Eden Burning by Elizabeth Lowell Read Free Book Online Page A

work. “She singing in harmony yet?”
    Fred knew that she was asking about Kilauea’s record of having harmonic tremors before most eruptions. “Getting there. Quakes are coming in swarms, but they’re not really lined up in a row yet. She’s working on it, though. Getting hotter and readier by the second.”
    “Must have heard you were back from vacation.”
    “So you missed me, huh?” He showed Nicole a double row of perfect white teeth.
    “I died for you. Didn’t you get the funeral invitation?” She leaned to one side so that she could see around him. Frowning, she measured the real Volcano House against the one she had sketched. A little more shadow along the edge of the building . . . yes, that would do it.
    “You don’t look dead.” He glanced over the curves filling out her hiking clothes and all but licked his lips.
    “Miracle drugs. You survive, it’s a miracle.” She put her fist on his knee and pushed. Hard. “You’re gorgeous, but you aren’t a historic monument yet. Move it. You’re in my way.”
    “This better?” He crowded right against her knees, giving her a close-up view of his brief hiking shorts and muscular thighs.
    “Yuck. You ever think of shaving your legs?”
    Fred laughed and backed up, shaking his head. “You dancing at the club tonight?”
    She nodded.
    “When are you going to do a solo in my bed?”
    “Same as always—just as soon as you can dance or drum me right off the Kipuka Club’s stage.”
    He grumbled and said, “No fair. Even Bobby can’t do that, and he’s as strong as a bull.”
    “Takes more than strength.”
    “Yeah? Like what?”
    “Stamina. Finesse. Determination.” She looked up at Fred suddenly. “And red hair.”
    “I’ll dye it.”
    “A few pounds off wouldn’t hurt,” she agreed innocently.
    Fred groaned at the pun and gave up. “See you tonight, beautiful.”
    “Yeah, but I won’t see you.”
    “Why not?”
    “Spotlights blind me.”
    “Ever heard of Braille?” he asked with a sideways leer.
    “On your perfect body?” Dramatically she flung the back of her hand across her eyes as though she was about to faint. “Be still my beating heart.” She lowered her hand and changed the subject again. “Marcie wants to know if the hotshot pool for this month is closed.”
    “Marcie?”
    “The new haole from Washington State. Ph.D. Seismologist. She’s sure she can predict eruptions from the quake patterns better than anyone else.”
    “Marcie.” Frowning, Fred tried to place her. Every summer there was a flood of new people ranging from visiting VIPs to graduate-student gofers.
    “Blond,” Nicole said, shading in one edge of the building. “Cleavage from chin to navel. Green eyes that only women ever notice.”
    “Oh, that Marcie.” He smiled slowly. “So she wants to play, does she?”
    “I don’t know about that, but she does want to get some money into the hotshot pool.”
    “Thanks. I’ll check her out for tremors.”
    Shaking her head, Nicole watched Fred stalk off over the lava in search of more willing game. As soon as her glance fell on the side of the house again, she forgot about his relatively harmless lechery. It definitely needed more shading to catch the sense of age and weathering beneath the new paint. And over there, too, an echo of that shading on the rim itself . . .
    She lifted her pencil and worked swiftly, losing herself once again. The insistent cheeping of her watch alarm finally broke through her intense focus. She muttered a few words, sighed, and shut off the alarm. Then she noticed the fading light.
    “Damn! I set it for three-thirty, not five-thirty. Didn’t I?”
    The only answer was the position of the sun in the sky. Five-thirty. No doubt about it.
    If she made the next bus, she would have just enough time to get home, shower, and race to the Kipuka Club before her advanced students finished their Friday-night act.
    On second thought, forget the shower.
    She leaped to her feet and