Angels Fall

the flats blurred into marsh was a dreamy green ribbon of cottonwood and willow.
    "I've never seen anything like it."
    "Worth seeing?" he asked.
    "Oh yeah. Is that larkspur?"
    "Yeah, and stonecrop, harebells, a lot of Indian paintbrush. Ah…" He began to gesture. "You got your pussytoes, bitterbrush. The intense red trumpet is scarlet gilia."
    "How do you know the names of the wildflowers?" She angled her head toward him. "A man with your sexual endurance isn't usually into flowers."
    "Research. I killed a man in that marsh today."
    "Handy."
    "See that bird? Green-tailed towhee."
    She felt a giggle tickling her throat. "Are you making that up?"
    "Nope. Pretty sure that's a meadowlark you hear singing." He took a blanket out of the back of the car, tossed it to her. "Why don't you spread that out."
    "Why do we need a blanket, it I may ask?"
    "That tone indicates your mind's in the gutter. I like it. However, the blanket's to sit on, while we drink the wine I've got in the cooler. Got about an hour before the sun sets. It's a good spot to drink wine and watch the sun set."
    "Brody?"
    He hefted out the cooler, glanced her way. "Yeah?"
    "We need to go over your fucking excellent day point by point, so you can have more of them." She spread out the blanket, sat on it, then lifted her brows when she saw he had not only wine but cheese and bread and fat purple grapes.
    Every irritation, every annoyance, every worry that had dogged her heels slipped away, one by one.
    "Well, just let me say: Wow. I didn't expect to end my day with a picnic."
    "You won't. You re going to end it having sweaty sex with me. This is a prelude."
    "So far, I like it." She took the wine, stared out over the sea of color, the tender leaves, to the majesty of mountain. "How could I have thought I missed the green?"
    "The green what?"
    She only laughed, and popped a grape into her mouth. "I was so pissed off. She was only trying to be nice—for the most part. Debbie Mardson. I'd been trying to squeeze myself into routine, ignore the hammering, the reminder of what happened. Then she pulled me out of it—come on, sit down, take a break, have a conversation. She thinks we look good together."
    "That's a given. You're beautiful, without being traditionally so. And I'm a damn good-looking bastard." She slanted her gaze at him. "What's this about not traditionally beautiful?"
    "Not milkmaid creamy, not sultry and exotic, not all-Amencan. You mix it up. It's fairly compelling." T hey ate bread and cheese, drank wine, and watched the sun slide behind the mountains until their edges went troni silver to fire red.
    "This is better than lavender oil," she told him. She leaned forward until she found his lips with hers, then let herself slide into the kiss as silkily as the sun was sliding behind the mountain. "Thanks." He cupped a hand behind her neck, pulled her a little closer, took the kiss a little deeper. "You're welcome."

Chapter 25

    SHE HAD THREE glasses of wine, which may have accounted for her feeling giddy. Giddy enough that the moment they got out of the car in front of Brody's cabin, she boosted herself onto his back and began gnawing on his ear.
    He'd had only one glass of wine, so it was probably the sudden attack on his senses that had him dropping his keys.
    She laughed when he bent down, with her still wrapped around him, to scoop them up again.
    "Mmm. Strong man."
    "Skinny woman."
    "Used to be skinnier." Her hands got busy, had his shirt nearly unbuttoned before he managed to open the front door.
    "Take me to bed." She got her fingers on the button of his jeans. He nearly stumbled on the steps when she clamped her teeth on the back of his neck.
    "You're going to have to cut that out," he said breathlessly, "in two or three hours." He made it to the bed, then flipped her over his shoulder. She flew with a squeal, landed with the whooshing laugh. Then he was on her, popping buttons as he pulled her shirt open. Trapping her arms as he yanked the shirt down so that it stretched behind her back, over her wrists like a rope. Even as she gasped, his mouth was taking hers with a hot, heady possession that flooded her with helpless excitement.
    "Oh God. I can't—"
    "You started it." He pulled the straps of her bra down her shoulders. tugging until he'd freed her breasts and could feast on them.
    Senses careening, she writhed under him, shuddered. Then moaned when he released her jeans to slide his hand under the denim. On her first choked cry he