White Heat

Her chin jerked up. “I don’t know your body. I—I can’t remember a thing. I was drunk or…or I never would’ve been so bold.”

She hadn’t been drunk at all. As a matter of fact, he’d only ever seen her drink one glass of wine, even at company parties, where most employees drank much more. “You’re saying that wasn’t the real you.”

Unwilling to meet his eyes, she kept her head at a jaunty angle. “Not at all. You know what it’s like. Sometimes you have too much to drink. You get a wild idea like ‘hey, why don’t I surprise my boss?’ and you act on it. Then you wake up feeling like an idiot, wondering what on earth possessed you to do something so stupid and normally unappealing.” She glanced over to see if he was buying her act, so he pretended to believe her.

“Normally unappealing.”

“Yes.”

“And the details are…gone. You’ve forgotten them all.”

“Every single one.”

“Bullshit,” he said with a laugh.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You remember the details as well as I do.” And for him, they remained in sharp focus, including the taste and texture of her skin, even the smell of it. He’d never forget how greedily she’d responded to his touch, how she’d given herself so artlessly, so honestly—then brought all pleasure to a screeching halt when she told him she loved him. Talk about getting sucker-punched.

Her grip on the steering wheel grew noticeably tighter. “No, I don’t.”

He waved a hand. “Fine, if that’s what you want me to believe, I’ll play along. So…you’ll just have to fake the attraction.”

She tossed him an overconfident grin. “No problem. I’m a pro at faking.”

Now she’d gone too far. “You weren’t faking anything when you were with me,” he said simply.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, she yawned and stretched. “Like I said, I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know what I was saying or doing. Or saying,” she added again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I was going through a rough patch, so you were just one in a long line of screw-ups. I mean, men.”

“You were sleeping around?” That statement took him off guard.

“Not a lot, but…I live on the beach, you know? I have my share of men.”

Nate sincerely doubted it. The woman he’d had in his bed had been exciting as hell, but not because she was well practiced. Part of the fun had been introducing her to so much she found completely new. And, considering her background, it made sense that she wouldn’t be particularly experienced. “Taking strangers in off the beach isn’t a safe thing to do,” he commented. Especially because she didn’t know how to pick one who wouldn’t break her heart. Take him, for instance…

“I keep a few condoms on hand just in case. What’s wrong with having some fun once in a while?”

Fun… The strap of her dress had fallen off her shoulder. He stretched his arm across the seat to slide it back into place, but she flinched and ducked away before he could touch her.

“Whoa! For someone who sleeps around, you’re pretty skittish.”

“I’m not skittish. I’m…I didn’t know what you were doing, that’s all.”

This time he moved more slowly. She sat perfectly still as he slid that strap up, but she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to appear. His touch had created a swath of goose bumps. “If you’re so free and easy with everyone else, I guess there’s no need for me to be any different, right?”

“I’m afraid I’m on hiatus right now,” she said. “It all got to be a bit boring and stale…you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

A furrow formed between her eyebrows. “That happens when you do it too often.”

“I’ve never reached that threshold. But then…I don’t live on the beach.”

“That must be it.”

“You’re not remotely tempted? Even though we’re sort of married?”

“Not remotely. If we were any good together, I’m sure I’d remember more than I do about the last time.”

“Let me get this straight. You were drunk. You weren’t yourself. You don’t remember making love with me. And it stank?”

Her lopsided smile finally righted itself. “Now you’ve got it.”

5

Where was Courtney Sinclair? Sarah Myers paused in the doorway of the tent where the children attended classes. After the glare of the early-afternoon sun, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, but even when she could see clearly, she saw no one resembling her young friend. Courtney hadn’t shown up at the cheese factory this morning, either. And when Sarah had visited her tent to ask her roommates, everyone said Courtney hadn’t even rolled out her bed last night.

Had she gone back to her family in Portal? If so, why? She’d been terribly unhappy there….

Still, the girl’s parents wanted her to come home. Maybe they could salvage their relationship. If Courtney wasn’t going to stay in Paradise, she needed their help and support. But Sarah didn’t think Courtney had gone home. Something didn’t feel right. A hush had settled among the Brethren, an uneasiness Sarah had never sensed before—except during the first few days after Martha got away. Once again the men scurried through Paradise with their heads bowed, going to or from the Enlightenment Hall, as if they were deeply worried.

Earlier, Sarah had dared to approach Brother Titherington to ask about Courtney, and he’d barely paused long enough to mumble, “Haven’t seen her.”

“Sister Sarah? Is there something we can do for you?”

Patricia Sellers had spotted her. Patricia was the administrator of the children’s programs and one of the nicest people Sarah had ever met. “I just…I was wondering if Courtney was here.”

“Courtney…?”

“Sinclair. The new girl. She wears black and has lots of piercings?”

“Oh, you mean, Trix.”

Sarah had heard the nickname, knew it was the girl’s own preference, but she hadn’t used it herself. Somehow it didn’t fit Courtney. She wasn’t sure why Courtney thought it did. “Yes.”

“She doesn’t usually come by until after she gets off at the cheese factory.”

“She didn’t go to work,” Sarah explained.

“Perhaps she’s ill.”

“I’ve checked her tent, spoken to the other women who share it with her. They don’t know where she is. They say she never joined them for dinner last night and never rolled out her bed, either.”

“She might’ve stayed at the Enlightenment Hall with the Holy One. He’s been taking a special interest in trying to help her, praise be to God.”

“Yes, praise be to God,” Sarah echoed. But after what she’d witnessed with Sister Martha, Sarah didn’t think she wanted another friend to draw so much of the Holy One’s attention. Although Sarah had been a devout follower of Ethan Wycliff since she’d first heard him speak on the Appalachian Trail near her hometown, he seemed different. Changed.

Or was that her broken heart talking? She couldn’t deny how much it hurt that he scarcely noticed her these days. She supposed now that the church had grown so large, he had other things to worry about than an ugly, scarred woman. But he’d been able to see past her appearance before. At least, he’d made her feel as if he could. And what about the stoning? The bloodlust that’d overtaken the Covenanters when Ethan ordered Martha stoned still horrified Sarah. How could Ethan be the man she’d thought he was, a man she’d compare to any of the great prophets, if he was willing to resort to such violence? Was it true that his actions were sanctioned by God, as everyone said? That God’s punishment was righteous punishment?