Caleb rolled her over onto her back, wincing when she cried out in pain. Sweat had soaked her clothes, though the room was cool. He raised her and pressed the pill between her lips, following this with a sip of water.
He left her long enough to get the hot water flowing in the tub, then returned and gently eased her out of bed. She was unsteady on her feet, and he put his arm around her and grabbed the fresh ice bag he’d brought up.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Dr. O’Neal said a shallow hot bath might help, along with the ice—something about drawing the blood flow from your head.”
The full moon shone through the bathroom skylight, providing just enough illumination. But even that was too much for Lizzie, who kept her head down and her eyes covered. She appeared ready to topple without the support of his arm. He turned off the water and started unbuttoning her shirt.
For a few blessed seconds she seemed oblivious to what he was doing, then she jerked as if burned and grabbed his wrists in a futile attempt to stop him. By that time he was nearly at the last button.
“Caleb!” She tried to scowl at him with one eye. If she weren’t in so much pain, he would have laughed. “I can do this myself. Go away.”
He pulled the damp shirt off her shoulders and down her arms, his movements quick and economical. “Sweetheart, you can’t even stand up by yourself. You can’t open your eyes. If I leave you alone in here, you’ll drown.”
The shirt sailed into the hamper. She crossed both arms over her lacy bra while simultaneously snatching at the jeans he was hauling down her legs. She didn’t have enough hands.
While he removed her socks, she whined, “I really want privacy, Caleb. If you’re worried, just...stand outside the door or something.”
He moved behind her to unhook her bra and slide it down her shoulders. He said, “I don’t know what you’re squawking about. If pitch-dark in here.”
That whopper made her go still long enough for him to free the bra from her grasping fingers and toss it into the hamper.
“You’re lying,” she accused, her eyes cracking open before squeezing shut. “It’s plenty bright.”
“It only seems that way ‘cause you’re sensitive to light right now. I swear to God, I can’t see a blessed thing.” He pulled her panties down. “I’m going by feel here.”
By the time he stepped in front of her, she’d built up a full head of steam, her hands once more clamped over her eyes. “How can you stand there and tell me these awful lies?”
“I’m a stinker, Lizzie. I thought you knew that”
Caleb lowered his gaze and stared in helpless awe. Sweet Jesus She stood naked under the skylight, her breasts and womanly curves dusted with silver, the velvet shadows sweetly mysterious. He’d known since the first night that Lizzie had a beautiful body. Frisking her had been a hands-on lesson, so to speak. But never could he have imagined...
A body like this shouldn’t be clothed in worn-out jeans and ratty flannel shirts. If he’d been David, he’d have dressed her in satin and lace...like that yellow silk thing he’d made her change into the first night. When he’d seen her in that, Caleb had nearly choked.
He clenched his fists, sickened at the jealousy that swelled within him when he thought of his brother’s hands on her, slipping that sexy nightgown off her shoulders. She’d belonged to David. And she’d destroyed him. He must never forget that.
Dragging his eyes back to her face, he said, “Get in the tub.”
“I hate you.”
“Seems to me we’ve covered this ground. Get in the tub, Lizzie.”
“Where is it?”
“Right here.” He guided her to the edge and helped her grope her way into it She slowly sat down, and Caleb folded a towel to tuck behind her head. “Lean back,” he said, and placed the ice bag on her forehead. “Keep your hands in the water. That’s supposed to help.”
“It’s hot.”
He sat on the edge of the tub. “Too hot?”
“No.”
“Then shut up and relax.”
He kept her in the bath for more than an hour, letting in more hot water from time to time. It seemed to take forever, but gradually he saw the tension in her body slacken as the pain began to recede.
He rose and stretched out the kinks in his back and stood staring out the skylight at the fat moon overhead. Her voice startled him.
“Is it a full moon?”
Amazingly, her eyes were open and she blinked at the skylight for a few moments. He could tell the light still bothered her.
“As full as it’s going to get,” he said.
Her head lolled to the side and she yawned. “Full moon...” With a smirk she said, “Wonder what Lugh will do without me to keep him busy tonight.”
Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the pulse throb in his temple. He glanced at the skylight. “Does your revered leader get especially horny when the moon’s full?” he asked tightly. But then, she wouldn’t know, having arrived at Avalon since the last full moon.
She stretched languidly and slid down in the tub a little, holding on to the ice pack. “Avalon is a nature-based commune. They’re really into the ‘rhythms of the earth.’ Life revolves around the seasons and the lunar calendar.” She wore an unreadable little smile. “Their revered leader’s particularly fond of the full moon.”
She sounded downright impertinent. Maybe Caleb was getting through to her at last. “Are you ready to come out?” he asked. She yawned again. “You’re ready.”
He grabbed a thick bath sheet and helped her rise. While she dried off, he said, “It still hurts, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. “It’s a lot better, though. More like your garden-variety splitting headache.”
She wrapped the bath sheet around her and they returned to the dusky bedroom, where he opened a drawer and groped around for a nightgown. He might have missed the exquisitely delicate fabric if his callused fingers hadn’t snagged it. He smiled to himself when he saw what he held, having spent a good deal of time examining this particular garment days earlier when he’d searched her storage boxes. It was a sleeveless, pale peach number with lacy netting panels on the front and back in lieu of straps. He slipped it over Lizzie’s head and watched it float down her body with a sensual whisper. The bias-cut silk stretched in all the right places. It was almost better than seeing her naked.
Nah...
He observed, “For someone who dresses as frumpy as you do during the day, you’ve got one hell of a collection of naughty nighties.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Why? You keeping track?” He turned down the covers of her bed, flipped her pillow and fluffed it
She shrugged. “A girl’s gotta have a hobby.”
“What’s the score so far?”
“You really want to know?”
Her words were bantering, nonchalant, but he noticed she didn’t meet his eyes. Would it kill him? He said, “Consider it a compliment, Lizzie.”
She glanced at him quickly, dearly expecting to see his customary sneer. Not the appreciative smile that he didn’t try to suppress. Just as quickly she turned away and climbed into bed, facing the wall. She pulled the covers up.
A minute later his weight made the mattress dip, and she looked over her shoulder. And whipped upright when she saw him sitting there in his briefs, casually pulling off his socks. Her eyes were round, her jaw slack.
“Lie down, Lizzie.”
“You can’t...you’re not—”
“Relax.” He slid under the covers and hauled her down with him, to lie spoon fashion with her back to his front “I told you that’s not what I’m after, remember?”
Of course, that was before he’d seen her clad in nothing but moon frost Still, he had no intention of acting on the primal needs she aroused—in part because he had no taste for predatory females, but mostly because this particular predatory female was at his mercy. He grimaced. His damnable honor and all that
>
She said, “I don’t want you here, Caleb.”
He felt her trying to squirm away from him, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot of room to squirm on this dinky double bed, now that she was sharing it with him. Of course, he was accustomed to stretching out diagonally on his king-size mattress.
He slid his palm over her waist to hold her still. The thin silk left nothing to his imagination. He felt her heat, her delicate ribs, the tantalizing indentation of her belly button. Deciding not to push his luck, he moved his hand up to her smooth shoulder. Safer territory.
“I’m staying, Lizzie. You might need something in the middle of the night.” Like liquid propellant or a couple of solid rocket boosters.
She sighed, whether in resignation or appreciation, he couldn’t tell. Minutes passed and he began to think she’d gone to sleep; hoped so, for her sake. Her body heat warmed his front, and he tried to ignore the sweet pressure of her round, silk-clad bottom so close to his...
Damn. Stop thinking about rockets!
His mouth brushed her hair, a fall of fragrant gossamer. He dipped his head ever so slightly and parted his lips, to increase the teasing contact.
“Caleb...”
“Hmm?”
He felt her fingers slide over his hand on her shoulder. Her voice was small and whispery, a voice for sharing secrets in the dark. “No one ever took care of me before.”
He frowned. No one?
She half turned her head, as if sensing his confusion. “Not since...you know...I was a child.”
Caleb’s frown deepened. What about David? Where had his brother been while the woman he loved suffered these killer migraines alone?
As if she were disclosing something shameful, she said, “I get scared. Sometimes when the pain comes, it’s so bad I think crazy things. Like I wish I could just die so it would stop.” He felt her shudder. “But I wasn’t scared tonight, Caleb. Even when it got real bad, I knew you were coming back and you’d have my medicine and you’d—” she squeezed his hand “—take care of me. And you did.”
She turned a little more and looked into his eyes, her own wide and bottomless in the semidark. “Thank you.”
Her heartbreaking candor staggered him. What was wrong with this woman? She should curse him for being the cause of her misery, not thank him for the one morsel of human decency he’d shown her.
For the first time he wondered what kind of life Lizzie had had.
She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek, a quick, chaste kiss of gratitude. He lay perfectly still, staring at her, absorbing the startling sensation of her warm, soft lips pressed to his skin.
Then she turned back around and settled against him. “Good night, Rambo.”
4
ELIZABETH HAD WONDERED what Caleb would do with her when he had to leave the estate—or Fort Trent, as she thought of it—where they’d been sequestered together for more than a week now. Well, she need wonder no more.
“Where do you want to wait for me, Lizzie?”
He towered over her in the big country kitchen. She felt insignificant and downright asinine in his mother’s frilly little apron and oven mitts. Two French baguettes had just come out of the oven—long, thin, crusty loaves to sop up the gravy of their beef stew tonight. Thank goodness she loved to cook. There wasn’t much else to do at Fort Trent besides cook and read and scheme and pray.
For rescue. She hadn’t given up hope that her message in the rocket would be found. It must have landed in a heavily wooded area. Maybe it had gotten caught on a high limb and would drop before long. Or get washed up on a lakeshore. She thought of little else.
Her eyes went to the handcuffs dangling from Caleb’s fingers, and her stomach turned over. She’d foolishly allowed herself to believe she’d seen the last of them, after he’d relented the night she was so sick. After all, hadn’t she been convincing as the obedient, enlightened deprogrammee? And hadn’t they gotten along passably well? An outsider peeking into their “home life” would actually believe the domestic tranquillity was genuine. Caleb even said nice things about her cooking!
The two of them had gotten into the habit of jogging together each morning before breakfast. That was the most serene part of the day, when they did their stretching exercises out by the back porch and ran side by side around the estate near the tree line. Serene because it was a strictly physical activity they shared without conversation, without her having to pretend she was something she wasn’t In those charmed moments she could almost believe she was a guest not a prisoner.
And all the while she bided her time, waiting for all hell to break loose when her rescuers arrived.
She raised her eyes from the cuffs to his face, willing her expression to remain neutral, though she could feel a cold sweat popping out. She hoped she didn’t look as pale as she felt. She hated those damn things, the sensation of helpless immobility.
Caleb’s gaze slid to the window. “I have to reprovision. We’re low on rations.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He had milk eggs, bread and other staples delivered to the front gate twice a week, but they were low on a lot of other things. She pasted on what she hoped would pass for a benign expression. This wasn’t the time to blow her image.
She needn’t have bothered; he didn’t even look at her. Everything else in the kitchen seemed to hold more interest “Yeah. Well.” He indicated the cuffs. “Where?”
“Um...how long will you be gone?”
He dragged a hand through his thick, light brown hair. “A couple of hours. A little less if the store’s not too crowded.”
Two hours! She nearly groaned. “How about the sunroom, then?”
He shrugged. “Fine with me.”
She shucked the apron and mitts and followed him to the sunroom, where late morning sunshine streamed through the huge, plant-bedecked bay window with its eastern exposure. He steered her to the brass daybed, made up as a sofa with bolsters and a slipcover. Compliantly she sat at the end and offered her left wrist.
As he bent over her to fasten the cuffs, Elizabeth tried to ignore his warmth and the distinctive masculine scent that drifted over her. His face hovered inches from hers, his gray eyes studiously glued to his task. This man had seen her stark naked. That realization only made her feel more helpless and vulnerable.
At the crew neck of his sweater she saw a silver chain, one she’d noticed before. What hung from it? She stared at the mysterious scar on his temple and wondered for the hundredth time how he came by it. His gray sweater sleeves were pushed up and she eyed the jagged pink scar that snaked up his muscular, hair-dusted forearm.
Her mind conjured an image of the armed commando in the field, the man in the snapshot David had carried in his wallet. She thought of Caleb wounded and bleeding in some remote, war-torn corner of the globe; surprisingly, the thought brought no pleasure.
This was the closest they’d been—the closest they’d allowed themselves to be—since the morning after her migraine, when she’d woken in the hot curl of his big body....
Caleb had still been asleep, his massive chest expanding against her back in an even, unhurried cadence. His warm breath stirred her hair and teased her neck. He sighed and tightened his arm over her waist, drawing her closer till she felt an insistent hard ridge against her bottom.
She bit her lip and went still as stone, horrified he’d wake up in that instant. His broad palm pressed on her belly as he angled his hips, sliding his knee over her legs as if to hold her to him. Nothing lay between their bodies but his briefs and a wisp of silk. Slowly, lazily, he flexed into her, throbbed against her, and Elizabeth bit her lip harder, her eyes round with wonder. He felt...enormous. Is that the way it works? she asked herself. Are really big men really big...all over?
She swallowed hard as his hand crept up her rib cage with agonizing slowness, and she couldn’t help but wonder, Is he dreaming about me? Through her flimsy nightgown she felt the firm, coarse texture of his hand as it inched upward...marking her.
His thumb grazed the underside of her breast and she stopped breathing. Her eyes drifted shut and she tried to tell herself she didn’t want his hand to continue its upward journey. Her nipples pulled into tight knots that scraped the silk when she finally took a ragged breath. She shivered, anticipating how hot his hand would feel there, how his touch would burn her. His fingers started to move—
And stopped abruptly. She felt his body go rigid, felt his heartbeat hammer her back for a few seconds before he rolled away and sat up. She shivered harder at the loss of his heat, of the potent vitality that both terrified and enthralled her. She didn’t try to feign sleep, knowing her agitation had to be all too obvious. She’d heard a low, muttered oath...felt an icy emptiness as the door closed behind him.
Now, after days of walking on eggshells and trying not to brush up against him, she could only wonder if he was as edgy as she was. He straightened and stepped away as soon as she was shackled to one of the brass spindles.
He asked, “You need anything before I leave?”
“How about something to read? Anything but Soldier of Fortune.”
That actually produced a smile, albeit a crooked one. He left and returned a few minutes later with a foot-high stack of Vogue magazines. Before she could comment, he leveled a quelling stare and said, “My mother.”
“Uh-huh.”
And then he was gone, leaving her to flip through three years worth of fashions for the well-heeled recluse. The minutes dragged, and the worst part was that Elizabeth didn’t even know how much time had passed—she’d removed her watch before starting to bake. She could only guess at the hour as the shadows shortened and the sun rose high. It was definitely past the time Caleb had promised to be back. She liked Vogue, but she didn’t like it that much.
A Hard-Hearted Hero (Harlequin Temptation) Page 5