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She wished with all her strength that she could hold on to that fear and not be distracted by how nice his ass looked as he walked away from her.
Jamison let Naomi drive to the depot, not trusting himself behind a wheel yet. The Ghost Train was a popular holiday tradition, and everyone in town seemed to be at the old depot to help decorate. Jamison was greeted left and right by people happy to see him again, asking him how he was, where he’d been. Jamison hadn’t realized he’d made so many friends during his short sojourn here, but Naomi didn’t seem surprised.
Jamison was as friendly and polite as possible, but insisted that he, Naomi, and Julie return home right away. He wanted this over with; he’d looked forward to this moment since he’d finally broken out of his cage and started the thousand mile journey home.
The Changers had been fools to try to force him to bind to one of their own. He’d already been half-bound to Naomi, but if he didn’t complete the bond quickly, she’d be in grave danger.
When they walked into the house, Naomi slammed her purse on the kitchen counter. “Julie, go tell Mrs. Medina I told you to help her. I need to talk to Jamison.”
Julie’s smile grew sly. “Are you going to kiss?”
Jamison felt his own smile grow, but Naomi shot him an irritated look. “No, we’re going to talk.”
Julie shrugged, grinned once more, and ran out of the house, toward the open door of Hansen’s Garden Center, which backed onto Naomi’s property. The Medina family, who ran the nursery with Naomi, adored Julie and would take care of her.
Naomi faced Jamison in silence. Gods, she was beautiful. The wind had pulled Naomi’s brown hair into fantastic tangles, and her cheeks were pink with cold and anger. The cold poked her nipples into tight buds as well, obvious even through her sweatshirt. He itched to grasp her breasts again, feel the velvet areolas, the hard little points.
Naomi started talking, and Jamison struggled to focus on her words. The animal in him wanted to take over, and focusing was difficult.
“All right,” she said. “If you insist on explaining. Why did you disappear for twenty-four months, then charge back in like you expected me to be waiting? How long will you be gone for next time?”
“I told you, I’m staying. For good.”
“Why?”
“To protect you from my enemies.”
“What enemies? Jamison, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll explode.”
Not an hour ago, she’d been too angry to want his explanation, but he knew Naomi couldn’t stand not to know. She probably thought he’d taken off to some Native American enclave where he’d spent days in a peyote haze and seduced every female who came along. The peyote part had been true, though not by his choice.
Jamison shucked his jacket and laid it on a stool at her breakfast bar. “It would be easier to show you.” He held out his hand. “Come upstairs with me?”
She folded her arms across her chest, pushing her enticing breasts higher. “Something in Julie’s room you want to see?”
He let a smile touch his mouth. “This isn’t about sex. I promise.” At least, not yet.
Naomi’s eyes went flint-hard. Jamison loved her eyes. They were the color of turquoise, a beautiful blue green that defied description. He’d never liked blue eyes until he’d seen hers.
She walked past him, her arms still folded, and started up the stairs.
Naomi’s house was an old Craftsman bungalow, built in the 1920s and renovated several times through the years. The result was a modernized but solid, cozy house, with a large living room and kitchen below and two bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Julie’s room was on the right at the top of the staircase, Naomi’s on the left. Naomi marched into her own sunny bedroom and waited for Jamison, winter sunshine picking out golden highlights in her hair.
Jamison’s wariness prickled as he walked inside. There were too many windows. Naomi’s room had views north-east, northwest, and southeast, the bedroom running the entire length of the house. It wasn’t the axis Jamison would have picked on which to orient a bedroom, but people in Magellan built their houses according to street planning, not alignment with the four winds.
Jamison quietly pulled the blinds down on the thick-paned windows while Naomi watched him in silence. He turned around and toed off his boots at the same time he pulled off his sweatshirt.
He didn’t miss how Naomi’s gaze went to his chest, to his own nipples, which were dark and tight. He liked that she didn’t look away as he undid his turquoise belt buckle and slid off his jeans.
Her face went pink as she gazed at his ordinary cotton briefs. He was hard behind them—how the hell could he help it? Jamison tugged off his socks then, without modesty, pulled off the briefs.
The way her gaze swiveled to his needy arousal was gratifying. She’d always liked to look at him, lord knew why. She’d wet her lips like she was eager to savor every inch of him.
Two years without Naomi had been way too damn long. He loved every molecule of the woman. Why do I love her? he’d once asked his grandfather, who was a much better shaman than Jamison could ever hope to be. Was it some kind of trickster magic? Jamison had spent his entire life on the Navajo reservation, scoffing at white people and white ways. Then a woman with blue green eyes had smiled at him, and he’d fallen like boulders in an avalanche.
He’d fallen so hard he’d moved into her house in the middle of a white man’s town. In the middle of a community who believed that the ghost of a steam train chugged through their little town every Christmas. The gods had to be laughing their asses off at him. Except Jamison hadn’t felt humiliated. He’d been happy.
Jamison crossed his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. He drew on the stillness he’d learned deep in drug-induced dreams, looking for the center of calm that nothing could breach.
