by Nic Saint
“Were you expecting a castle, princess?”
“No, of course not. I just…”
“This is all I’ve got, and if it isn’t to your liking, too bad,” he told her gruffly. Not to be outdone, she wanted to point out that she wasn’t the one brought up in luxury, but she never got the chance, for with long paces he crossed the floor to a door leading off the living space. “Your room, Your Highness,” he grunted.
She followed him hesitantly. She had to admit his sheer size was intimidating, as was his manner. Then she glanced past him into the room. It was as basic as the rest of the place. A bed seemingly made from wood collected on the island, a night table and a closet. “The furniture…” she began.
“Is all handmade. My great-grandfather, when he bought the island, built this house himself, with his bare hands, then decided to furnish it as well, with wood found on the island.” He lifted his massive shoulders. “I like it.”
She would have told him that she liked it, too. She wasn’t into fancy stuff. She liked the earthy and humble feel of the place, and let her hand caress the closet, admiring the craftsmanship and the feel of the wood beneath her fingers. Simple and pure and honest. But since she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, she simply told him, “This will do, Mr. Knight,” and left it at that.
His eyebrows rose and he shook his head as he left her. She felt oddly bereft when he did. Even though he was imposing and intimidating, there was something oddly appealing about him, something that told her he was a man who could be trusted. An honorable man. She almost wished she’d known him before—before he’d become the person he was today, the inveterate loner. She quickly shrugged off the irrational thought, and rolled her suitcase inside.
She quickly filled the closet with the few items of clothing she’d brought, enough for one week. Gazing out of the window, which was small and set in the thick outer wall of the house, she saw that her room was located at the back, overlooking a sheer drop to the cliffs below, the ocean lashing violently against the rock. Quite the spectacular view, she thought with a shiver, but definitely not for the faint of heart or people suffering from vertigo.
And she was just unpacking the rest of her suitcase when she remembered the medical supplies. Suddenly distraught, she hurried into the living room.
“My… My other suitcase,” she cried when Steve looked up. “I—I left it on the helicopter.”
“What was in it?” he asked gruffly. “Your evening gowns? You won’t be needing those here, Miss Grayson. No parties or late-night social gatherings around here. It’s just you and me and this dreary old place, I’m afraid.”
“My medical supplies!” she cried, closing her eyes on an exasperated groan. “I need my medical supplies.”
He frowned at her. “Whatever do you need those for?”
She rolled her eyes. “For you, of course. That’s the whole purpose of my stay. That’s the reason your brothers sent me here. To take care of you.”
His eyes darkened and his lips tightened. “There’s nothing to patch up, nurse Grayson,” he grumbled. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“But your brothers told my manager—”
“Whatever they told him was a bunch of lies to get you out here, lady. I got a clean bill of health months ago. Long before I set foot on Tyler Island.”
She stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. “So you’re not—I mean you don’t need—you’re—”
“I’m in the best shape of my life,” he growled. “I even aced the cholesterol test.”
“But then why…”
He frowned. “Beats me. Which is why I told you I don’t need you here. But you wouldn’t listen, would you? And now you’re stuck here. With me.”
The reality of the situation dawned on her. If he wasn’t in a bad way, and she wasn’t needed here to nurse him back to health, then why… Then she remembered a throwaway comment Malcolm had made. That his brothers were afraid Steve might be suicidal. Well, he certainly didn’t look suicidal to her.
“Obviously your brothers thought you needed help,” she told him curtly.
“Well, they were wrong,” he riposted angrily. “I don’t need anyone to look after me, and that’s exactly what I’ve been telling them for months. So if you could simply stay out of my way, I’ll do my best to stay out of yours, okay?”
She glanced up at him, wondering how she was going to survive the next week with this angry hulk of a man. A man who very clearly didn’t want her here. Grim-faced, she nodded. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Steve eyed her suspiciously. She’d agreed too easily. Why his brothers had sent her out here he still didn’t understand. He’d told them he was fine. That the only reason he’d decided to spend the winter on Tyler Island was because he needed to be by himself for a while, and out there in the world that was impossible. He’d tried, Lord knows he’d tried, but there was always some official business function to attend in his capacity as founder and co-owner of Knight Enterprises, or some family gathering or some other social nonsense.
He’d been to Stuart’s wedding, and had felt so out of place, having to smile and be merry while inside he felt hollow and dead, that he’d decided to remove himself from the scene and retreat to the island for a while. He needed to be by himself, until he got things right in his head again. He certainly didn’t feel like talking to people, or burdening his family with his depressing presence.
After what had happened on his third tour of duty he needed time and space. To be left alone until he could wrap his head around what had gone down—until he got those screaming voices out of his head, and those terrifying images. Until the nightmares stopped and he didn’t wake up bathing in his own sweat each and every night. Until that happened he needed to isolate himself, to be locked away from the civilization he’d sworn to protect and in whose service he’d almost come home in a body bag that final time.
And now this woman. How was he going to cope? Already she was invading his space, invading his thoughts. Already he was feeling annoyed with her. And already he wished he’d personally put her on that chopper, strapped her in, and had watched Marco take off. He shouldn’t have allowed her to make up her own mind. He should have done it for her.
He felt her presence before she’d announced it, and he turned on her in a flash, his instincts well-honed and lethal. When he saw the fear in her eyes he held back. He could see why she was scared of him. He was trained for war. Two hundred pounds of pure muscle and lethal skill. He could kill a man with his bare hands. He checked himself. This wasn’t her fault. She was simply a victim of circumstance, and his brothers’ well-intentioned but ill-executed attempt to help him.
“What is it?” he asked her in his deep, rumbling voice.
“I was just wondering if you could perhaps show me around a little? Explain to me how things work around here? I mean…” She held out a slender hand and displayed a tiny smile. “For starters, what about the bathroom situation?”
He nodded. She had a point. If she was going to live here, she needed to know her way around. “I hope you’re easily satisfied, Miss Grayson.”
She eyed him curiously. “I am,” she told him, and a small frisson of awareness assaulted him, a vision of her in his arms jumping out of nowhere. “I mean—accommodations are sparse, and perhaps not what you’re used to.”
She opened her mouth to snap a retort at him, but then closed it again with a click. The man was simply incorrigible! She followed him as he took her for a brief tour of the house, pointing out the bathroom, kitchen, larder and storage space, and explaining how to operate the kitchen stove and the bathroom boiler.
As he took her out back and showed her where he kept the supply of firewood, Molly thought he looked more formidable than any man she’d ever met. With his curly beard and his long hair whipping in the breeze, a stark stone wall his backdrop where it protected them from the sheer drop beyond, he could have been a Norman conqueror or some Viking king. Esp
ecially since his scowl seemed to be a permanent fixture, his lips never once hinting at a smile.
A neat pile of chopped wood was placed inside a shack, an axe still lodged deeply into the chopping block, and suddenly an image of this powerful male as he chopped wood flashed before her eyes. His muscles working, his naked torso glistening with sweat, a ferocious growl renting the frigid air as he relentlessly cleaved one chunk of wood after the other. Her eyes dropped to his large hands, his fingers slightly curled. She felt her breathing quickening, and her heart fluttering wildly at the thought of those hands on her naked body, those fingers grasping her bare breasts. She quickly placed her own hand on her chest in a bid to still the heavy thud of her violently beating heart.
When she looked up she saw him scowling at her and she involuntarily tossed her red mane over her shoulder, then rushed past him. “I’ve seen enough,” she announced a little huffily, and as she entered the house, she knew he was only a few paces behind her, his dark eyes boring holes into her back. Good thing he couldn’t look into her mind, she thought as color stained her cheeks.
Shaking his head, he decided that their living arrangements would work themselves out. Until Marco returned they were forced to put up with each other, and had to make the best of a bad situation. He stared hard at the way her pert behind moved in those tight jeans she was wearing, and could only imagine how she would look out of them. He’d already noticed that her breasts were large and that her waist was narrow, and that when she was upset her pulse beat a steady drum at the base of her throat.
For a moment out there, as she stood panting heavily, her hand on her heart, she’d looked like a fairy princess. With her long red curly hair, her remarkable green eyes and her pale features, she could have been a princess in ancient times, and a beautiful one at that. She was young, but at the same time there was something ancient about her, an elusive quality that made her look much older than her years. It was in her eyes, he decided. Something haunted, as if she’d been through quite a terrible ordeal and had barely managed to survive.
Not that any of that mattered. She was simply a guest in his home, and he would have to bear her presence. If only she kept to herself, they’d be just fine.
Chapter 4
She was standing before him, her arms lifted as if she was reaching for something. He frowned. He’d just walked into the kitchen after a tumultuous night filled with nightmares of flames licking not just at his own body but at Molly’s as well. Fire was consuming her and she was screaming for help. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save her, and before his very eyes she was consumed by the fire, her features melting until there was nothing left but charred bone. He woke up bathed in sweat, quickly throwing off the covers and walking over to the washbasin in the corner of his room to splash some water on his face. Christ. Night after night for the past year he’d had these horrible nightmares, but usually they had to do with the ordeal he’d been through. This was the first time the nightmare had changed.
He’d lain awake for the longest time, staring at the ceiling, and when the first light crossed the horizon, sending beams of light slanting in through the small window, he rose with a groan, knowing sleep wouldn’t come anymore.
He’d walked into the kitchen and that’s when he’d come upon her, standing on a chair, her arms raised over her head. Trouble was, she was wearing some kind of flimsy nightie and knee-length knickers, and each time she shifted, to grab hold of whatever she was trying to reach, her ample breasts wiggled.
He watched the scene for a few moments, the sight of her breasts as they shifted beneath the sheer material of her outfit firing a trickle of arousal along his nerve endings, awakening sensations he’d long thought dormant.
And as the bright morning light lit her up from behind, her heavy breasts were clearly outlined beneath her top, the darker skin of her areolae slightly swollen, her nipples pink and faintly erect. His eyes dropped lower, covering her curvy hips to her long legs and down along her shapely calves to her bare feet, on tiptoes on the wooden chair.
She looked absolutely gorgeous, he decided, and he briefly wondered if the triangle of her sex was covered with the same flaming mass of curly hair as the riot of curls dancing about her shoulders. The thought added to the sudden hardening he felt in an area that hadn’t been susceptible to sexual activity for a very long time. In fact, when he’d only just returned from the war, the doctors had told him it would be touch and go if he would ever be able to have sex again. Now, though, it was obvious that everything was still working perfectly, as his length was quickly rising at the sight of Molly’s jiggling breasts.
Molly uttered a startled cry when she became aware of Steve. He’d shuffled his feet, and when she looked down she could see his massive frame. She couldn’t see his face, obscured as it was by the kitchen cupboards, but what she could see was his naked torso, sculpted to perfection, except for the big surgical scar over his heart. Her eyes dropped to his boxers, slung low on narrow hips, and she noticed the hard girth tenting the material, pointing due North! She bent down, and cried out again when she caught his gaze, directed straight at her boobs!
He was unapologetic, and grunted, “What the hell are you doing up there?”
Getting down from the chair, she explained, “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get up and start breakfast. Only, I couldn’t find any pots or pans so I decided to check all the cupboards—you’ve got a lot of… stuff,” she added, cheeks burning.
“Pots and pans are behind you,” he grumbled. “Underneath the sink.”
“Oh. All right.” She quickly averted her eyes from his erection, and more specifically the response it engendered in her. She’d never seen a man like that before. Not that she hadn’t seen a man’s penis before, of course, but not in a non-medical way—outside of a hospital setting. And it had definitely never elicited in her the kind of strange sensations it now did. She was experiencing a sudden lightheadedness, and odd flutterings in the pit of her stomach. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was a definite tightening of her breasts, as if the mere sight of him was telling her body to go on high alert, in anticipation of—of what, exactly? Of nothing, she told herself firmly. Steve was her patient—even though he refused her help—and that was all he was. Nothing more, nothing less.
Only now did she become aware that she herself was also dressed in her sleeping garb, and that her clothes were a lot more revealing than she would have wished. So she quickly turned and started busying herself with the coffeemaker, pots and pans all but forgotten. The coffeemaker was, quite oddly, state-of-the-art. As was the rest of the kitchen equipment. The oven was new, and from a top brand, as were the microwave and the dishwasher, all recently installed and top-notch. The house might have been built by Steve’s great-grandfather, but the kitchen appliances certainly didn’t date from his time.
“I thought we might have a look around the island today,” he began.
She glanced over her shoulder to take in his magnificent torso, all tightly packed male flesh. He was so incredibly… male! Not that she’d never seen a naked man, of course. She saw plenty of them at the hospital, but, just like with the, um, penis, that was different. He was so… well, so hot and… and sexy!
“I, um, yes. Sure,” she managed, ineffectually fiddling with the coffeemaker.
“Just so you know your way around. Since it’s just the two of us on the island it’s important you don’t get lost. Or into trouble,” he told her gruffly.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Let me grab a shower and then I’ll help you make breakfast,” he grumbled, and turned. The moment he did, she gasped in shock, and clasped her hand to her face. His back was one mass of scar tissue, from his neck to his buttocks. Since she worked in the burn unit at Saint-Michael’s she was used to seeing the most horrific wounds, but this was so much worse than anything she’d seen before! The pain must have been excruciating. He didn’t seem to have noticed her reaction, for he kept on walking an
d then disappeared into the bathroom.
Steve cursed under his breath. He should have worn a shirt, he told himself. Obviously he’d startled her. The thing was, he wasn’t used to wearing shirts around the house. He’d spent months here all by himself and he wasn’t used to dressing up for company. He could hear in her sharp cry that she was quite shocked. Bitterly he reminded himself that from now on she should never see the wounds of his past. She might be a trained nurse, but it was obvious she’d never experienced anything like this before. It reminded him once more why he’d sworn a solemn oath never to seek out a relationship with a woman again.
Shortly after his return, Camille, his girlfriend at the time, had paid him a visit at the hospital. From the moment she stepped into the room, he’d seen the revulsion and disgust in her eyes. It hadn’t been long before she’d broken up with him, and he hadn’t had the will to fight for her. And that was even before the nightmares had begun, and he’d woken up screaming night after night.
It had occurred to him that no woman should have to bear the burden of his pain. He’d brought this upon himself, and the horrors of his past shouldn’t haunt anyone but himself. Isolating himself on this island had been the next logical step. And now this. He cursed himself again as he stepped into the shower. He vowed to restrain himself while Molly was here, and spare her the sight of his mangled back. He was a monster now, and monsters were meant to be shunned, not loved. Why the thought of Molly turning away from him as she invariably would launched a twinge of pain inside his gut he didn’t know. But it did, and he bit it down, just like he’d learned to bite down his pain whenever it reared its ugly head.
Viciously, he turned the water to ice cold, punishing his body with its stinging stream. The scar tissue on his face tingled fiercely, as did the massive scarring on his back. Fortunately he’d covered his facial scars with his beard. At least when she looked him in the face, she wouldn’t turn away in revulsion.