A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3) Read online

  “Wait here, I’ll go get the car,” Sean told her; they’d had to park a ways down Hickory Street.

  “No, don’t.” She gave him a smile. “I don’t mind getting a little wet. I love storms.”

  He hadn’t expected that. “You do?”

  She nodded, still smiling. “Second only to the stars in Texas on a clear night. There’s something about them, in the air. The energy, the power if it’s a big one.”

  He heard a distant rumble. “What about that?” he asked.

  Her smiled widened. “I have a healthy respect for thunderstorms, but from a safe distance I love watching the lightning show.”

  For a moment he just stared at her. Then he pulled out his phone and called up his favorite weather app to check the distance and direction of the source of that rumble. Then he looked at her again. “What’s your comfort zone?”

  Her eyes were actually twinkling now. “Do I detect some of my same enthusiasm?”

  “I’ve loved them since I was a kid. There’s a place I go, sometimes. To watch, when it’s coming from the north.”

  “Show me,” she said. “Please.”

  As he drove Sean told himself he wasn’t nervous, just excited. “It’s a place I found kind of by accident, halfway between here and Whiskey River. It’s got a great view that direction, toward the Pedernales. High ground, but you’re not on top of a hill inviting lightning to hit.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  He knew it was going to be a good show the moment he turned off the county road onto the dirt track. They were closer but not too close, and the lightning had already lit the clouds a couple of times. Hopefully when they rounded the shoulder of the hill, where he’d found that small, natural escarpment, they’d have a good view.

  That hope was fulfilled the instant he rounded the last curve and a brilliant, sharp streak forked across the sky.

  “Oh!” Elena exclaimed.

  For a moment he thought she might be frightened, but then he saw her face, and the realization that she was as exhilarated as he was slammed home. He grinned at her, and she grinned back. This was an Elena he never would have guessed at, and for him it was as exciting as the storm.

  It was raining steadily, so he maneuvered to back the small SUV into his usual spot. He hit the power hatch button and it started to rise, then he got out and rounded the front of the vehicle.

  “We can sit in the back and not get soaked,” he said as he opened her door. He knew when she stepped out and instead of running turned her face up to the rain, that she’d meant every word about her love for this. And when his own pulse kicked up he tried to tell himself it was simply sharing this with her, finding something unexpected they had in common.

  They sat under the shelter of the raised hatch as nature reminded them who was really in charge. The lightning that was deeper in the towering cloud made it glow ominously from the inside, the streaks that made it outside seeming like escapees from the maelstrom.

  And then, in a furious burst of energy three streaks snapped to life, all seeming to charge for the same spot at the same moment, lighting up their patch of sky as if it were daylight. The explosion of sound was fierce, cracking, and they could feel the power of it, smell the distinctive scent of it. It was wild, explosive. Sean let out a whoop in the instant Elena cried out an excited yelp. They turned to look at each other, both of them grinning.

  There was a tangible change, the air between them became charged with a very different kind of electricity. And then he was kissing her, hungrily, but more importantly she was kissing him back, as fiercely as the storm thundering around them. Never breaking the kiss, he pulled her down with him to lie in the back of the SUV. At least he started to; after the first second it wasn’t clear who was pulling who.

  He felt the long, slender length of her pressed against him, and just that was so much better than he’d ever imagined that he suddenly wasn’t sure he’d survive this. The taste of her, the feel of her mouth, the dance of their tongues, were fuel to a fire already nearly out of control. And then she was touching him, running her hand over him, tugging at his shirt as if she desperately needed to feel his skin as much as he needed to touch hers, and his head started to spin.

  In the back of his mind the warning voice instilled by his father in that long-ago teenage lecture clamored Make sure, make sure…

  “Elena?” It was all he could manage. But she understood.

  “Yes,” she answered, and everything he’d ever wanted to hear was in her voice. “Oh, yes, Sean.”

  As if a lead rope had snapped he was suddenly as out of control as one of Jessie McBride’s new mustangs. Had she shown the slightest reluctance he would have somehow found the strength to rein himself in, but now she was sliding her hands beneath the shirt she’d pulled free and the feel of her fingers on his bare skin made him groan.

  He clutched at her, wanting her closer, ever closer. His hands slid down her body until he reached bare skin beneath the black skirt he was sure was supposed to be circumspect but had been just slim enough to show him the curve of her delicious backside. His fingers stroked her leg, upward from her knee, trying not to think about where they were headed for fear this would end for him embarrassingly soon. But she was caressing him, stroking him, kissing him all the while, and his desperation was building.

  He wasn’t sure how he’d managed the buttons of her blouse, and he wasn’t so practiced with a woman’s bra to do it easily, but he counted it all well worth it when the lacy thing fell away and her full, exquisite breasts rounded against his palms. He caught her nipples with his fingers, and she moaned in a way that only stoked the fire in him higher.

  His problem was he wanted it all right now, wanted to be buried inside her and pouring himself into her, but at the same time he wanted to take an agonizingly long time, savoring every lingering moment, and he could not have both. But right now he did what he simply had to do, he bent to flick his tongue over nipples that had already hardened in a way that spoke of her anticipation and sent another jolt of fierce need through him.

  And then he felt a tug at his belt, and her fingers brushed over his erection. Even with a layer of denim between them he gasped, and discarded any idea that he might be able to go slow. He muttered what he’d meant to be an apology for that.

  “The only thing you need to apologize for is making me wait,” Elena murmured against his chest, where she had opened his shirt. “But I think you wearing shirts that snap makes up for it.”

  She pressed her mouth to him there as she tugged down his zipper, and as she slid her hand in to stroke him purposefully he felt as if a bolt of the lightning still piercing the night had struck him. With his last bit of sanity he reached for the inside pocket of the jacket Elena had pulled off of him and grabbed one of the foil packets Sage had laughingly tucked into it before he’d left the ranch.

  Get over the awe, Bro. I saw the way she looked at you when she was here. Looks like you’re finally going to get what you’ve always wanted.

  He hadn’t believed her. Then.

  “Prepared?” Elena said when she saw what he held.

  He shook his head, not wanting her to think he’d assumed anything. “My sister. Harassing me.”

  “Your sister,” Elena said, reaching out to take the condom, “is perceptive.”

  They dealt, a bit clumsily in the back of the vehicle, with the clothing still in the way. She looked at him with such appreciation in her eyes that he almost forgot to breathe. But he was barely breathing anyway, because he knew now that all his years of imagining had fallen far short of the reality; Elena was far more than just beautiful.

  She reached out to stroke his erect flesh again, this time rubbing the tip with her thumb. He took her hand and gasped out, “You touch me like that again and this is going to end really fast.”

  She opened the condom and sheathed him with it, with enough unfamiliarity to soothe his nerves a little; she was no more used to this than he was. Then he was kissi
ng her again, holding her against him, this time skin to skin, kissing every bit of her he could reach. And when she reached down to guide him, when the ease of sliding into her told him she was slick and hot and ready, he nearly lost control right then, and only that this was—impossibly—Elena enabled him to hang on.

  The storm had come closer, as if sensing a kinship, but all Sean knew was the feel of her, the tiny moans she gave, the sounds he somewhat distantly realized were coming from him. With each stroke it took more to hold back, and in the instant he heard her cry out and felt her body clench around him, he gave it up and let go. And in that moment he felt all his uncertainties about anything fade into insignificance. Whether he was odd, or different, didn’t matter.

  If Elena wanted him, he was all right.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She was nervous. Elena couldn’t remember the last time she’d really been nervous about anything—when you’d been through the worst, what was there left to be afraid of?—but she was nervous about this.

  Her first thought was that had Marcos not been babbling about going to “help” Sean at the library since he’d barreled out of bed this morning, she might have hoped he’d forget and she could avoid this. But her second thought had been that her unsettled thoughts about what had happened last night were no match for the desire—no, the need—to see him again.

  And although it was probably where she needed to be, she sent Marcos off with her mother to church. Her mother had given her an odd look, not the usual stern glance for skipping mass, but instead a rather assessing stare that had ended with an unexpected smile. As if she was pleased about something.

  Or as if she knew.

  You don’t know the half of it, Mother. You don’t know that your daughter, the one you brought up so properly, turned into a mad, wild thing last night.

  Wilder than the storm that had sparked the madness. She had become a hungry, voracious thing who found a pleasure she would not have believed possible had she not experienced it. She, Maria Elena Valencia de la Cova, in the back of a car, indulging in beyond-passionate sex. If there was anything more unlikely, more uncharacteristic of her, she could not begin to imagine what it would be.

  And she knew no matter what the future brought she would forever carry the image of Sean above her, his body silvered by the flash of lightning, the feel of him driving into her with all the ferocity she had demanded, and the sound of his hoarse, stunned cry of her name.

  And his awed, whispered oath as he regained his breath was all the church she needed or wanted this morning. Nor would she ask forgiveness for the most beautiful thing that had happened to her in so very long.

  It struck her that perhaps it was not nervousness that was affecting her this morning. Perhaps it was just anticipation, the luscious, eager kind she had thought herself past feeling.

  If the worst ever happens, my love, you must move on. I would not want you being alone forever to be my legacy to you.

  Enrique’s solemn words, spoken she knew because it was the possibility they lived with as long as he wore the uniform, echoed in her mind. But when the possibility had become her reality, she had pushed them aside, certain she would never again love as she once had.

  And so when you do, it is with another man who risks his life in a uniform, merely a different one?

  She truly did, as she had told Sean, have a weakness for heroes. And she had finally realized that his reaction to that had been because he simply did not think of himself as a hero.

  And then her breath caught, not because she’d heard the sound of the door indicating Marcos and her mother had returned, but because she realized she had just, without hesitation, called what she felt for Sean Highwater love.

  She was not by nature a precipitate woman, yet she was calling what she felt for this man after merely two weeks love? Of course she had known him all these years, known of him for longer. And unlike with a stranger, she had no doubts about the kind of man he was; he and his family were too well known to have many secrets hidden away. And if she hadn’t been sure, the way he had been with her son would have told her. None of the few men she had ever contemplated seeing had been able to deal with Marcos.

  But Sean not only dealt with him, he understood him, and better, actually liked him. And under that generous care her son had blossomed, even in this two weeks gaining a confidence she had feared she would never see in him. And that had changed everything, even her view of the future.

  Quite simply, Sean Highwater had changed not only her son’s life, but also her own.

  “Are you ready, Mom? Sean said he’d be there by noon.”

  “I will be momentarily,” she said, sitting down to pull on her boots.

  Then she stood up and took a last look in her mirror. And couldn’t help comparing her appearance now, typical, tidy, hair in a neat bun without a strand out of place, to what she’d seen in this same mirror last night, when Sean had reluctantly brought her home. That woman had been someone she’d never seen before, lips full and swollen from his kisses, hair down and wild, tangled by his fingers.

  Dear God, no wonder you don’t wear it down. You’d cause chaos.

  She smiled at the memory of his awestruck words. For a man who claimed to be awkward and ill-equipped for sweet talk, as he called it, he had proven himself wrong last night.

  When they arrived, it was Joey who unlocked the door of the library and let them in.

  “Elena, hello,” she said cheerfully. Then, with a smile at Marcos, she said, “And you must be the assistant Sean’s been waiting for.”

  Marcos grinned, delighted at the appellation. “Yep, that’s me!”

  “He’s in the back, at the end of the hall,” Joey said, and the boy took off running. “My, he’s changed since I last had him in my reading session.”

  “Yes. He has. Thanks to Sean.”

  “Those Highwater men are treasures,” Joey said, with the certainty of someone who had intimate knowledge of one particular Highwater man. “But,” Joey said with a sideways look at her, “I guess you know that.” Startled, Elena could think of nothing to say. And Joey grinned at her. “I recognize the look. From the mirror, mind you.”

  “It is that obvious?” Elena finally managed.

  “Well, not just from you. The way he looked when he said you were coming was what gave it away.” She hesitated, then said, “Kind of new, I gather? He looked a little…awestruck.”

  “I…” This woman had ever been kind, and was quiet in a way Elena recognized, the same way as herself, the quiet exterior masking the fire within. “Last night,” she said impulsively. “And he is not the only one awestruck.”

  Joey grinned. “Good for you both. I’ll bet it was a journey, to get to there.”

  “Isn’t it for everyone?” Elena asked, thinking of what she’d heard Joey and Slater had had to get past, his one-time engagement to her sister.

  “Yes,” Joey agreed, and Elena noticed her touching the crayon-red streak in her hair that betrayed that fire within. “But for you, with your husband being killed in action, and Sean, always feeling the odd one out, it must have been especially…interesting.”

  Elena studied the woman before her. “I have a feeling I have vastly underestimated your powers of observation and deduction. No wonder you and Slater Highwater are such a perfect match.”

  Joey’s grin returned. But her tone was serious when she said, “I’m just glad. Sean’s such a good guy, he deserves to be deliriously happy. So,” Joey said, gesturing at the poster on the wall behind her, “are you going to coax him into actually showing up at the ball this year?”

  Elena felt her cheeks heat. “Actually, he has already asked me.”

  Joey’s brows rose, and the grin returned. “Damn, girl! Nice work.” Elena laughed. She truly did like this woman. “Next up, Christmas shopping, huh?”

  “I have been thinking of that, but first…I think I need a new dress for the ball. Something…different.”

  “Time for a c
hange?” Joey asked, glancing toward the back where Elena could hear her son chattering excitedly.

  “The change has already happened,” Elena said, her voice a little tight. “I need to acknowledge it. Salute it. In something other than black.”

  Joey backed up a step, looked Elena up and down assessingly. Then she nodded, grinning again. “I know the perfect thing. A dress I’ve drooled over, but I’m not tall enough to carry it off. You are. And you have the manner, that regal sort of look it needs. Shall we go look while the boys are busy?”

  And so, on the day after her world had been irrevocably changed Elena found herself, of all things, going shopping.

  *

  Of all the things he might have expected, Elena appearing in the computer room to say she and Joey were going shopping was the last.

  “Boring,” Marcos muttered, and went back to hooking up the keyboards on the three computer stations as Sean had shown him.

  He fought the urge to pull her into his arms, because just the sight of her, back to her usual neat, composed self, sent memories crashing through his mind like the thunder had crashed around them last night. Memories of her, naked, wild, that incredible hair sliding over them both as she kissed him everyplace she could reach until he’d thought he would explode from that alone.

  He wished they’d gotten stranded out there, trapped by the storm’s rain or mud the way some had, so there could have been hours more of that amazing, impossible encounter. If he could have he would have wished the rest of the world away, leaving only them and the storm. Storms, plural, both the one outside and the one they’d created together.

  That it had been Elena, with any trace of her regal, elegant self vanished, seared to ash by the inferno between them, was still almost unbelievable to him. If he did not still have the marks of her nails on his back, if he couldn’t still feel her mouth on his lips, if he couldn’t so vividly remember the taste of her and the feel of her silken bare skin, he would have thought it just another of what he had for years called Elena dreams. The frustrated, foolish imaginings of the boy he’d once been now leavened with the adult knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman.