Wild in the Moonlight

“Okay. The thing is…you get the finest oil-as far as perfume-from the hardy lavenders. Which I guess you obviously know, huh?”

“I may know just a little something about that, yeah. But keep talking, anyway. I want to know how you got into this, how you developed this strain.”

There. She was starting to unchoke. Cameron surely knew all this stuff already if he was a chemist, but babbling was one of her best ways of covering up nerves. “Well…I knew from my mom that there are advantages to each type of lavender. The oil wasn’t really my interest, because I already realized you needed some ridiculous amount-like 500 pounds of flowers-to get even ounces of the oil. But some lavenders are stronger in color and scent. Some are hardier as far as where they can grow.”

She wasn’t going to think about babies. She was just going to keep talking until she got a good grip and could look at Cameron with a smile again. “Anyway, after the divorce, I had time on my hands. And Daisy happened to send me some interesting strains of lavender, so then, for fun, I just started setting up some experiments in the greenhouse. I brought in some of my mom’s favorite strains from her garden, then started collecting others from around the country. What I wanted to do was just…play…see if I could blend the best qualities of all my favorites.”

“For what reason?” Cameron asked.

“Just for fun. Just to see if I could do it, if I could produce a lavender where the scent stayed truer than all the other types. I always loved puttering with plants, you know? And-” She stopped.

She was lying to him. Images spilled through her mind, mental pictures of the man she’d once married and believed was the love of her life. She’d learned everything she knew about sex from Simpson-particularly all the wrong things. Things like how guys needed to get off or they suffered. Things like how guys couldn’t wait. Things like Real Women climaxed with no problem unless they were inhibited. Also, Real Women got pregnant as long as the guy was virile, and Simpson’s sperm-he’d had that checked-were damn good swimmers.

She was the one with the skinny tubes.

“Violet, what’s wrong?” Cameron asked quietly.

She stared at the field until her eyes started to clear. “After the divorce…I just wanted to grow things. Reproduce things. Everybody thought I was crazy to let this field get so out of control. They were all right. But the truth, Cam, is that I didn’t care if it was out of control.”

“All right,” he said.

“It was mine to love or lose. If I lost it, if I never made a dime, I didn’t care. I don’t need money from it. I can afford the loss. I don’t really give a damn if anyone thinks I’m crazy or not.”

“Hey,” he said gently.

Tell him, her heart said. Just tell him. Then it’s out on the table. You’ll know if it’s important to him or not.

But she knew it wasn’t that simple. Cameron might have an already grown family; he might not want kids. But a lot of men thought a woman was less than a complete woman-less sexual, less feminine-if she was infertile.

“I just wanted to grow something. Of my own. I wanted to make something out of land that had been barren, because this slope was rocky and nothing ever grew well here before. So it was the challenge. To create something that hadn’t existed before. It wasn’t about making money. It was just about-”

“Whoa,” Cameron whispered, and as if he had some cockamamie idea that he was dealing with a fragile woman on the verge of a big, noisy, crying jag, he swooped her into his arms.

Seven

The last thing Cameron intended to do was pull Violet into his arms.

Yeah, he’d dragged her off to the lavender field-and brought the picnic dinner-but that was only because he finally figured out the whole picture. Violet’s herb business was chaotically busy. Unless he found some way to isolate her from the phone and her neighbors and all the other people noise, he figured they’d never get the contract details settled between them. That issue was critical. Even though the nature of her lavender strains were supposed to be harvested late, the huge heat wave was bringing on the crop at the speed of sound. Within days, they needed to start the harvest.

So he’d taken her to the one place where he knew he could talk to her privately, but not to seduce her. Not to even think about touching her. Nothing would have happened-Cameron really believed-if she hadn’t suddenly looked so shaken up.

He couldn’t stand it. Violet was so full of energy. For damn sure, she was a manipulative, confusing woman who seemed to mislead a guy about the truth of things. She was stubborn, independent to an exasperating degree, a woman who did exactly what she wanted on her own timetable. She was a tough cookie-even if for some reason she didn’t want anyone to know it.

And that was exactly why it killed him to see her eyes fill up, suddenly so full of hurt and sadness. He’d had to grab her. He wasn’t thinking of romance, he was just responding instinctively to a need to protect her, comfort her somehow.

Only a split second later, all his honest, sincere, chivalrous intentions went to hell.

The very instant his mouth came down on hers, the damn woman responded. Her lips were warm as sunshine, as soft as silver. Her head tipped back, willingly absorbing the pressure of his mouth and his first kiss…which gave him absolutely no choice but to follow through with a second kiss and then a third. Her eyelashes fluttered down and her slim fingers seemed to hesitate, then slowly climb his shoulders and curve around his neck.

When he felt her warm, supple body slide against his…something happened. Deep inside him, there was a silent whoosh, as if the rest of the world disappeared from sight, sound, touch. She was his reality. She, and all the senses she invoked.

He clutched her tighter. She clutched right back, and suddenly all that long, wild, silky hair was coming loose in his hands. Her bracelets jangled, one of her sandals slipped and tumbled down the slope; yet she never opened her eyes, never made out like there was a damn thing that mattered to her but him-and getting more of those sweet, dangerous, uninhibited kisses.

Maybe he was guilty of initiating that first kiss. Maybe he knew he shouldn’t have, knew she was trouble. But how could he possibly, conceivably have guessed that she’d be this much trouble?

He’d tasted her before. It had been intense, but not like this. Whatever had shaken her seemed to act like some kind of trigger, as if something tight and trapped were suddenly freed from deep inside her. She not only kissed him back but dumped emotional rocket fuel on the flames. She didn’t just yield but sought. She didn’t just touch but invited, demanded, his touch.

Warm, damp skin slid against his. He smelled her hair, her ice-raspberry breath, the lick of scent on her skin. As the night dropped, with the moon showing up like a promise in the far sky, it seemed as if suddenly all those acres of lavender released a whole song of scent. The lavender flowed all around them, filling the air, filling their senses, teasing their sense of taste and smell. The scent was so like her-wild and fresh and elusive. Magical.

“Cam,” she whispered, her voice barely a whisper, an ache of wonder.

He felt the same wonder, tried to steal more in another kiss. His hand drifted down, shimmering over her collarbone and then to her breast, snuggling there. No matter how carefully, how reverently he touched, his body groaned that it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Her blouse pushed up, pushed off fairly easily.

For a second he thought she wasn’t wearing a bra-but she was, it was just that the fabric was a teensy scrap of lace. A front opener, though, easy enough to unlatch. And then he had his warm callused hand on her immeasurably soft breast, the flesh swelling for him, the nipple perking under his palm-only that wasn’t enough, either. Not even close to enough. She groaned against his mouth, so he bent down and delivered kisses down her throat, down to her breasts, faster kisses now, rougher ones.

Somewhere he still had a functioning conscience-a murky conscience, but one stabbing him with warning instincts. He knew he didn’t understand her. Knew she had some troubling deep waters that she hid from sight. Knew she was a worrisome maze of contradictions.