branch that was the problem. It was the trunk.
The workers scrambled for cover.
With a protesting groan of splintering wood and pulled roots, the damaged tree tipped, falling across the road. It took forever for the huge oak to crash, as though it didn’t want to let go of the earth and its life.
She watched with utter disbelief as it landed with an endless shudder of branches that sprayed water in every direction and reverberated in the ground beneath their feet. The massive and muddy root ball was the last to settle, with blackened tips dangling like octopus tentacles at the far end.
They all stood there in astonished silence, surveying the damage.
The smashed car was now free, but they were otherwise right back where they started, with the road blocked by several tons of tree. Even the rescue equipment was on the wrong side for any getaways.
Skylar blinked and realized, with a flash of purest joy, that that tree had just bought her another day or two right here where she was, with Sandro.
Judging by his thunderous expression, Sandro knew it, too.
Their gazes locked, and she felt the thrum of electricity prickle over her skin and pool deep in her belly.
“Interesting,” she said. “I guess it’s not quite time for me to leave, after all, is it?”
She walked off before he could answer.
Chapter 9
S andro went inside and took a quick shower that did nothing to help him decompress from his growing agitation. He was so full of Skylar—the way she looked, smelled and smiled, not to mention the alarming new fact that she wasn’t leaving yet—that he couldn’t sit still.
He felt crowded and tight, as though she was inside his skin with him and there was nowhere for him to go and no avenue of escape that wouldn’t do him serious physical damage.
It was getting so that the thought of her staying crazed him more than the thought of her leaving and—
No.
He wouldn’t go down that road. Not ever, if he could help it, and certainly not now. They’d passed a point of no return, he and Skylar, and his sanity now seemed to be inextricably intertwined with the need to never examine his feelings for her.
What if he discovered that he was falling for her?
What kind of man survived the explosion that’d killed his brother, and then became involved with his brother’s woman?
He had just enough honor left to know that he wasn’t willing to be that man.
So his plan was really simple: he’d continue to avoid her while she was here (as much as she’d allow, anyway), she’d leave as soon as possible, and life would, eventually, revert to normal.
Otherwise known as Operation Ostrich.
She’d been right about his relationship with Nikolas, though, and that was why he was at this end of the hallway, near the damaged mural. Man, what a mess. The water had really done a job on it, reducing scenes from the Trojan War and The Odyssey to streaks of running color and puckered drywall. The carpet, meanwhile, was still soaked and probably incubating some lethal form of mold.
He sighed. Problems for another day.
He gave the boy’s bedroom door a hard knock so he’d be heard against the ear-damaging thump of bass coming from the sound system.
It was Jay-Z again; the hard-core stuff.
Every now and then, Sandro thought about bursting the kid’s subversive bubble and telling him that he and his men had listened to Jay-Z all the time in Afghanistan, and Sandro therefore knew many of the words to most of his songs, but he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to disillusion the kid like that. Didn’t all teenage boys need to believe that their dads were the biggest dorks in the world?
“Who is it?” Nikolas called.
“Your father,” Sandro said, eyeing the collection of signs on the door. This kid was a regular welcome wagon. Caution: Radiation Area said one; Warning: Zombies Ahead said another. Then there was the obligatory red Stop sign, one that said No Trespassing! Violators Will be Shot. Survivors Will be
The workers scrambled for cover.
With a protesting groan of splintering wood and pulled roots, the damaged tree tipped, falling across the road. It took forever for the huge oak to crash, as though it didn’t want to let go of the earth and its life.
She watched with utter disbelief as it landed with an endless shudder of branches that sprayed water in every direction and reverberated in the ground beneath their feet. The massive and muddy root ball was the last to settle, with blackened tips dangling like octopus tentacles at the far end.
They all stood there in astonished silence, surveying the damage.
The smashed car was now free, but they were otherwise right back where they started, with the road blocked by several tons of tree. Even the rescue equipment was on the wrong side for any getaways.
Skylar blinked and realized, with a flash of purest joy, that that tree had just bought her another day or two right here where she was, with Sandro.
Judging by his thunderous expression, Sandro knew it, too.
Their gazes locked, and she felt the thrum of electricity prickle over her skin and pool deep in her belly.
“Interesting,” she said. “I guess it’s not quite time for me to leave, after all, is it?”
She walked off before he could answer.
Chapter 9
S andro went inside and took a quick shower that did nothing to help him decompress from his growing agitation. He was so full of Skylar—the way she looked, smelled and smiled, not to mention the alarming new fact that she wasn’t leaving yet—that he couldn’t sit still.
He felt crowded and tight, as though she was inside his skin with him and there was nowhere for him to go and no avenue of escape that wouldn’t do him serious physical damage.
It was getting so that the thought of her staying crazed him more than the thought of her leaving and—
No.
He wouldn’t go down that road. Not ever, if he could help it, and certainly not now. They’d passed a point of no return, he and Skylar, and his sanity now seemed to be inextricably intertwined with the need to never examine his feelings for her.
What if he discovered that he was falling for her?
What kind of man survived the explosion that’d killed his brother, and then became involved with his brother’s woman?
He had just enough honor left to know that he wasn’t willing to be that man.
So his plan was really simple: he’d continue to avoid her while she was here (as much as she’d allow, anyway), she’d leave as soon as possible, and life would, eventually, revert to normal.
Otherwise known as Operation Ostrich.
She’d been right about his relationship with Nikolas, though, and that was why he was at this end of the hallway, near the damaged mural. Man, what a mess. The water had really done a job on it, reducing scenes from the Trojan War and The Odyssey to streaks of running color and puckered drywall. The carpet, meanwhile, was still soaked and probably incubating some lethal form of mold.
He sighed. Problems for another day.
He gave the boy’s bedroom door a hard knock so he’d be heard against the ear-damaging thump of bass coming from the sound system.
It was Jay-Z again; the hard-core stuff.
Every now and then, Sandro thought about bursting the kid’s subversive bubble and telling him that he and his men had listened to Jay-Z all the time in Afghanistan, and Sandro therefore knew many of the words to most of his songs, but he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to disillusion the kid like that. Didn’t all teenage boys need to believe that their dads were the biggest dorks in the world?
“Who is it?” Nikolas called.
“Your father,” Sandro said, eyeing the collection of signs on the door. This kid was a regular welcome wagon. Caution: Radiation Area said one; Warning: Zombies Ahead said another. Then there was the obligatory red Stop sign, one that said No Trespassing! Violators Will be Shot. Survivors Will be
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