Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [3]
Laura.
They say life passes in front of your eyes just before you die. They lied. It wasn’t the past that flashed through Tommy’s mind as he lay there trying to move, trying to breathe. It was all the things in life that would never be. The wedding he’d hoped to share with Laura in a year’s time, her so beautiful in a white gown. Images of him coming home to her, a small black-headed baby boy in her arms. Christmases, New Year’s Eves, birthdays. Making love in the rain. Everything that Laura and he would never have.
Tommy sensed he was bleeding from his mouth and nose. Blood was in his eyes and streaming down his chest. He hurt. Bad. Yet, all he could think of was Laura. Beautiful Laura with her auburn hair and laughing brown eyes. The woman he loved more than life.
He reached for her hand. “Laura!” he choked through tears and blood. The instant he touched her he knew she was dead. He laced his fingers with hers and held on, knowing there was no life without her. “Laura!” He screamed in madness.
His body felt on fire. He couldn’t breathe. Obscenely, Ray Peterson crooned, “‘Tell Laura not to cry, my love for her will never die.’”
“Tommy, wake up! Tommy!”
Tommy jerked up, then looked around, wondering if the collision had been merely a bad dream. The world was in sepia, a strange, gold shimmering twilight. Laura glistened with faery dust. She laughed and tugged on his hand, and for an instant he glanced back at the wreck. Cars were stopping along the road, and people ran to the smashed Mustang.
Not a dream. A nightmare.
“Tommy, this way.” Laura smiled, pulling his hand.
“Laura, wait. I love you.” He yanked her into his arms, squeezing her so tightly she’d have a hard time breathing. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. “Oh, Laura . . .”
She kissed him. “Shhhh! We must hurry before someone gets our booth at The Windmill. I want a Cherry Coke and then to slow dance to our song.”
“But Laura . . .” He hesitated, looking back at the wreck, confused.
She reached up and gently pulled his face around toward hers. “It doesn’t matter, Tommy. Nothing matters but that we’re together. We’ll always be together. Just like the song, Tommy, our love will never die.”
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day Kentucky
Lifting the icy-cold bottle of Coors to his mouth, Jago Mershan froze in midmotion, then groaned as if he’d received a stiff blow to his solar plexus. His whole body tensed as everything about him receded to gray. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the impact of Asha Montgomerie on his senses.
Jago’s eyes tracked the woman who’d slid out of the black Jaguar and strode across the parking lot, the image of warm honey suddenly foremost in his mind. Only, his sweet tooth wasn’t throbbing. His pain centered lower—much lower. The jukebox switched to Bob Seger’s pulsing “Come to Papa,” causing the right side of his mouth to twitch into a hungry predator’s smile. Low laughter rumbled in his chest as his eyes never left Asha.
He whispered, “Yeah, come to papa.”
She was tall, around five-seven, the height increased a shade by the heels of her brown leather Wellies. Her black jeans fit snugger than his English racing gloves and lovingly displayed the long, sleek limbs that could wrap around him—ah, a man—and never let go. Being a lowly male, he thoroughly appreciated how those firm breasts filled a 34D to perfection, no Miracle Bra needed, no Pamela Lee implants. Bodies like hers were a throwback to the heyday of Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell. Placing her hand on the porch rail, Asha followed the spiral up the creek-stone stairs, her body undulating in a quiet, feline grace. Those superb breasts swayed perceptibly with each step, the black scoop-necked sweater revealing tempting cleavage.
As she moved alongside