by Unknown
“I’ll tell you, but first you tell me—it’s been two hours. How much longer before we can split?”
“How about right now?” she asked. “Unless you want—”
Boone’s arm tightened around her waist and he rushed through the nearest door and closed it before she could finish her sentence.
“I have a getaway car waiting that no one—absolutely no one except me—knows about. C’mon, Mrs. Devlin. Let’s go!”
As the first rays of sun came over the horizon and waves lapped gently along the beach, Erin lay in Boone’s arms in the bedroom of the villa on their own tropical island. Boone had leased the island for the month and it was their second morning before she remembered Boone’s conversation with his friends. She raised up on one elbow and trailed her fingers over Boone’s bare chest.
“What was all that about when you talked about getting away from your conniving friends?”
Boone reached over to pick up the cross necklace that was on the table beside the bed. Light caught in the depths of emeralds and gave back green fire. “This reminds me of your eyes and it reminds me of the first night I met you,” he said in a husky voice. He put the cross back on the table and played with locks of Erin’s hair.
“Those guys are passing that damn white stallion on to me to keep the legend going of someone finding true love if they have that horse.”
She laughed. “That’s ridiculous! We don’t need that stallion at our place, but if they said they’re going to do that, if Wyatt Sawyer and Josh are involved, I know they’ll do what they say. I don’t know your friends that well, but I know Gabe and Wyatt and Josh. We’re not keeping that horse, though. I don’t want any wild bloodlines getting mixed in with our fine horses.”
“You may have a wild bloodline mixed in with your fine Frye family,” he said, grinning.
“That one I’ll put up with,” she said, nuzzling his neck.
“The guys are going to have a barbecue—actually, it might be at our place. Wyatt and I have a little bet, but nothing placed on the outcome yet. They’re probably taking wagers now.”
“What kind of wager?” she asked, drawing a circle on his shoulder with her tongue. His skin tasted salty and she knew it was from the sweat that had popped out on him earlier when they had been making love.
“He’s going to ride Tornado and I’m going to ride the white stallion. Winner is the one who stays on the longest.”
“Why would you get yourself into something like that?” she asked, sitting up and frowning, pulling the sheet up beneath her arms.
“It’ll be worth it to watch Tornado throw Wyatt into the next county. ’Course, from what I’ve heard, Wyatt Sawyer must be a damn fine rider. But the roan is cussed and he’ll toss Wyatt, or my name isn’t Boone Devlin.” Boone reached up to trail his fingers along the top of the sheet, following her curves.
“Come here, Mrs. Devlin. I can’t say that enough or kiss you enough or love you enough.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid down in bed against him, turning her face up as she pulled him closer to kiss him. Her heart pounded with joy and she leaned back. “Boone, I love you and you’ve made me happy beyond my wildest imaginings or longings. You and our baby—how could I want anything else in life?”
“You will, sweetie,” he said, trailing kisses along her cheek. “I’ll wager you’ll want this baby to have a little brother or sister someday.”
She kissed Boone lightly. “You’re absolutely right,” she whispered, and then tightened her arms to kiss him, joy brimming over in her because she was wildly in love and she expected to stay that way far, far into the future.
Don’t Close Your Eyes
By Sara Orwig
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
K eeping to the shadows under the trees, the tall man dressed in black blended into the Texas night. Beneath the pale sliver of April moon he dashed across the manicured lawn while unerringly following the map he had memorized.
Under a leafy oak, he paused to check that the hunter was not the hunted. If he spotted anyone following him, he would abort his mission and try again some other way. He waited in the humid darkness before he ran again.
In an elegant, gated community of the small town of Stallion Pass, he went over fences with ease. As he crossed the lawn of a three-story, red-brick Georgian mansion he noted few lights in the upper-story windows and hurried to the back of the house.
With a knowledge of the yard and house gained from his surveillance he crept to the back wall where two wires came out of the ground and ran up to a small box.
Pulling out his pocketknife, he cut the phone lines to disengage the alarm.
Moving to the side of the house, he hid his backpack behind a spirea and removed a glass cutter from his pack.
There was a faint scrape when he cut away a circle of glass and then unlocked and opened the window. The man hoisted himself up, over the sill and into the darkened room.
The bright beam of the tiny penlight in his hand revealed oil paintings, antique guns, a glistening silver candelabra and elegant furniture. He whistled softly in appreciation. The furnishings in this one room were worth a small fortune, he knew.
With practiced stealth, the man eased into a dark hall and headed toward the sweeping staircase. As he dashed towards the stairs, a door opened. Light spilled out and a woman stepped into the hall, colliding with him.
Instantly, without thinking about it, his training kicked in. He caught her, spun her around and covered her mouth with his hand as he pinned her arms to her sides.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m—”
She stomped on his instep, sending a flash of pain through his leg. At the same time, she jabbed an elbow into his middle, knocking the wind from his lungs.
“You wildcat!” he snapped as he dodged knees aimed at parts he wanted to protect. He had never slugged a woman and he wasn’t going to start with the lady of the house, but in her defensive fury she was trying to gouge out his eyes.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, a kick to his shin sending a flash of pain through him as she scraped her fingers across his cheek.
“Dammit!” he snarled, wading in to wrap his arms around her to crush her against his chest.
Another tactical error because, for one stunned second as she struggled against him, he forgot the fight, the danger and his mission.
He was conscious only of soft curves, enticing perfume, silky tendrils of hair and female hips gyrating against him, causing reactions entirely different from what the struggle they were having should elicit.
His guard was down, lost in the proximity of a warm, soft body. His only thought, Desirable female. Very desirable.
Too late, he felt his gun leave the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back only to be thrust into his ribs.
“Let me go!” she stormed.
Careful to avoid any sudden moves, he released her.
She had his pistol aimed at him. If she had been a man, he could disarm him. As it was, she stood too close to protect herself. He’d never been able to strike a woman and he wasn’t willing to take any chances now. He didn’t want to make this situation any worse.
“Careful,” he cautioned. “Are you Savannah Remington? I’m a friend of Mike’s. I’m here to see him.”
“Friends don’t break into houses. Get your hands on your head and don’t move,” she ordered, stepping away from him.
“Don’t call the police,” he urged. They stood in the unlit hallway, but his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see that she was a be
auty. She wore cutoffs and a T-shirt that hugged fantastic curves. “I was in the service with Mike,” he continued. “I’m a friend. I thought I might have someone following me so I needed to get into the house to see Mike under the cover of darkness.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, edging away from him.
“I’m telling the truth.” He glanced beyond her and saw what she was trying to reach. A cell phone, plugged in to be recharged lay on a nearby table.
“Don’t call the police. I’m Colin Garrick. You can ask—”
“Colin Garrick is dead,” she said flatly and took another step. She was inching back, now definitely too far away for him to attempt to retrieve his pistol.
“I am Colin. Really. Everyone thought I was killed but I survived.”
“I’m calling the police and they can learn your identity.”
“Give me a minute and listen!” he exhorted. “Someone is after me, which is why I broke in—I’d hoped to find Mike. Where is he?”
“He’s not here,” she said, still cautiously easing away from him.
“I promise you, I’m who I say. I’ve known Mike since we were little kids,” he persisted, rushing his words in an effort to get out information that would convince her of his identity. “We grew up together, went to the service at the same time. If you’re his wife, you should know things about us when we were kids, where we lived—”
“I’m not his wife. I’m the baby-sitter.”
“Look, can we have this conversation without you holding a gun aimed at me?” She didn’t lower the gun.
“Who are Mike’s best friends?”
“Boone Devlin and Jonah Whitewolf were his best friends when he was in the service. I don’t know who his friends are now.”
“What was Jonah’s wife’s name?” she asked, still leveling the gun at him.
“Kate,” he answered, and the woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Did Boone Devlin have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“He had eight. Nine kids in his family counting him. Ken, Zach, Izzie—” As he talked, he saw her eyebrows arch. She blinked as if deeply surprised and he hoped he was getting through to her.
“If you’re Colin, you gave Zach Devlin a special present on his nineteenth birthday. What was it?”
For a moment Colin went blank and a sense of panic gripped him. Boone’s younger brother Zach’s twenty-first birthday had to have been years ago. Even at the time, the gift hadn’t been a big deal, Colin was certain.
If she went for the phone, he would have to stop her then get out and away without talking to Mike. He tried to remember the gift, thinking of Boone and his younger brother. Her eyebrows arched higher, and he could see his chances of convincing her slipping away.
“My first rifle,” he snapped the second he recalled the incident.
To his relief, her eyes widened and she stared at him openmouthed. “You’re Colin!” she whispered and he was surprised by her shock. They were total strangers. “No one else could know about the rifle except you and Boone,” she said.
“My pistol—” he reminded her.
“Oh!” She lowered his gun, turned it and held it out to him. “You’re really Colin Garrick,” she repeated, still sounding stunned.
“That’s right.” He tucked the pistol back into his jeans and got out a handkerchief to wipe blood from his cut lip. “You must take martial arts.”
“How did you get in?”
“I cut a windowpane. I’m sorry, but I need to be careful. I don’t want to bring any more danger to Mike than I already have. That’s why I slipped in this way. Will he be home soon?”
“Why didn’t the alarm go off? I had it set and switched on,” she said.
“I cut the wires. You don’t have a phone now. Sorry.”
“I should have known. You guys—” she said, shaking her head. “They think you’re dead,” she repeated.
He dabbed at his neck and saw more blood on his handkerchief.
“Come with me, and I’ll get something for your cuts,” she said and turned. He followed her, watching the sexy sway of her hips and remembering the feel of her pressed against him. He shook his head as if to clear it. It had been a long time since a female had stirred his desire and this was not the place or the time for that to happen.
When she switched on a hall light, he admired the oil paintings on the walls, the polished hardwood floor and the crystal chandelier. “It’s difficult to picture Mike in this house,” Colin remarked. As he looked around, his attention riveted on the woman.
In darkness she had been attractive. In light she was stunning. Her flawless peaches-and-cream skin was perfection. Lush curves and long, shapely legs made him remember exactly how it had felt to hold her close against him. Enormous, thickly lashed, luminous blue eyes gazed at him with a disturbing sharpness.
Her thick, lustrous brown braid didn’t look as if a hair of it had been ruffled; he knew he looked as though he had survived a dogfight. He had the beginnings of bruises, his shirtsleeve was torn and he was bleeding from various and multiple scratches.
He realized he was staring at her. She was looking just as intently at him, which surprised him. But then everything about her amazed him, including her swift resistance and his getting tossed onto his backside.
“They don’t know you survived,” she repeated, her gaze going over him intently, a furrow wrinkling her forehead.
“For a long time no one knew otherwise,” he said, still scrutinizing her. Standing only a few feet away from her, he could detect her enticing perfume.
“When will Mike get home?” Colin persisted, trying to pull information out of her and wondering why Mike would tell the baby-sitter about him or his days in service, much less about the gift of his old rifle to Zach.
“Tomorrow,” she answered, and Colin swore under his breath.
“You’re bleeding,” she said. “We were going to do something about your cuts.” She led him down the hall into a large yellow-and-white bathroom with chairs, potted plants and a sunken, black-marble tub with gold fixtures. Motioning him to a chair, she opened a cabinet to retrieve small bandages, ointment and gauze. As she did, his gaze roamed freely over her. She took his breath. The thick braid was dark brown and he could imagine her hair hanging free.
She walked back to him and as their gazes met, he could feel the tension snap between them. Startled, emotions tore at him. He hadn’t felt this electricity with a woman in years. Not since—Abruptly he yanked his memories from the past. He didn’t want to feel anything now. He couldn’t afford to.
“If you’ll turn around, I’ll clean the cut on the back of your neck for you.”
He stood. “I’ll shower and wash all these cuts, then you can help me with the ones on the back of my neck.”
“I didn’t know you were a friend,” she said, studying him as if he had dropped from another planet.
“That’s all right. You just defended yourself and did a damn fine job of it.”
She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. He let out a breath and wiped his sweaty brow because she sent his temperature soaring.
Feeling stings all over his neck, hands and face from scratches she had inflicted, he showered, relishing the hot water pouring over him. If she didn’t teach martial arts, she could. Someone had taught her well and she must practice. Her reactions had been as quick as his, if not quicker. He had surprised her when she’d stepped into the hall, but she had caught him off guard when she’d fought back. He had to give her credit, she had handled the unexpected confrontation better than he had.
Colin dried and dressed again in the same clothes. He opened the door to call to her and paused, realizing he didn’t know what to call her. She’d been waiting in the hall and as soon as he opened the door, she sauntered toward him, entering the large, steamy room.
He moved to sit in the chair to let her put antiseptic on the scratches on the back of his neck. “I don’t know your name.”
�
��Yes, you do,” she said.
Startled, he stared at her. While her blue eyes twinkled, she smiled at him, which was pure delight. He almost wanted to smile in return. Puzzled, he said, “You said you’re not Savannah Remington. Do I know you?”
“Yes. If you’re really Colin, you do.”
“I wouldn’t have forgotten you,” he said, the words out before he thought.
In the depths of her eyes desire flickered and the silence between them dragged out as their gazes locked and sparks danced between them. She was beautiful, mysterious and unpredictable, and he was certain he had never met her before in his life.
He rubbed his head. There were blanks—times when memory had failed him—but she couldn’t have been any part of that period in his life. If she had, she wouldn’t want to tell him about it now. Not with a smile.
As the silence lengthened, his gaze lowered to her full, red lips and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He shocked himself. She caused him to long for things he hadn’t wanted in aeons. He moved closer to her, his gaze traveling over her features while he searched his memory.
She was far too beautiful for him to have forgotten her. Perplexed, he shook his head. “I can’t possibly know you.”
She laughed, a merry sound that wound warm tendrils around his stone-cold heart. “Remember an afternoon when you and Boone were on leave and went to the state fair?”
Dimly he recalled the incident. They’d had to take Boone’s kid sister and a little brother along. He stared at her. “There’s no damn way—”
“Yes, there is,” she replied, amused. “I’m Isabella. And don’t you dare call me Izzie.”
“You can’t be little Izzie,” he said, remembering a skinny kid who was all arms and legs and big eyes with braces on her teeth. “You’re Isabella Devlin,” he said, suddenly feeling as if someone had punched him in the middle.