No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(67)

Once she got out there, however, she saw no sign of him—just his shovel cast off to one side as if he’d tossed it away or dropped it.

Her heart began to race; she could feel it bumping against her chest. “Oh God,” she whispered. “No, please.”

Directing her flashlight at the freshly turned earth, she began searching for blood or any other sign of foul play. If Sly had harmed Dawson, he wasn’t going to get away with it. She’d see to it that he was punished, no matter what she had to do. But the thought that Dawson might be hurt was almost more than she could take in the first place. She’d feel bad if anyone were hurt, but especially him. Maybe she hadn’t known him long, but she’d begun to care about him.

Her eyes filled with tears, making it that much harder to see. As she moved her light in an ever-widening circle, she hoped to find something. But she didn’t. She was about to go in and call the police. Sly was part of the force, and most of the other cops were poisoned against Dawson, but what else could she do? Time could be of the essence, which meant she needed to act quickly. She could only hope that there was someone who would respond with a measure of integrity in the performance of his job.

Then she spotted something. There, under the tree.

Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted the flashlight higher to get a better look.

A second later, she realized what it was: Dawson’s boots.

*

Sadie’s hands were on his body, up under his shirt, feeling his chest. Dawson wished those hands would move lower. He hadn’t been touched intimately in eighteen months or more—other than the one cell mate who’d tried to grab his junk in the middle of the night and lost a tooth for the effort.

He felt his body react, felt himself grow hard before he realized they weren’t even in the house, let alone his bed.

What the hell? What were they doing outside? Was this another of his many fantasies?

“Dawson? Can you hear me?” she said.

He managed to lift his heavy eyelids so that he could take in the sight of her. She was bent over him, wearing a big coat—his coat, he realized—crying. A flashlight lay on the ground beside her, its beam shooting off across the field. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. What’d he do to you?”

He caught and held her hands before she could get him any more worked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Sly!”

“He was here?”

“That’s my guess. Did he hurt you?”

Dawson couldn’t remember seeing Sly tonight. He didn’t feel any pain, either. But he was so groggy—the result of all the sleep deprivation he’d suffered since being released from jail. And it was awfully strange to find himself outside. How did he get here?

Suddenly, the answer came to him. He’d been too exhausted to keep working but was too stubborn to quit. He’d promised himself he’d take fifteen minutes and rest under the closest tree before finishing the row he was on. At that point, he must’ve sacked out, fallen so deeply asleep that he would’ve spent the whole night out here if Sadie hadn’t awakened him. “Wait. Sadie, it’s okay. I’m okay. I fell asleep, that’s all.”

He expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. He could see the shine of the moon in her eyes as she stared down at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly from her fear and upset.

“You scared me,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.” She was so upset he couldn’t help letting his own hands slip inside that heavy coat. He was seeking the soft feel of her skin, which he found at her waist, but he was also hoping to calm her, to let her know he was right there, all in one piece, and she had no reason to fear. “Nothing happened.”

“So...Sly hasn’t been out here?”

“No. Everything’s okay,” he replied, except that they were both touching each other and neither one seemed eager to let go.

“God, you feel good,” he said with a hoarse laugh, but he felt too guilty making a move on her to continue. She worked for him. And she hadn’t even escaped her last relationship yet. He didn’t want to give her the impression that she had to put out for him in order to retain his friendship or his support—or to have a place to stay or keep her job or whatever. “Sorry, I...I didn’t mean to get out of line.” He forced himself to let go of her, but she didn’t seem offended. On the contrary, she caught his hands—and moved them higher, to her breasts!

The testosterone that shot through him in that moment drew every muscle taut. “Sadie...”

She must’ve heard the desperation in his voice; he heard it himself. He was trying to warn her that it wouldn’t be difficult to push him past his own restraint. He hadn’t been living a normal life for the past year; that put him at a distinct disadvantage. But she still didn’t withdraw. She covered his hands with hers, holding them in place. “Don’t talk. I won’t listen. I can’t listen, not right now. I just... I want to touch and be touched. I want to experience something besides anger and remorse and fear.” She lowered her voice. “I want to make love to a man I actually desire. I can’t even imagine what that would feel like.”

“But you don’t realize how much this could complicate things,” he said, struggling to keep his head clear. “We don’t even know each other all that well, and we’re both in a mess. It’s too big of a risk.”