High-Risk Affair

by RaeAnne Thayne

  In that hazy moment between sleep and wakeful-ness, panic suddenly exploded through her like a brush-fire in a hot wind and she blinked her eyes open.

  Cam! She had to find Cameron!

  She jumped up, disoriented as to why she was on the floor, and then she saw the source of her panic stretched out on his bed, his soccer ball comforter pulled up to his shoulders.

  She instantly remembered the last two harrowing days—the frantic search for him, the long, agonizing hours of waiting, then the stunning joy of knowing he was safe.

  Needing reassurance, she couldn't keep from reaching out to touch the hand that had slipped from his covers, just to make sure he was really there. She relaxed at the feel of warm skin and stood by the bed gazing down at her son and forcing her breathing to slow.

  Though he wanted to be a rough-and-tumble boy and she tried hard to treat him as such, Cameron had always seemed fragile to her.

  He was three when he had his first seizure. His epilepsy and the special medical needs stemming from it had become routine over the years, but sometimes she still wanted to wrap him in layers of cotton and keep him close to her to protect him from the dangers both inside and outside his body.

  She supposed it was normal to want to coddle him. But she needed to remember Cameron had a deep reservoir of strength she never would have guessed at. He must, or he would never have been able to survive his ordeal in the mine.

  She sighed, fighting the urge to gather him in her arms. It was selfish to wake him just because she needed reassurance. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed watching him breathe and wondering how she could ever let him out of her sight again.

  After a moment, her stomach growled loudly enough so that Cameron stirred and then rolled over.

  Could she actually be hungry, for the first time in two days? She hadn't even wanted to think about food while Cam was missing and hadn't eaten more than a bite or two throughout that terrible time. No wonder she was starving.

  The kitchen was full of food, she remembered. Brimming over, actually, with all the food neighbors had brought over. Her stomach growled again, just thinking about it.

  She hated to leave Cameron even for a moment, but she could hurry down and raid the kitchen for a sandwich, then bring it back here to eat, she decided.

  After checking one more time to make sure Cameron still slept peacefully, she turned on the closet light so he wouldn't wake up in the dark.

  Her mind on her stomach, she opened the bedroom door—and nearly tripped over a body sprawled in the hall.

  She swallowed a screamas the figure jerked up.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" In the pale light from the closet, she could just make out Cale's features. Though she must have awakened him from a sound sleep, he clicked immediately to full alertness, like some kind of wild predator.

  Inside the room, Cameron stirred but didn't awaken. Megan closed the door behind her most of the way, leaving it open a crack. The only light now came from the star-shaped night-light she kept burning near the stairs.

  "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, further tangling the dark strands that were already mussed. "Having the daylights scared out of me, apparently."

  "Why are you sleeping on the floor? I told you how to find the guest room, didn't I?"

  "You did." He stood and stretched, all hard, lean muscles and gorgeous masculinity, and she had to swallow hard as painful awareness bloomed inside her that they were virtually alone in her darkened house at three in the morning.

  She cleared her throat. "So, uh, tell me why you aren't sleeping in the guest room."

  "I wanted to be close, just in case."

  She couldn't seem to make her hazy brain function. Whether that was a byproduct of waking up after only a few disjointed hours of sleep or had more to do with the man standing in front of her all sleep-rumpled and sexy, she didn't want to hazard a guess.

  "In case what?" she asked.

  A shrug was his only answer, and it took several seconds for the truth to soak through her befuddled mind.

  He was there to watch over them.

  She could only stare at him, a strange warmth pouring through her. He was recovering from a gunshot wound, he hadn't slept in two days and he had spent hours underground in the dirt and darkness looking for her son. Yet he was willing to take what little sleep he could find on the hard floor of her hallway outside her son's bedroom in order to keep them safe.

  How could she possibly resist a man who would do such a thing?

  "You think Cam's in that much danger that you have to stand vigil through the night?" she asked when she could trust her voice.

  "Maybe not. I may be completely overreacting."

  "But you don't think so."

  "I think we're going to have to wait to gauge the extent of the risk until we know what happened in there. In the meantime, this is one of those better-safe-than-sorry situations."

  His soberness unnerved her; at the same time, she was touched to the depths of her soul by his concern. She couldn't help herself; she extended a hand and touched his arm.

  "I wish you didn't feel like you have to sleep on the floor, but I'm glad you're here," she murmured.

  After a pause, he covered her hand with his. She could feel the hard strength of his fingers on top of her hand and the warm skin of his arm beneath. "So am I."

  In the dim light of the night-light, she thought she saw something leap into his gaze, something hot and enticing. She drew in a shaky breath, suddenly remembering his kiss and the way she had wanted to burrow into him and stay there forever.

  What was it about this man that drew her so powerfully? He only had to hold her hand and she lost all sense of reason and control.

  She was in danger of falling hard for him.

  The thought stole her breath, dousing her like a hard, cold rain. Oh mercy. What was she doing here?

  She couldn't seem to make her muscles work and wanted to weep with gratitude when he pulled away first, returning his hand to the back pocket of his jeans.

  "Where were you going when I so rudely interrupted you with my legs?" he asked.

  She followed his lead and tried to adopt a casualness she was far from feeling, especially given the stunning depth of emotion she wasn't at all ready to acknowledge.

  "I was, uh, hungry, believe it or not."

  She stepped away, desperately needing more space between them. "I thought I would head down to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. I would be happy to fix you one if you're interested."

  "Now that you mention it, I am a little hungry. But you don't have to fix something for me. I can do it."

  She needed to escape him, if only for a moment, so she could try to regain a little balance and talk some sense into herself. "I don't mind. Why don't you stay here in case Cameron wakes up?"

  He studied her in the dim light; she fervently hoped he couldn't read anything in her expression. "Sure," he said finally, and she hurried away as fast as she could without breaking into a panicked run.

  The house seemed oddly unfamiliar to her as she moved down the stairs to the kitchen. She and the children had only lived here a few months, but that didn't fully explain how disorienting it seemed to walk through the darkened rooms.

  Perhaps it was because in some strange but fundamental way, the ordeal of the last two days had changed her. She wasn't the same woman who had awakened in the middle of the night to find her son gone. That seemed another lifetime ago. A dozen lifetimes.

  As she expected, she found the kitchen bulging with food, offering dozens of choices. The sight of it all touched her, reminding her of early days after Rick's death when her neighbors and friends had filled her larder to overflowing.

  Food was the eternal panacea. The physical act of eating did little to ease the grief, she knew, but the caring and love that went into preparing the food could provide great comfort.

  She stood in front of the refrigerator, struck
by the mortifying realization that she had been so flustered upstairs that she hadn't bothered to ask Cale what kind of sandwich he preferred.

  Somehow her failure seemed to steady her. It was a silly thing, but she reassured herself that she couldn't possibly be falling in love with a man when she didn't have the first idea what kind of sandwich he favored.

  She would just make him an assortment, she decided. She found packages of ham and turkey deli meat, as well as some cheese slices, in the refrigerator. Working quickly, she made two of each, then threw in a humble peanut butter and jelly, just in case.

  Someone had brought over a pasta salad that looked delicious, and she found a bowl of fresh fruit on the table still in plastic wrap. She pulled out a couple of apples, then added several thick, chewy brownies from a heaping plate.

  It was too much food—a feast that would feed a small crowd—but she set everything on a tray anyway, adding two bottles of water.

  At the top of the stairs, she found Cale had turned on the lamp in the small area on the landing that overlooked the two-story great room. She used this for a reading nook, and it was one of her favorite spaces in the house.

  "I figured this was a good place for a midnight snack," he said.

  It was down the hall from Cameron's room, but not too far they couldn't hear him if he awakened.

  She mustered a smile. "We're about three hours past a midnight snack, but I suppose you can still call it that."

  He smiled in return and for a long moment, she could do nothing but stare. She hadn't seen him smile much. She never would have expected to find it so devastating.

  Oh, she was in grave trouble here. She set the bulging tray on the low coffee table, resisting the urge to drop the whole thing and run back to Cameron's room where she could bar the door against this man who made her feel things she had never wanted to again.

  "I didn't know what kind of sandwich you wanted." It seemed important that she make that point clear to him.

  "Right now it wouldn't much matter. I'm hungry enough to eat anything you've got."

  "Turkey or ham or PB & J."

  "You choose what you want and I'll eat whatever's left."

  After a slight hesitation, she picked up one of the turkey sandwiches and set it on the paper plate she had included on the tray, then watched carefully as he went for the ham.

  It was ridiculous to even notice, she told herself. The man's sandwich preferences were none of her business and never would be.

  They ate in silence for a moment. She couldn't remember a meal that tasted so deliciously satisfying. Perhaps it was because she had been so long without sustenance, but every bite seemed to burst with flavor.

  Maybe that was the reason she had reacted so strongly to his kiss, to his touch. She had been alone for two years now. Maybe she was just susceptible to the first gorgeous man who came along.

  No, that couldn't be it. She had been asked out several times since Rick's death, both back in San Diego and in the few months since she had arrived in Moose Springs. None of those other men had even sparked the tiniest flicker of interest in her and she had turned them all down.

  She had responded to Cale because she cared about him. She was drawn to his strength and his compassion, his passionate dedication to his job, the glimpses of vulnerability he tried to hide.

  He had slipped under her defenses somehow, had taken up root in her heart. She sighed, wondering how she was ever going to find the strength to push him away.

  "Something wrong?" he asked.

  Only everything.

  Her instincts warned her to just make something up in reply, but she couldn't seem to think of anything but him. She knew why she responded to him so powerfully, but his motives were a mystery and she was suddenly burning to know.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure. If you can get me to stop eating long enough to answer."

  Even as the words formed, she knew pressing forward with this would be a huge mistake but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

  "Why did you kiss me?"

  Cale slowly chewed a bite of sandwich and swallowed, feeling a lot like he'd just been slammed by the entire Denver Broncos defensive line.

  How was he supposed to answer that? If he told her the truth—that he was falling in love with her—she was bound to think he was crazy. He certainly thought he must be skipping a few gears.

  "The, uh, usual reasons," he muttered.

  Unfortunately, she wasn't going to let him get away with that kind of cop-out.

  "What usual reasons?" she asked. In the low light from the lamp, her color seemed high and she looked extremely uncomfortable with the conversation, but still she pressed him for an answer.

  "It was inappropriate. I've told myself that a thousand times. I know it was wrong."

  "Was it?"

  He wished to hell he had some clue what was going through her mind, why she suddenly wanted to chat about this, but she wasn't giving anything away. Did she think it was wrong?

  "Yes," he finally said, feeling more awkward than he ever remembered. "I put you in an uncomfortable position. I know you're grateful to me for helping with Cameron's rescue. I didn't mean to make you feel indebted to me for that. You're not obligated to me in any way. You're especially not obligated to endure unwelcome, uh, advances. I'm very sorry for that."

  She blinked, clearly surprised. "I didn't feel obligated. I don't."

  What do you feel? he burned to ask, but he wasn't completely sure he wanted to know the answer. "Good. That's good. 1 promise, it won't happen again."

  He forced a smile, wondering if it looked as ridiculously fake as it felt. "I'm not in the habit of accosting women on the job, I swear."

  "You didn't accost me." She pushed around a bit of pasta on her plate, her eyes glued there as if it were the most fascinating corkscrew in the world. "It was only a kiss."

  He wouldn't have expected sweet little Megan Vance to know how to kick a man right in the gonads without even blinking an eye. Only a kiss. To him, the world had shifted, the skies had opened, heavenly choirs of angels had burst into song.

  To her, it had only been a kiss.

  He bared his teeth. "Right. Absolutely."

  "I suppose it was just a natural reaction, right? We were both just carried away by emotion, by the sheer, overwhelming relief at finding Cameron after so many hours of intense stress."

  "If you say so."

  He wasn't quite sure which of them she was trying to convince. He had to admit, he wasn't buying it. He kissed her because he wanted to, more than he wanted to breathe. Because somehow she had made a shambles of the hard, protective shell he used to keep the world out.

  Because when he was with her, the world seemed softer, somehow. Sweeter.

  "You don't think it was a release of stress?"

  He made a rough sound in the back of his throat. "It sure as hell didn't release any of my stress. What about you?"

  She blinked at him for a moment, and then she gave a startled laugh. "I suppose it didn't."

  After a quick, sidelong look at him, she turned her attention back to the food on her plate. They lapsed into silence and he was racking his tired brain to come up with another subject of conversation when she spoke again, her voice pitched low as if she were revealing some deep, dark secret.

  "I can't stop thinking about it," she whispered.

  He wasn't sure how he reacted—he hoped to hell he hadn't groaned aloud, though he certainly felt like it. Still, her emerald gaze flickered to him again, dismay in her eyes.

  "I probably shouldn't have said that, should I?"

  He cleared his throat. "Depends in what context you're thinking about it—as an experience you found completely repulsive and hope to never have to endure again?"

  He paused, his pulse pounding. "Or otherwise?"

  She was silent for a long time, the only sound in the little alcove the ticking of a clock on a bookshelf and the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He was an idiot
to kiss her and an idiot to care so much about how she had reacted to it.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was pitched low, so quiet he could barely hear.

  "Otherwise," she whispered.

  So much for all the million reasons he told himself he wouldn't kiss her again. Hadn't he just finished telling her it was a mistake and wouldn't happen again?

  He stared at her, instantly aroused even though he knew it was insane. How could just a word send heat and hungry need sizzling through him?

  "This is crazy, Caleb," she said, her voice ragged and color suddenly climbing her high cheekbones. "We barely know each other. What little time we have spent been together has been under the worst conditions imaginable, at least for me."

  He took some comfort that she seemed to be desperately trying to convince herself more than him. He knew a decent man would probably try to change the subject to something safe and innocuous, just let the whole thing drop.

  He discovered he wasn't very decent after all, at least not when it came to Megan.

  "Crazy," he agreed, then he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.

  She sighed his name, her hands fluttered up to twine around his neck and he was lost.

  He wanted to devour her like the meal she had just prepared for him, but he ruthlessly beat down the wild need, keeping the kiss soft, easy. She wasn't ready for more. He sensed it as surely as he knew it was killing him to hold back his hunger.

  Words of tenderness tangled on his tongue, but he knew she wasn't ready for those, either.

  The clock on the bookcase ticked on and as each moment passed, more and more of his control slipped away with it. She was so soft and warm, like slipping aching muscles into a natural hot spring after a hard day of climbing.

  "You taste like brownies," she murmured.

  You taste like heaven, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat when she licked the corner of his mouth.

  His control frayed and he deepened the kiss, against his better instincts. Instead of pulling away as he'd feared she would, she let out a breathy little sigh and welcomed him inside her mouth, her hands tangling in his hair. He wanted her like he'd never wanted anything in his life and miraculously, incredibly, she seemed to feel the same thing.