Northern Lights

knew, somehow, she could give, and he would never leave her wanting.
    There was more to the heat of his lips, the greed of his hands than a search for satisfaction. If some part of her worried over it, she brushed it aside. She knew there was always plenty of later for worries and regrets.
    So she rose to him, found his face with her hands, with her lips, and let the tender mix with the heady.
    He moved over her, stirring little quivers, lighting little fires, and finally clasped her hands with his to keep her from arousing him too much, too soon.
    He wanted to taste her. Those shoulders, breasts, that wonderful lean line of her. As his lips roamed over her, she shuddered, her breath catching on a moan as her fingers flexed in his.
    He stroked his tongue over her, into her, and set her wild.
    She came on a gallop, her body going hot and damp as pleasure flooded her. Her system screamed with release, then churned in a desperate quest for more.
    He gave her more, shockingly, until she would have clawed and bit to have him, until her body went lax and dazed with the drug he'd sent swimming into her blood.
    "Meg." He pressed his mouth to her belly, under her heart, over it.
    As her freed hands gripped his hips, he lifted hers.
    He was inside her, at last. Linked. Mated. Dropping his forehead to hers, he fought for breath and waited for his head to clear so he would know every second, every movement, every thrill.
    She held him, held him close as bodies merged and minds blurred. He said her name again, an instant before he emptied.

 
     
    SHADOW
     
     
     
    Follow a shadow, it still flies you;
    Seem to fly it, it will pursue.
    BEN JONSON
     
     
     
    And coming events cast their shadows before.
    THOMAS CAMPBELL

 
     
     
     
    TWELVE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    SHE DIDN'T MIND lying quiet in the dark. In fact, she liked it, especially when her body was loose from sex.
    She heard the dogs come in and settle in their usual tangle on the floor at the foot of the bed.
    The grandmother clock from her office down the hall bonged nine.
    Too early to sleep, she thought. And too relaxed to stir.
    The perfect time, then, to satisfy some of her curiosity about the man beside her.
    "Why did she cheat on you?"
    "What?"
    "Your wife. Why did she cheat on you?"
    She felt him shift, moving his body slightly apart from hers. A shrink, she supposed, would have theories on that.
    "I guess I wasn't giving her what she was looking for."
    "You're good in bed. Better than good. Hold on a minute."
    She rolled out of bed and, since she was determined to ferret out some information, dug out a robe. "Be right back," she said, and headed down to get the wine and fresh glasses.
    When she came back, he was up, had pulled on his pants, and was tossing a fresh log on her bedroom fire. "Maybe I should—"
    "If go is the next word, forget it. I'm not done with you." She sat back on the bed, poured the glasses. "It's time for that long, sad story, Burke. You might as well start with her, since she's probably the root."
    "I don't know that she is."
    "You were married," Meg prompted. "She was unfaithful."
    "That about wraps it up."
    But she only cocked her head, held out a glass. He hesitated, but walked back. Accepting the wine, he sat on the bed with her. "I didn't make her happy, that's all. It's not easy being married to a cop."
    "Why not?"
    "Because . . ." Let me count the ways, he thought. "The job pulls at you all the damn time. The hours suck. Every second time you make plans, you have to cancel. You get home late, and your head's still in the case. When you work homicides, you can drag death around with you even when you don't want to."
    "Sounds true enough." She sipped her wine. "Tell me this. Were you a cop when she married you?"
    "Yeah, but—"
    "No, no, I'm asking the questions here. How long did you know each other before you took the leap?"
    "I don't know. A year." He took a slow sip of wine and watched the fire. "Closer to two, I guess."
    "Was she slow? Stupid?"
    "No. Jesus, Meg."
    "Just pointing out that you'd have to be one or the other to be involved with a cop for a year or more and not clue in to the rules of the road."
    "Yeah, maybe. That doesn't mean you have to like the rules or want to live with them."
    "Sure, people are entitled to change their minds, whenever. No law against it. I'm saying she married you knowing the package. So using the package as an excuse to cheat or cast blame in your direction if things weren't working