Water Witch by Jan Hudson Page A

She wondered if he believed a word of what she’d told him. And she wondered if his feelings for her would change now that he knew about her strange ability. Suddenly, that thought brought a profound ache to her throat and a hollow feeling to her chest. It was as if the world were on hold while she waited for his reaction.
    Finally he looked up and smiled. “Well, Angel, if you’re convinced there’s water here, I guess we’d better decide what to do next.”
    A gush of happiness burst through her, and she smiled as the world moved again. He believed her. “There’s water here all right. I just have to figure out how deep to drill.” She set her cup down and opened the truck door. She selected a straight willow stick about a foot and a half long and walked back to the site with Sam trailing along behind.
    Max squatted down beside the boulder and held out the stick a few inches above the last marker and parallel to the ground. It began bobbing up and down rapidly, and she felt a jolt of excitement as she watched it.
    It was exceptional. Shallow and at least thirty gallons a minute.
    “Look at it, Sam. Look at it!” She jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Did you see that? Did you see it? Oh, I can’t believe it.” She was laughing and crying and kissing him. “Oh, Sam, isn’t it wonderful?”
    He caught her to him. “I like it,” he said, grinning as she planted more kisses on his face. “I think you missed a spot right here.” He pointed to his chin. She laughed and smacked the place he indicated. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, leaning down to drop a kiss on her chin, another on her cheek. Another on the corner of her mouth.
    But his kisses weren’t quick busses spawned by an exuberant spirit. They were soft-lipped, slow, and trailing promises of things to come. The mood changed as his tongue traced the outline of her lips, flicked across the slight parting of them. Then his mouth slanted over hers with a hunger that was palpable. Warmth flooded her whole body, and she pulled his head down, straining to increase the delicious sensation.
    With one broad hand he scooped her hips closer against him while the other slipped inside her jacket and found her breast. His hand was almost rough with need as he stroked the soft flesh. He rubbed her against his pelvis, and she could feel the strength of that need.
    Pulling his mouth away, he nuzzled the side of her neck. His breathing was ragged as he said, “Touch me, Angel. I think I’ll die if I can’t feel your hand on my skin.”
    A surge of desire poured through her, and she glided a hand up under his sweatshirt, rubbed along his back, slipped around to explore the taut muscles of his chest. She felt him shudder under her fingers, and she grew heady with the knowledge that her touch could affect him so.
    “Do you have any idea how much I want you, Angel? I lie awake at night imagining your sweet hands on me, imagining you lying in my bed, imagining my . . .”
    His words made her knees go weak, and his lips claimed hers again with a fierceness that brought oblivion to everything except the two of them. His tongue thrust into her mouth with bold rhythmic strokes and he reached for the snap of her jeans.
    At the sound of the pop, Sam and Max both stilled. He dragged his mouth from the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. Both of them were shaking, and her breath wasn’t any steadier than his. She was mortified that she had allowed things to go so far with a man she’d only known for three days, that she had been ripe and ready to make passionate love with Sam Garrett on a rocky hill. In broad daylight. In front of God and everybody. It wasn’t like her. She didn’t do things like this. But then she hadn’t been herself since the night she’d nailed Sam’s pants to the wall and first looked into those green eyes.
    What must he think? It was her fervent wish that a fissure would open beneath her feet and she would slip into it and drop to