by Pamela Clare
“I always wanted to be an astronaut,” he’d said, shrugging as if he’d just said something ridiculous.
“You could still try. Really, you could. Why not shoot for the stars?”
He’d laughed, shaken his head—and dropped a bomb. “I don’t think any college would take me, at least not yet. I enlisted in the army. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“You’re leaving?” The revelation had stunned her—and left an ache in her chest.
She hated saying good-bye, hated being left behind.
He’d looked down at her and grinned. “Gonna miss me, sprite?”
And as he showed her the stars, opening up the sky to her, Sophie realized she was going to miss him. She’d spent only a few short hours with him, but she already felt like she’d known him forever.
“Up from Leo is Virgo. Can you see it there? And that really bright star is Spica. If you follow it to the south—”
“Hunt?” Sophie was afraid to ask him, was afraid to say it, but he was leaving in the morning. If she didn’t say it now, she’d probably never get another chance.
“Hmmm?”
Heart slamming, she forced herself to speak. “I…I want you to kiss me.”
For a moment he said nothing, but looked into her eyes as if trying to see inside her. Then he cupped her face with his left hand, ran his thumb over her lips, and ducked down.
Sophie had been kissed before, but she’d never been kissed like this.
He brushed his lips over hers again and again, soft butterfly caresses that made her whimper. Then he kissed the corners of her mouth, tasting her lips one at a time. And when she was sure she couldn’t take it another second, he took her mouth in a scorching, full-on kiss.
The heat of it stunned her, stole her breath, made her brain go blank. She heard herself moan, her body turning to hot jelly. She clung to him, instinctively following his lead, opening her mouth to the velvet strokes of his tongue, so new and strange to her. By the time he pulled back, she was shaking.
“Hunt?”
“Yeah, sprite?” He sounded breathless.
“Do that again.”
He groaned, fisted a hand in her hair, and crushed her against him, his mouth plundering hers, lips and tongue and teeth, until she was gasping for breath.
But all too soon he let her go and faced forward, his fist so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white. “I think it’s time to get you home.”
She scooted closer, still shaking. “No, Hunt, please!”
He looked down at her, his forehead furrowed, his lips wet. “If I don’t take you home now, you’re not going to get home till morning.”
She took his face between her hands, felt the rough stubble of his whiskers against her palms. “But that’s what I want! I want—”
“What?”
“You.”
She heard the breath rush from his lungs, felt some kind of battle raging inside him, knew he didn’t believe her.
“I heard what those girls said about you. You shouldn’t feel bad about being a virgin. That’s a beautiful thing. You should save it for a man who makes you feel special. You should save it for—”
“For you.” She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.
He turned in his seat to face her once again, ran his knuckles down her cheek. “But I’m the kid who always gets in trouble, remember?”
“Not with me you’re not.”
Hunt couldn’t believe what she was offering him. How could a smart girl like Sophie Alton see anything in him? “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
She nodded, her eyes looking impossibly big in the dark. “That’s why it has to be now.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Besides, if she wanted to have sex with him badly enough that he couldn’t talk her out of it, he wasn’t stupid enough to stop her. He wanted her—bad.
“Come on.”
He grabbed the blanket he kept in his trunk, took Sophie’s trembling hand in his, and led her to a secluded copse of piñon pine away from the road. Then he spread the blanket on the warm, sandy ground.
If he’d expected her to get cold feet, he was wrong. The moment he turned to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him. His little fairy sprite was passionate. Well, that was fine by him.
He drew her down to the blanket beside him, kissed her until his mouth burned, until he’d tasted her lips in every possible way, until they were both breathless, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
“God, Sophie, you are so sweet!”
Slowly, he undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal a lacy white bra and two small but perfect breasts.
“I-I’m flat chested.” She looked away.
“Who told you that?” He pressed his lips against the lace, felt her body tense, heard her gasp. “I think you’re perfect.”
Unable to suppress a hungry groan, he unfastened the clasp, lowered his mouth to a tight, pink nipple, and sucked.
“Oh!” She arched off the blanket with a cry, her fingers digging into his hair.
Soon she was twisting beneath him, her head turning from side to side, her silky hair a tangled mass, and he was so hard and so turned on from the sight and taste of her that it hurt. He knew he needed to go slowly, but he didn’t think he could wait much longer. He ran his hand down the satin skin of her belly, unbuttoned her jeans, then tugged them off with her panties, exposing the soft curls of her muff and a pair of smooth, slender legs.
He’d expected her to be shy, but she wasn’t. Instead of hiding herself from him, she tried to undress him, tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans and fumbling with the buttons of his fly.
“I want to touch you!” Her voice was a breathy whisper.
“Yeah.” He liked that idea.
He yanked off his shirt, then guided her uncertain fingers, nearly coming undone when she slid her hands over the skin of his bare ass to push his jeans and boxers out of the way.
“Can I see?” she asked.
“See?” And then he understood.
She’d never seen a dick before, at least not a hard one.
He rolled onto his side, took her hand, and guided it to his stiff cock, his entire body tensing when her fingers closed around him.
Sophie hadn’t thought an erect penis would be so big. Or so hard. Or so silky. “I thought it would be like a hot dog.”
He gave a snort. Then laughed. “A hot dog?”
She stroked him, ran her thumb over the moistened tip, felt his body jerk, his laughter catching in his throat, becoming a moan. Hungry for him, she explored him with her hands—his erection, his belly, his chest with its mat of dark curls.
And then he was kissing her again, his lips burning a path over her mouth, down her throat to her breasts, his fingers seeking between her thighs, teasing that secret part of her until she felt damp and hot and achy.
“I want to taste you!” His breath was cool against the heat of her wet, tingling nipples, his hand persistent between her thighs.
Surely he didn’t mean…
Oh, but he did!
Shocked to her core, she tried to stop him. “Hunt, no! You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His hard thigh pressed between hers, nudged her legs apart. Then he kissed his way down her body, the heat of his mouth and the anticipation raising bumps on her skin.
When at last he kissed her there, he did it with the same attention he’d given her mouth, his lips and tongue unbearably hot, the sweet tug of his lips so intense it almost made her scream. Never had she felt anything like this. She bit her lip, held her breath, fought not to break apart.
“Mmm.” He groaned, nipping her sensitive inner thigh. “God, you taste good!”
He took her with his mouth again, this time sliding first one finger, then two deep inside her, stretching her, stroking her, setting her body on fire.
Breath left her lungs in a low, keening cry—and the heat inside her exploded. Molten gold b
lazed through her, the sensation both scorching and sweet. Only when the pleasure had ebbed did he stop, his lips finding a path up her belly, over her breasts, to her mouth. He tasted wild and musky, and she realized it was her flavor on his lips.
“Are you sure you want to do this, sprite? We can just hold at third base if you want, and you can stay a virgin. I won’t be angry.”
She could see on his face that it cost him something to say those words, and it struck her as excruciatingly sweet that he would give her the chance to back out. Most guys probably wouldn’t do that. But then he was special. Hadn’t she always sensed that?
She pressed her fingers against his lips to quiet him, her decision made the moment he’d kissed her. “I want it to be you, Hunt. I want you.”
“Thank God! I want you more than any girl I’ve ever known!” He stretched himself out above her, lifted one of her slender legs, and wrapped it around his waist. “But there’s something you should know.”
Sophie slid her shaky hands up the muscles of his chest. “Wh-what?”
“I’ve never done this with a virgin. I might hurt you.” Then he nudged himself slowly into her, breath hissing from between his clenched teeth, his gaze locked with hers, his muscles tense.
She gave a surprised gasp at the pain, then felt him withdraw.
Had she scared him off?
She drew him closer. “Don’t stop! It doesn’t hurt—too much.”
He gave her a lopsided grin, sweat on his forehead and chest. “I don’t plan to stop, sprite. I’m just letting you get used to me.”
She felt his hips shift, felt him slide slowly into her again, stretching her past the pain, the fullness both piercing and hot. “Oh! Oh, Hunt, yes!”
He groaned, his eyes closed. “God, Sophie! You feel so good! So wet and tight! I don’t think this will last very long.”
Then he began to move, his motions reigniting the fire inside her, the pleasure building thrust upon thrust, until the stars seemed to explode and rain down around them, leaving them both panting and sweaty in the cool summer night.
HUNT STROKED SOPHIE’S hair, staring at the star-strewn sky above, his senses filled with her. “It’s different with you.”
She lifted her head off his chest, looked at him through sleepy eyes. “What’s different?”
“Everything.”
THEY LAY TOGETHER on the blanket, dozing, talking, laughing. He made love to her twice more, holding her until the sun came up and turned the canyon walls pink. Then he dressed her, crooning an old fifties love song, his lips pressed against her hair.
“One starry night, I kissed your lips/One starry night, I held you tight/You and I under the starry sky.”
But the happiness Sophie had felt through the night seemed to dim with the daylight. All too soon, she found herself sitting in his car just down the street from her grandma’s house, fighting tears as silence stretched between them.
“What are you going to tell your grandma?”
“I don’t know. That I just lost my virginity to the guy she warned me about.” She laughed despite the heaviness in her chest and realized that something had changed. She no longer cared what her grandmother thought.
Hunt frowned. “She warned you about me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she was right, wasn’t she?”
Sophie shook her head, clasped his big hand tightly. “No, she was dead wrong.”
More silence.
“I liked you from the first moment I saw you,” he said at last.
“Really?” She found that hard to believe. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He reached over, ran a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t think a guy like me would stand a chance with a girl as smart and sweet as you.”
“That’s stupid!” she snapped, feeling genuinely angry. But one look at his face and her anger was gone. He truly believed what he’d said. “I liked you from the first time I saw you, too. I’m going to miss you, Hunt.”
“I’d promise to stay in touch, but I’ve never written a letter in my life.”
She stared down at their entwined fingers. “I wish…”
“Me, too. But it’s better this way. You have better things to do than hang around with a loser like me. You’re going to go to college, become a famous journalist, and end up on the TV news. I’ll be able to watch you and think, ‘See that beautiful woman? She gave you the sweetest night of your life.’”
His words seemed to shoot straight through her heart.
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, fought to keep her voice steady. “And what about you?”
He shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll try to be an astronaut after all. Might as well shoot for the stars, right?”
She nodded, swallowed her tears, unable to speak.
“Stay away from Patrick and his gang. Promise?”
She nodded again.
“And don’t listen to what anyone in this town has to say. You’re beautiful, and one day the perfect man will come along and sweep you away. Tough luck for me, isn’t it?” He gave a little laugh, then his voice grew tight. “I won’t forget you, fairy sprite.”
And as she watched him drive away in his blue ’55 Chevy, tears streaming down her face, Sophie knew she’d never forget him either.
CHAPTER 1
Twelve years later
SOPHIE ALTON DROVE through the streets of Denver as quickly as she could in six inches of slick snow. She was running almost twenty minutes late on the one day in her journalistic career when she didn’t want to be late. Today Megan Rawlings would be able to hold her baby girl for the first time since the baby’s birth seven months ago. It was the day Megan had been living for, the day she’d been working so hard for, and Sophie didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.
She’d told the publisher that she had an important interview this morning, but Glynnis Williams never let anyone’s schedule interrupt her agenda. Glynnis had joined the paper three months ago and had made it abundantly clear that she cared more about advertising dollars than journalistic ethics. She’d interrupted the Investigative Team meeting to explain at great length why she wasn’t going to oppose legislation that would weaken the state’s whistle-blower laws, her reasons having everything to do with sucking up to big business and government interests and nothing to do with journalism.
Naturally, Tom hadn’t taken this lying down. Tom Trent had the reputation of being the toughest, most brilliant editor in the state—and the most likely to be murdered by a member of his own staff. But today he’d seemed almost likeable. He taken Glynnis on, haranguing her for a good fifteen minutes about the importance of whistleblower protection laws and slamming her with the most inspired version of his “Watchdogs of Freedom” rant Sophie had ever heard. Glynnis had left the meeting looking gratifyingly angry, but that didn’t change the fact that Sophie was now running late.
She took the exit at Federal, glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard, and pushed the speedometer up to thirty-five, weighing the benefits of speeding against the risk of totaling her car on the ice. “Dammit, Glynnis!”
She’d been reporting on Megan’s struggle since last summer, when her investigation into the stillbirth of an inmate’s baby had spurred her to look closely at the plight of women in prison. Megan had been seven months pregnant then, and something about her had tugged at Sophie’s heartstrings. Perhaps it was Megan’s vulnerability, a young woman going through the uncertainty of pregnancy and childbirth in a world of cold steel and indifferent strangers. Perhaps it was Megan’s brave struggle to overcome her addiction. Or maybe it was Megan’s sweetness and lingering innocence, qualities one didn’t often encounter among repeat offenders.
Sophie had visited Megan every week for months. She’d reported on the drug charges that had landed Megan in prison, six weeks pregnant. She’d bitten her fingernails in the hospital hallway while Megan, shackled by one ankle to the delivery table and denied pain relief by an indifferent obstetrician, had
endured eighteen long hours of labor. She’d watched when Megan had kissed and cuddled her newborn. She’d tried not to cry when Social Services had taken little Emily away, her heart breaking at Megan’s tears and grief.
But today there would be tears of a different sort. Today, mother and child would finally be reunited for a two-hour supervised visit. Just thinking about it put a lump in Sophie’s throat.
She turned left onto Acoma—and pressed on the brakes. Five police cruisers sat in front of New Horizons, lights flashing. It wasn’t unusual to see a cop car parked there. After all, New Horizons was a halfway house, and every so often one of the residents screwed up—broke the house rules, tested hot for drugs, lifted something—and landed back in prison. But never during the months she’d come here had Sophie seen this kind of police response.
Someone was in deep trouble.
She made her way around the bottleneck created by the police cars, nosed her little Toyota into the parking lot, and turned off the engine. Then she grabbed her notebook and purse and stepped out into the frigid February morning. The sky was a brilliant blue, but the sunshine held no warmth, an icy wind blowing off the jagged white mountains to the west. She pulled her coat tighter and, chin down, hurried to the front door.
Joaquin Ramirez, the paper’s best shooter, was already waiting for her in the lobby, his camera ready. He grinned when he saw her. “Told you I’d get here first.”
“You cheated.” Sophie fished out her press card, glanced toward the reception desk. “Lucky for you every cop in Denver was here. One of them might have pulled you over.”
He rolled his dark eyes. “Don’t blame me if you’re chicken to drive in snow.”
She glanced toward the reception desk. “Did you check in?”
“Nope. I was waiting for you.”
Sophie crossed the lobby, signed in, and held out her press card. “Sophie Alton and Joaquin ‘Speedy’ Ramirez here to see Megan Rawlings.”
The receptionist glanced down at Sophie’s press ID, then met her gaze, a strange look on her face. “You’ll have to wait in the lobby.”