Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,36

her think of all kinds of freaky, alien scenarios, but they were silly.

It didn't make sense.

Were they defenses? Why would she find defenses in his mind? Why would Jamison be on guard? Unless Lucas had slipped up and Jamison remembered his earlier suspicions, that she and her people were murderers, Jamison had no reason to be...

Did he remember?

She searched his face for a split second, but it was hard to look at a guy when his eyes were closed and his lips were pressed against your own.

He sucked on her lips, her face, buried his nose in the hair behind her ear and breathed her in, as if he were suffocating and she was the air he needed. She imagined tingles spreading beneath her hair.

He pressed his body against her, like he couldn't get near enough, like he was unaware of anything in the world but her.

Holy cow. Was that it? Was she finding it so hard to locate a path into his memories because his mind was completely occupied with her?

If she had an ego, it would inflate and explode.

She smiled over his shoulder as he kissed her neck, pulling her close. It was a lucky thing she had no sensation of what he was doing. She had a good guess of the chemical reaction a mortal girl would be suffering in the same situation, a chemical road Skye could never go down.

Suffering? Of course it would be best to think of it that way. It made it easier not to wish for it. Like some girls pretended chocolate was poison—Skye was on a sensation diet.

Except for the prickling along her skin.

Apparently the blushing camouflage was a package deal, probably to help her know when to react like a mortal should; when her skin felt covered in tiny stars it was time for good girls to blush and step away.

Jamison growled in her ear and she laughed.

“It's not funny, Skye. I want to be alone with you. Just to hold you without thinking someone might pull up at any minute and interrupt.”

Skye stopped smiling. She'd heard such lines before, but they'd never been said to her; she'd been eavesdropping. There went that imaginary ego again, insisting the guy be rewarded for making her feel special. But that, too, was a road she could never go down.

She knew he wanted some physical satisfaction, but she would never be the one to give it to him. However, if kisses could make him happy, she could give him that.

Giddy with relief, sure that Jamison had only been trying to hide his attraction to her, she grinned up at him. He grinned back and took her hand, pulling her back to the road. She had no time to make promises, or exact any. No time to tell him where the lines would be drawn, but she'd make sure he knew that a simple smile carried no promises.

The road churned beneath their feet as they made their way home. He wasn't sharing any plans with her, but she could tell by his speed he had something in mind. He'd probably take her somewhere in his car or into the cornfield where they wouldn't be easily found.

Poor Jamison. She earnestly hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed when she turned out to be different from most girls. But what could he honestly expect from a Somerled chick who probably wasn't even supposed to date anyone but a distant cousin?

Oh, brother, how she hated that assumption. “A bunch of in-breds” couldn't be further from the truth.

At last they passed the Latimer place—dark, deserted, waiting for a new generation of farmer to bring it out of the fifties. Maybe when Kenneth was gone, Lucas would expand, gobble up everything but Jamison and Lori's house, and probably that, too, if the pair moved away again. It should matter little to Skye what would happen then. Her time was near; she'd never know what would become of any of these farms, or the people who owned them.

They passed the fire hydrant. Next would be the canal and Kenneth's driveway entrance.

Jamison slowed and turned down the drive, but he led her between it and the canal, where the grasses silenced their footsteps. They passed the small granary, the spot where the pig shed used to stand, devoid now of the boards that had been piled there for over a year. His shoes crunched a bit on the gravel as they worked their way across the back of the yard, nearing the