but she remained immobile, as if her body had somehow linked itself with his. His head dipped toward her, and she could only lift her lips to his as all rational thought disintegrated into pure sensation. His mouth on hers, warm and soft and firm and demanding and giving, carried her away from the empty world she'd been trapped in, created a whole universe of twinkling stars and swirling galaxies, of moons and planets and suns waiting to be explored.
Her arms wrapped around him, her hands splaying across his back, her fingers searching the corded muscles beneath his denim shirt. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his ragged breathing, as though the two of them comprised a single entity. He pulled her more tightly against him, one hand sliding down her hip while the other tangled in her hair.
With every breath she drank in more of him. The scents of denim and masculinity she'd noticed in the library mingled with the green scent of the freshly-mown grass, and all seemed to belong to Jake. He surrounded her, his lips devouring hers, his arms wrapping her body, his essence invading her soul. She could feel his hardness against her and she wanted him, wanted all of him, needed to be a part of him, as if by a physical union he could fill the black hole she'd become.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, an alarm bell clanged. She wanted to ignore it, to immerse herself in the wild sensations Jake's kiss created in her, to grasp for the elusive quality of completion, but the alarm kept screaming discordantly.
She'd just lost her family, maybe twice. This frantic need for Jake wasn't going to change that. He wasn't going to fill the void.
Reluctantly she pushed away, and this time he let her.
The summer evening turned cold as his lips and his body left hers.
"It's getting late," she said breathlessly. "We should go back."
His eyes searched hers for a long moment, then he nodded. "You're right," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was responding to what she'd said or what he'd seen in her eyes. Or both.
They crossed the cemetery side by side but not together, and the setting sun cast long shadows before them.
When they were seated in the car, Jake sat for a moment with his hand on the key. "I shouldn't have done that," he said, not looking at her.
That made a horrible situation even worse, made her eager participation one-sided, desperate. "It's all right," she mumbled, studying her hands in her lap.
"It wasn't professional."
"It's all right," she repeated, unable to come up with anything more original to say.
He started the engine, and they drove into the gathering darkness.
If Rebecca had felt alone before, the sensation was multiplied exponentially now. For a few brief moments she'd known a joining to someone else, a belonging. With the withdrawal of that connection, the barren wasteland inside her seemed even more stark.
"As soon as we get to the motel, I'm going to pack up and drive back to Dallas," she said. "Tonight."
"Good idea. I'll keep you up-to-date on anything I find."
"I don't think you'll find anything else. I think Janelle Griffin was my mother." The last of her hope had gone with Jake's withdrawal. The bleakness in her soul was complete. "I think my mother's dead. I've got to accept that and do as you said, get on with my life. Go back to work, reclaim my friends, carve out a place for myself." Though that seemed an impossible feat right now.
"Good idea," he repeated.
So it was sealed. She'd leave and never see Jake again, never again experience the heady sensation of his touch, his kiss. The night stole into the car, seeping inside her pores, running through her veins where hot blood had flowed only a few minutes before.
Two blocks away from the motel, red lights flashed behind them, and a siren sounded.
"What the hell?" Jake pulled over.
"Were you speeding?"
"In this town? Considering our relationship with the local police chief, I wouldn't dare change lanes without giving a signal. Assuming we
Her arms wrapped around him, her hands splaying across his back, her fingers searching the corded muscles beneath his denim shirt. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his ragged breathing, as though the two of them comprised a single entity. He pulled her more tightly against him, one hand sliding down her hip while the other tangled in her hair.
With every breath she drank in more of him. The scents of denim and masculinity she'd noticed in the library mingled with the green scent of the freshly-mown grass, and all seemed to belong to Jake. He surrounded her, his lips devouring hers, his arms wrapping her body, his essence invading her soul. She could feel his hardness against her and she wanted him, wanted all of him, needed to be a part of him, as if by a physical union he could fill the black hole she'd become.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, an alarm bell clanged. She wanted to ignore it, to immerse herself in the wild sensations Jake's kiss created in her, to grasp for the elusive quality of completion, but the alarm kept screaming discordantly.
She'd just lost her family, maybe twice. This frantic need for Jake wasn't going to change that. He wasn't going to fill the void.
Reluctantly she pushed away, and this time he let her.
The summer evening turned cold as his lips and his body left hers.
"It's getting late," she said breathlessly. "We should go back."
His eyes searched hers for a long moment, then he nodded. "You're right," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was responding to what she'd said or what he'd seen in her eyes. Or both.
They crossed the cemetery side by side but not together, and the setting sun cast long shadows before them.
When they were seated in the car, Jake sat for a moment with his hand on the key. "I shouldn't have done that," he said, not looking at her.
That made a horrible situation even worse, made her eager participation one-sided, desperate. "It's all right," she mumbled, studying her hands in her lap.
"It wasn't professional."
"It's all right," she repeated, unable to come up with anything more original to say.
He started the engine, and they drove into the gathering darkness.
If Rebecca had felt alone before, the sensation was multiplied exponentially now. For a few brief moments she'd known a joining to someone else, a belonging. With the withdrawal of that connection, the barren wasteland inside her seemed even more stark.
"As soon as we get to the motel, I'm going to pack up and drive back to Dallas," she said. "Tonight."
"Good idea. I'll keep you up-to-date on anything I find."
"I don't think you'll find anything else. I think Janelle Griffin was my mother." The last of her hope had gone with Jake's withdrawal. The bleakness in her soul was complete. "I think my mother's dead. I've got to accept that and do as you said, get on with my life. Go back to work, reclaim my friends, carve out a place for myself." Though that seemed an impossible feat right now.
"Good idea," he repeated.
So it was sealed. She'd leave and never see Jake again, never again experience the heady sensation of his touch, his kiss. The night stole into the car, seeping inside her pores, running through her veins where hot blood had flowed only a few minutes before.
Two blocks away from the motel, red lights flashed behind them, and a siren sounded.
"What the hell?" Jake pulled over.
"Were you speeding?"
"In this town? Considering our relationship with the local police chief, I wouldn't dare change lanes without giving a signal. Assuming we
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