Page 46 of Trick of Light
“Sometimes I think I remember her voice singing to me. There was a lullaby that I’ve remembered since I was little.” He hummed a few notes of it. “But I don’t believe babies can remember things they heard in the belly, can they?”
“I have no idea. What’s the tune again?” She pulled out her phone as he hummed it again. “I have an app, let me check it.”
He kept humming until the answer flashed on her screen. She lifted her eyes to his and said in a hushed tone, “It’s a traditional folk song from Martinique.”
“Holy cow.” They stared at each other in amazement, as if they’d just stumbled on some kind of archeological find.
“Maybe Tamara sang it to you?”
“I didn’t meet Tamara until I was ten. This is amazing. I actually do remember my mother’s voice.” A flood of color washed over his face. “All this time I figured it was just my imagination. But where else would I have ever heard a folk song from Martinique? They don’t play those on any Maine radio station I know of.”
“Me neither, speaking as a South Portland native.”
“Holy cow,” he said again.
In his exuberance, he reached for her and lifted her into the air, spun her around, then set her down. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“I’m getting an idea.” Breathless, she laughed along with his joy. “So happy my little app could help.”
“It’s you, not the damn app. You and your instinct for research and your curiosity. Your empathy.”
“Oh stop. It was really nothing. I pulled my phone from my pocket and that was about it.” Still, she couldn’t stop smiling. “I like seeing you like this. You don’t look arrogant at all now.” Reaching a hand toward him, she touched his jaw. That beard coming in was so much softer than it looked.
When she tried to drop her hand, he held on to her wrist. He turned it over and pressed his mouth to the palm of her hand. An electric thrill shot from that point of contact, up her arm, down into the pit of her belly, where heat pooled.
“Thanks,” he murmured again. A curl of dark hair tumbled over his forehead in an adorably piratical manner.
“You’re welcome.” She was proud that she managed an answer, because the way her body was responding to a simple kiss of her hand…hoo boy. This was straight danger territory.
Finally he released her hand and straightened up. “Was that out of line?”
“No. I could have pulled away, or even slapped you.”
He laughed and took a step back. “Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He made a little adjustment of his jeans, and she realized he was trying to hide his erection.
Her libido took over, elbowing her better judgment out of the way, trying to get her to do stupid things. Like touch him. Or cup him. Or maybe pull him back towards her for a proper kiss, one in which her mouth was involved too?—
And before she knew it, that was exactly what was happening. She twisted her hand in the collar of his shirt and tugged him toward her. Since he was more or less a mountain, it didn’t work, and instead she lost her balance and fell against him. He caught her in his arms before she hit the countertop, or the copper pans hanging from the back of the wood stove, or even the floor. “That wasn’t an attempt at a slap, was it?”
“No.” They were pressed together, front to front, and fire coursed every which way through her body. “It was an attempt at this.” She wrapped a hand around his neck and rose onto her tiptoes to reach his mouth, but couldn’t quite get there in her awkward position.
At least not until he hiked her up his body, not bothering to hide his arousal anymore, and claimed her mouth with his.
Dizzy heat zapped through her brain. Holy shit, the man could kiss. His lips were pillowy, full and warm and firm and determined. He wanted her. That was what that kiss said. He wanted her hard and deep and hot, anywhere she wanted. I’m yours, the kiss said. Want it gentle? You got it. Want it rough? I’m there. Anything and everything and anywhere and anyhow, just say the word and I’m all in.
Her eyes half closed from the overwhelming pleasure. He was sweeping her off her feet, literally, as if he could hold her like this forever. Even the football player she’d dated in college wouldn’t do that because he was afraid of messing up his back. But Barnaby? The only reason he was breathing hard was because he wanted her—that was the message from that kiss, and the burning heat in his eyes, and the way he wrapped his hands around her waist and hips and?—
Through her daze, a flash of light caught her eye. At first she thought of something else Tamara had said in the lockup—trust your inner light. But then she saw it was actual light. A reflection from the window? Light from outside? She opened her eyes all the way and tried to locate it again. There it was. On top of the cupboard.
“Let me down,” she murmured in Barnaby’s ear.
He did so reluctantly. “Sorry if I?—”
“No, it’s not you. You’re great. I saw something above the cabinet,” she explained. “A weird light.”
He made sure she was steady—probably a good thing, considering what that kiss had done to her—and strode to the corner cabinet she was pointing at. Even for him, it was out of reach, so he pulled up the little footstool Tamara used to reach all her cupboards.
“I feel something,” he said, moving his hand across the wood. “Got it.” He stepped off the ladder and opened his hand so they could both see what he held.
