do with how she felt about Jag. She had to accept that Jag
didn’t want her in his life. He might enjoy her body, but he would never want her heart.
Her hand strayed across his chest down to his stomach. Maybe there wasn’t a future
between them, but they had this one stolen night to enjoy. She knew she would need
these memories to keep the heartache away when Jag left her.

“I’ll take what you can give,” she whispered, then closed her eyes and waited for sleep.

* * * * *

Jag stirred beside Isabella and opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through the sheer

curtains of the window above the bed. He looked down. One of Bella’s slender legs was
thrown across him and her head rested on his shoulder. Her long hair tickled his arm
where she slept, but damned if he’d move it. He touched her wayward leg and felt
himself stir when his calloused palm stroked the soft inner flesh of her thigh.

She shifted against him, moaning softly. Jag slowly rolled onto his side. The movement
caused Isabella to lie completely on her back, but she didn’t wake.

God, the woman was beautiful. He trailed a finger along the top of her leg, tracing her
hip and then the delicate bones of her ribcage. Freckles lightly sprinkled the tops of her
breasts and he couldn’t resist tasting a few of the tiny brown spots.

He noticed the pace of her breathing was faster, but still her eyes didn’t open. He cupped
one breast and suckled the tip, swirling around the stiffened nipple. He gave the same
attention to her other breast.

Jag felt Isabella’s arms creep around his neck, her fingers delving into his hair, and he
looked up.

Her eyes were dark green with desire. Her bottom lip seemed swollen as if she had bitten
into the tender flesh.

“Hello,” she said in sleep-tinged voice.

He nuzzled her breasts, lightly scraping the tops with his unshaven jaw. “Mornin’.”

Pleasant surprise filled him when he felt her fingertips against his cock. “What’s this?”
she asked throatily, stroking his hard-on.

“You are a very wicked woman,” he said, rubbing himself against her palm.

“I learned from a very wicked man,” she answered as she cupped his balls, playing with
them briefly before returning to the long, sweet strokes on his penis.

He groaned as her hand worked a sweet magic. His hand traveled down her side, across
the flat expanse of her stomach until he found the very center of her. She shifted
underneath him, opening eagerly as he slipped a finger inside. She was warm and wet.

“God, woman,” he said tightly as he positioned himself above her and slid his cock
between the lips of her pussy. He rubbed there, sliding across her clit, grinning when she
gripped his hips and arched against him.

A hot emotion burst inside him. He knew she would never tell him no, never deny him
all the physical pleasure. He wondered, as he had throughout the last eight lonely years, if
she would give him more than just her body if he had the courage to ask. If he had the
courage to forgive…

Apparently impatient with his slow seduction, she pushed on his arms and he rolled over.

She positioned herself over him, guiding his swollen length into her ready flesh. She
grasped him with her inner muscles; excitement rushed through him, made him grab her
hips to plunge deeper insider her slick cunt. She bent forward, brushing a kiss on his lips.
Pleasure cascaded through him; he cupped her breasts and lightly pinched her nipples.
She gasped, her inner muscles clenching his cock.

All control slipped away and Jag held onto her hips, pumping into her. The curtain of her
hair covered her breasts, and he paused long enough to sweep it behind her shoulder. He
wanted to see her tits sway as he fucked her, wanted to see her expression as orgasm took
her.

His thumb found her most sensitive spot, stroking gently. Heat poured through him, a
vortex of feeling that spiraled up, spreading tendrils of heat and light through his body.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jag said in a low voice, as she put her hands against his chest and
moved faster. Her arms trembled as she sought release. He knew she felt the sweet
tension building.

Jag thrust deeply, his orgasm cresting when she shattered around him. He moved his
hand to her hip again, using both hands to push himself inside her. The aftermath of her
climax tugged at his cock. She felt so good, so tight, so wet…he cried out as his release
rushed through him, and clutching her hips as his seed pumped into her.

She collapsed against him and he stroked her buttocks, his gasps heavy as he tried to
recover. He looked at her and grinned. “I think I need a nap.”

* * * * *

The pounding wouldn’t stop. Over and over, the obnoxious sounds continued until
Isabella put the pillow on her head and buried deeper into the sheets. Still the knocking
wouldn’t quit. Knocking? She dragged the pillow away from her face and listened.

“Mr. and Mrs. Masters, are you awake?” Elias’ voice filtered through the cabin’s door.
Isabella heard Jag groan then his dark, shaggy head popped up.

He blinked. “Who the hell is that?”

“It’s Elias. Want me to get it?”

He fixed her with a bleary, bloodshot look and slowly nodded. She suppressed the urge
to grin. “Not morning person, are we?”

“Quit being so damn cheerful and answer the door!” he snapped. She watched as he sank

into the mattress and promptly closed his eyes.

“Uh, hello?” Elias hollered.

With an amused look at Jag, Isabella bounded off the bed, tugged on her jeans and
sweater, then hurried to the door and opened it. Elias stood on the small porch hunkered
in a gray overcoat. She was surprised to see the bright blue sky and sparkling snow at
least two feet high around the cabin.

“Good morning, Elias. Wow! The snowstorm moved on, huh?”

“Howdy, young lady. Yep. Roads are cleared and phones are working. Ya’ll slept most
of the morning away.”

The crisp, sweet scent of cinnamon rolls bit into the cold morning air. Her eyes were
drawn to a plate of gooey pastries sprinkled with raisins that Elias held in his left hand.

“Are those for us?” she asked, her mouth watering.

“Yep. Mary sent ‘em.” Elias handed her the plate and she took it.

“Tell her thank you,” Isabella said. Her thoughts turned to the sleeping man behind her.
Their stolen time together was over. Soon they would go to Tahoe and probably find
Sierra and Georgie safe and sound.

“Should Jag and I call a cab then?”

Elias laughed. “Won’t get cab service out here even on a good day. I’ll take you to
Tahoe soon as ya’ll are ready to go.” He looked at his watch. “It’s a little after eleven
now. What say we meet up at the office about one o’clock?”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“It’s my pleasure, missy. Well, enjoy yourselves,” he said with a wink.

She felt the sting of a blush on her cheeks as she shut the door. She took the rolls into the
tiny kitchen, put them on the counter, and opened the fridge. Bottles of orange juice,
water, and tomato juice were lined up like little soldiers on the top shelf. She grabbed two
bottles of orange juice and paused. Did Jag like orange juice? She didn’t know. She
didn’t know lots of things about him, unless it was where to touch him and how to turn
him on. His favorite meal, the best movie he ever saw, the kind of books he read…she
didn’t know any of those little things most lovers knew about each other. It broke her
heart to think about it.

“Hey, are you going to hog breakfast?” Jag mock-growled from the bed. She closed the
refrigerator door and turned around to look at him. He had his arms behind his head and

was watching her through half-closed eyes. Her gaze was drawn to his naked chest.

“Your morning attitude could use a little work. Do you like orange juice?”

“OJ is fine. Bring those buns over here,” he said. “Oh. And the cinnamon rolls.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Woman, you’ve obviously never dealt with a starvin’ man before.”

“In what context,” she said under her breath. She grabbed the plate and carried it to him.
He sat up, took a sticky roll.

He took a bite, but his lazy gaze assessed her. His lusty stare traveled across her breasts
and Isabella felt a frisson of heat spread through her. She pressed her lips together,
handed him another roll and went into the kitchen where it was safe from his hideously
sexy looks.

“Elias said the roads were open and to meet him at the office about one.”

“I heard.” He grinned. “You want to come here to the comfy, soft bed or do you want me
to march into the kitchen and take you right there on the stove?”

She glared at him, but her pulse jumped. The very idea of him stripping her naked—
again—and making love to her where she stood made her knees weak. Instead of defying
him long enough so he could make good on his threat, she grabbed the bottles of orange
juice, sashayed across the floor, and crawled into bed with him.

“Good choice, Bella. It’s so cold in here, I’m not sure my Johnson wanted to come out
and play.”

She laughed and relaxed. He wasn’t going to ravage her. Well, not yet. The man had
shown little restraint around her and she didn’t expect him to change his tactics, either.

“We need to get in contact with Margaret and Jonathon. They’re probably worried.”

“Elias said the phones are working. All we have to do is get dressed and go to the
office.”

Isabella watched as Jag drank his orange juice. His throat rippled and she followed the
motion from his neck down to his broad chest. From there her gaze was drawn to his
washboard stomach. A dark sprinkling of hair narrowed into a thin line that disappeared
under the covers. Then her gaze caught the bulge just under the coverlet.

“See something you like?” Jag inquired lazily, putting the bottle on a small table next to
the bed.

Her brows rose and she tilted her head, smiling. “Nope.”

She caressed his entire body with her gaze then reached down and swept her hand
through the black curls. Her nails lightly scraped his skin and she heard his indrawn
breath.

“I’ve already seen this,” she said in low voice as she removed her hand and yanked back
the covers. His cock sprang up, hard as a steel pole and looking as delicious as a Krispy
Kreme donut. “And that, too.”

She grinned at him, daring him silently to do something about her teasing, but despite the
heat in his gaze, he took a roll from the plate on the bed and ate it.

“I’d really like to fuck you,” he said between bites, “but something’s been nagging at me
and I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Yes, I can put my ankles behind my neck.”

His mouth dropped open. He blinked. “You can?” He shook his head. “Don’t distract me
with those kinds of images.”

“While wearing stiletto heels.”

“I don’t believe you.”

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Wanna bet?”

“Yes, but first…who’s Jessica?”

Her light mood disappeared in an instant. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Why not? I watched your face last night when Mary brought up that little girl.
Something happened, didn’t it? Something terrible.”

“It’s the past, Jag. We both know the danger of looking into the past, don’t we? All
that’s there is hurt and regret and the death of dreams.”

She watched him sit up and push his hand through the thick mess of his hair. He scooted
off the bed, grabbed his jeans from the floor, and tugged them on. Then he moved to the
end of the bed and sat with his legs bent Indian-style.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want any nookie before we leave?” she asked.

“Nookie isn’t a term that applies to what we do. But I think you know the answer. I’ll
have to be dead and buried before I turn down any chance to have you.”

He stared at her, a serious stare that imitated concern. “Tell me about Jessica.”

Before Jag knew what hit him, she’d swung one of the oversized pillows at his stomach.
He wheeled backward and tumbled off the bed. His feet stuck up against the bed’s end
like two stiff boards. He sucked in a deep breath, amazed that the air had been pushed out
of lungs when he hit the floor. Slowly, he started to move when he felt the helpful hands
of Isabella push his feet away. They landed with two painful thumps on the wooden floor.

“By God, you pack a punch,” he muttered as he gathered himself and his pride off the
floor. He stood at the end of bed, his fists on his hips. He swore he heard a giggle but
Isabella held the pillow against her body like a shield, her mouth buried into the soft end.

“Just what was that for? I’m willing to listen. All you need to do is talk.”

She removed the pillow from her face. “I can’t resist you, you know that? You snap your
fingers and unzip your pants and I’m yours. It’s been that way since the first time. You
don’t really care about me. You’re the flame; I’m the moth. The flame doesn’t give a
fuck if it kills the moth.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you? The flame doesn’t want to hurt the moth,
either. It’s the nature of the flame to burn, to cause pain. It is what it is. The moth, the
idiotic, mesmerized moth, is the one with choice. It almost always chooses the flame, the
moment of ecstasy before endless dark…it’s almost worth it.” Her eyes filled with
unshed tears. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t want to have a touchy-feely conversation with
you about my life. You don’t get to break my heart twice.”

“You wanted it as much as I did. You had no right to expect more.” He walked to the
window, just so he wouldn’t have to look at her. Jag rubbed his unshaven jaw as he stared
out the window. As much as he desired her body, he knew he and Isabella had no future.
He’d fucked her to get rid of the image in those paintings. Her face in a vortex of
greenish gray had haunted him for months. Then he’d painted “Beautiful One” to rid
himself of the memories of that night he’d stolen her virginity. He wanted her
forgiveness, but he couldn’t find the courage to ask for it.

Why had he asked for her help to find Sierra? Why had he waited for eight goddamned
years to try and see her again? He should’ve known that the shadows from the past would
creep into the present. Who was he kidding? He knew the real reason he wanted Isabella
to come with him, to see Sierra. Maybe he’d been able to believe that he wanted to give
Sierra a present—the return of her friend. But no…he wanted more than that. He wanted
Isabella to pay for all the sorrow she’d caused him.

Jag glanced at Bella’s face, and nearly flinched at the sorrow and pain in her expression.
The rush of protectiveness he felt confused him. He wanted to comfort her.You’re the

flame; I’m the moth. His heart ached, a deep fierce welling of emotion that threatened to
choke him. In truth, she hated him. She wouldn’t deny him anything, but she resented the
power he held over her. He didn’t understand it, the connection between them, the
buzzing in his head when she was around, the indescribable need that took hold of him
when she got within arm’s reach.

“It’s closing in on noon,” he said, looking at the clock on the bedside table. “We should
get ready to go.”

“Why haven’t you asked me to use my psychic abilities to see if Sierra and Georgie are
okay?”

“You were having visions already, weren’t you?”

“Do you believe me, Jag? Do you believein me? Or is this just a game? A way to…damn
it, I don’t even know what this is about. I don’t know why you came, why you asked me
to come with you, why I’m standing here.”

“Maybe you’re really asking why, after eight years, I came to see you…maybe you’re
trying to figure out why you followed me without a single protest.”

“I don’t know why you came,” she admitted, “but I know why I followed.”

She climbed out of the bed and undressed. She stood before him naked, her beautiful
breasts round and heavy, the nipples hardening as he watched. She was all sweet
curves…a concave tummy, a neatly trimmed pussy, firm thighs, shapely calves…even
her feet were sexy. She’d painted her toenails a glossy pink.

It took all of ten seconds to get a hard-on.

He shed his jeans and attempted to close the distance between them, but she stalled him
with an outstretched hand.

“This may be the last time we’re together,” she said.

Jag wished he could protest that truth. He wanted to make her promises, to reassure her
that he would not walk away from her or let her walk away from him. But he couldn’t.
He knew himself too well.

“There were nights that I fantasized about you. I dreamed that you were my attentive
lover.” She cupped her breasts and brushed her thumbs across the nipples. “I’d get so wet
thinking about you touching me, stroking me.”

He watched her hands drift down her waist, slide down to her hips, and one hand slid
between her legs to cup her pussy, the other returned to her breasts. His breath hitched,
his heart stalled as she used one slim finger to slowly rub her clitoris. He nearly lost it

when she dipped the finger inside her cunt. He clenched his fists to keep from touching
her. Watching her touch herself was too torturous a pleasure.

Her gaze snared his. Her eyes were deep green, reminding him of the vortex he’d painted
so long ago. She stroked her clit faster as her hand kneaded the flesh of one breast,
twisting the nipple until she moaned. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall
back; her red hair cascading down her back like dancing flames.

His cock jerked, a tight coil of desire wound in his guts; he wrapped his hand around his
penis and stroked it, clenching his teeth as waves of pleasure rolled over him.

“Enough of this.” He strode forward, swept her into his arms and tossed her onto the bed.
“I want to lick your pussy and I want you suck my cock.”

He lay down and she crawled on top of him, presenting her beautiful pussy to his waiting
lips. He clutched her buttocks and brought her cunt closer, licking and suckling
frantically. She reciprocated just as eagerly, her tongue swirling against the tip of his
cock as her hand stroked the base. Her pussy was wet and sweet and made him crazy with
desire.

Already on the edge, he felt his control slip.Not yet. He couldn’t—Damn.He came, a
torrent of hot pleasure shredding him. He pumped into her mouth as he suckled her clit,
tasting her as she tasted him. She drank from him, her warm mouth slipping over him
again and again as his release shuddered through him. Then she came, too, and her moan
vibrated down his cock. Her juices coated his mouth and chin as he soothed her clit with
his tongue. He licked her from clit to thigh; she tasted sweeter than honey.

After a moment, she rolled off him and sat up, staring at him. “Wow.”

He smiled. “Ditto.”

Chapter 8

After showering and getting dressed, Isabella and Jag left the cabin and walked down the
cleared stone path to the tiny office.

The girl manning the tiny office looked about sixteen and wore too much make-up and
jewelry for Isabella’s taste. As they entered, the girl gave Jag an appreciative look.
Feeling her hackles rise for no reason, Isabella put her hand on Jag’s arm.

“Can I use the phone?” Jag asked. She wished he didn’t have such a darn sexy voice. It
obviously gave the anorexic-looking girl shivers.

“Yes, sir,” the girl twittered.

“Great,” Jag said, giving the girl a smile and a wink. Isabella had the feeling that if he’d
worn his fedora, he would have tipped it at the little lady.

Isabella looked at the state maps for sale on a wire rack as Jag used his calling card to
phone the Kellermans. She discovered a candy display by the door, and immediately
spied seven different kinds of chocolate. She heard Jag hang up the phone and turned
around.

“The Kellermans weren’t home, but I left a message on their machine. Just for the hell of
it, I tried Sierra’s apartment. Nothing.”

Isabella frowned. “Is there anyone else you can call?”

“No. But I have to call my insurance and get my Jeep taken care of.”

She nodded and turned back to the display and grabbed a couple of candy bars. Nothing
like the comfort of chocolate to heal her broken heart. Her time with Jag was almost over
and she wanted to cry. When they parted ways, she would go back to the saloon and he
would go back to his glamorous life as a touted painter. She’d probably never see him
again.

As Isabella turned around from the display, she saw little blonde cashier lean over the
counter to talk to Jag. The girl’s low-cut T-shirt gave Jag an ample view of her breasts
and gave Isabella an attack of nausea. She tossed the candy bars she’d picked up into the
bin.

“Excuse me,” she said, heading toward the door. “I need some air.”

She ignored their surprised looks and stepped outside, letting the screen door bang
against the doorframe. Anger boiled through her as she stalked off the porch. What a fool
she was! It tore her up inside to know Jag felt free to flirt with anyone, while her thoughts
were consumed by only him. She wouldn’t care if she never saw another male in her life
as long as she had Jag.

She let out an unladylike snort as she set off down another dirt path, avoiding the one
that led to their cabin. The problem was, she didn’t have Jag. She didn’t have diddly-do
except memories, torturous and sweet. Oh what was she complaining about? She never
thought she’d see him again after the last time they parted ways. She should be thanking
the sex gods he’d seen fit to return to her, however briefly, and give her just a little more
time with him.

“Bella?”

Isabella moved faster at the sound of Jag’s voice. She didn’t slow down at all, just kept

walking. She needed to sort through the jumble of emotions twisting her insides. She felt
Jag’s hand on her arm and she swung around. “What do you want?”

He cocked an eyebrow, but his eyes assessed curiously, as if he saw horns sprouting
from her head. “Where are you going? Elias is waiting for us.”

“Maybe you should tell him you need a few minutes so you can bag that blonde.”

He let go of her arm and she rubbed it, then turned around and continued down the path.
She heard his footsteps crunching behind her.

“Go away,” she called out over her shoulder.

This time Jag swung her around so hard, she stumbled. His hands gripped her shoulders
and steadied her. “I only want you.” He lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth warm
and sure against hers. It was reassurance—the only kind Jag knew how to give.

Oh, he knew how to get to her. He knew how to make her believe in a future with him.
With his tongue mating with hers, with his hands diving through her hair, with the
desperation in his act of pseudo-emotion…she admitted that she loved him. It was her
love for him, her dark and secret and shameful obsession with him, that made hate and
anger and despair scrape her insides raw. She wanted to melt into a puddle of despair and
drain away.

She had allowed herself to believe that losing Jessica to the hands of a child serial killer
had emptied her, but the truth was, she had been a mere shell since the day she met Jag
Masters. She had spent the years trying to fill that gaping hole with life, with purpose, but
everything she had done or said or thought had been a lie. Yes. She’d lied to herself and
to the world when she said Jag hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t gotten to her, hadn’t torn away her
soul and kept it hostage.

He owned her.

A sob built, crushing her chest, leaving her breathless. Silent tears fell as she gave in to
the feelings she’d so long denied. Jag stopped the ravaging of her lips and looked at her,
at her tears, and she knew he saw the truth. “You’re mine.”

* * * * *

Isabella climbed into the front seat of Elias’s white Lincoln. Worry and tension knotted
her neck muscles. She glanced out the window towards the forest. She’d run away from
him after his arrogant, though true, declaration. Naming her as a possession wasn’t the
same as saying he loved her.

A dark shadow emerged from the trees. Jag headed to the car and she rolled her window
down. His expression was unreadable. “I’m going to call Jonathon then I’ll be right out.”

She didn’t have time to answer because he turned around and went into the office where
Elias and Mary were talking. After an eternity, Jag and Elias came out of the office. Jag
got into the back while Elias slipped behind the wheel. Isabella felt the tension radiating
from Jag. As Elias silently drove them onto the highway, she turned around. “What’s
wrong?”

“My sister’s in the hospital,” he said in a hard voice.

“Where?”

“In Tahoe. After she visited the Kellermans, she was on her way to the family cabin. She
never made it.”

“Where’s Georgie?”

Silence.

Horrible, certain knowledge cracked open her mind.Flashes of Sierra screaming,
Georgie crying, a man in a dark coat taking the boy from a car.

“No!” Sierra got out of the driver’s side door and ran, scrambling against icy roads.

The man tucked Georgie into another car then turned and backhanded Sierra. His fists
curled, his smile an ugly sneer of pleasure as he beat her, enjoyed the blood seeping from
her cuts. “I’ll kill you, you bitch.”

Stop. Stop. Stop!

Isabella put her hands against her cool cheeks and wanted to scream. She should have
known.It’s just like Jessica. Just like little Jessica . Isabella took a shuddering breath,
which earned her a concerned glance from Elias. She smiled slightly and turned to look
out the window. Forever stretched into infinity before she heard Jag giving directions to a
mountainside home. Elias squeezed Isabella’s hand.

“Everything will work out,” he said. She nodded, appreciating the lie. She knew it was
already too late. Again.

She climbed out of the car and waited for Jag to say goodbye to Elias. He didn’t speak to
her as he walked to the two-story stone house perched in the hillside. She followed
wearily, as if she wore rock shoes. She paused on the path, and touched Jag’s shoulder.
He turned and looked at her. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Sierra’s husband abused her and threatened to kill her? You’ve
known all along why she’s in danger. Why do you need me?”

His expression turned cold. “I know who Jessica Taylor is.” He leaned closer. “I know

you’re a fake, Isabella. You let those people believe their daughter was still alive. You
gave them the one thing you should never, ever give another human being. Hope.”

“I found her too late. I know that. I’ve lived with the guilt every day.” Her insides
trembled. She felt as though her guts had broken open and were bleeding.

“You didn’t find her. The police followed some very vague clues given by you and by
luck, discovered her body.”

“If you believe that, why did you come to me and ask for help?” She didn’t think it was
possible to feel any more pain, but Jag had found another way to hurt her. “How can you
make love with someone you don’t trust?”

“We’ve never made love. Never.” He looked away, his jaw tense. “I didn’t go to Silver
Creek to ask for your help.” He glared at her and she saw the hatred, the confusion, and
even, goddamn it, the desire. Then everything fell into place and she sucked in a breath as
if he’d physically punched her in the stomach.

“You wanted me to take the fall. Sierra and Georgie were in danger and you knew it and
if something happened to them…you wanted me to be there so everyone would know I
failed again. Why?”

“She never forgave me. You drove a wedge between us, Isabella. Sierra’s the only
family I have left and you took her from me. How could she love someone more than the
brother who raised her? How could she thinkyou were more important than I was?”

He sounded so bitter. Her heart ached for him even as his words sliced her into tiny
pieces.

“I hadn’t planned on touching you…on wanting you. I’d think about you all the time.
About that night. I painted ‘Beautiful One’ to get you out of my fuckin’ head, but you
wouldn’t go.”

“You wanted to destroy me the way I destroyed your painting.” She wanted to run from
the horrible piercing pain. She wanted to scream, to wail, to throw herself off the
mountain just to stop the dread and sorrow from clogging her soul. The man she loved
did not, could not ever love her.

Jag turned, jogged up the steps, and she followed, feeling like a badly stitched doll. Her
arms and legs didn’t want to work right, but she managed to stand beside Jag. He didn’t
look at her when he rang the doorbell and she was glad. She might shatter if he looked at
her with that terrible hatred glittering in his gaze.

A tall silver-haired man opened the door and allowed Jag and Isabella entrance. They
walked into the living room. Two women sat on the couch. One was a petite woman with
a softly lined face and the same silver hair as her husband. The other woman had

shoulder-length blonde hair, dark eyes and several bruises on her face.

“Mark took Georgie,” Sierra said. “The bastard took my son!”

Isabella’s dread exploded into full-fledged terror.

Sierra rose, her gaze moved from Jag to Isabella. “Izzy! Oh my God!” She ran to her old
friend and hugged her. Isabella wanted to cry. She had lost the man she loved and found
the best friend she’d left behind because of him.

“I’m so sorry,” said Isabella, her throat closing as tears filled her eyes. “I should have
called or written. I never forgot you. Our friendship. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I know why you left. I understand.” Sierra slipped out of Izzy’s embrace and cupped
her face. “The past is the past. All that matters is what unfolds in this moment. I’m so
glad to see you.”

She let go of Izzy, turned and hugged her brother. “You brought her to me. After
everything…thank you, Jag. Thank you.”

Isabella couldn’t watch Sierra thank Jag for something he didn’t do. He wanted revenge,
not forgiveness. More than anything, she wanted to renew her friendship with Sierra. It
had been foolish to cut off contact because she didn’t have the courage to face Jag.

“I don’t know how he knew where I was, but he followed us. It was dark and he ran us
off the road. I woke up in the hospital and called Jonathon and Margaret as soon as I
could. He took Georgie when the car slid into the ditch. I don’t know if he’s all right.”

Jag let go of Sierra and stepped around her to accept the hugs of the Kellermans. As they
conversed in low voices, Sierra took Isabella by the hand.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sierra said, giving Isabella a hopeful gaze. “You can find my
Georgie.”

Isabella felt nausea roil in her stomach. Sierra’s eyes looked a lot like Jessica’s mother’s
had. She swallowed heavily. Would she be able to help Sierra?You gave them the one
thing you should never, ever give another human being. Hope.

“I’m scared,” Sierra said, squeezing Isabella’s hand. “When I get my son back, Mark’s
going to pay for everything he’s done to us!” Her fierce words brought Isabella some
relief. But Sierra, her words the roar of a lioness, looked more like a lamb before
slaughter. Thin, pale, dark eyes peering from above purple shadows and dark bruises
marred the perfection of Sierra’s smooth cheek.

“I know you won’t let me down,” said Sierra.

“Hey sis—” Jag interrupted as he pulled Sierra away from Isabella. “I’m here to help
you.” Isabella heard the unspoken, “And you don’t need her,” and frowned. She noticed a
muscle jumping in his jaw and tensed.

“I’ll make some tea,” Margaret said and left the living room. Isabella felt at ease in the
Kellermans’ home. The living room’s colors were a mixture of aquas and blues. A couch
swirled in those colors faced a large white stone fireplace. Two matching recliners fit
either side. Glass tables were arranged between the couch and chairs.

“You have a nice home, Mr. Kellerman,” Isabella said before settling on the couch.

“Thank you. But call me Jon,” he answered as he took one of the recliners. He gave her a
slight smile that she returned.

Sierra sat next to Isabella and Jag took the place on the other side of his sister. He put his
arm around Sierra and drew her away from Isabella. His behavior stung and she felt an
ache behind her eyes. She supposed he didn’t want Sierra to know there had been
anything else between them. Well, that was just fine with her.

“Here’s the tea,” Margaret said bringing a silver tea service into the living room. She
served everyone then sat in the recliner opposite of her husband. Isabella saw Jag decline
the tea then sit forward.

“How did this happen?” he asked. There was something violent in his voice, a barely
restrained emotion Isabella was afraid to name.

“We don’t really know,” Margaret said, glancing at Sierra.

“He’s supposed to be in the psychiatric hospital,” Sierra said bitterly. “They told me he’d
been let out to continue outpatient treatment. Of course, he never returned.”

“Tell Jag about the note, dear,” Margaret urged.

“Mark left a note on my apartment door. It says if I don’t come back to him, he’ll—”
Sierra broke off and took a deep breath.

“He’ll what?” asked Jag.

“He’ll hurt Georgie so bad, no one will be able to—to, oh God!”

Sierra put her head in her hands and sobbed. As helplessness invaded Isabella, she
watched Jag hug Sierra.

“He said no one would be able to identify the boy at the morgue,” John finished quietly
as he clenched the arms of the recliner. Anger at Mark blazed through Isabella.

“How could a man to that to his own son?” she asked, not expecting anyone to answer
the question.

Sierra’s head jerked up and she pinned Isabella with a fierce, desperate gaze. “Because
he’s a bastard. And if he touches my son, I’ll kill him!”

“Ssssh, sis. Calm down.”

“You need some rest.” Isabella felt her friend’s agony as Sierra sought the comfort of
Jag’s arms. She knew only one thing could soothe Sierra’s hurt and that was the return of
her little boy. Flashes of the ordeal Jessica’s parents went through flickered in her mind.
They had been devastated at the death of their child. Isabella turned to Margaret.
“Where’s the note?”

Margaret stood, went a rolltop desk in the corner, opened a drawer and withdrew a
folded paper. She handed the note to Isabella. With trembling fingers, Isabella took the
note. She blocked her mind as best she could because she didn’t want to feel anything.
She didn’t want to see with her mind’s eye the possible terror waiting for Sierra.

“Why don’t the police have that?” asked Jag.

“Sierra wanted to keep it, so we didn’t tell them about the note,” Margaret answered,
avoiding Jag’s gaze.

Silently, Isabella handed the paper to Jag’s outstretched hand. Sierra twisted out of Jag’s
arms and snatched it away. “Just leave it alone. I need the directions.”

“Directions?”

“Mark left instructions for me to meet him tonight.”

“What!?” Jag roared.

Isabella was amazed when Sierra didn’t back down, but stared at Jag defiantly. She
clutched the paper to her chest as if daring him to take it away. Silence fell so quickly, the
ticking of the mantle clock could be heard.

“You’re not going to meet him,” Jag said.

“You can’t stop me.”

“The hell I can’t. Give me the paper. I’ll go.”

“No,” Sierra shouted, jumping up. “He’s my son. I’ll go get him.”

Jag stood to face his sister and Isabella felt the tension between the two siblings so

keenly, she shivered.

“Mark wants you to go, damn it. He’ll go back on his word. You have no reason to trust
him.”

Isabella didn’t hear Sierra’s reply because a child’s piercing cry bit into the air. She
covered her ears and hunched on the couch, sucking in a deep breath. The cry continued,
loud and terrified, echoing continuously in her mind. It disappeared as suddenly as it
came and she slowly uncovered her head. When she looked up, she saw four pair of eyes
trained on her. She stood unsteadily because her legs felt like Jell-O. She knew from the
concerned looks pointed in her direction that no one else had heard the cry.

“Isabella, what is it?” Sierra said, grabbing her arm. “You look so pale.”

“I just need some air,” she replied, turning away from her friend.

“Of course, you do,” Margaret said in a light voice as she rose from her chair. “I’ll show
you the back porch. It has a beautiful view.”

Isabella put on her coat and allowed Margaret to lead her to the door. She stepped
through it and took a deep breath. She gave Margaret a grateful smile and the older
woman went back into the house. Isabella walked to the railing and laid trembling hands
against it. The view was breathtaking and soothing. Blue sky met the forest and reminded
Isabella about life’s beautiful blessings.

It was also a reminder about the ugly side, too. Death. She wondered if Jessica had ever
been to the mountains then sighed. Did it matter? Jessica had died.And so could Georgie ,
a tiny voice whispered, giving Isabella chills. She had no doubt in her mind the scream
had been Georgie’s.I shouldn’t have touched the paper. What should she do? Jag didn’t
trust her—she didn’t trust herself. What if Sierra believed in her and she failed? Could
she stand to see her best friend’s eyes after they’d looked at her dead son?

Chapter 9

Isabella focused on the tall pines and took a deep breath. The smell of earth and pine
greeted her, but she felt no joy in the wonder of nature.If I don’t help, then I’m not
responsible. No , whispered her conscience,if you don’t help, you are responsible. She
looked at the blue sky and grimaced.Why did you curse me with this power? she
grieved.Why? I can fail—I can hurt people and I don’t want to. Tears slipped down her
cheeks and she angrily swiped at them. She had a choice. She could use her abilities to
help Sierra or she could claim not to feel anything and help search without using her
powers.

As she glared at the sky, cursing the perfect blueness, a rainbow appeared. Isabella
stepped back from the rail and gasped. The rainbow stretched across the sky into the
treetops. She had never seen such a beautiful, wondrous thing. It slowly faded and
suddenly she knew what to do. Before Isabella could go back into the house, to tell Sierra
of her decision, Jag stepped outside. She looked at him warily, not sure what to expect
from him.

“Georgie—you heard him, didn’t you?” His voice was rough, accusing.

“Yes.” She felt impotent at the look of rage and pain etched on Jag’s face. She wanted to
soothe away the lines of frustration around his mouth, but knew she didn’t dare. Instead,
she shrugged helplessly.

“Let’s go talk somewhere else,” he said, glancing at the house. He took a step forward
and took her by the arm. He gently pulled her toward the wooden stairs leading to the
forest. Jag must have been familiar with the area because he led her down a narrow,
nearly invisible path. After walking for a few minutes, they stopped. He let her arm go
and stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I brought you out here because I don’t want the Kellermans or Sierra to hear what I
have to say.”

She raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He gave her a frustrated look and she sighed.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t win Jag’s approval.

“I expect you to stay.”

“You expect me to fail. You brought me here to sacrifice me, to prove to Sierra that I
don’t deserve her love or her respect.” She stepped closer to him. “The truth is, you don’t
believeyou deserve her love or respect. You think that proving me a fraud will gain her
trust? You honest-to-God believe that the reason Sierra distanced herself from you was
because I left?”

“Yes. Yes!”

Hurt knifed through her. She put her hand against her mouth to still the trembling of her
lips. “Then you’re a fool.”

Jag pinned her with an unreadable look and shoved his hands into the pockets of his
jeans.

What else did she have to lose? What else did she have to give to this man? Love meant
sacrifice. If she wasn’t willing to give her love unconditionally to the man who held her
heart, then what good was it to love him? It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her in return.
It didn’t even matter that he hated her so much that he wanted to see her destroyed.

She was free of it all now.

“You can’t paint me or fuck me anymore.” Her smile was grim. “Who will you blame
for the darkness in your life when I’m gone?”

* * * * *

Who will you blame for the darkness in your life when I’m gone?Jag stared into the
darkness. Embers in the fireplace glowed a dying red, but illuminated nothing. Jag sat in
the chair, staring at the flames. Why couldn’t he get Isabella out of his mind? He needed
to think about his sister and nephew—try to figure out how to help them. But his mind
kept turning to the red-haired beauty who had dared him to look into his own soul.

When they had stood in the forest, he wanted to lie to her about why he’d taken her with
him. He wanted to say that he never wanted to hurt her that he believed she was psychic,
even that Sierra had asked him to find her.

All lies.He had every intention of hurting Isabella. He was surprised at how badly he
desired her. It was as if no time has passed between them. His body wanted hers, but his
heart demanded vengeance. She’d left him and he’d taken his anger and fear out on
Sierra. They had been so close once, but not even his sister could tolerate his black
moods and stupid demands for long. She wanted to get away from him, too, and had
married Mark…leaping from the edge of hell into Satan’s lap.

In Isabella’s green eyes, Jag saw the depth of emotion swirling within. She meant every
word she’d said to him today. Doubt gnawed at his gut. Her feelings were evident in
every gesture, every look. Yes, he’d seen the pain in her eyes and cursed himself. He had
felt like seven kinds of bastard. When she whirled around and fled up the path, he didn’t
follow. What could he say to her?

For a long moment, he stared at the fire and he wished he’d been another kind of man—
one who deserved Isabella’s love.

* * * * *

“I don’t want you to go,” Jag said for the fifth time in the last minute. “It’s too
dangerous.”

Sierra stood next to him in the kitchen, her hands on her hips. Her mouth was a grim line
and her brown eyes glittered. “Either you take me with you or I’ll follow. It’s up to you,
big brother.”

He exhaled through his nose, trying to tamp down his temper. Being angry with Sierra
wasn’t going to help get Georgie back. The tensions at the house were already at the
snapping point, although he had to admit Sierra had gotten some verve back since he and
Isabella arrived.

He sighed as he dug through a drawer for some batteries. A black flashlight was on the
counter with the bottom unscrewed. He felt Sierra’s gaze on him and turned to meet her
questioning look.

“What’s going on between you and Izzy?”

He clamped his jaw shut. “Nothing.”

“She’s in love with you.”

Jag found a package of batteries and slammed the drawer shut. Sierra raised an eyebrow,
but he shook his head.

“You’re just as tight-lipped as she is. She wouldn’t say anything, either. Just a bunch of
malarky about how much you loved me.”

He stopped opening the package and looked at Sierra. “I do love you!”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling, and Jag realized she had been teasing. He wrapped her in
a hug. Her body felt like matchsticks glued together. She drew away from him and he
touched her cheek. “Everything will be okay.”

“I know.” She sucked in a breath. “Why did you bring her?”

“You needed her.”

“No.” She withdrew from his embrace. “You could have mended the rift eight years ago,
Jag.”

“There was nothing to be mended. She owes you an apology. For leaving us—you. For
leavingyou . She didn’t think enough of your friendship to say goodbye.”

“She said goodbye. I respected her decision even though she didn’t tell me why she was
going. But I knew. You drove her away.”

“Not like you think.”

“Exactly like I think. I saw the paintings. The summer before college, I snuck down to
your precious studio and saw those twisted little dedications. When I met Isabella…I
knew it was her.”

Jag ripped the package of batteries open so viciously, they popped out and landed on the
floor. He ignored them as they rolled across the linoleum. “You brought her to
me…damn it, Sierra, you knew what a crazy time that was for me. How could you
introduce me to the goddamned demonness?”

“To rid you of it.” Sierra bent down and picked up the scattered batteries.

He smacked his palm against the counter, wincing at the sting. “Why did you go into my
studio, anyway?”

“To see what was so much better than me. I needed you and you ignored me. You think
that Isabella put the rift between us, don’t you? God, how easy it was to blame her for our
crappy relationship because if you blamed her, you didn’t have to look in the mirror and
see the real cause.”

Jag took the batteries from her and shoved them into the flashlight. “She was a
sacrifice.”

“She was my friend! I loved her! She didn’t look at me and see Mom and Dad. She
didn’t ignore me because being around me was too emotionally devastating. She was a
gift, Jag.A gift. And you destroyed her with your thoughtlessness just like you do every
good thing in your life.”

“I didn’t destroy you.” He turned to her, knowing the pain showed on his face. He didn’t
care. He was tired of trying to protect himself from emotion. Life was risk. Life was
grief. Life was endless sorrow. “Tell me I didn’t destroy you, Sierra. Please.”

She looked away. “No. I did that on my own.” Sierra shook her head and lifted her gaze
to his. “I want happiness for Georgie. A good life. He’s only three and he’s seen so much
hell. Mark doesn’t care about our son. He only cares about hurting me.”

“He’s obsessed.”

Her sudden grin surprised him. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I need to clarify.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You’re worthy of love,
too. But you have to accept it.”

With that cryptic statement, she walked out of the kitchen. He wanted to slam his fist
through something. He rearranged the batteries in the flashlight and screwed the bottom
on with a lot more force than necessary. She didn’t blame him for Isabella’s
abandonment. Thank God. It brought some relief to the constant ache in his heart. But she
was right. He didn’t feel like love was for him. To give love to his family, sure. To take it
from someone else, no. Love was not for him.

At least Sierra had forgotten about going with him tonight. Now he didn’t have to worry
about her getting in the way. As if reading his thoughts, Sierra peeked her head around
the corner and said, “And I’m going tonight.”

He gritted his teeth, placing the flashlight on the counter. “Hard-headed little shit,” he
muttered.

“I heard that,” Sierra sang out then he heard her footsteps as she climbed the stairs.

Jag shook his head. What was he going to do with the women in his life? None of ‘em
ever listened to him. A flash of Isabella, smiling, her eyes shining with love, punched him
in the gut. How could they ever form a bond? They’d hurt each other too much. He could
do one thing for her, though. The only thing that would free her from him—forever.

* * * * *

Isabella stood at the window of the guest bedroom. The view encompassed treetops and
blue sky, but not much else. Sighing, she turned away from the window just as a soft
knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” she called, smiling when she saw Sierra enter the room. Sierra closed the
door and crossed to Isabella.

“Here,” she said, handing Isabella a piece of paper.

Isabella took the paper. “Are you sure you want me to do this? What if I fail? What if—”

Sierra looked at her. “Izzy, what’s wrong? Is it my brother?”

“No.”

“What is it then?” Sierra asked, sitting on the bed.

Isabella sat next to her and shrugged. “It’s what happened a few months ago. In Reno.”

“Tell me.”

“Maggie and Craig Taylor had read about me in the Reno paper. I found a lady’s ring
that had been missing for more than forty years.”

Sierra nodded. “You used to find stuff for people all the time in college. What did the
Millers want you to find?”

“Their daughter. They had been vacationing in Reno. One minute Maggie was holding
Jessica’s hand and the next, the little girl was yanked away in the crowded street. By the
time they came to me for help, Jessica had been missing for a week.”

“God, that’s awful. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Georgie,” Sierra said softly. She
shuddered. “What happened?”

Memories flooded Isabella. Dark night. Flashing lights. An alley. Sweet little Jessica
lying so peacefully in the refuse. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the guilt or the pain
anymore. The words rushed out of her.

“Before the Millers came to me, I’d been having nightmares. I would hear a child
screaming. That’s all. No visions. Just screaming. I didn’t connect it to Jessica until it
was too late. If I had tried to find out what the dreams meant, maybe I could have saved
her. If I had done something then, she would be alive. Instead, I ignored what my mind
was telling me because I’d never had those kinds of premonitions before.”

Tears slipped down Isabella’s cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

Sierra hugged her and whispered, “It wasn’t your fault. I know you see parallels here,
but Georgie isn’t Jessica. You can help him. You can help us. I believe that. I believe in
you.”

Isabella wanted to sob louder, to give voice to her grief, but she should be comforting
Sierra, not the other way around. Her friend’s words were both comfort and
condemnation.

She pulled out of Sierra’s embrace. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? I’ve been a terrible
friend. I loved you so much…and walked away.”

Isabella saw the tears glistening in Sierra’s eyes. “I know why you did,” she said. “I
missed you.”

This time Isabella put her arms around her friend and they cried together.

* * * * *

Jag shut the door with a quiet click and leaned against the wall. The flashlight hung limp
in his hand. Disbelief warred with his need to comfort the two women in the bedroom.
How could Isabella believe that little girl’s death was her fault? Dreams were dreams,
weren’t they? He shook his head. He didn’t disbelieve her story and that surprised him.

He believed in her.

Jag pushed away from the wall, clenching the flashlight. It had been so much easier to
plan Isabella’s downfall when he didn’t believe she was really psychic. But the truth of
her abilities had nagged at him since the day in the saloon when he saw the effect of one
of her visions.

The truth was that he had allowed himself to use her because he believed, in a twisted
way, that she deserved it. And maybe she believed it, too, though he didn’t understand
why. She gave herself to him without reserve, but what about regret? She obviously felt

the same kind of connection, he did. It was deeper than a sexual need, but he’d never let
himself think about it before. If how he felt was just about wanting her body, he could
deal with it. He’d lost himself in other women’s bodies and held no remorse about his
actions. He couldn’t think of a single woman who had affected him the way Isabella did.
No female had haunted him night and day like Isabella. Maybe that was the real reason
he was so pissed off at her, why he needed vindication. He wanted to free himself of her
memory…the way her hair smelled, the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she
laughed, the way her lips felt soft and needy against his. Self-recrimination lodged into
his throat, feeling a lot like the very unmanly need to cry.

How could he possibly unknot the mess he’d made between himself and Isabella?

* * * * *

“You don’t have to try,” Sierra said.

“I want to,” Isabella said. And she knew she had to. She placed the paper between her
palms. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and opened her mind.

Darkness met her inquiry, so she envisioned a white light surrounding the paper. No
images appeared, although the black began to waver. Slowly, the void gave way to the
twisted features of Mark. His blonde hair was lank and dirty and his blue eyes so pale
they looked almost clear. She saw him writing the note, slashing at the page with his pen.
Hatred floated in wisps from the paper, stinging Isabella with its intensity.

Gasping, she opened her eyes and flung the paper out of her hands. It fluttered
harmlessly to the floor and she rubbed her hands against her jeans.

“What did you see?”

“Mark. He’s a very sick person,” Isabella answered. She grasped Sierra’s arm. “You
can’t go tonight. You have to stay here.”

Sierra’s concerned brown eyes sought hers and Isabella wished she had some hocus-
pocus to make her friend see reason.

“Izzy, I have to go. It’s not a choice.”

“You can trust Jag. He’ll get Georgie back and no one will get hurt.”

Sierra shook her head, her blonde curls flying around her face. “I’m going.”

Isabella made a sound of frustration. She grabbed Sierra by the shoulders. “Don’t you
understand? You can’t go! Mark has no intention of letting you live.”

Her friend’s face paled, but Isabella didn’t back down. She knew Mark would kill

Sierra—his hatred ran deep and long. “He’s mentally unstable.”

Sierra shook Isabella’s hands off. “I know he is. But I can’t let Jag go by himself. I’m
not going to stay home and—and knit while my son is being negotiated for like a piece of
property.” She sprang from the bed and crossed the room. “Thanks for your help, Izzy.”

“What about the police? We could call—”

“No,” Sierra said vehemently. “Mark said he would kill Georgie if the police got
involved. That’s why I didn’t give them the note. I’m not taking any chances with my
son’s life.” She wrenched open the door.

“Sierra, wait.” Isabella got off the bed and walked over to the door. “If you’re going, I
am, too.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m going,” Isabella said firmly. “When are we leaving?”

Chapter 10

Pebbles and rocks crunched underfoot as Jag, Isabella, and Sierra darted through the
trees. It was damned cold. They had already walked a mile down the hill, the snow and
ice making the trip even more treacherous, and were now outside of Vikingsholm, a
mansion turned museum that sat on the rim of Emerald Bay—one of the many bays
ringing Lake Tahoe. Not even the moonlight penetrated the thick darkness. Jag flicked
the flashlight on and pointed it at his watch. Then he turned the light off.

“He should be here in ten more minutes,” Jag said in a low voice. “No wonder the
bastard wanted to meet here. It’s almost inaccessible. Now, you two wait here when I go
meet him.”

“No,” Sierra protested in a loud whisper. “I’m going to meet him. You stay here.”

“We’ve already discussed this, damn it. Mark could very well kill you the moment you
walk out into the open.”

“Georgie is my son, Jag.”

Jag sighed. His need to protect Sierra was probably as fierce as hers to protect Georgie’s.
“All right. But make him walk to you. I’ll be right behind you.”

“So will I,” he heard Isabella whisper.

Minutes passed slowly, but no one spoke. The wind picked up, blowing branches against
each other. The scratching sound grated on Jag’s nerves. Black clouds had gathered
earlier, making a storm a definite possibility. Thunder rumbled and Jag prayed the storm
would keep until this business was over.

A twig snapped and Jag peered into the darkness.

Fear rose like bile in his throat when he saw a shadow standing near the corner of the
gray stone house.

Despite his reservations, he nudged Sierra. “Take a few steps and stop.”

He heard her blow out a breath then she stepped out of the trees. He felt Isabella creep up
beside him and he flashed a tense smile at her.

The shadow stepped forward and made a motion for Sierra to come closer. She stood her
ground and the figure took some more steps toward her.

“Sierra. You didn’t bring the cops, did you?”

“No. Where’s Georgie?”

Jag grimaced when he heard the tremble in his sister’s voice. Damn it. He should end
this farce right now and nail Mark to the ground. He stepped forward, but Isabella
grabbed his arm.

“We don’t know where Georgie is,” she reminded him quietly.

Nodding, he stepped back. He’d wait, but damned if he had to like it.

“Georgie. That’s all you care about it, isn’t it, wife?” Mark’s voice was a silky calm that
skittered across Jag’s nerves. Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m not your wife, anymore, Mark. And Georgie’s not your son—the court took away
your rights, remember? Where is he?”

Jag felt relieved when he heard the firmness in Sierra’s voice.

“Georgie’s location is for me to know and you to find out,” Mark said in childish glee.
Jag watched as the man moved forward again.

“Take me to him,” Sierra demanded. She walked closer to Mark.

“No,” Jag hissed, but Sierra either didn’t hear him or, more likely, ignored his directive.

“He’s got a gun,” Isabella whispered. His gaze jerked to Mark. The asshole had a gun
pointed at Sierra. She must have seen it at the same time he did, because her steps slowed
and her stance straightened. Jag cursed under his breath.

“Let me go. He might expect you, but I’ll confuse him long enough for you to go around
and tackle him from behind.”

He turned around and faced her. “Are you nuts?”

“Do you have a better plan? We both know he’s going to shoot Sierra. That’s why he
took Georgie—to get to her.”

The realization that had hovered in his subconscious slammed him in the gut. He peered
at Isabella through the darkness, but couldn’t see her expression. “Do you think Georgie
is dead?”

“I don’t know.”

Before Jag could stop her, Isabella darted out of the foliage.

“You said no one else was here,” Mark cried, swinging the gun to point it at Isabella.

“She’s my friend, not a cop,” said Sierra. “I couldn’t drive. And you know why…you
put me in the hospital again, you bastard.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll learn your place, stupid bitch.”

Fear coursed through Jag as he watched the two women try to soothe Mark’s obvious
agitation. As quietly as possible, he crept through the forest until he was out of Mark’s
eyesight. He ducked low and ran across an open area until he reached the corner of the
house. He now stood behind Mark, but the man was at least five feet in front of him. Jag
adjusted his position so that he could see Mark’s profile. He could see the gun poised
steadily in Mark’s hand.

Thunder rumbled as he moved closer. Icy raindrops pattered against his shoulders. Damn
it. A storm was all they needed. It was a matter of time before rain turned to sleet, maybe
even hail. The sporadic rain turned into torrents of freezing water, deluging the area.

Jag heard Mark screaming, but the fierceness of the sudden storm drowned out the
words. Then Jag saw a short burst of light and heard the screams of Sierra and Isabella.
The rain blocked his vision of the women, either that, or they were no longer able to be
seen. He shut off the terrifying thoughts of Sierra or Isabella being shot and focused on
Mark, who hadn’t moved. His heart beat a tattoo of fear as he lunged forward, propelling
himself towards Mark.

Jag’s teeth slammed together as his head connected with Mark’s back. They both hit the

ground, sliding in the mud created by the rain. Mark rolled over, jabbed Jag in the gut
with an elbow and scrambled away. Jag staggered to his knees, but Mark was already
standing. Jag watched as the gun was pointed at his own head.

“Stay away from me!” Mark screamed.

Jag slowly rose to stand, his hands out in a gesture of surrender. The icy rain battered his
face, but he concentrated at the dark figure that was Mark, sparing a glance in the
direction Sierra and Isabella had been. Damn. He couldn’t see either of the women.

“Why don’t you put the gun down?” he shouted through the storm’s cacophony.

“Why don’t you go to hell?” Mark shouted back.

Jag lunged forward, bringing his forearm up. It connected with Mark’s wrist and the
man’s arm sailed upward.

“No,” Mark yelled as Jag barreled into him, knocking him down.

Jag grabbed Mark’s wrist and smashed it against the slimy rock-strewn ground until the
gun skittered away. Then Jag raised his fist, bringing forcefully down on Mark’s face.
The sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh broke through the storm’s unending cadence.

Mark stilled for a moment before bringing up his knee and jabbing it into Jag’s stomach.
Jag groaned, feeling as if his insides had exploded. Mark took advantage of Jag’s sudden
weakness and twisted out from underneath. Jag saw him grab the gun and the coward
took off toward the rim of the bay.

“Goddamn it!” Jag struggled to stand. Clutching his stomach, he ran after Mark.

* * * * *

“Where is he?” Sierra whispered as Isabella propped her friend against a large tree.

“They ran towards the bay. Are you okay?”

“My son,” Sierra said. “Where is Georgie?”

Isabella ignored the question as she checked Sierra for injuries. Her heart nearly stopped
beating when she saw Sierra go down after the gun was fired. Isabella started with
Sierra’s feet and gently felt her way upward until her hands rested on her friend’s
shoulders.

The tree offered some protection against the storm, but Isabella still shivered with cold.
“Everything seems to be okay,” she said, sitting next Sierra. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

Sierra sat up and viciously rubbed her eyes then glared at Isabella. “Yes! I slipped on a
rock. I have the headache of the size of the Grand Canyon, but I’m just peachy! Now let’s
go find my son.”

Before Isabella could feel relief at Sierra’s spark of life, the other woman had jumped up
and started marching toward the rocky beach.

“Wait,” Isabella called out, scrambling after her friend. “Sierra, stop. We need to wait for
Jag.”

Sierra didn’t slow down. “My brother might need us. Did you ever think of that? C’mon.
I’m not waiting.”

A chill of foreboding swept through Isabella. Jag? Hurt? She increased her pace. Just the
thought of him lying on the ground bleeding made her heart pound in her chest.

As they walked, a dark figure appeared through the rain. Isabella and Sierra both
stopped.

“Maybe it’s Mark,” Isabella said. “Let’s go back.”

“He’s too big to be Mark,” Sierra answered as the figure strode towards them.

* * * * *

Jag sent a prayer of thanks to God as he approached the women. They looked frightened,
but unharmed. He grabbed them both by an arm and checked their faces.

A scratch marred Sierra’s cheek and both faces had mud smears. “Are you two okay?”

They both nodded. Jag gave each of them a quick hug.

“Isabella, go call the police. I think Mark has Georgie down by the beach. Sierra and I
will go get Georgie.”

“I think Sierra should call the police, Jag,” Isabella said. “She can give them a better
description of Mark and—”

“No, I need to be here,” Sierra interrupted. “I need to be with my son.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, why don’t you—” Jag swallowed his anger. “Let’s go. We’re going
to lose him if we stay here and debate all day.”

The three of them headed toward the beach. The wind whipped at their bodies. The
freezing rain beat mercilessly at them, and as Jag feared, hailstones fell, smacking the
beach and water like small cannonballs. As they reached the edge of the bay, there was

no sign of Mark.

“Let’s split up. You two go up to the left and I’ll check the right side.”

As they turned away, a whirring noise bit through the pounding of the rain. Jag peered at
the roaring water of the lake and detected a moving flash of white.

“He’s got a boat,” he shouted, pointing at the bay.

“No,” Sierra cried, rushing into the lake’s edge. “Mark,” she screamed. “Come back
here. Mark!”

Isabella watched as Jag pulled his sister out of the water. She hurried forward, stopping
when her foot kicked something. Slowly, she bent down and picked up it up. Both hope
and dread seared through her as she recognized the object.

It was a little boy’s Reebok sneaker.

* * * * *

Isabella turned away from her vigil at the bedroom window. She hadn’t bothered to turn
on the lights after she’d returned from taking a shower. For some reason, the darkness
soothed her. It was as if the light would impale her—would show her failure and
weakness.

She walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer. The tiny white sneaker was barely
visible in the darkness. She had shoved it into her jacket pocket after she’d found it. She
didn’t want to touch the shoe. Not yet. Not until she was prepared for the images it might
bring.

Sitting on the bed, she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and centered her thoughts,
focusing them into a beam of pure white light. She imagined the light covering her body
in its glow. Her breathing slowed and deepened. She opened her eyes, feeling calm and
peaceful. Taking a deep breath, she reached into the drawer and withdrew the sneaker.

Cupping the shoe in her palms, she released the barrier that separated her rational mind
from her special ability. The first image shot into her consciousness—a sleepy Georgie
creeping down the stairs. Isabella smiled. His shoes were on the wrong feet. The image
faded.

“It’s not enough,” she murmured, fully opening the door to her mind. She grasped the
shoe tighter, wanting more truths. In another flash, she heard Georgie’s terrifying
scream…felt his fear and confusion…saw water and a boat. In her mind’s eye, she
watched as a large shape loomed ahead of the boat.

Lightning flashed, revealing the identity of the shape.

As hope welled within her, she hugged the shoe to her chest.

A light knock on the door caused her to hastily toss the shoe into the drawer. She jumped
off the bed and positioned herself near the window.

“Isabella, are you asleep?”

Pleasure then chagrin flooded through her as she recognized Jag’s voice. Her craving for
his presence frustrated her. Would she ever stop wanting him the way he had stopped
wanting her?

“I’m not asleep. Please, come in.”

The door opened and he stepped through. The storm had abated, leaving the sky a mixed
tapestry of stars and thick clouds, and the ground a mixture of ice and gray slush. A sliver
of moon shone in the room, slashing light across Jag’s face. Isabella was struck by the
man’s beauty. He could be a poster boy for Broken Hearts Anonymous. She sighed,
knowing he had broken her heart and there wasn’t anything funny about that.

He walked across the room and stood next to her, glancing out the window. “Beautiful
night.”

“Yes.”

The silence lay thick and heavy as a blanket between them. Her heart ached for Jag, for
his limited ability to accept her fully and for herself because she had fallen in love with
him anyway.

“How’s Sierra?”

“Sleeping. Margaret put a couple of valiums into her hot chocolate.”

Isabella smiled. “That was probably the only way to get her to rest. What did the police
say?”

“There’s nothing they can do until the morning. They said they’ll go to Vikingsholm and
search the area. With that boat, though, he’s probably long gone.”

“Jag, I—”

“No, wait a minute. There’s something I want to say,” he interrupted, turning to face her.

“But this is—”

Jag put a finger against her lips to quiet her protest. Isabella resisted the urge to lick his

fingertip. His eyes darkened momentarily as if he knew what she had been thinking and
then he moved his finger.

“I’m not going to…that is, I don’t want to…shit.” He turned away, looking into the night
before returning his gaze to her. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

He was apologizing? Foreverything ? Did he expect that to cover anything he’d said or
done—ornot said and done—for the last eight years? She supposed she should feel
grateful considering Jag was not the kind of man to apologize, even if he was wrong and
knew it.

“I want to get Georgie back safe and sound. I want my family whole again.”

She heard the fear in his words. He loved his nephew and sister very much. Briefly, she
wondered what it would be like to be encompassed by such a fierce, unconditional love.
She also heard his regret. He was saying that he didn’t love her, but that he didn’t want to
hurt her, either. She swallowed the lump of pain in her throat and fought the ache behind
her eyes. She took a deep breath, shoving her unruly emotions away. He already had her
heart; she wouldn’t give him her tears.

Jag put a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the cotton
shirt, sending little slivers of fire shooting through her. She gazed at him, marveling at the
molten dark heat of his eyes. They beckoned her, challenged her, wanted her.

“Jag,” she whispered.

He dipped his head and gently placed his lips against hers. His mouth was warm and
tasted of mints and coffee. His purely masculine smell gave her visions of long nights
spent making love in front of a fireplace. She allowed his tongue entrance, then boldly
swept the tip of her own tongue against his bottom lip, devouring his mouth as he did
hers. She heard him groan and a shot of electric desire zapped the pit of her stomach. She
wanted to die when he broke the kiss, but instead of letting her go, he crushed her to him.

“Bella,” Jag said in a low voice that sent shivers down her spine.

She enjoyed the embrace for a few moments and stepped away. “There’s something I
need to tell you.”

She went to the nightstand, opened the top drawer and pulled out the shoe. Silently she
handed it to Jag. He shot her a puzzled look then examined the sneaker.

“Georgie’s shoe,” he said with a stunned expression. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it on the beach when you were pulling Sierra out of the water.”

She watched him shake in his head in confusion.

“What are you doing with it? Why didn’t you tell Sierra and me about this?”

“I wanted to see if I received any impressions off of it. I thought if I could get a location
on Georgie—we could go get him. We can’t wait for the police. Tomorrow morning may
be too late. We’ve got to try again tonight.”

“How are we supposed to do that? We don’t know where—wait a second, are you saying
you know something?”

Isabella didn’t want to see the doubt in his eyes, but it was there. His doubt was a
constant reminder to her of the barrier between them. Shaking off her disappointment,
she put a hand on his arm. “I know where Georgie is. Do you trust me to take you there?”

Chapter 11

Isabella clasped her hands together as she waited for Jag to answer. For a long moment
he stared at her, his gaze shuttered, giving none of his thoughts away. “Where do you
think he is?”

She shook her head in frustration. “There’s an island in the middle of the bay—that’s
where Mark took Georgie.”

He spun on his heel and headed toward the bedroom door. “I’ll meet you downstairs in
ten minutes.”

When he opened the door, light from the hallway spilled into the darkened bedroom and
made Isabella blink. “What about Sierra?”

“She’s asleep. And out of the way. We’ll check out the island before she wakes up,” he
replied without turning around. She watched Jag disappear down the hall. Grabbing her
shoes from the floor, she laced them on. Thank goodness Sierra was about the same size.
She smoothed her borrowed T-shirt. Luckily, she was able to get some fresh clothes from
Sierra while the worn-out sweater and jeans she had arrived in were washed. Muttering a
silent prayer for luck, Isabella left the room.

Vikingsholm was only thirty minutes from the Kellermans’ house, but Jag drove it in
fifteen. Every time he rounded a curve, the tires screeched and so did Isabella’s nerves.
She was grateful when they arrived in the parking lot. Jag, however, didn’t stop the car
but turned onto the narrow road meant for visitors going to the museum—walking
visitors. The rental car bounced along the paved path. Gritting her teeth, she held on to
the armrest with one hand and the edge of her seat with the other, sighing with relief
when the car’s headlights shone on the rocky beach.

Jag made a wide turn then backed the car until the trailer hitched behind hit the water’s
edge. He shut off the car and hopped out, leaving Isabella to struggle with her seatbelt.
When she finally got out of the car, he was untying the small machines attached to the
trailer.

“Are you sure those are safe?” Isabella eyed the Jet Skis with dismay. Jag’s laughter
brought a swift heat to her cheeks.

“The Kellermans didn’t buy these for artistic value. Sierra and I rode them last summer.
It’s the fastest way to get to the island.”

The machine slid into the water, floating against the edge of the beach as Jag held onto
the tether. Isabella could hear the rocks scraping the bottom of its acrylic underside. The
wind blew heavily and thunder rumbled.

As Jag strode into the water, boots and all, Isabella felt a drop of rain ping her nose. “It’s
going to rain again,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not riding one
alone.”

“We’ll do better on one. C’mon.” He threw his leg over the vinyl seat. “Unless you want
to stay here?”

“No way.” Isabella jumped into the lake, groaning when the freezing water splashed her
thighs. Goosebumps rose along her skin and her teeth chattered as she climbed up next to
Jag. She wrapped her arms tightly around Jag’s waist. He grabbed her hands and adjusted
them. “You’ll be all right.”

Before she could deny his reassurance, he hit the gas and the machine roared to life. She
figured Jag hit the switch to the single headlight because a narrow beam of yellow sliced
the water ahead of them. As they flew across the frothing lake, she tightened her hold on
Jag. Rain pattered against her back and head, forcing her to burrow into Jag’s back.
Water splashed her legs, soaking the rest of her jeans. Even her seat was wet.

The roar of the Jet Ski’s engine was lost under an ominous rumble of thunder and the
wind’s constant whipping of the lake. She held onto Jag for dear life, hoping this ride
from hell would end soon. As she began to consider the benefits of flinging herself into
the lake just to get off the damn machine, it slowed and the light flicked off. “We’re not
far,” she heard Jag shout. “I’ll get us in a little closer, but we’ll have to swim a few yards.
Hopefully the rain kept him from hearing the engine.”

“All right,” she shouted.

After he maneuvered the Jet Ski closer to shore, he slid off into the water. Isabella saw
the rope clutched in his hand. Without giving herself time to think, she jumped into the
water. Numbing cold surrounded her as she bobbed to the surface. She felt Jag’s hand on

her arm and floundered, finally grabbing his shoulder, glad for the strength she felt in his
muscles. His hand found hers and he gave her quick squeeze before letting go.

He kicked away, dragging the Jet Ski with him as he swam. Isabella followed, her hand
clutching the footrest on the machine. The rain, although not as fierce as the earlier storm,
still battered them. Exhaustion poured into Isabella’s bones. She didn’t think she would
ever feel warm again. She followed Jag’s steady pace and wanted to cry with relief when
her feet scraped against the lake’s rocky bottom. She slipped and slid on the slimy rocks,
but finally made it to the beach. She walked toward Jag who was tying the rope attached
to the Jet Ski around a large rock. When he finished, he dragged her into his arms.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded against his chest then pulled away. “Let’s go and finish this.”

She saw Jag remove the flashlight from a jacket pocket. He turned it on, flashing it
quickly around. A crumbling gray stone cottage stood in the center of the small island. A
few scraggly trees sparsely grew around the abandoned house. Another wave of the light
revealed Mark’s small white boat had been pulled halfway onto the beach.

“They’ve got to be in there.” Jag clicked off the light. “Remember—you get Georgie and
I’ll handle Mark.” They jogged toward the house, bending down to peer through a wall of
tumbled rocks. Darkness filled every corner and the rain made it difficult any human
movement. Jag motioned to Isabella to follow and they moved around to the front of the
building. A gaping hole where a door once stood marred the flat gray stone. Jag motioned
her stay and Isabella watched, heart pounding, as he crept closer to the side of the door.
She saw him peer into the dark house and then slip inside.

Seconds passed that felt like hours as she waited for him to come out. She was glad
when the rain slackened to just a pattering of drops. Huddled against the wall, she tried
not to let her imagination take over, but it did anyway. She kept thinking of Mark’s gun.
What if the madman shot Jag? Fear dried her throat. What if Mark had already killed
Georgie? A sharp crack made a scream rise in Isabella’s throat but she clamped a hand
over her mouth when she realized it had only been thunder. Then Jag stepped out of the
doorway and relief flooded through her.

“No one’s in there,” Jag said as he hunched next to her. “There’s nowhere else to hide on
this island.”

“I don’t understand. I know they’re here. They have to be. How would they leave
without the boat?”

Jag rose and pulled Isabella to her feet. “I don’t know. Let’s check around the other side
of the house.”

They both walked the short steps to the edge of house. As they rounded the corner,

lightening flashed, slashing across the ugly smile on Mark’s face as he leveled the gun at
them.

“Looking for me?”

Isabella’s heart stopped as her gaze was drawn to a small, unmoving body next to
Mark’s feet. Mark saw the direction of her horrified glance and laughed.

“Too late,” he chanted. “Too-ooh-ooh late.”

She felt like she would choke on the revulsion rising like bile in her throat. Mark was a
sick, sick man, but she had no pity for him. She looked at the still figure on the ground
then looked at Jag and shuddered.

His face was carved in stone except for the muscle jumping in his jaw. She’d seen that
look in his eyes once before, the night she’d ventured into his studio.

“I’m going to shoot you,” Mark yelled. “Sierra loved Georgie better than me. She loved
you better than me. So. Take away you two and she only has me.”

“She doesn’t want you,” Isabella said. “She doesn’t love you.”

Mark’s pale face lapsed into confusion. “You’re lying. She loves me.”

Isabella clenched her fists against her sides. She had to get to the boy, to make sure
Georgie was okay. Suddenly, Mark swung the gun and pointed it at her.

“I’ll shoot you first, bitch,” Mark said, eagerness lighting his nearly translucent eyes.

“The hell you will,” Jag roared, leaping forward.

The ferocity of Jag’s advancing attack stunned Mark long enough for Jag to slam his fist
into the creep’s face. Mark staggered backward and fell.

Isabella rushed forward and tore off the blanket covering the small body. She bit down
on her lower lip to prevent the cry of pain and anger threatening to overwhelm her. As
tears caressed her cheeks, she bent down and swept the lock of Georgie’s hair aside. He
looked very much like the little boy in her dreams. She laid a hand against his cool cheek,
wishing she hadn’t been so hesitant in deciding to help. If she had started earlier—if she
hadn’t doubted herself, maybe Georgie would still be alive.

Her heart nearly stopped when the little boy moaned. He nestled his cheek into Isabella’s
palm and whispered, “Mommy?”

“Georgie,” Isabella murmured as joy flooded through her. “Honey, it’s okay. Aunt Izzy
is right here and we’re going to see your mommy.”

Georgie’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at her with wide eyes for a long moment. She
realized he’d probably been drugged. He frowned at her. “Are you really my aunt?”

“If you want me to be,” she answered, laughing in relief. She picked him up and glanced
toward the grappling men, wincing when she saw Jag take a blow to the stomach. Jag
returned the punch, knocking Mark to the ground again. This time Mark lay still. As Jag
staggered toward them, Isabella saw the blood trickling down his cheek. The rain had
stopped, but thunder still grumbled in the sky.

“C’mon,” he said when he reached them. “We’ll take the boat and hitch the Jet Ski to it.
He’ll be stuck on this island until the police come get him.”

Isabella glanced toward Mark’s body. “Is he—”

“He’s alive,” Jag said. He glanced at Georgie snuggled against Isabella and grinned.

“Wanna go for a boat ride, Georgie?”

Georgie nodded sleepily as Jag ruffled his hair.

“We’ve got to get you out of here, honey,” Isabella said.

Jag reached down and grabbed the blanket, tucking it around the shivering boy.
Together, they walked around the house, scurrying toward the beach.

“What did you do with the gun?” Isabella said as Jag scooted the boat toward the lake.

“I didn’t do anything with it. I didn’t see where it landed when I knocked it out of
Mark’s hand.”

A shiver racked her body and she knew it wasn’t from the cold. Although Mark was
probably out for awhile, she wouldn’t feel better until they had gotten off the island. Jag
pushed the boat halfway into the water and motioned for Isabella to hand over Georgie.

“I’ll untie the jet ski,” she said.

Jag nodded and she ran toward the rock where the rope was tied. Quickly, she worked at
the knot, hissing in frustration when it refused to give. She broke two nails trying to insert
them between the tangled rope and cursed.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and sighed in relief. “Thank God! You tie a mean
knot, you know that?”

She turned around to face Jag and drew back in disbelief. “Mark” she said in a horrified
voice. One of his eyes was swelling shut and blood caked the side of his face. He looked

like a grotesque one-eyed monster.

She tried to back away, but her body scraped against the rock behind her. “Come with
me now,” he growled, shoving the gun into her ribs. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Mark replied then grinned.

He grabbed her by the arm and propelled her down the rocky beach. Her palms were
damp with sweat and her heart pounded fiercely against her chest. Fear roared through
her. What should she do? She couldn’t let Mark get to Jag and Georgie. He’d kill them.
But if she tried to stall, he’d probably just kill her. It wouldn’t stop him.If only Jag would
get into the boat with Georgie and go.

Any plan to save Jag and Georgie, however, died as Mark dragged her down the beach.
The boat was already in view and Jag had spotted them. Isabella watched as he jumped
out of the boat and ran towards them.

“Jag,” she called out, forcing him to stop a few feet away. “Take Georgie and get out of
here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jag said hoarsely.

Mark laughed softly in her ear and jerked her forward.

“What’s the matter, Masters? Do you love her? The way I love Sierra? Maybe now you
can understand.”

“No one wants your kind of love. Let her go.”

“Nope. Don’t think so. But I will shoot her,” Mark answered. “I’ve got the gun right
here. Just one bullet and boom!—no more girlfriend.”

“You son-of-a-bitch.” Jag advanced two steps. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Shame on you, Jag,” Mark chastised. “You’ve been naughty. Now, say goodbye.”

“No!” Jag shouted.

Mark giggled and shoved the gun harder into Isabella’s ribs. She grimaced at the pain.
She caught Jag’s gaze.Go , she pleaded silently,please go.

“I don’t think Sierra would like you to shoot one of her friends. Maybe if you let Isabella
go, you’ll get back on Sierra’s good side.”

Isabella saw Mark tilt his head as if to consider the option. Water sloshed against the
beach. They were only footsteps away from the lake. Could she manage to get him into
the water? She glanced at the slight man and saw him shrug. Dread spread through her as
he smiled.

“Sierra will forgive me no matter what. It’s in our marriage vows. But how about this?
I’ll shoot you first.”

Like a movie projected in slow-motion Isabella saw Mark’s arm swing outward and aim
the gun at Jag. With a cry, she jerked out of Mark’s grasp and lunged forward. She saw
Jag’s horrified expression as she dove onto him. A loud report echoed in her ears then a
searing pain jolted her body. She felt as if someone had pulled a puppet string attached to
her back as she shoved Jag on the ground. Her side seemed to go numb with pain and
burn at the same time.

* * * * *

“Bella,” Jag cried, clutching her in his arms. “Damn it, woman, what do you think you’re
doing?”

He sat up with her and looked at her face. She was pale but she gave him a tremulous
smile. “Forgot to tell you.” She took a rattling breath. “Love. You.” She collapsed like a
rag doll in his arms.

“Uncle Jag, is my aunt okay?” Jag felt his insides split apart as he looked up and saw his
nephew standing next to them. He’d failed to protect Isabella and now Georgie was
standing right in front of danger.

“Georgie, go back to the boat,” he said.

“No, son, stay. The fun’s just beginning.” Mark eyed Isabella’s body distastefully.
“Would you mind moving her off you so I can get a good aim at your heart? Or would
you like me to kill the boy first?”

Although anger and fear coursed through Jag, he knew provoking Mark would only lead
to more misery. Gently, he scooted Isabella onto her stomach, fear made his insides
clench when he saw the blood covering her jacket. Regret, fear and an unrecognizable
emotion flooded through him.

Slowly Jag stood. “You won’t get away with this you slimy—”

“Actually, I will. You see, I have a gun and you have nothing.” Mark took aim at
Georgie who stared at him balefully.

Jag stepped in front of the boy, his fists clenched.

“It doesn’t matter to me who gets it first,” Mark said impatiently. “You’ll both—”

A whirring sound broke through Mark’s words, causing both men to look toward the
lake. A white blur sped toward the beach. Before Jag could take advantage of the
distraction or wonder why the white blur wasn’t slowing down, a jet ski flew out of the
water, arcing toward them. With a surprised shout, Mark leveled the gun at the
approaching Jet Ski but it was too late.

As the machine roared toward him, Jag saw Sierra jump off and roll down the beach.
The Jet Ski slammed into Mark’s chest, flinging him upward like a human kite. He
landed with a muffled thump against the ground. Sierra sprang to her feet and ran toward
them.

“Georgie! Oh my God!” She grabbed her son from Jag’s arms and hugged him fiercely.
Jag bent down and gathered Isabella in his arms.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” Jag said. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”

“C’mon, then, let’s go.” They hurried to the boat and pushed it the rest of the way into
the water. Jag sat with Isabella in his arms and Sierra, with a hand wrapped around her
son, started the engine. The boat roared away from the island.

“Please,” Jag whispered into Isabella’s hair. He couldn’t form any other words. Wetness
dripped down his cheeks and he realized it wasn’t rain on his face, but tears.

Epilogue

“Love. You.”

Jag and Isabella were in his studio, surrounding by his paintings. On the wall hung
“Beautiful One”. In it, a naked Isabella lounged on a white chaise, the curve of her back
and buttocks exposed as she looked coyly over her shoulder. The light in her eyes…the
emotion he’d never been able to discern even though he’d painted it there. Love? Had he
painted love in her gaze because that’s what he really wanted from her?

Jag cupped Isabella’s cheek. “Do you? After all I’ve done to you?”

“You deserve love.”

“But not you. I don’t deserve you.”

She laughed. “It’s not a game. We don’t keep score.”

“But what about—”

“Sshhh.” Her fingers traced his lips. “Love forgives. Love triumphs. Love is forever.”
Her gaze drifted to the shredded painting leaning against the wall.

Jag followed her gaze and watched as the painting lifted from the floor, the strips of
canvas flying outward as a gray-green fog drifted out from it. Fear made him immobile.
Isabella walked toward the destroyed creation, her form fading with every step until only
her lovely face remained, a calm, serene beauty in the terrible swirling mass.

“Don’t go.” He reached for her, his fingers touching nothing. “I need you.”

She smiled…and faded into the darkness.

Jag woke, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The chair he’d fallen asleep in sat next to
Isabella’s hospital bed. The machines around her murmured and beeped. He stared at the
moving lines on the one keeping track of her heart rate and inhaled deeply. He hadn’t lost
her.

Not yet.

* * * * *

Isabella heard a low murmur and the words faded as she tried to slip back into the
comforting night.

“I’m not leaving you, Isabella.” It was the voice again. The man. “Love forgives. Love
triumphs. Remember?”

The words nagged at her. An emotion tickled the numbness surrounding her. Her eyes
fluttered open and her vision took a few moments to clear. She turned her head and saw
Jag sitting in a chair with his head in his hands.

“What are you muttering about?”

His head jerked up. “Bella?”

“’Fraid so.”

He stood and touched her face. “You’re back.”

“Did I go somewhere?”

“You’ve been very sick. The bullet went through your shoulder, but the wound caused

an infection. It’s been a scary three days.”

“Thank you for staying,” she said, wondering why he had. “How are Georgie and
Sierra?”

“Fine. Your Gran’s waiting outside to see you, but I wanted to—well, you probably need
rest.”

He took her hand. His eyes were bleary and his hair needed brushing, but he was still the
best-looking man she ever saw. She loved him more than her next breath. It was okay that
he didn’t feel the same way. She’d heard a line in a movie once…you are what you love,
not what loves you. That was her truth, too, and she clung to it. Loving Jag freed her from
expectations.

He lowered his head until his lips were a breath away from hers. “I don’t know if we can
work through all that we’ve been through. I don’t know if we have a future. I don’t know
if I can make you happy—”

“Jag.” She licked her lips. “What do you know?”

“I love you.”

“That’s enough.”

THE END

About the author:

Michele welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing
at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also available by Michele R. Bardsley:

Life Without Raine

Lighthearted Lust

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning
publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC
on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you
breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

About this Title

This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher 2.0, produced by OverDrive,
Inc.

For more information about ReaderWorks, please visit us on the Web
at