2. Prescription For Love

Harper debated tackling her, dragging her to the ground, and pummeling her until she talked. It would be faster and probably easier for both of them. However, their mother was in the kitchen, and they’d catch hell if she found out, and she was too damn tired to wrestle anyhow. She stepped up beside Flann and stared at the mess of the barn. “What did you do?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being the family hero?”

“It’s a burden, I’ll admit,” Harper said quietly, “but I’ve learned to bear it.” Flann barked a laugh. “You ass.”

Harper grinned. “Since we both know I’ve made plenty of mistakes, I’ll take that comment as selfdirected. What’d you do?”

Flann gripped a handful of hair and twisted. The pain cleared her head a little but didn’t make her feel any better. “I kissed her.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Harper said. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Now you’re a mind reader as well as a saint?”

“You’ve been practically drooling every time you look at her.”

“Bullshit.”

“Have it your own way. You kissed her. And?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t welcome, and I should’ve known that from the beginning.”

“Did you barge in with your usual lack of finesse? Maybe you just caught her off guard.”

“Fuck you,” Flann said for form, but she couldn’t muster up much heat. “It was a mistake, all right?”

“Why was it a mistake?”

“That should be obvious.”

“Not to me,” Harper said. “You’re single, she’s single, you’ve got the hots for her, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s been sending you a few appreciative looks too.”

“Oh, for chrissakes, Harper. It’s not about hormones.”

Harper stared. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not about wanting to get laid, okay? Abby’s—she’s just not somebody I want to fool around with, okay? She’s got a kid, she’s got a new job, a whole new life to get settled into. Christ, she’s actually got a life. The last thing I want, or she wants—which she made abundantly clear—is for us to get mixed up in anything.”

“I thought you said you just kissed her. Was there a lot more you left out?” “No.”

“Sounds like a lot of overreacting to me.”

“Look,” Flann said. “It was a bad idea. I know it. She knows it. Won’t happen again.”

“Flann,” Harper said, “if you care—”

“I don’t, okay?” Flann turned and stalked away. “I don’t.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Abby opened her eyes in an unfamiliar room, sunlight washing over her face. The ornate tin ceiling was painted a soothing taupe. A breeze fluttered through the open window, scented sweetly with hay and clover. Had she really slept? She must have. A collage of memories bombarded her. Presley’s farm. The beautiful bedroom. The storm. The long night in the ER and the morning

Flann. Oh God Flann. Heat stroked through her, settling unerringly in the pit of her stomach. Flann’s kisses—arrogant and unapologetic, simmering and demanding. Her kissing Flann back, just as greedy. Where had the greed, the need, come from? She’d kissed women before, felt desire before, but never such allconsuming hunger. The mindless, endless want haunted her still. Her breasts tingled with the memory of Flann’s hands just barely grazing her flesh. Her clitoris swelled and pulsed. The ache between her thighs grew heavier, an unfamiliar and ecstatic beat. How easy it would’ve been to say yes. Her body was still saying it. Her heart and mind, though, were retreating from emotions and sensations she’d never expected and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to embrace.

Abby pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the bed. Sometime in her sleep coma she’d shed her clothes. They lay in a heap by the bed. She brushed her hand over her breasts and down her belly, experiencing the swell and planes of flesh as if for the first time. This body, alive with sensation, felt nearly as unfamiliar as the longing that even now rose through her. She hadn’t just opened her eyes in a strange room, she’d awakened in a body transformed to a world that looked and smelled and felt different than the day before. She laughed out loud. Sleeping Beauty indeed, roused from oblivion by a kiss. And in Flann’s case, the handsome prince couldn’t have been handsomer, but Abby’s erstwhile prince had been anything but gentle and refined. More a marauder than a royal courtier, storming the castle to make her claim. Flann had urged her to take, and she had, but she’d wanted to be taken as well.

Come to bed, Flann’s dark eyes commanded.

And Abby’d almost said yes.