Page 61 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

He reveled in her essence. “Erin, Erin,” he spoke against her dewy skin. “What an addictive sweetness you are.”

His name was almost like a sob as it rolled off her lips. “Lance, please…”

He raised himself over her and settled between silken thighs. “Erin, tell me if I—”

His words were trapped in his mouth as she sealed them inside with her anxious lips. Her beseeching hands on his hips convinced him that his caution was unnecessary. He accepted what was so freely offered, moving his hands under her and lifting her to honor his total possession.

Temporarily they were sated. Their legs were entangled; stomachs were cushioned together as she lay atop his chest. Propping up on an elbow, she plucked at his chest hair. “Lance, you have another gray hair!”

He chuckled. “Since I met you, it’s a wonder they’re not all gray.”

She buried her face in the wiry mat and kissed him. Absently he combed his fingers through her hair. “Erin, how did you feel when you found out you were pregnant? Distressed? Happy?”

She raised her head and her face was warm with love when she said, “I was thrilled, Lance. It was the most special feeling and I… I… I can’t explain it. Wonderful isn’t strong enough. And I was surprised. For days after I first noticed the symptoms, I couldn’t imagine what was wrong with me.”

Lance laughed. “Miss O’Shea, didn’t you know that what we were doing so much of could make babies?”

Punishment for his impudent question was a smacking kiss on his ear. “Of course I knew it could make babies! It’s just that when we… uh… while you are… well, it never entered my mind.” She was overcome by a rash of timidity, but she managed to add, “When I’m loving you, Lance, I don’t think about anything else.”

Cradling her face between his palms, he stared into her ebony eyes. “Erin, do you love me?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Tell me again,” he said menacingly.

They smiled, remembering the day he had bombarded her with questions in the Lymans’ small paneled study. Now, as then, she answered him honestly. “I love you, Lance.”

Just before he kissed her, he felt an infinitesimal fluttering against his abdomen. Erin hadn’t moved. What the—?

His blue eyes widened in surprised awe as comprehension dawned. “Is that…?”

Erin smiled down and lowered her lips to his. “Yes, darling. He’s as eager for his daddy as I am.”

About the Author

Sandra Brown is the author of over sixty New York Times bestsellers, including most recently Low Pressure; Lethal; Rainwater; Tough Customer; Smash Cut; Smoke Screen; Play Dirty; Ricochet; Chill Factor; White Hot; Hello, Darkness; The Crush; Envy; The Switch; The Alibi; Unspeakable; and Fat Tuesday, all of which jumped onto the New York Times list in the numbers one to five spots. There are over eighty million copies of Sandra Brown’s books in print worldwide and her work has been translated into thirty-four languages. In 2008, Brown was named Thriller Master by the International Thriller Writers Association, the organization’s top honor. She currently lives in Texas. For more information you can visit www.SandraBrown.net.

When Dr. Emory Charbonneau disappears on a mountain road in North Carolina, her heart-pounding story of survival begins, taking the age-old question, “Does the end justify the means?” and turning it on its head.

Please see the next page for an excerpt from Mean Streak

Prologue

Emory hurt all over. It hurt even to breathe.

The foggy air felt full of something invisible but sharp, like ice crystals or glass shards. She was underdressed. The raw cold stung her face where the skin was exposed. It made her eyes water, requiring her to blink constantly to keep the tears from blurring her vision and obscuring her path.

A stitch had developed in her side. It clawed continually, grabbed viciously. The stress fracture in her right foot was sending shooting pains up into her shin.

But owning the pain, running through it, overcoming it, was a matter of self-will and discipline. She’d been told she possessed both. In abundance. To a fault. But this was what all the difficult training was for. She could do this. She had to.

Push on, Emory. Place one foot in front of the other. Eat up the distance one yard at a time.

How much farther to go?

God, please not much farther.

Refueled by determination and fear of failure, she picked up her pace.

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