Julianne demanded. “Kiss me and don’t stop until…until…”
“We turn blue?” Tony said, feeling laughter and being surprised by it. Inside, he was serious, very serious.
“Until there’s no more hunger,” she whispered.
“If the hunger is satisfied, then we’ll be lovers in every sense of the word,” he warned her. “I’d kiss you until we both went crazy. If we were lovers.”
“Yes,” she cried softly. “Yes.”
“Would you melt in my arms? Would you yield to me? Give me anything I want?”
She forced her weighted eyelids to open, to meet his challenging stare. “What we both want,” she reminded him.
“If we were lovers,” he said roughly.
“If we were lovers,” she echoed in agreement.
Julianne Martin matched the address on the store-front to the label printed in block letters on the box of pottery she was to deliver. Yes, this was the place.
Something about the building—probably its rundown state—induced a definite sense of caution in her.
This wasn’t the most practical part of town to try to sell tourist goods. The Chaco Trading Company out on I-40 was a better location, with plenty of travelers heading west to the Grand Canyon and other national parks, and West Coast residents heading east for family reunions or a tour of the Four Corners and Mesa Verde areas.
Well, it was none of her business. She was just the delivery service…in more ways than one.
She smiled at the thought. As a midwife-nurse-practitioner, she’d been delivering babies on her own for three years. Happy years, she mused in satisfaction, filled with work that she loved.
Two days ago, out near Hosta Butte, she’d helped deliver a darling little boy to a Native American couple. The delighted father had asked her to bring his pottery into town and leave it at this store, which was located on a side street of Gallup, New Mexico. Since she lived only a couple of miles from town, she’d readily agreed.
In this part of the country, with its vast distances people helped each other when they could. Today was Saturday, the first day of October, and the earliest moment she’d had enough free time to keep her promise. She peered in through the open door of the shop.
“Hello?” she called, going inside and pausing while her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
The place was crammed with Indian blankets, baskets and carvings depicting Western themes, all in a helter-skelter fashion. A good dusting and some organization would help sales, in her opinion.
She grinned to herself. Her bossy ways were showing themselves, her brothers would have said. True, she admitted. She liked things to be in good order.
“Whew,” she said when she had the heavy box safely on the floor. “Anyone here?”
“Sure.”
A man appeared in the doorway behind the cluttered counter. He looked to be close to her own age, which was twenty-six.
No, older, she decided upon inspecting him more closely when he came forward and stopped beside the cash register. He had hair that was almost black and eyes to match. His face was lean and angular. So was his body—tall and wiry and muscular—definitely a man who kept himself in shape. He was perhaps an inch over six feet. He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt with a logo of Ship Rock on it and a billed cap advertising a local bar.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone with a gravelly roughness that was oddly pleasing.
His eyes took in everything about her—from her white cotton blouse and khaki cargo shorts to the woven leather huaraches on her feet. He lingered for the briefest second on her legs, which were nicely shaped, if she did say so, then his gaze returned to hers.