Free Heaven and Earth by Nora Roberts

were glowing cheerfully in the windows, and smoke puffed out of the chimney.
    “Nice house.” He got out, and though she’d already hopped down before he could come around and open her door, he took her arm again.
    “Look, Mac, it’s kind of cute and all that, but you don’t need to walk me to the door. This wasn’t a date.”
    “It’s a compulsion. Besides, we had a meal, and conversation. And wine. So that’s several date elements.”
    She stopped on the porch, turned. He’d pulled a ski cap on, and his dark blond hair escaped here and there. He couldn’t help but look at her intensely. “So, what, you want a kiss good night now?”
    “Okay.”
    The response was so cheerful, so harmlessly cheerful, she grinned. But only for an instant.
    He had. . . moves. Smooth, unexpected, incredible moves.
    It wasn’t fast, but it was so slick, so silky, she had no time to readjust. To think.
    His arms came around her, slid her against him, body to body so that without any real pressure she was molded to him. He dipped her back, just the slightest bit, and somehow conjured the illusion that they were horizontal instead of vertical.
    The intimacy of it jolted through her, sent her head on a dizzy spin even before his mouth took hers.
    Soft. Warm. Deep. His lips didn’t brush or nibble, but simply absorbed. Now the dizziness was joined by a shimmering wave of heat that seemed to start in her toes and rise until it melted every bone.
    A little sound—stunned pleasure—hummed in her throat. Her lips parted in welcome. Oh, more! It took two tries to lift her boneless arms and circle his neck.
    Her knees buckled. It wouldn’t have surprised her to feel her body simply dissolve and slide in little liquid drops into a pool at his feet.
    When he eased back, gently set her away, her vision was blurred, her mind blank.
    “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said.
    “Uh.” She couldn’t quite remember how to form words.
    He gave her hair a friendly tug. “Better get inside before you freeze.”
    “Ah.” She gave up, turned blindly and walked into the door.
    “Let me get that for you.” He spoke quietly, quite soberly, and turned the knob, nudged the door open. “Good night, Ripley.”
    “Mmm.”
    She stepped inside, then had no choice but to lean back against the door he closed until she got her bearings and her breath back.
    Harmless? Had she actually thought he was harmless?
    She managed to stagger a few steps, then lowered herself to the bottom tread of the staircase. She would just wait until her legs were back under her, she decided, before she tried to make it upstairs to her room.
    * * *
January 8, 2002
    9–10 P . M . EST
    I’ll transcribe my notes and the tape from my initial interview with Ripley Todd shortly. I didn’t make as much progress with her as I’d hoped. However, there were two specific incidents that will be set down in more detail in my official log. My personal reaction, however, belongs here.
    Ripley’s temperament and her protective attitude toward her sister-in-law, Nell Todd (data on Nell Todd cross-referenced under her name), can and will overpower her reluctance to discuss her gift. Or, as I learned tonight, to demonstrate that gift. It’s my impression that her warning to me when I mentioned Nell was instinctive, and the result was unplanned. Harming me was a by-product rather than a goal. The burns on my wrist, from visual examination, matched the grip and shape of her fingers. It wasn’t a flash burn, but more a steady increase in heat. As you might experience when turning up a flame.
    Her physical changes during this phenomenon were a dilation of pupils, a flush under the skin.
    Her anger turned inward immediately.
    I believe this lack of control, and a fear of what she is capable of, are what cause her reluctance to discuss, and explore, the nature of her talents.
    She’s an interesting woman, one obviously close to her family. In all areas but this, I sense and