Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  She hurried to let him in, noting that it had started to rain, glancing quickly up and down the shoreline. No one but a few tourists in sight.

  “Hey, there.” She refused to look at the briefcase. Not yet.

  “Hi.”

  Silence.

  She had no idea what to say next. What was the protocol? Was she supposed to be businesslike, or seductive, or offer him a cup of coffee before they started discussing bodily fluids, or—

  He drew in a deep breath. “So, you ready to play vampire?”

  She could have kissed him then and there, just for making her laugh. But it seemed too forward, too abrupt. Besides, with a couple of drops of rain still clinging to his upper lip, he looked so damned hot that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop. Restraint. That was what she needed. So she nodded toward the butcher-block table and the cheese.

  “Let me put this away first.”

  He followed close behind as she returned to the work area. Even without looking, she was aware of the way they walked in perfect unison, and for one wild moment she wondered if they would find other rhythms so easily.

  “Uh, Lyddie?” He reached around her to tap her fist, which was closed tightly around the knife, his breath warm against her cheek, his forearm brushing hers. “The kit comes with lancets, okay? We won’t need that to draw the blood.”

  The hell with restraint.

  The knife clattered to the table as she turned in the circle of his arms and dive-bombed him.

  Jitters fled at the first touch of her lips against his. Nervousness evaporated as his mouth parted and his arms tightened around her. He pressed her against the edge of the table, kissing her with a desperate heat that told her he’d needed this reassurance as much as she had. He moved in closer and she tilted her hips against his and wished she was the kind of woman who could throw caution to the wind, because her imagination was throwing out some very insistent suggestions as to what could be done with him, her and that great big table right behind her.

  When reason reasserted itself and she reluctantly broke the kiss, she rested her head against his chest and breathed in his musky dampness. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  His lips grazed the top of her head. “Me, too.”

  “Lousy day?” She swallowed hard. “Second thoughts?”

  “The only second thoughts I’ve had are to wonder whether or not this is right for you.”

  “It sure feels that way. At least at the moment.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” He ran one finger lightly down her back, barely touching, yet it was enough contact to push her closer to him again.

  “How about you?” he asked against her ear. “Any doubts? You know it’s allowed.”

  She shook her head slowly, reveling in the brush of her cheek against the firmness of his chest. “I’m nervous. Anxious. But like I said, I think I’d regret not doing this a whole lot more than I’ll ever regret going through with it.”

  “Positive?”

  “Well, maybe not totally.” She tilted her head back to grin up at him. “Kiss me again and I’ll let you know for sure.”

  “Forget it.” He stepped away from her, hands behind his back. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Lyddie, but you have an amazing mouth. I’m not going near it again until we have a whole lot more time and freedom, and you have the reassurance you want.” He bent, scooped up the briefcase she’d knocked to the floor when she attacked him and withdrew a green-and-white pharmacy bag. “Shall we?”

  The knowledge that he thought her mouth was amazing gave her the courage to nod. “Okay. Let’s do the blood one first and get it over with. Where are the directions?”

  “I’ve done this before.” He opened the box and handed her the instruction sheet. “It’s not as intimidating as it looks, trust me.”

  Trust him? She could do that. Resisting him was the hard part. It was a damned good thing they only had two weeks together. The way J.T. slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his side as they scanned the directions told her this man could definitely become her addiction.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “I’m ready if you are.”

  He extended his palm. “Go for it, doc.”

  Holding his finger steady with one hand, she shook out the antiseptic swab and used it to slowly, methodically wipe his finger.

  “You, uh, you do that well.”

  She had the feeling he wasn’t talking about her cleaning ability.

  “Now we have to let it dry.” She set the wipe back on the napkin she’d spread out as her work area, but didn’t let go of his finger. He was her anchor. As long as she had hold of him, she’d be fine.

  “I ran into your mother-in-law on my way here.”

  She clenched his finger hard enough to make him wince. At least now she understood the desperation in his face when he first appeared at the door.

  “Sorry. I take it she talked to you?”

  “Talked at me is more like it.”

  She forced out a long and slow breath. “How bad was it?”

  “Not all bad. She had some valid points.” He touched her cheek. “She’s worried about you.”

  “She’s mostly worried that I’ll run off and take the kids away from her. Or do something to disgrace Glenn’s memory.”

  “I think she really does care what happens.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s what makes it so hard.” She shook her head and checked her watch. “Okay. That’s long enough. Ready?”

  He looked like he had another question, but he gave a swift nod. “Go for it, Dracula.”

  She tightened her grip on his finger, blew out a chestful of tension and positioned the lancet.

  “Sorry about this.” With a quick and decisive thrust, she pushed the point through the skin. He barely flinched. But she couldn’t help noticing the way his free hand balled into a quick, white-knuckled fist.

  When he spoke, he sounded as casual as ever. “Are you always this good with blood?”

  “I’m a mom, remember? Boo-boos are my specialty.”

  She applied pressure and collected the berry-red drops as instructed. He was right—it hadn’t been as complicated as it seemed. Still, she felt the stiffness drain from her shoulders as she pressed the cotton swab to the wound, then applied a bandage.

  “Dang.” She scanned the directions in mock dismay.

  “What?”

  “They forgot the most important part.”

  Quickly, she pressed her lips to the bandage, letting them linger far longer than was probably wise. But even through the sterile covering, he felt too warm, too enticing, for her to maintain her facade of brisk efficiency.

  “You know, Lyddie, you make it damned hard for a man to stick to his honorable intentions.”

  She raised her head and took him in: the fullness of his mouth, the heat in his eyes, the way he leaned closer as though he couldn’t stay away. It had been a long time since she’d felt this power. Damn, but she’d missed it.

  “Good,” she said softly. “Because I think there are times when honor is highly overrated.”

  Some indiscernible emotion—pain? confusion?—flitted across his face. Then he reached for her cheek with one finger, gently turning her back toward the instruction sheet.

  “Better seal it up.”

  Right. Thank heaven he knew this drill. She was so giddy with lust and nerves that she needed all the help she could get.

  She put the test in the preprinted envelope, removed the sticker with the tracking number and stuck it in the notebook she’d pulled from her purse.

  “Okay.” She handed him another test set from the kit. “My turn.”

  “You?”

  “Of course. Why do you think I told you to get two tests?”

 
“I thought you were worried about messing one up. Lyddie, you told me your history. You don’t need to do this.”

  “Yes, I do. For all you know, I could have jumped every tourist with a Y chromosome. All you have is my word that there’s been nobody else.” She offered her hand. “You deserve certainty as much as I do.”

  With those words, J.T. knew that his fate was sealed. Who was he kidding to think he could spend two weeks making love to Lydia and then walk away? She wasn’t the kind of woman a man left willingly. She was the kind that made men rearrange plans and rethink everything they’d ever believed about themselves.

  A smart man would walk away now while he could still get away unscathed.

  But even though he knew he was letting himself in for a hell of an ordeal down the road, he wasn’t strong enough to turn away from the promise in Lyddie’s touch. Nor could he slap her down after she’d pulled together the guts to get this started.

  He almost rolled his eyes at his own delusions. Like the only reason he was doing this was to make her happy. One glance at the way her polo shirt dipped into the hollow between her breasts and he was reminded of exactly why he was willing to take this chance.

  He took the hand she continued to hold out to him. “I promise to be gentle.”

  “That’s okay.” Once again she looked him straight in the eye. “Gentleness is also vastly overrated.”

  Nope. No way he could walk away now, even if he wanted to. And he most certainly did not.

  He swabbed her finger. As when she was cleaning him, he could feel her texture through the wipe, the softness of the finger pad, the slight callus at one side. He stroked the roughened spot again.

  “This part gets used a lot?” His voice sounded huskier than usual, even to him. Not that he could be one hundred percent certain, what with the blood roaring in his ears and all.

  “Writing orders. Pushing the handle on the coffee machines. Signing homework.”

  All the bits of her regular life. The life, as Ruth had reminded him, that she would have to resume when he tore himself away and went back to Tucson.

  “Time to dry.” He tossed the wipe on the paper towel, tugged her finger upright and blew a soft, steady stream of air across the moist surface. The momentary widening of her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.

  “By the way,” she said, far too casually for him to believe, “Jillian was in today. Taking great delight in telling me my paperwork had gone missing and the planning board wouldn’t be able to review the sale this month.”

  “Surprised?” He blew again, short puffs, and felt the shiver radiate from her finger and up her arm.

  “Not in the least.”

  “Pissed off?”

  “A little.” Her laugh was breathy enough to make him consider messing up his own paperwork, just so he would have to stick around past mid-August. “Then I think, Lyddie, you hypocrite. You can’t complain about people putting you on a pedestal and then get mad when someone treats you... Um...okay, that’s probably dry by now.”

  “One more second.” He blew a long, slow breath across her finger, then up her palm, lowering his head until he was but a whisper above her skin as he hovered over her wrist and moved toward the crook of her elbow. He might have to resist her lips for a couple more days, but he would take his pleasure where he could. And filling himself with Lyddie’s warm vanilla scent was most certainly a pleasure.

  Especially when he glanced up to see her with her eyes closed and a look of pure rapture on her face.

  I did that.

  The rest of her world could make her look worried or happy or concerned or angry, but he was the only one giving her this bliss, this fulfillment. And damn, it felt good.

  Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss against her mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted. But from the sheer delight in her eyes when they flew open, he knew it was exactly what she had needed.

  He grinned down at her. “Ready?”

  She nodded. He’d lay money that her agreement had nothing to do with the test.

  He allowed himself one more moment surrounded by her, then backed off and steadied himself. Time to focus.

  “Hang on.” He picked up the lancet, pulled it from the protective wrapper and poised it above her finger. She inhaled sharply. He glanced up, surprised, and saw her grimace.

  “You okay?”

  “I hate finger sticks. Had three kids without drugs, but these... Ugh.”

  Hated them, but insisted on going through with it.

  “I wish you’d told me earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “I wouldn’t have bothered pretending to be brave when you stuck me.”

  She laughed, and he moved into position once again. He tightened his grip, positioned the lancet. He hadn’t been lying: he’d done this before, more than once. But he could never remember being quite so apprehensive.

  “On the count of three,” he said, hoping to steady himself. His lunch danced in his stomach. He blinked to clear the haze clouding his vision.

  “One...”

  What the hell was wrong with him? He was a scientist, for God’s sake. Why was he suddenly getting squeamish about a simple finger stick?

  “Two...” she whispered. Her voice sounded tight. The moment he glanced up at her, he knew he’d made a mistake. Her eyes were screwed shut. Her face was turned away from him. Worst of all, her free hand was clamped over her mouth, no doubt to muffle the squeal of pain she was obviously anticipating. Pain she didn’t need to go through but was willing to endure...for him.

  And in that moment, he knew he couldn’t do it. It would take a gun to his head—no, to hers—to make him willingly inflict pain on her. There was no way in hell he could stab Lydia Brewster, hurt her or make her suffer.

  Because somewhere in the past weeks, he’d fallen in love with her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE HAD NO IDEA how long he sat there, gripping Lyddie’s finger as if it were the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor. The part of his brain that could still function realized that it was pretty ironic—being saved by the woman who made him fall in the first place.

  She shifted on the stool, tilted her head toward him.

  “J.T.?”

  He croaked out an odd strangled sort of sound. Her eyes widened with something that resembled horror. She dropped his hand and lunged across the table to grab a huge stainless steel bowl that she shoved into his arms.

  He blinked as if coming out of a drug-induced stupor. “What’s this?”

  “A bowl. You know, to catch—unless you think you can make it to the bathroom. It’s just over—”

  “No.” He shook his head, set the bowl on the table. It wobbled in perfect time with his stomach. “No, I’m fine, I don’t—I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure? You looked pretty green for a minute there.”

  He laughed, a short, decidedly unmerry bark, and swept his face with his hand. “Yeah, I imagine I did.”

  “What’s wrong?” She wrinkled her nose as if trying to sort things through. “Oh, my God, are you afraid of blood? Is that it?”

  “I... No...uh, I mean, yeah.” He wasn’t above grabbing for whatever help she could give him. Anything was better than the truth. “It doesn’t bother me most of the time, but I, uh, did some work in the garden after lunch. With the heat and all, I guess it’s getting to me.” He gave her a rather desperate grin. “I know the shop is closed, but could I get some water?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  As she pushed herself off the stool and bustled about behind him, he stared blankly out the window, searching for guidance in the river running just beyond the door.

  How had this happened? He barely knew her. But even as he thought that, he realized it wasn’t true. H
e knew the important parts. She was brave and caring and concerned for others, and she’d been willing to give him a chance when no one else had.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe this wasn’t love. Maybe it was gratitude mixed with a healthy dose of lust.

  Then she sat down across from him again, bringing cheese and juice and a light hand to his arm, and all his swirling confusion calmed. This was the truth.

  He was a goner.

  “Thanks.” He nibbled the wedge of sharp cheddar, buying time.

  “How are you doing?” She placed a cool palm against his forehead and frowned. “You do feel a bit warm.”

  “That’s your fault,” he said, delighting in the faint blush that rose in her cheeks, the way she looked down, unable to meet his eyes for the briefest second.

  When she lifted her head again, though, he saw nothing but determination. “Uh—you might want to look away.” And before he could swallow enough to lodge a protest, she took one sharp breath and poked her own finger.

  “Lyddie,” he breathed when he finished swallowing. “Damn, honey, you didn’t have to do that.”

  She scrunched her nose as she squeezed blood onto the test circle. “Not a problem. We need to save your strength, you know.” Again, pink rose in her cheeks.

  “I’m not usually such a wuss.” Only when I figure out I’m in love with a woman I’ll have to leave in a few—

  Damn. It was all he could do to keep from choking yet again.

  A month. Five weeks if he were lucky. Barring a miracle, that was all he had with her. Five weeks to fill himself with this woman who’d crept into his heart when he wasn’t looking.

  It wasn’t enough. He could never have enough of her.

  He watched her from behind, drinking her in as she packed up the test: the way her ponytail dipped straight to her nape, the curve of her neck above her shoulder, the planes of her shoulder blade beneath her shirt. Knowing that in just a few days she would be his was enough to make him dizzy—for real, this time.

  “There. All set.” She turned to face him, smiling in a way that lifted his heart even as it broke within him. And in that moment, he knew what he had to do.