A Hard-Hearted Hero (Harlequin Temptation)

by Pamela Burford

  “That’s a stupid and thoughtless thing to tell a young boy,” Elizabeth snapped, rising to the defense of the confused, grief-stricken child he’d been. “That’s the sort of thing people say when they’re uncomfortable, groping for words.”

  “Only in this case it was true. Mom was...well, she was timid. Introverted. She couldn’t handle things on her own, so I had to grow up fast. I took on a lot of responsibility, but someone had to do it.”

  “But don’t you see? David was the same age when he lost you. When you joined the army. Chances are, he would’ve developed the same whether you’d been there or not. People are born different. Maybe he just had more of your mother in him than you did.”

  Caleb looked into her eyes, staggered by the depth of emotion he read there. Her sincerity. Her impulse to comfort and reassure him. And underlying it all, her indisputable strength of character.

  This scrappy, strong-willed woman couldn’t have had much in common with his brother. He wondered about the forces that had shaped her. “What about you?” he asked. “When did you lose your parents?”

  She blinked. “My parents aren’t dead.” She must have seen the shock in his eyes. “Is that what David told you?”

  “He said you’re all alone, that you have no one else to look after you.” As if she needed someone to look after her!

  “Well, that’s true enough. I haven’t been in touch with my folks in years.”

  “Not at all?”

  She hesitated, and he wondered what was under the rock he’d just turned over.

  “They divorced when I was a baby,” she said. “It was a shotgun wedding anyway—my mom was pregnant with me.” He felt her stiffen. “Most divorced people fight over who gets to keep the children. They fought over who had to take me, and I kind of got shuttled between them. They both remarried and started having more kids. Real kids, the kind that are planned. I was like this fifth wheel no one particularly wanted around.”

  Caleb squeezed the edge of the bench to keep from hauling her into his arms. She didn’t want his pity. He growled, “Sounds like you were raised by a couple of shallow, selfish jerks.”

  Her voice tight with bitterness, she said, “Mystery solved. Now you know how I ended up like that.”

  His breath snagged. “God, Elizabeth. That’s not what I meant.” And yet hadn’t he made it clear that’s precisely what he thought of her? He studied her tense features as she stared at the floor.

  He said quietly, “You know, we’re alike in a way. We’re both loners. Maybe it was the way we were raised, I don’t know. We don’t like to rely on anyone else.”

  She looked up, but not at him. “Tell me why you quit the army, Caleb.”

  He slung the towel over the back of his neck. “It’d been creeping up on me for a while. The—” he shrugged “—disillusionment.”

  “Disillusionment with what? The violence?”

  He paused, trying to articulate what had made him turn his back on soldiering, the only life he knew. “It’s not the violent life-style per se as much as how it changes you. I guess I just decided I didn’t want to lose any more of the man I’d been before.” He looked at her. “Does that make sense?”

  He could see her thinking about it. When she said, “Yes,” he believed her.

  “And then I lost both David and Mom, within such a short period of time, and that kind of clinched it. In my gut I knew it was time to start over.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “Not yet. Maybe I will someday.”

  “How did you get the scars?” She peered around him to look at the arm farthest from her, with its jagged pink line snaking up to the shoulder.

  Absently he rubbed the matching scar on his temple. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Probably not, but tell me anyway.”

  He glanced at her obdurate expression. “It happened years ago, during an operation to rescue an American businessman with CIA connections. He was being held in a Central American prison, guarded by men with orders to kill him if we tried to get him out. As the demolitions expert, I blasted us through a cupola in the roof. Then we made our way down to the cell where the hostage was being held, put some Kevlar body armor on him and took him back up to a waiting helicopter.”

  “Didn’t the guards try to stop you?”

  “Yes.”

  Her face lost some color, and she glanced briefly at his hands before looking away. His hands, which had caressed her so intimately just hours ago. They’d also done their share of killing.

  He said matter-of-factly, “They tried to stop us and we killed them. Except there was this one guy who didn’t put up a fight. He was shaking like a leaf—cowering on the stairs as we made our way down. I handcuffed him to the banister.”

  Caleb didn’t relish those memories, but he didn’t hide from them, either. He’d been a professional warrior, like countless men before him. “A few of us were hanging off the helicopter pods when it was shot down,” he laid, indicating the scars. “A couple of my buddies were hurt worse. We surrounded the chopper and returned a lot of rifle fire before an armored personnel carrier stormed through to get us out”

  “Was the hostage okay?”

  “Not a scratch.”

  Caleb sat facing away from her, feeling her eyes on him. Finally she reached across his chest and laid her cool fingers on his upper arm, on the ugly, twisting scar. She leaned against his other arm. He hadn’t realized till that instant that he’d been holding his breath. He laid his own hand on hers, and they sat like that for several minutes.

  That businessman he’d helped rescue in Central America had been the focus of a mission; he’d never meant anything to Caleb personally. That was how he wanted to feel about Elizabeth. How he wished he could feel about her.

  “Caleb.” She waited till he’d turned his full attention to her. “You know now that I wasn’t a real member of the commune.” She studied his expression, and he saw the instant her hopes deflated. “You’re still not going to let me go, are you?” she whispered.

  “No, Elizabeth. I’m not.”

  She turned from him, and he put a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away and stood up.

  “And you know why,” he said. “This doesn’t change the promise I made to David. If you’re right and there’s something dirty going on at Avalon, you’re in even more danger as an infiltrator than if you were a real member.”

  He didn’t tell her the rest of it. That he cared about her safety on a personal level that had nothing to do with David or any vow. He wished he could worry about her with his head only, not his gut. Or his heart.

  But it was already too late for that.

  7

  THE SOFT EDGES of sleep burned away like fog. Caleb shifted restlessly on his bed. He’d been dreaming. Something about his hand. Even now he absently rubbed the back of his right hand as the dream sensations coalesced into something his waking mind recognized.

  Pain.

  Groggily he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Groped for the lamp switch and shoved his hair out of his eyes. Blinked in the glare and was suddenly wideawake, staring at the back of his right hand.

  He’d seen this before—years ago, when he was training at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the headquarters for Special Forces. Then, as now, he hadn’t felt the spider bite. When his allergic reaction had kicked in several hours later, it was just like this—a hot, itchy, bull’s-eye swelling, white ringed with red, with a dark blister at the center. About the size of a half-dollar.

  It must have happened just before dinner while he was cleaning out the shed, preparing it for winter tool storage. Well, at least he remembered what to do about it. Yawning, scratching his hand, he grabbed the key ring from under his pillow and headed down the hall. He wore only an undershirt and gray sweatpants, and the late October chill raised goose bumps on his bare arms.

  He passed Elizabeth’s closed door and wondered which naughty nightie she was wearing, what position she was sleepi
ng in. He pictured her sprawled alluringly with one arm flung over her head and one knee bent. She’d tossed off her covers and her full breasts rose and fell slowly under thin, ice blue silk. She murmured something in her sleep, her lips parting.... She was dreaming about him, about the tree house....

  Softly cursing his reckless imagination, he padded down the stairs. The last week since the Tree-House Incident had been tougher to get through than Delta training. He’d assumed that the more time he and Elizabeth spent together, the less he’d ache to finish what he’d started on that rainy morning. Wasn’t familiarity supposed to breed, if not contempt, then at least disinterest?

  Instead each passing day installed her more firmly in his life and under his skin. And made him crave her with an intensity he’d never experienced before, not even in the hormone-saturated throes of adolescence.

  In the last few weeks he’d learned how to coax that sweet, lopsided smile from her...how to read her body language and know when she needed space. He looked forward to the simple things they did together, from their morning runs to playing with Natasha’s kittens, raking leaves, stargazing with his telescope and playing Scrabble by toasty firelight on his den’s flagstone hearth.

  And every night he lay awake remembering that storm-ravaged dawn, her sleepy look of desire, the way she’d panted softly and shivered at his touch. Remembering the feel of her hot body in his arms as he’d stood in the icy drizzle under the trapdoor, pressing into her slick heat.

  Vivid memories of the last part—the teeth-grinding struggle to derail his raging need at the very threshold of penetration—helped Caleb keep their interactions from becoming too cozy and intimate. He knew he could never walk away from her a second time.

  Downstairs, he unlocked the door to the “chamber of horrors,” the storage room off the kitchen, and rummaged through the paper sack of goodies he’d swept out of the medicine chest three weeks earlier. Aspirin, cough syrup, razors, assorted lotions and potions of his mother’s... There it was, a box of over-the-counter antihistamine tablets.

  He opened the box and pulled out the one remaining blister-pack card. The foil backing was riddled with holes where all the pills had been punched through. He shook the box. No good. Somehow it had been put away empty. He dumped the contents of the paper sack on the floor and squatted to paw through the jumble of bottles and boxes, then sat back on his heels. Nothing.

  It was 2:00 a.m. As soon as the drugstore opened in the morning, he’d go out. Unfortunately, there was no such thing as a twenty-four-hour pharmacy or convenience store in this remote area.

  He examined his right hand and frowned. The fingers had puffed up like sausages, and his forearm had begun to swell and redden, accompanied by a burning itch. Strange, he hadn’t swollen up like this last time. Of course, there were spiders and then there were spiders. He recalled that years ago, one of the local residents had gone into anaphylactic shock following a spider bite. The poor guy hadn’t even made it to the hospital.

  Caleb rose and left the storage room, relocking it behind him, and made his way upstairs. Despite the cold, he was sweating, whether from his allergic reaction or nerves, he didn’t know.

  Elizabeth was waiting at the top of the stairs, hugging herself in that pink terry robe. A froth of ice blue silk peeked out at the hem, and he smiled despite everything.

  She said, “I heard you prowling around. Anything wrong?” Her hair was a mess, her eyes sleep-squinty. She was gorgeous.

  “I was just looking for something. Go back to bed.” He started past her.

  “Caleb!” She grabbed his puffy arm and turned it this way and that, peering at the discolored swelling on the back of his hand.

  He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “It’s just a spider bite.”

  He stared down at her bent head as a rush of warmth filled his chest. Her concern was spontaneous, genuine. This must be what it felt like to be coddled and cared for. He clenched the keys in his other hand to keep from stroking her hair.

  She said, “You should get medical attention for this.”

  “It’s nothing. It’s happened before.”

  “It has?” Her worried eyes bored into his, as if to gauge his honesty. “Like this?”

  “Well, not exactly like this. I‘m going to get some antihistamines in the morning. That’ll take care of it.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know, Caleb...maybe it’s like bee stings. The first exposure sensitizes you, and the next time you’re in real trouble. Life-threatening trouble.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, like I said, I’ll take care of it in the morning. Go back to bed.” He quickly sidestepped her, entered his own room, tossed the keys on his dresser and collapsed onto the bed.

  HE JERKED AWAKE, heart slamming against his ribs. She was here, in his room. He peered into the murky shadows and found himself alone.

  He took a deep breath, tried to slow his racing pulse. It had been a dream, but a vivid one. Even now, his imagination teased him with her lingering scent....

  He touched his arm. The swelling now extended nearly to his shoulder, and it itched unmercifully. He was chilled and his throat felt a bit tight. Just enough to make him wonder if it was his imagination or the beginnings of a more severe reaction.

  “Christ,” he muttered. Could he hang on till the drugstore opened? Could he even drive in this condition? What if his throat did close up? Any other time he’d consider calling an ambulance to take him to the emergency room, just to be on the safe side, but with an unwilling houseguest in residence, that wasn’t an option.

  The sound of a car outside made him bolt upright. He tossed his pillow aside and groped around on the bare sheet. His keys were gone! Then he remembered tossing them on his dresser, and felt his gut clench. He stumbled to the window in time to see starlight glint off his Land Rover before it raced down the drive and out of sight. She had been in his room—it was no dream!

  He pounded his fist against the window frame, then wished he’d chosen the other hand. Cradling his swollen arm, cursing violently, he slumped onto the bed. And almost laughed. It seemed he’d underestimated her for the last time. Any other night, his keys would have been safely tucked under his pillow; he’d have snapped awake the instant she tried to get them.

  But she hadn’t tried it any other night. No, she’d patiently waited to make her move—waited until he was weakened, distracted. Careless. Waited until he was, as she’d put it herself, in life-threatening trouble.

  So much for the worried looks, the concerned words. Yes, her talents were definitely wasted on those sleazy commercials.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I really could’ve...”

  What? Loved you?

  He squeezed his eyes shut. The last few weeks...the sense of closeness, of companionship...

  Had all been an illusion, he reminded himself brutally. How could he have thought otherwise? Nothing had ever changed between them. She’d always been his prisoner, and he’d always been her nightmare. Could he blame her for bolting at the first opportunity, after what she’d endured at his hands? The truth was, he couldn’t.

  Still, it hurt. More than the fear of his throat swelling shut.

  He considered retrieving a phone from. the storage room and calling that ambulance. Considered it for a whole two seconds before flopping back on the bed.

  HE DIDN’T WANT TO LET GO of this dream. He fought the tug of wakefulness and savored the illusion of cool fingers on his brow, followed by the imprint of exquisitely soft lips. Her lips.

  “Caleb...” she whispered.

  The instant he realized he wasn’t alone, his warrior’s training took over. Even before his eyes opened, his hand shot out in reflex and clamped around a slender wrist.

  She gasped, her brown eyes huge.

  Was he still dreaming? “Elizabeth?”

  “Who else would it be?” She pulled against his brutal hold. “Caleb, you’re hurting me.”

  Only then did he realize how hard he
was gripping her wrist. He let go. “You came back.”

  She looked nonplussed. “Of course I came back. I’m surprised you even knew I was gone. You were asleep when I left. Here, take this.”

  She tore open a small paper packet and helped prop him up on an elbow. He recognized the cold-and-allergy pill she placed between his lips, a common antihistamine. She lifted a glass of water to his mouth and he swallowed the pill.

  “Better make it two,” she said, tearing open another packet.

  Obediently he took it, then lay back again. She found his pillow where he’d thrown it on the floor, and tucked it under his head. He could only stare at her in wonder.

  He looked at the pile of single-dose packets on the night table. “Where...?”

  “I got onto the main highway and just kept driving. I knew eventually I’d find a truck stop or an all-night gas station that sold convenience items. Your wallet was on the dresser. Here’s the change.” She reached into her jeans pocket and dumped a few bills and coins on the night table.

  He chuckled. Resourceful as always, his Elizabeth. He groped for her hand and squeezed it

  Her worried face hovered over him. “Are you going to be all right?”

  He nodded. Now that you’re back.

  She scowled. “I’m warning you right now, if these pills don’t do the job pronto, I’m dragging you to the nearest emergency room. You scared the bejesus out of me!”

  “Scared me, too, sweetheart.” But not half as much as the thought of never seeing you again.

  She dropped his keys next to the money and pill packets, then straightened his covers, turned off the lamp and crawled into bed next to him, fully dressed.

  He said, “You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t recall you giving me a choice when I had my migraine. That’s the way it works. You’re at my mercy, Rambo.” She curled up against his side and slid her arm over his waist.

  He grinned. The name was beginning to grow on him.