Dear lord. What was happening to her? Shane had gotten her all worked up. She washed her face in a trancelike state, changed into pajamas and crawled into her bed, drawing the covers up under her chin. She closed her eyes, but couldn’t ignore the liquid heat between her legs.

She slid a hand down over her stomach, under the elastic of the sleep shorts she wore, over her pubic curls. She cupped her pussy, holding it for a moment, feeling it pulsing against her fingers. She couldn’t believe she wanted this…wanted to touch herself like this. After the horror she’d experienced, sex had seemed so…trivial. So unimportant.

Her other hand slid up under her tank top and covered one breast. She squeezed gently. It felt good. She squeezed harder and a small moan leaked from her mouth. She parted her legs, let her fingers delve deeper into the folds there, and when she found slick wetness, she gasped.

Her tummy did a flip flop and images of Shane rushed into her head—his sparkling sapphire eyes, his deep dimples, his long, sexy fingers. His body had a perfect masculine shape—wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, flat abdomen—and she pictured him without a shirt. She’d seem him shirtless, but that was thirteen years ago when he was still a boy. Now he was bigger, broader, more solid and she wanted to know what lay beneath the T-shirts he always wore.

She wanted to feel his long fingers on her body.

Her own fingers stroked, dragged wetness up to the bump that quivered and jumped when she touched it. Another flash of Shane, a young Shane with his face between her legs and his mouth on her pussy. She turned her head into the pillow, fingers of one hand rubbing her clit, fingers of the other pinching her sensitive nipple, tension coiling in her until she climaxed in a hard, shuddering orgasm.

Chapter Nine

“What can I do to help today?”

Maeve looked up from her paperwork. “Well, if you’re not too tired, I need a few errands done today. Or maybe you’d rather stay in the store and I’ll go out and do them?”

“I’ll go.” A change of scenery might be a good thing.

“Okay.” Maeve handed Keara a stack of envelopes and a small shopping list. “These need to be dropped off at the county office in Santa Melita, and I need stamps and these put in the mail, and these are a few things I need for groceries. Here, I’ll give you some money…”

“That’s okay. I’ll pay for it.”

“Well, bring receipts for the postage back and I’ll reimburse you. That is a business expense, after all.”

Maeve gave her detailed directions to the locations she needed to go and when she’d done her coffee she set out on her mission, happy to be doing something that would take her mind off Shane and his disturbing flirting.

It was all Maeve’s fault. If she hadn’t been talking about sex all the time and how sex would cure everything that ailed her, she wouldn’t have told Shane and he wouldn’t have gotten the bad idea to flirt with her.

And she wouldn’t have masturbated to thoughts of Shane’s hard body and beautiful face.

With a sigh, she negotiated a curve in the road that wound through the mountains. She needed to get him out of her head. She needed to get back to worrying and feeling guilty and afraid.

Jesus, what was she thinking? She was losing her freaking mind. She wanted to feel guilty! How sick was that?

But she didn’t just want to feel guilty. She deserved to feel guilty. After what she’d done, she totally deserved to be as miserable as she was.

Dr. Cogan had told her she had to stop thinking that way. She had to reframe her thoughts. She deserved to be happy. Bah. What did he know?

A car in her rearview mirror distracted her from her musings as it came up close behind her. Idiot. Tailgating was always stupid, but on this narrow winding road through the mountains, it was dangerous. She pressed her lips together, her eyes moving from the road ahead, to the mirror, and back to the road. She tapped her brake to flash her lights at the moron behind her then focused as she went into another mountain-hugging turn.

She nibbled her bottom lip, trying to refocus her thoughts. Maybe thinking about Shane was better than thinking she needed to be punished for what she’d done by being miserable and scared for the rest of her life, then wishing she could get over being miserable and scared.

The car behind her drew up even closer and she frowned. What a dickhead! If he wanted to pass, he should just pass. Of course, the solid yellow line and curving road made it difficult, but she was going the speed limit for God’s sake, what was his rush? Her gut clenched a bit as she glanced to her right and saw how the mountain dropped away, trees and shrubs falling to the valley below. The small guardrail wasn’t much deterrent from a long descent.

She put her foot on the brake to slow down. Maybe the guy would pass her if she slowed down. She assumed it was a guy. She couldn’t imagine a female driver being so aggressive. Although, you never knew.

She squinted into the mirror, trying to make out who the driver was. Short dark hair. Definitely a man. Still riding her ass, the jerk. She slowed even more.

She rounded another curve and there was a blessed straight open stretch of highway. Finally. Now he could pass her and leave her alone. She slowed even more, now well below the speed limit, and waved a hand to motion the driver behind her to pass.

But he didn’t. Her frown deepened as he stayed right behind her, so close she could feel him. What the hell? Her eyes kept going back and forth between the highway and the car behind her, and then she was going into another long curve around the mountainside and he was still hugging her butt. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

Enough. This was stupid. She was going to pull over and let him go by. If she stopped, surely he’d pass her. If he didn’t, she’d get out and give him a piece of her mind. He was a fucking moron. But what if he was some kind of lunatic? What if she pulled over and he pulled over behind her and got out and he had a gun or something, and was insane…

Stop! She could not let her mind keep imagining these worst-case scenarios. Dr. Cogan told her to think best-case scenario, not to always imagine the worst. She would pull over.

She set her foot on the brake and started to slow her car. The shoulder was unpaved and very narrow here, the low guardrail flimsy. When she felt she’d slowed enough, she directed her wheels onto the shoulder, felt the jolt as they left the paved road, held tightly to the steering wheel to control her car on the loose gravel.

And then she felt the bump. A small bump, but a bump. The car behind her had actually hit her! Jesus! What the hell was he thinking!

She glanced in her mirror, gripped the wheel and hit the brakes, but the car had now come up beside her—close! She reflexively jerked the wheel to avoid the collision, a glimpse of a dark blue SUV flashing into her vision, and then her car hit the guardrail and to her horror crashed right through it.

She wrenched the wheel back, trying desperately to get back on the road, but her rear tires skidded off the gravel and over the edge of the embankment. No. Oh, no. This could not be happening. Her wheels spun, the car shuddered and then her front end headed over the edge.

Eyes wide, hands gripping the steering wheel, her mouth opened and she wasn’t sure, but she might have screamed as her car skidded. She jammed her foot on the brake but it was too late. The front end drove into nothingness.

Horror made everything happen slowly—the vast spread of greenery far below her, the sensation of falling, like in one of her dreams, the tree that appeared in front of her windshield—and then blackness.

* * *

Shane ran a hand through his hair impatiently, standing in the crowded waiting room of the hospital ER.

“Should we call her next of kin?” Jim Mahon asked. He’d been first at the scene of the crash, had radioed for emergency help. The California Highway Patrol along with officers from the Kilkenny PD and an ambulance had rushed to the scene.

When Shane had first heard of the accident, he hadn’t thought much of it, had let his staff deal with it. But when he heard it was Keara, his heart had slammed into his ribs and he’d torn out of the station and raced to Kilkenny General. He’d actually gotten there before the ambulance, which arrived moments later with lights and sirens blaring.

Watching them carry Keara into the ER on a stretcher had just about knocked his legs out from under him.

“No,” he answered shortly. “Just let me find out how badly she’s hurt. If I have to, I’ll go get Maeve.” He swallowed, his chest tight. Jesus, she had to be okay. He could only imagine showing up at Maeve’s shop with news that Keara…he shook his head. “That’ll be better than phoning her and getting her all upset.”

The nurse had promised to report back to him in a few minutes. They were still checking Keara out back behind the reception desk. He paced back and forth, wanting just to stride back there and yank her curtain open to demand answers. He scrunched his nose at the smell of antiseptic and sickness and rubbed his face.

“Her vehicle?” he asked Jim.

“Wrecker got it. Towed it to their compound. Probably a write-off.”

“Fuck.”

What the hell had happened? He knew that stretch of highway, the steep drop off beside the highway. There were too many accidents on that highway.

“My son has a sore throat,” he heard a woman tell the nurse at the desk. He frowned. Jesus. A sore throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, turned and paced back down the hall, behind the reception desk as far he thought he could get away with.