boy’s does.
That moment had been the highlight of a horny yet relatively sexually deprived adolescence, a memory he had savored far more than he probably should have.
Come to think of it, that moment was still probably one of the hottest of his life.
He stretched a little and glanced at his watch. Two in the morning. He’d been sleeping in Claire Bradford’s easy chair for going on three hours, probably the most he’d slept at a time since the accident nearly two weeks ago.
The accident. A chill seeped into his shoulders, wiping away the last trace of any lighter thoughts like that wind blowing down the canyon. A familiar pain pinched under his breastbone.
Layla.
Ah, Layla.
He closed his eyes, picturing Maura as he’d seen her earlier. He checked on her daily, always hoping for a change but his laughing, free-spirited sister was gone. She had aged a decade in the past two weeks, her skin pale and dry, her features gaunt and drawn.
She said she didn’t blame him for her daughter’s death. Just the day before, she had taken his face in her hands and told him so. “It wasn’t your fault, Ri. Don’t you dare think that. You were doing your job.”
Intellectually, he knew she was right, but that didn’t make the guilt any easier to bear.
He had seen ugly things during his time undercover, things that apparently still haunted his dreams. But in more than a decade of law enforcement, nothing had affected him as much as the accident that had killed his sister’s child.
That chill slid deeper into his bones and he glanced over at the fire and saw it had burned down to embers. The wind had quieted sometime in the night, but he could still hear the soft dribble of the rain.
A quick look at Claire assured him that she was still sleeping soundly and Riley rose and moved quietly toward the fireplace, her funny-looking dog following close behind. Someone—maybe that idiot Bradford?—had left a tidy stack of firewood beside the hearth. He stirred the embers for a moment with the poker until they glowed red, then picked up a nice-size log and tossed it in. It sizzled for a moment before the embers clawed at it and it caught fire. He gazed at the flames for a moment, then heard a slight rustle behind him.
When he turned, he found Claire sitting up, reaching for the small lamp by her sofa with her good hand. Her hair was a little mashed on the side where she’d been sleeping and her cheek was creased from the pillow, but she still looked soft and sleepy and far more sexy than she’d ever been at sixteen.
He, not surprisingly, had the same reaction he’d had in that hallway of his childhood house.
“What time is it?” Her voice sounded husky and low, which didn’t help anything.
“A little past two. You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”
She yawned and massaged her arm just above the cast. “You looked so tired. I figured a few moments might help you feel better.”
“A few moments, maybe. That was three hours ago.”
She gave a rueful smile. “I guess I fell asleep, too. Sorry about that. Is your neck sore from sleeping in the chair?”
“No, actually. I slept better than I have in…a while.”
Her face softened with compassion that he didn’t want to see, so he decided to go for the shock factor.
“I have to tell you, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I was fourteen and used to fantasize about sleeping with you.”
Her jaw dropped and in the dim light from the fire and the area lamp, he watched a tinge of adorable color climb her cheekbones. “You did not.”
“Oh, Claire, my dear, I most certainly did. You were the subject of many a heated fantasy. And a fourteen-year-old boy, unfortunately, can have a pretty vivid imagination.”
She still didn’t look as if she believed him. “Why on earth would you have given me more than a second thought? I was only your older sister’s friend. You always ignored us, unless you were figuring out new ways to torment us.”
In the age-old dance of idiotic boys, he had mostly teased them as an underhanded way to make Claire pay attention to him. He supposed he was always drawn to her, even before he reached an age where he saw her as a very attractive female.
Despite the emotional toll of the past few weeks, he had to smile a little at the shock in her eyes. She probably had no idea she’d been an object of lust, not just to him but to plenty other adolescent males in Hope’s Crossing.
“You’re breaking my heart here, Claire. I had a crush on you from the time I was old enough to figure out girls didn’t really have cooties. Maybe even earlier than that. I used to have all these really great fantasies where one day you’d come to me with your hair all tousled and sexy—lips pouty, eyes heavily made-up like something out of a Bon Jovi video, you know the drill—and tell me you were into me, too. Now you’re basically saying you never once thought of me that way. That’s harsh.”
Her eyes were huge and he couldn’t tell if she was horrified or intrigued. Or maybe both.
She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out and he finally took pity on her.
“I’m teasing, Claire. Oh, the torrid fantasy part is true, much to my shame and embarrassment, but that was all a long time ago. We were completely different people back then.”
He saw her throat work as she swallowed and her hands curled convulsively on the light quilt covering her. Now he’d made her nervous.
“I should get out of here, let you go back to sleep. I never meant to stay so long. Would you like me to take the dog out before I leave?”
She swallowed again, her gaze shifting from him to the dog, then out the window at the rain-soaked darkness before returning to him.
“That would be great. Thank you. There are still far too many things I’d like to do but can’t right now, you know?”
He thought of pressing her back on her pillow and burying his hands in her hair and then kissing that delectable mouth. “I think I have a fair idea,” he said dryly. “Come on, Chester.”
Riley wasn’t quite sure how he managed it, but somehow her dog managed to look excited beyond all his inherent basset gloominess. He opened the kitchen door for him and Chester hurried out into the rain.
Riley stood waiting for him, grateful for the cool, wet air to clear out the rest of his cobwebs. He was also grateful he had the next day off so he could try to sleep in a little, though he had a feeling Claire would show up in his remaining dreams.
That beat the hell out of the alternative, though. He would far rather dream about her than those vivid nightmares about his undercover work or about the accident.
As he waited, he did a quick inventory of her lawn in the glow from the porch light.
“Looks like you’ve lost a few branches from the wind earlier,” he said after he’d let the dog back inside, dried him off a little with a towel hanging by the door and
