Sunshine and the Shadowmaster by Christine Rimmer Page A

warmth of her body.
    But he wasn’t Jason Lee.
    Lucas looked up. His eyes, which as a rule regarded the world so coldly, now burned with raw agony.
    He dared to say it. “What if we don’t find him?”
    Heather couldn’t bear to hear that. “Oh, Lucas. It will be all right,” she heard herself promising. “He hitchhiked all the way from Monterey. Almost three hundred miles by himself. He’s a very resourceful kid. He’s okay. And we’ll find him. You’ll see.”
    Lucas longed to believe her, she could see it in his eyes. He would give anything to believe her.
    She could think of nothing more to say. And words, anyway, were not enough. She lifted her hand and laid it ever so gently on the side of his face.
    And it came to her: she had never touched this man before in all the years she’d known him.
    The idea astonished her.
    He was family, so it shouldn’t have been possible.
    She had known him since she was only a child. Yet at this moment, touching him, she was absolutely certain she had never touched him before, even in passing. He’d left town when she was hardly in grade school. And after that, he’d returned only for brief visits, to witness the weddings or funerals that marked the changes in the family down the years. And never, during those visits, had she even once lifted her face to his for a fond, salutary peck of a kiss. Never had she moved close to him for a quick hug of greeting or farewell.
    Had it been a purposeful thing? Had she avoided physical contact with him? Had he avoided touching her?
    It seemed, at that moment, as she cupped his warm cheek in the palm of her hand, that there had been some secret, silent agreement between them always. Never to touch.
    And now she had broken that agreement.
    Her hand remained against his cheek. He held her gaze as he lifted his own hand to cover hers.
    Heat shot up her arm and straight down into her most private place.
    Heather drew in a long, shuddering breath. Beneath her fingertips, his skin was warm and smooth, freshly shaven in the shower he had taken not too long before. And the scent of him was suddenly everywhere. Sandalwood and spice. Exotic. Dangerous.
    â€œLucas.” The voice was another woman’s voice, not her own at all. Her own voice had never been so husky, so wayward, so full of desire.
    â€œYes,” he said, the word so soft she hardly heard it.
    And Heather knew what she wanted to do: she wanted to bend down and press her lips to his. She wanted to feel his breath inside her mouth, to know the questing stroke of his tongue. Never in her young life had she wanted anything so much. That she even dared to imagine such a thing stunned her.
    It was so wrong, so totally forbidden, that she gave a small, sharp gasp and yanked her hand free.
    Lucas said nothing. He sat very still.
    After a moment, Heather managed to speak in a bland, hollow voice. “It’s getting late.”
    He nodded. “Yes. And tomorrow will be a long day.”
    â€œGood night, then.”
    â€œGood night.”
    She turned and left him there, careful to walk slowly so they could both pretend she wasn’t fleeing to the safety of her room.
    * * *
    The next morning, Heather had breakfast ready at five. Lucas ate quickly and thanked her politely for the meal.
    â€œYou’re welcome. Take the key.” She pointed to the key she had laid out on the counter earlier so that she wouldn’t forget to give it to him. “You’re going to need to be able to get in and out of the house if I’m not here.”
    He thanked her again, grabbed up the key and left to join the search and rescue crew.
    Once he was gone, Heather relaxed a little. She thought about how distant and courteous he’d been over breakfast.
    And she found it reasonably easy to tell herself that nothing had really happened between them the night before. Mark’s disappearance had her on edge, that was all. And