Rose Legacy by Diane Carey

Author:Diane Carey
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781590773734
Publisher: M. Evans & Company

Chapter Nine

MORNING CAME WITH bird songs, but unwelcome. Rose’s night had been a blur of wishes, ragged hopes that Dan would sense her desire behind her cowardice. She had even hoped he would find his way to her blanket without her making a fool of herself by asking, but the hope had come alive only in restless dreams.

As Rose lifted her heavy head from the ground, she realized she was hearing more than the rustle of leaves. There was a scraping noise, wood against metal.

She sat up, blinked into the early morning light and focused on Dan’s form, high up on top of the Briar Rose.

For several minutes, she watched him. He was dragging branches off the plane, shoving them down into the brush, clearing the long metal body so it could be more easily seen by search planes. His untucked shirt was partially unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to show forearms glistening with fine golden hairs, muscles flexing as he dragged the heavy broken branches away.

He wasn’t going to let this situation beat him. She could see that in the way he yanked and hauled on those stubborn branches. He went out of his way to break the ones that wouldn’t move. He would wrestle the defiant branches down and kick them until they cracked.

Rose could see the determination that the search planes wouldn’t pass them by in his angry twisting body. Dan wasn’t going to allow it.

The plane looked a lot bigger than it ever had before, and Dan was a long way up. How had he gotten up there?

She determined to get up there herself. As she moved in that direction, she got more perspective on Dan as he worked up above. His back was turned to her now, and she watched him as if in a trance. His rayon shirt pulled itself taut over the breadth of his shoulders, its tail flapping against tensed buttocks, every line of his strong legs showing through the tight jeans. But it was less the form of the man that attracted Rose than the pure substance of him.

Any man could have muscles, and any man could wear rayon shirts and snug jeans. Rare, though, was the man who moved like Dan was moving now, driving against the tide of fate and chance, his own determination his only real weapon.

And the sensation came again that she’d seen this—or a version of this—before. Now she knew where she had seen it: outside that tall window at the golf club.

Rose stood half awake, lost in erotic illusions. She was held by the vision of what might have happened last night, what she had wished for and failed to pursue. Her hands ached to play over those arms now hauling branches from the wreckage. But reality was Dan, high above and unaware of her, his body swaying against the force of the fallen trees.

On top of the plane, fighting for balance, Dan scraped about four layers of skin off his forearm, but he didn’t care.

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