by Sandra Brown
“Slow down, slow down. Yes, I’m all right and no, I’m not hurt except for a busted tibia.”
“Thank God,” she breathed. “I thought—” She touched him, skimming her hands over every inch of him as though to convince herself that he was alive and well except for a broken leg. When she was satisfied that he wasn’t injured any more than the obvious, she lifted her eyes to his. They stared at each other for a long moment, each asking forgiveness and obtaining it.
He covered her hands where they lay against his chest. “God, I’m glad you’re here.”
She stood on tiptoes and placed her mouth over his. His arms closed around her hard and strong and drew her against him in a crushing embrace.
“My darling, my love,” he spoke into her mouth before his lips meshed with hers. It was a searing, hungry kiss, in which she felt an aching, throbbing need that matched her own. It was a kiss that pledged anew their vows to love each other for better or for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health.
“Chad,” she said on a gasping breath when at last he let her pull her mouth free, “we were so worried. We saw a news report and it was terrifying. Then we got a call from a government official in Venezuela that you’d been hurt, but that’s all we knew. He could barely speak English.” She paused to suck in air. “I’ve been staying with your parents since you—Anyway, they didn’t want me to come, but I had to see you. I had to know how you were, to be with you. Snow was everywhere and I had to”
“I know all about it.”
His simple statement arrested her verbal acrobatics. Until now, she hadn’t stopped to consider how he had known to meet her. “You kno”
“I called home about two hours ago. Dad told me how you took them all on, fighting hell and high water—or snow as it were—to come to me.”
She flushed in embarrassment. “You may have lost a very good pilot. I’m sure he’ll resign after the scene I caused at his house. He didn’t want to bring me, and I—”
“Dad recited your monologue word for word. Gil will never live it down that he let a five foot five blue-eyed brunette intimidate him.” He chuckled and she gloried in the sound of his deep laugh. How she’d missed it!
She touched the locks of his hair that straggled over the bandanna. “What happened?”
He settled his arms around her waist. “Nothing dramatic. This is a damn thick coat,” he digressed on a grumble. “I was a good way off when that tank blew. Instinctively, like everyone else, I dived for cover. I landed in a ditch the wrong way and snapped my leg.”
“The others who were injured?”
“Are still in the hospital.”
“Chad, of course,” she cried, pushing away from him. For the first time, now that the initial impact of finding him alive had been absorbed, she realized that he had been injured. “What’s the matter with me? You shouldn’t be here. You should have stayed in the hospital, too.”
“That’s what the chief nurse kept telling me. She tried to give me pills, which I refused, a sponge bath, which I refused, and I certainly refused to undress. I’ve never seen a woman so bent on getting a man out of his pants.”
“Just what type was this nurse?” Leigh asked, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “The cute, crisp, and vivacious type?”
“No, the ugly, crisp, and militant type,” he said, hobbling on his one good foot until he had secured the crutch under his opposite arm. “Come on,” he said, easily maneuvering himself toward the parked El Dorado despite his injury. “Sorry, but you’ll have to carry your own bag and you’ll have to give me a rain check on carrying you over the threshold.”
Rapid questions were interspersed with her labored breathing as she trotted along behind him, her bag hoisted over her shoulder by its strap. “Where are we going? Did you drive here by yourself? Can you drive? Whom does this belong to? What are we going to do?”
“In order: to the nearest hotel, yes, yes, a Flameco employee who happens to owe me a favor, and that’s a stupid question.”
“But your leg,” she objected, sliding into the front seat. “It probably needs treatment.”
“You’re the best medicine I can think of for whatever ails me.” He stashed his crutch on the back seat, started the motor, and then leaned across the seat to kiss her soundly. His eyes beamed into hers. “I’m entitled to one wedding night, and even if this isn’t Cancun, prepare yourself for a honeymoon.”
* * *
“I was so frightened,” Leigh confessed.
They were lying on the plush bed in the bridal suite of the Warwick Hotel. Leigh would gladly have settled for more modest accommodations, but Chad had insisted that they honeymoon in style. The staff at the check-in desk would have something to talk about for years, Leigh supposed. Expecting a couple fresh from their wedding, their surprise had known no bounds when the Dillons had arrived with suspiciously little luggage. The groom looked like the survivor of a motorcycle gang war, the bride was dressed in jeans, turtleneck sweater, and lynx coat. But Leigh was confident the austere staff had never seen a happier wedding couple than Mr. and Mrs. Chad Dillon.
“But you dropped everything, didn’t let anything or anyone keep you from coming to me,” Chad said now. “When I talked to Dad and he told me you were flying in tonight, I couldn’t believe it. And yet I could. I’ve told you from the first that you were the bravest woman I’d ever met.”
She toyed with the dark hairs on his chest. Her giving him a sponge bath, he’d consented to willingly. And since turn about is fair play, he had had the pleasure of standing her in the tub and washing her, too. Now they were stretched out naked on the wide bed, engulfed in the romantic ambiance of a room built and decorated solely to create such a mood.
“It wasn’t bravery that got me here. It was love. I wanted to come to you.”
He trailed a loving finger down her nose to the corner of her mouth and teased it. “Even after I left you on your wedding day?”
“You had to. I know that now. I knew it then. Forgive me for behaving the way I did, saying the things I said.”
“You had every right.” He tugged at the hair wrapped around his fist until she lifted her face to his. His mouth moved over hers purposefully, parting her lips, penetrating with his tongue. Before he was finished, he brushed light, adoring kisses across her lips. “I had resigned even before we got married.”
She stared at him in wonderment, her heart beating wildly. “You… you resigned?”
“Yes. Remember when I told you we were training new recruits? I had already resigned then under the condition that I would help train someone to take my place. I had asked to have a month’s leave to get married—I planned on an extensive honeymoon, you see—but when this fire happened and they could see it was a beauty, they knew the new guys weren’t ready for it. The one partially trained was in traction.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before you left?” Then she was filled with contrition. “I didn’t give you a chance to explain, did I?”
“I had to go, Leigh. Please believe that.”
“I do,” she said earnestly, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
“But I’ll never have to desert you again. This leg will keep me out of commission for a while. By the time it heals, I can leave the company, knowing they’ll have someone well trained. I’ll leave Flameco for good.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Chad.”
He grinned. “Just like putting up that baby bed. You didn’t ask. I volunteered.” His face became solemn. “I’ve had a helluva good time, Leigh, doing what I did. It was an adventure few young men ever get to have. I made more money than I could spend, but had enough sense to invest most of it and not fritter it away. I loved the job, the daring of it, the satisfaction of knowing I was saving other lives.”
His words almost echoed those of his father as he had tried to explain to Leigh how he’d felt about his work. “But I love you more. I love Sarah more. I love our life together more. Hanging out with a bunch
of rowdy guys, traveling around the world, which I’ve already seen several times, fighting those fires, no longer holds any attraction for me. I want to dabble in my businesses closer to home, raise my daughter and start on some brothers and sisters, love my wife.”
“Are you sure, Chad? I’m willing to accept anything you do. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I had kept you from doing something you loved doing.”
His satanic grin and the sparkle in his eyes should have warned her that the conversation had taken a change in direction. “I’ll tell you something I love doing that I’ve been kept from doing these past few weeks.”
His hand found its way under the sheet. “I love doing this.” Her breast was taken under the ardent supervision of his hand. He caressed it with deceptive nonchalance, like an expert ice skater who makes it look so easy, but whose every move is calculated and rehearsed. “I love doing this,” he said, bringing her nipple to rapt attention with masterful fingertips. “I love doing this.” He peeled the sheet away and lowered his head to treasure her with his mouth. Lips and teeth and tongue were all employed to cherish her.
“Do you know how much I love you, Leigh?” he asked. “Do you?”
“Yes, I know. And I love you. I love you,” she whispered, though the powers of speech were almost beyond her. His hands reacquainted themselves with her body. He stroked her back, her breasts, the lean midriff, the slender thighs, the feminine domain between them.
“Sweet…” he said on a sharp intake of breath as she joined the sensual foray. “I love you, Leigh. From the beginning, from the moment you reached out to me with such blind trust, I’ve loved you. Oh, darling, touch me like that again… it’s heaven. Paradise.”
“I was so afraid something would happen to you and you wouldn’t know that I love you. I do. So much.”
“I never doubted it.”
“Oh… Chad… please there… there.”
“My pleasure.” As always his touch transported her to a sublime region where her senses became saturated with him, leaving no room for anything else. He had her heart, her soul, her body, and had taken them all with her full consent. She undulated against the hand that was loving her with unsurpassed gentleness, and felt herself being swept into the rushing current of emotions that carried them both.
“Chad, your leg…? Your cast…?”
“It’ll be all right,” he assured her as his body blanketed hers. “Trust me.”
She always had.
About the Author
Sandra Brown is the author of sixty-three New York Times bestsellers. There are over 80 million copies of her books in print worldwide, and her work has been translated into thirty-four languages. She 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.
Then from the deep shadows of the encroaching woods came a rustling sound, followed by a shift of air directly behind her. Her heart clutched with a foreboding of disaster to which she had no time to react before skyrockets of pain exploded inside her skull.
Chapter One
Does it hurt this much?” Dr. Emory Charbonneau pointed to a drawing of a child’s face contorted with pain, large teardrops dripping from the eyes. “Or like this?” She pointed to another in the series of caricatures, where a frowning face illustrated moderate discomfort.
The three-year-old girl pointed to the worst of the two.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Emory inserted the otoscope into her right ear. The child began to scream. As gently as possible, and talking to her soothingly, Emory examined her ears. “Both are badly infected,” she reported to the girl’s frazzled mother.
“She’s been crying since she got up this morning. This is the second earache this season. I couldn’t get in to see you with the last one, so I took her to an emergency center. The doctor there prescribed meds, she got over it, now it’s back.”
“Chronic infections can cause hearing loss. They should be avoided, not just treated when they occur. You might consider taking her to a pediatric ENT.”
“I’ve tried. None are accepting new patients.”
“I can get her in with one of the best.” It wasn’t a misplaced boast. Emory was confident that any one of several colleagues would take a patient that she referred. “Let’s give this infection six weeks to heal up completely, then I’ll set her up with an appointment. For now, I’ll give her an antibiotic along with an antihistamine to clear up the fluid behind the eardrums. You can give her a children’s analgesic for the pain, but as soon as the meds kick in, that should decrease.
“Don’t push food on her, but keep her hydrated. If she’s not better in a few days, or if her fever spikes, call the number on this card. I’m going away for the weekend, but another doctor is covering for me. I doubt you’ll have an emergency, but if you do, you’ll be in excellent hands until I get back.”
“Thank you, Dr. Charbonneau.”
She gave the mother a sympathetic smile. “A sick child is no fun for anybody. Try to get some rest yourself.”
“I hope you’re going someplace fun for the weekend.”
“I’m doing a twenty-mile run.”
“That sounds like torture.”
She smiled. “That’s the point.”
Outside the examination room, Emory filled out the prescription form and finished her notes in the patient file. As she handed it over to the office assistant who checked out patients, the young woman said, “That was your last of the day.”
“Yes, and I’m on my way out.”
“Did you notify the hospital?”
She nodded. “And the answering service. I’m officially signed out for the weekend. Are Drs. Butler and James with patients?”
“They are. And both have several in the waiting room.”
“I hoped to see them before I left, but I won’t bother them.”
“Dr. Butler left you a note.”
She passed her a sheet from a monogrammed notepad. Break a leg. Or is that what you say to a marathon runner? Emory smiled as she folded the note and put it in her lab coat pocket.
The receptionist said, “Dr. James asked me to tell you to watch out for bears.”
Emory laughed. “Do their patients know they’re a couple of clowns? Tell them I said good-bye.”
“Will do. Have a good run.”
“Thanks. See you Monday.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Your husband called and said he was leaving work and would be at home to see you off.”
* * *
“Emory?”
“In here.” As Jeff walked into the bedroom she zipped up her duffel bag and, with a motion that was intentionally defiant, pulled it off the bed and slid the strap onto her shoulder.
/> “You got my message? I didn’t want you to leave before I got here to say good-bye.”
“I want to get ahead of Friday afternoon traffic.”
“Good idea.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, “You’re still mad.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
Last night’s argument was still fresh. Words shouted in anger and resentment seemed to be reverberating off the bedroom walls even now, hours after they’d gone to bed, lying back to back, each nursing hostility that had been simmering for months and had finally come to a boil.
He said, “Do I at least get points for wanting to see you off?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re hoping to talk me out of going.” He sighed and looked away, and she said, “That’s what I thought.”
“Emory—”
“You should have stayed and finished out your day at the office. Because I’m going, Jeff. In fact, even if I hadn’t planned this distance run for tomorrow, I’d still want to take some time for myself. A night spent away from each other will give us a chance to cool off. If the run wears me out, I may stay up there tomorrow night, too.”
“One night or two won’t change my mind. This compulsion of yours—”
“This is where we started last night. I’m not going to rehash the quarrel now.”
Her training schedule for an upcoming marathon had been the subject that sparked the argument, but she feared that more substantive issues had been the underlying basis for it. The marathon wasn’t their problem; the marriage was.
Which is why she wanted so badly to get away and think. “I wrote down the name of the motel where I’ll be tonight.” As they walked past the kitchen bar, she tipped her head down toward the sheet of paper lying on it.
“Call me when you get there. I’ll want to know you made it safely.”