Death is Forever

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “There’s no way something could draw blood on you and not cut muscle,” she said, wringing out a hand towel in the hot water with quick, angry motions, hating what she would have to do next.

  “You slap that over my thigh and I’ll turn you over my knee,” he warned.

  “Try it, big man, and you’ll end up on the floor.”

  “Feeling feisty, are you?”

  Her hands paused. He was right. The knowledge that she had come through violence intact was fizzing slowly through her, dissolving through years of fear, changing them, changing her. Part of her felt she could take on any man and throw him ten times out of ten. Common sense told her she was insane even to think about it. She let out a long sigh.

  “First time on the winning side?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He smiled crookedly. “Don’t let it go to your head. If a hit had been ordered, we’d be facedown in the sand. You should have run like hell when I told you to.”

  Shaking her head in silent disagreement, she knelt between his powerful legs. Her hair gleamed in shades of mahogany and copper and gold as she moved. His breath came out in a rush as the warm towel draped tenderly over the wound. Her hands worked slowly, gently, carefully, cleaning the angry furrow.

  “I mean it, honey. You should have run,” he said quietly, stroking her gleaming hair with his hand. “It’s the first rule of self-defense.”

  “You should have taken your own advice.”

  “It didn’t apply to me. I wasn’t defending myself.”

  Her breath came in. “I know. You were defending me.”

  Beneath his palm her head turned. He felt the warm touch of her kiss against his hand in the instant before she rose to rinse the towel under the faucet once more.

  She wanted to thank Cole for defending her but didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound hopelessly naïve and foolish. He’d fought for her when she’d been helpless. She didn’t have any words to tell him how much that meant to her. She was still discovering it herself. But she was certain about one thing.

  She couldn’t have left Cole Blackburn to die while she ran away unhurt.

  She knelt once more and went back to cleaning the wound. Hot tears gathered at the back of her eyes when his breath hissed out and he began cursing in a low voice.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating the knowledge that she was hurting him. As gently as possible she blotted the wound, trying to see how deep it was and if any cloth from his slacks was imbedded in his flesh. “Can you turn more to the left?”

  Cole’s leg bent. He braced his foot against the wash basin and wondered if Erin had the slightest idea what it was doing to him to feel her hair slide against his uninjured thigh, to feel her hands on his bare leg as she steadied herself, to feel her breath against his naked, sensitive skin. At least her unintentional seduction was taking his mind off the bruised, burning pain radiating from the shallow wound. He’d been lucky as hell to get away with such a minor injury and he knew it.

  “How’s that?” he asked, shifting until light fell directly on his inner thigh.

  “Good.”

  She put her hand on Cole’s thigh to hold him in place. With an effort she forced herself to concentrate on his wound as though she was looking through a camera lens. She bent closer, peering at the scarlet furrow. No matter how she turned, a shadow still fell across the wound, concealing its depth.

  Caged between his legs, she shifted awkwardly, almost leaning against his torso in order to see from a different angle. The motion sent first her shoulder and then her hair sliding across his groin.

  A shaft of desire went through Cole, tensing his whole body.

  “Does that hurt?” she asked anxiously.

  “Not…quite.”

  His voice was thick and his eyes were focused on her hair, not on her hands. He wondered if silk or satin or fire came in that particular color. Her hair felt like all three when it slid down over his skin, the strands cool and silky, yet somehow warm at the same time.

  “Lift a bit higher if you can,” she said, pressing gently with both hands against his thigh. “That’s good.” She looked at the wound and let out a long sigh of relief. “You’re right. It isn’t serious. It must hurt, though.”

  Cole didn’t bother to deny it. “Have any bandages in that kit?”

  “In your size? I doubt it,” she said dryly, starting to get to her feet.

  “Stay put, honey,” he said, holding her gently in place against his body. “I can reach it.”

  When he leaned forward, he all but surrounded Erin. She felt the supple power of his leg beneath her hands, felt the soft abrasion of his body hair against her wrists, and sensed the living, quintessentially masculine heat brushing against her arm. Sensations shivered from her breastbone to her knees, shortening her breath. Carefully she drew in air, telling herself that she must be mistaken. She couldn’t have felt what she thought she’d felt.

  Cole couldn’t be aroused.

  A tube of antibiotic ointment appeared at Erin’s eye level. She took it, carefully blotted the wound again, and began smoothing ointment over raw flesh. Cole hissed a string of words in a foreign language. She didn’t ask for a translation.

  With each light brush of Erin’s fingers against his body, Cole’s pulse leaped. The burning of the wound didn’t compare to the way she set fire to his blood. Because there was nothing he could do about either fire, he kept cursing in the kind of Portuguese used in the diamond fields of Brazil, blasphemies that could etch steel.

  As he cursed, he told himself it was a simple case of the oldest aphrodisiac of all—adrenaline. He’d felt it before, the aftermath of ambush, the vivid, almost overwhelming rush when he knew that he’d survived, and then the sexual hunger that was his body’s way of celebrating being alive. If Erin had been any other woman he would have pulled her onto his lap, burying himself in her until he came with a violence that equaled his arousal.

  But Erin wasn’t any other woman. She’d been raped and brutalized to the point that she might never invite a man into the hot, sleek depths of her body.

  Grimly Cole tried not to think about the delicate hands that felt so tantalizing on his skin. Like Erin’s breath, warm and sweet. Like the scent of her. Like her breasts brushing against his leg when she bent even closer, trying to reach the back of his thigh. The soft resilience of her flesh was a brand against his naked skin. He flinched and swore, wondering why this one woman among all women aroused him to the point of pain.

  “Whatever happened to the strong, silent type?” she muttered unhappily, biting her lower lip.

  “Do you believe in the Easter Bunny too?” He hissed another curse between his teeth.

  By the time Erin was finished, her lip had tooth marks in it, but there was almost no fresh bleeding along the wound. Two square bandage pads appeared at her eye level.

  “Don’t believe the advertising on the wrapper,” she said. “These stick just like the old kind.”

  As she shifted position to put the first bandage in place, she brushed intimately against Cole. He drew in his breath hard. She froze against him, thinking she had somehow hurt him again.

  “You should put the bandages on yourself,” she said unhappily. “I’m too clumsy. I don’t want to hurt you any more.”

  Cole looked down at the woman curled between his legs, her eyes haunted and yet so beautiful it came as a shock of pleasure each time she looked at him.

  “You’re not a bit clumsy.” He dropped the bandages into her lap. “And I like having your hands on me.”

  Her head snapped up.

  “How about you, Erin?” he asked, watching her intently. “Do you like having your hands on me?”

  “I don’t like hurting you.” Tears filled her eyes, magnifying their beauty. “I’m sorry, Cole. I really don’t mean to hurt you.”

  His fingertips brushed the length of her right cheekbone. “Such a tender little thing to be so brave.”

  “I’m not br
ave. I was so scared I was shaking.”

  “What do you think courage is, honey? It’s being scared and getting the job done anyway. The rest of it is just bells and whistles. Useless.”

  Calloused fingertips caught the tears that trembled on the edge of release. He brought his hand to his lips, tasting the clear, diamond-bright drops.

  “Salty and very, very sweet. Nobody has ever cried for me, Erin. Not one person on earth.”

  She closed her eyes, unable to bear the intensity in his. When she opened them again, it was to concentrate on Cole’s wound. She smoothed the bandages over his leg, trying not to hurt him. It wasn’t easy. Her concentration kept splintering over his words and the fact that she was kneeling between the legs of a man who was nearly naked and fully aroused, yet wasn’t touching her in any way.

  But what really ruined her concentration was that she wasn’t afraid. She should have been terrified by his strength and his arousal. She wasn’t. She was restless, nervous, jumpy, and alert, but she wasn’t afraid.

  “That should do it,” she said in a husky voice.

  Hurriedly she stood and walked into the bedroom. She didn’t hear Cole get up, didn’t hear him follow her, but she sensed that he had. His hands settled on her shoulders and squeezed lightly.

  “Thanks.” His voice changed, becoming harder. “But honey, the next time I tell you to run, you damn well better run.”

  “I couldn’t have run even if I’d wanted to,” she said, exasperated and angry. “That bastard hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe for—”

  “He hit you?” Big hands spun Erin around, stopping her words. “Where?”

  “Here,” she said, pointing just below her breastbone.

  Without a word he began unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Cole! What do you think you’re doing!” she said, pushing at his hands.

  “Hold still.”

  It was the same flat voice that Cole had used on the attackers. She obeyed instantly, but it was from surprise rather than fear. With a feeling of disbelief she watched her blouse separate beneath his deft fingers. She opened her mouth but no words came.

  “Does this hurt?” he asked impersonally.

  She felt the exquisitely gentle probing of his fingertips along her ribs. Odd shivers of response marched over her skin, leaving a wake of goose bumps.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked again, looking into her shocked eyes.

  Her mouth opened but she couldn’t even take a breath. She shook her head in a negative.

  “This?”

  Warm, slightly rough fingertips moved along her ribs to her breastbone.

  “A little,” she whispered.

  She saw him frown and felt the pressure of his fingertips increase.

  “Now?”

  “That hurts a little more, but still not much.”

  She watched Cole’s face as he touched her. His eyelashes were very thick, very black, making his eyes appear like clear crystal touched with tiny shards of blue and green. The intense black of his hair was reflected in the heavy shadow of beard darkening his tan skin.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said.

  She breathed in.

  “Again. Deeper.” Cole watched her face closely but saw no sign of real pain. Her ribs rose reassuringly beneath his hands, telling him she was able to fill her lungs in a normal way. “Does it hurt now?”

  “Some, but not enough to interfere with breathing. Really. I’ve been hurt much worse tripping over camera equipment.”

  He smiled slightly and kept probing. “Ribs?”

  She shook her head.

  “Here?”

  “Ouch!”

  “That’s what I thought. Your ribs are okay but you took a shot to the diaphragm.” His fingertips traced the beginnings of a bruise. “You’re going to be wearing a rainbow for a few days.” He turned her around so that her back was to him. “You hurt anywhere else?” he continued, running his hands over her slowly. “Spine? Kidneys?”

  “No.”

  “Sure?” he asked, kneading Erin’s lower back gently, searching for any signs of soreness, any flinching away from his light, probing touches.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Let me know if that changes.”

  Cole turned Erin around and calmly began buttoning her blouse once more, trying very hard not to notice the taut swell of her breasts beneath her bra and the soft heat of her skin. When his hands were between her breasts, she took a swift, involuntary breath. Unavoidably his hands brushed against her.

  She felt the accidental touch and held her breath, waiting for him to take advantage of the moment. She knew he wanted her. He couldn’t hide his arousal while standing in front of her wearing jockey shorts that were be coming less concealing with every one of his heartbeats.

  Without a pause, he kept buttoning her shirt.

  She closed her eyes and told herself that she was relieved, not disappointed. Cole’s past might have been as shadowed as a midnight jungle, but his deepest instincts were honorable. He would protect rather than brutalize. Yet there was no doubt that he could, and would, fight with disciplined savagery if he had to.

  That’s the key, she realized. Discipline.

  More than any man she’d ever known—even her father—Cole was in control of his mind, of his body, of his instincts, of himself. The certainty of his self-control raced through her, more heady than wine, leaving a curious heat in its wake.

  “Be sure to tell me if you start hurting,” he said again, turning away. “I’m going to wash out my slacks.”

  “Cole?”

  Her voice dried up as she watched him turn toward her once more. He was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger, nearly naked, and his eyes were burning as he watched her.

  “You better lie down, honey. You look a little strung out.”

  For the space of one breath, two, Erin didn’t answer.

  Then she went to the bed and lay down. As she closed her eyes, the sound of running water came from the bathroom.

  19

  Darwin

  Using the bathtub faucet Cole repeatedly rinsed blood from his slacks. When the water running through the pants came out clear rather than red or pink, he wrung out the slacks, rolled them up in a towel and squeezed, blotting up water. A snap of his wrist shook the cloth out. He tossed the slacks over the shower rack to dry, picked up his shirt, and put it on.

  He took a lot of time, long enough for his fierce arousal to subside.

  When he came out of the bathroom, Erin was lying wide-eyed on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “Does your diaphragm hurt?” he asked. “Is it keeping you awake?”

  She wondered how to tell him that she wasn’t closing her eyes because every time she did she saw an image of him, his chest naked except for a black wedge of hair that tapered to a line and vanished behind the white of his underwear.

  “Erin?”

  “Every time I close my eyes I see…” Her voice died.

  “The fight?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “You.”

  The corner of his mouth turned down. “And that scares you.”

  “Not…quite.”

  Cole didn’t miss her exact imitation of his earlier words. He crossed the room and stood by the bed, watching her. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked.

  Her head turned toward him, revealing brilliant green eyes and a smile that hovered on the edge of turning upside down. “I liked you better without the shirt.”

  “Did you? I got the feeling it made you uneasy as hell.”

  “There’s rather a lot of you,” she said, watching him through thick, lowered lashes.

  “You noticed,” he said dryly.

  When Erin realized where she was looking, she blushed to the roots of her hair. “You’re making this hard for me.”

  “No. That’s what you’re doing to me. Again.”

  “I noticed,” she muttered.

  He laughed, surprised as always by her
combination of wariness and humor. The laugh ended as his breath came in with a soft, ripping sound. Erin’s hand was on his leg, her fingertips light against his skin as she traced the edge of the bandage.

  “That’s dangerous territory, honey.”

  “It’s all I can reach from here.”

  “If I get any closer, I’ll be in bed with you. Is that what you want?”

  “I…” Her voice died. She swallowed and tried again. “I don’t know. All I know is I like touching you. I like looking at you. I like it when you hold me. I like it when you kiss me. I like the taste of your skin. I like the feel of your hands on me.” She looked at him in unconscious appeal. “I want you more than I ever thought I’d want any man. Is that enough?”

  “It’s a hell of a start,” he said in a low voice. “Move over, honey. Let’s find out what else you like.”

  Wondering if she’d made the right choice, she moved over. She felt the mattress give deeply as his weight settled on it. Torn between fear and desire, she closed her eyes and waited for him to pull her into his arms.

  When he didn’t, she opened her eyes. He was unbuttoning his shirt and watching her with an intensity that made her breath shorten.

  “Cole?”

  “Whatever you want,” he said simply, throwing the shirt aside. “But you have to tell me, Erin. I won’t take a chance on guessing wrong and frightening you.”

  She gave an odd laugh. “Some of the things I want with you already frighten me.”

  He smiled slowly. “Sounds interesting. Should we begin with them or save them for last?”

  “I think…a kiss.”

  As she spoke, she looked at his mouth with an unconscious hunger that made Cole as hot as a physical caress. Desire wedged in his throat, in his gut, ripping at him. With a silent curse, he hoped that his self-control was as good as he’d always thought it was.

  Deliberately he lay on his back, laced his fingers together, and put his hands behind his head. “Then why don’t you come here and kiss me?” he said.

  Surprised, she hesitated. Even after Cole’s statement about not frightening her, somehow she’d expected him to quickly take the lead. That he hadn’t both reassured and tantalized her, for as he lay on his back there was no doubt of his own arousal.