by Alisha Rai
Speaking of which, she was starved. She shot her half-naked invalid another look before she carried her gun with her over to the fridge and propped it up against the counter. She was more at ease with the shotgun so she’d stowed the handgun away in her drawer. Did she really think the guy was going to be able to jump out of bed and grab her? No. But it made her feel more in control of the entire situation to have a weapon directly on hand.
Alex awoke to the finest scents in the world: bacon, coffee and woman.
God, he still hurt, the kind of hurt that went down to the bone. Oddly enough, though, he felt light years better than he had the last time he’d tried this. How long had he been drifting in and out of consciousness? Weeks?
As awareness returned to his mind, he nestled into the softness of the mattress beneath him, half afraid to open his eyes. What if his mystery woman had left? Or worse, never existed? What if he turned his head and found out that he was really just lying in some hospital or his old bedroom back at his mother’s Westchester home?
He rejected that idea. The woman was his lifeline. He didn’t remember much of what had happened to him, but seeing her had bolstered his will to live, he was certain.
Having learned his lesson, he opened his eyes in small increments. The curtains on the windows were tied back, flooding the room with sunshine, which didn’t help. The room was empty, and he felt deflated.
With the kind of practice that his job had honed, he took in the entire dwelling with a single glance. It was just one large rectangular room. His sharp eyes sought out the exits and noted with approval the amount of hardware on both the front and back door, which was partially open and looked as though it led to another room rather than the outdoors.
He lay in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace. The furnishings were sparse and utilitarian, with feminine touches here and there—a bright yellow rug on the floor, plaid curtains on the windows, a dented tin can filled with dried fall leaves on the table. A kitchenette with a small table, an old-fashioned refrigerator, stove and sink took up one corner and in the other lay a bedroom area, half hidden by a quilted curtain. No television or radio visible, but the bookshelf against the back wall was crammed with books, next to a comfortable armchair and floor lamp. Everything was neat and tidy, which appealed to him. He’d always been a stickler for clean lines and zero clutter.
A noise and a movement by the back door alerted him, and he lowered his eyelids to watch under his lashes as the woman entered the room. As she stepped into the sunshine, his heart accelerated.
He hadn’t imagined her amazing body. Those full curves were showcased in a pair of jeans and a bright red sweater. Her loose hair reached her ass and curled against the upper curve. The soft waves swung shiny and full as she walked to the stove with a purposeful stride and picked up the spatula.
His cock jerked, as if to remind him it was there. Down, boy. You’re not running the show here. Once again, though, he was gratified by the sign of life. If he was able to get turned on, surely he wasn’t too bad off. He sighed.
At the noise, she jumped and spun around. The pan clattered to the burner, and her exotic violet eyes pinned him.
No, not violet, he realized. Blue. A deep blue, so rich and shifting it gave off the impression of purple fire.
Like a lovesick fool, he was so busy waxing poetic, he didn’t notice her hand shooting to her side until an antique shotgun appeared clenched in her grasp.
So, his angel packed heat? She looked as if she knew what she was doing too, holding the gun like a pro.
Damn. She was hot.
He smiled despite the fact that the cuts on his face pulled and stung. “Hello.” Unfortunately, instead of the seductive purr he had been hoping for, a harsh croak emerged. He licked his dry lips with an even more parched tongue and tried again. “Water?”
She hesitated, but with some tricky maneuvering managed to keep the shotgun on him while she fetched a glass from a cupboard and filled it in the sink. She grabbed a straw from a drawer and stuck it inside.
She stopped about an arm’s length from where he lay and extended the glass to him. He tried to reach for it, but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t quite get a grip.
With a distinctly un-angel-like sigh, she knelt next to his pallet. She cast him a suspicious look, and he attempted to appear as non-threatening as possible. In fact, laid out as he was, he wasn’t sure how he could come off as threatening. She put the gun right next to her and held the straw to his lips. The moment the cool water hit his throat, he pulled harder at the straw, struggling to sit up to get closer to that wonderful feeling.
She placed her arm underneath his head to support him, and he almost moaned in pleasure. Her chest was close to his face, so close he could simply turn his head and rest it against her soft breasts. The last thing he wanted was for her to run away from him, though, so he refrained.
After the glass was drained, he waited for her to release him quickly. Instead, she slowly lowered his head until it rested on the pillow. She scooted back, picked up the gun and pointed it at him again.
He tried not to pant. He’d never realized he had such a thing for tough chicks.
He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. “Hello.” Much better.
She licked her lips. “Hello. How do you feel?”
Like someone had run him over and then backed up to finish the job. His machismo decided to pick now to kick in, though. “Not too bad.”
“Yeah?” She was staring at him so hard he thought she might go cross-eyed in a minute.
“Got…something on my face?” He tried to smile so she’d know he was teasing.
The woman shook her head, in frustration, it seemed. “Close your eyes.”
Alex didn’t take orders very well. Nonetheless, he didn’t question her, since closing his eyes felt more than a little good. Her cool hand rested on his chest and he almost whimpered in relief.
And then…her hand wasn’t cool anymore, but warm. Heat tingled throughout his entire body from his fingertips to his toes. Energy burned through him, until he felt like he could take on a mountain and win.
Stunned, he opened his eyes in time to find her dropping her hand from his chest. She swayed on her knees, catching herself on her palm on the ground. Her face was pale, the skin under her eyes bruised.
“Are you okay?” He felt much stronger than he had five minutes ago. No marathons yet, but he could speak without hurting now.
She waved a hand at him, breathing slow and measured. From experience, he knew she was trying to breathe through pain. Why did she suddenly look as sick as he had felt? What the hell had she done?
“Feeling better?” she bit out.
He focused on her. Easier to do that than consider the unexplainable. She seemed more stable now. “Yes. And you?”
She raised one finely arched eyebrow. “Always.”
His mind was so muddled, it felt like he had dozens of thoughts, all just out of reach. He grabbed for the most urgent. “I remember you.”
“Do you?”
“My angel.”
“I assure you, I’m no angel.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. Despite all of her obvious fleshly charms, there was something a bit otherworldly about her. Combined with her oh-so-interesting little trick… “What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “Genevieve.”
Beautiful. It suited her, musical and soft. “Genevieve. I’m Alejandro—Alex.”
“I know. You told me that first night. Don’t even try to remember. You were out of it.”
“Yes. Where am I?”
“My home.”
He looked around the cabin. “Where is your home?”
“We’re deep in Harrison Woods.”
These woods were huge, miles and miles of unpaved roads and towering trees and mountains. More than a couple of the townspeople had warned him about wandering in, said they had a few hikers who got into trouble here in the past. And this
one woman lived here? Surely she wasn’t all alone? “How did I get here?”
Her tone hardened. “You showed up on my porch in pretty sorry shape. Why don’t you tell me how you got there?”
“I have no idea.”
She raised her brow. “Amnesia only works in soap operas.”
He smiled. “I’m not claiming amnesia. What day is it?”
“Tuesday. I found you on Sunday.”
Tuesday? Granted, his concept of time was a bit wonky, but two days of recovery to be feeling as good as he was now? “I don’t understand…what did you do to save my life?”
“Just cleaned and bandaged you. When were you shot?”
Maybe he wasn’t injured as bad as he’d thought. Maybe she’d used some herbal drugs on him. Maybe he’d imagined the way her touch had given him strength. “Friday. Afternoon. I noticed a dog on the side of the road. He looked injured, so I pulled over to see if I could do anything. He got spooked and limped into the forest so I followed.”
“That was…very nice of you.” She sounded surprised.
He tried to keep his chest from puffing out a bit. He didn’t rescue animals to score points with pretty girls.
But he liked that it scored some points with Genevieve. “Anyway, next thing I know, bullets are flying all around me. I took a hit to the shoulder.” Back in the old days, before his nerves had failed him, he would have reacted immediately and probably avoided getting shot. The sound of the first bullet in the quiet clearing had sent him into flashback mode, leaving him dangerously vulnerable. Thanks, post-traumatic stress disorder.
Since he didn’t want to sound like a total wuss, he hurried to clarify. “That wouldn’t have been that bad, if I hadn’t fallen down and smacked my head against a tree. I passed out.”
Her gaze drifted to the knot on his head. “Concussion.”
“Probably. When I came to, the sun had set. I was so out of it, I guess I must have gotten turned around and crawled deeper into the woods.” There was more to the story of course, but he didn’t want to bore her with the gruesome details. Personally, he didn’t care if he ever remembered how he’d managed to staunch the bleeding of his shoulder and keep moving in the wild all while combating the horrible nausea, dizziness and unconsciousness his concussion had brought about. At least he could add “sucking on tree bark for water” to his resume, though. Small comfort.
“You don’t know who shot you?”
He shrugged. “There’s been a lot of talk about poachers in that area. That’s my best guess. All I know is, the person either didn’t see me or spooked and ran when they saw me lying there.” No need to tell her about his suspicion that the shooter had been following him after he had regained consciousness. The injuries must have made him paranoid. His job, since he’d moved to Bumfuck, West Virginia, consisted of very little excitement; just a lot of paper pushing and thumb twiddling.
The shooting had come from out of nowhere, and he truly believed it was the result of an unscrupulous hunter. Couldn’t have been premeditated. No way could anyone have known he would stop by the side of the road that day. “Accident or not, though, I’m pissed as hell. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have a firearm.”
She pursed her lips. “I thought you sounded like a damn liberal.”
He would have snorted with a laugh if he knew it wouldn’t hurt so much. Her deadpan tone was a perfect mimic of some of the more conservative townspeople. “I have no problem with people having guns if they know how to treat them properly and if they have a need for them—say, if they live in the middle of nowhere by themselves. Like you, right?”
Her lips twitched before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you ask that?”
Oh, shit, he shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. He could practically see red flags going up in her brain. Way to go putting her at ease. Why don’t you ask her if anyone’s going to miss her if she vanishes too? “No reason. Just wondering. Anyway, I can’t wait to get my hands on the prick who shot me.”
“Might be a while.”
“It’s only been a couple of days, you said.”
“Yeah, well, paved roads are a bit of a luxury out here, and currently they’re all snowed out.”
“Snowed out? There wasn’t a flurry in the sky when I stopped on the side of that road.”
“Yeah, you were lucky. One more night outside, and you would have been dead. Temperatures change quickly in this area.” She gestured to the window. “It hasn’t let up since I found you.”
His mind instantly jumped to his poor mother and brother. If he’d been reported as missing, which, after three days of absence from work, he’d assume he was, they’d be frantic with worry. “Do you have a phone? Did you call for help?”
“No. Well, I do, but it seems to be out. Otherwise I would have tried to get you to a hospital before the roads snowed out. I’ve been checking it periodically, but no luck yet. The power’s been flickering in and out, but I have a generator, so that’s not that big of a deal.”
If you’d gone to a hospital, you’d be dead. The thought popped up in his mind. He didn’t know why he was so certain, but he was. Genevieve had been able to save him when modern medicine probably would have given up on his sorry ass. “My family’s going to be worried sick.”
For the first time, her eyes softened. Her hand relaxed on the gun. “I’m sorry about that. I have an old ham radio, but unless you know more about fixing electronics than I do, I’m afraid it’s inoperable. If the phone isn’t working by the time the snow lets up, though, I can use my horse or dirt bike to get help. In the meantime, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck at this resort with me.”
All in all, not a bad prospect. In fact, if he didn’t know his mother was probably crying hysterically over her rosary at this very minute, he wouldn’t mind the forced vacation with this pretty woman at all. He didn’t remember much of his fevered dreams during the past couple of days, but he knew she’d been his rock through the hellish nightmare. “Well, at least the scenery is nice.”
She blinked. “Are you flirting with me?”
Alex grinned. He loved a direct woman, and Genevieve seemed upfront to the point of rudeness. “Yes. Why, is there a Mr. Hermit I should be worried about?”
She smiled back, and his heart skipped a beat. He’d heard of that happening, but Lord, it was a funny feeling. “No.”
“Me neither. I mean, I’m not married. No girlfriend. Or kids. Not that I don’t like them. Love kids.” He tried to clamp his mouth shut. He’d never been a smooth Latin lover, but he could hold his own in the flirtation arena normally. Something about her called out to the blushing fourteen-year-old in him, crazy over his first crush.
She was staring at him. “That’s…nice.”
“Sorry, I’m rambling a little. My brain’s still a bit messed up.”
“It’s okay. So, were you vacationing around here or something? It’s a little late in the season for tourists.” The admission of his weakness appeared to have relaxed her even more, because she settled onto the hardwood floor next to his bed. Her expression wasn’t exactly as soft and sweet as he would have liked, but the suspicion seemed to have eased a bit.
“No, I live down here.”
If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed the stiffening of her body. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Besides, I’ve never seen you before. It’s a small county.”
“Brooklyn, born and raised. But I moved down here about three months ago.”
She was watching him with alarm. “You…you don’t know who I am?”
“Except for the woman who saved my life? No. Should I?”
“You must live in Newbury, then.”
She was referring to the larger, more cosmopolitan town a little farther south. “Nope. Harrison.”
There was no subtlety in her response this time. She physically withdrew from him.
“You really haven’t been there long then,” she said with no
inflection. “Or you would have heard of me.”
Alex tried to figure out the new vibes in the room. Fear? Defiance? “Your reputation is so grand, then?”
Her eyes were hooded. “I wouldn’t call it grand.”
“Actually, I’m kind of pissed no one told me a young woman lived out here all alone. It’s a little too far for regular patrols, but it’s still under our jurisdiction.”
“Patrols?”
He shook his head and extended his hand, a bit ashamed to see the slight tremor in it. “We really need to introduce ourselves. What’s your last name?”
“Boden.”
“Genevieve Boden, meet Alex Rivera. I was just hired on as the new chief of police.”
If he’d thought the title would ease her misgivings about having a strange man who’d been shot lying in her house, he was dead wrong. He might as well have said he had become the new serial killer in town. Her face leached of color, and she stared at him with legitimate horror in her eyes. He reached for her arm in concern, but she crawled backwards.
“Are you okay?”
She swallowed. “Bainsworth finally retired?” Her voice was carefully casual, but the fear and worry in her eyes belied her tone.
“He died. Cancer.” Alex paused when he noticed her infinitesimal flinch. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear. It was almost four months ago. The position was open, and the council was desperate. Frankly, I think they just wanted some fresh blood in here.” He eyed her curiously. “I take it you didn’t like the previous chief very much.”
She gave a short, high laugh and stood. “I need to get breakfast together.” Her face, tight and hard, discouraged conversation. He much preferred her with her mouth soft and her face flushed. Actually, he preferred her best naked and writhing underneath him.
It looked as though he would need to work some serious sweet talking before that happened.
Well, hell.
4
The new chief of police.