by Ginna Gray
Althea obeyed with alacrity, leaning her head back against the soft cushions and closing her eyes. She was so exhausted she didn't think she could move. The scrape of the match brought her lids up just as Ward bent to relight the candle. He straightened and looked down at her, smiling gently, and it was then she saw the blood streaming down the side of his face.
Chapter 9
"Ward! You're hurt!"
Althea was up and around the table in an instant, her stricken eyes fastening on the wound that slashed across his face from the point of his cheekbone to his left ear. On closer inspection she sucked in her breath sharply. "Oh, my word."
"It's nothing to get upset about. Just a little cut," Ward informed her with a dismissive shrug, which Althea ignored. When she grasped his arm and tugged him toward the receptionist's desk he shook his head bemusedly. "It's nothing, Althea. Believe me, it doesn't need any attention."
Giving him a quelling look, Althea put her hands on his shoulders and pushed. "What it needs is a thorough cleaning and stitching, but you're going to have to settle for an alcohol swab and a bandage. Now, sit down on the edge of that desk while I find the first-aid kit."
Heart pounding, Althea searched through the storage cabinets behind the receptionist's desk, finally locating the box on the bottom shelf. Hurriedly she fetched the candle and handed it to Ward.
"Hold this up at shoulder level so I can see what I'm doing," she instructed briskly. Turning away, she snapped open the first-aid kit and took a rapid inventory, laying out on the desktop what she thought she'd need, all the time fighting the shivering weakness that shook her whole body. Althea could feel Ward watching her but she kept her face stiff, not daring to meet his eyes until she had her emotions under control. When she'd realized he'd been hurt, all her defenses had crumbled and all the unformed feelings she had refused to recognize had crystallized into a solid, indisputable truth: she was in love with Ward.
It was crazy! The worst possible thing that could happen! Well . . . almost, she amended silently as her fingers fumbled with the bottles of antiseptic. The worst thing that could happen would be for Ward to realize how she felt.
Grasping his chin, Althea turned Ward's head to the side until the light was shining directly on the gash. Blood was still running from the cut and there was a sliver of glass protruding from one end. Althea winced and bit her lip. Reluctantly she picked up the tweezers. Gritting her teeth, she braced the heel of her hand against his jaw and very carefully grasped the glittering shard between the metal tongs and eased it out.
Her hip was pressed tightly against Ward's thigh and her breasts rubbed against his upper arm, but Althea was much too absorbed in her task to notice the intimate contact. She probed the wound as best she could for more pieces of glass, then cleaned it with alcohol. A sick sensation surged up inside her as she studied the cut. An inch higher and the glass would have struck his eye; a few inches lower, his jugular.
"Why in the world did you go in there?" Althea snapped, anger suddenly overriding her concern. "You knew it was dangerous."
"I wanted to get a few things from my closet."
Althea glanced down, only just noticing that he was now wearing a poplin raincoat. Grinning, Ward opened it to reveal the extra shirt he had pulled on over the one he was wearing.
"Of all the stupid . . . !" Althea was so furious she wanted to slap him. She snatched up a bottle of iodine and, using the applicator attached to the lid, dabbed the antiseptic over his wound. Ward sucked in a hissing breath and recoiled.
"Be still," she ordered without a trace of sympathy, and smeared on more iodine.
"Damn, that hurts!"
"My goodness. Don't tell me a big brave man who is willing to risk life and limb just for the sake of a clean shirt is afraid of a little iodine."
Her voice dripped with mocking scorn and Ward looked up sharply, a speculative glint entering his lazy brown-eyed gaze as it roamed over her set face. "I did it for you," he said softly. "The shirt is for you to sleep in, and you can cover up with the raincoat."
Confusion and wonder widening her eyes, Althea stared at him in shock. "B-but that's . . . that's crazy! To risk your life just for . .
"No, it's not," he insisted in a soft, velvety voice that held a hint of steel. "It's perfectly natural for a man to take care of his woman, to do whatever is necessary to keep her safe and make her comfortable."
Slumberous brown eyes locked with frightened blue ones, daring her to dispute his claim. Althea intended to do just that, wanted to do just that, but somehow, caught in the mesmerizing glitter of his possessive gaze, she couldn't.
Biting the tender flesh of her inner lip, she tore her eyes from his. With shaking hands Althea recapped the iodine bottle and placed it on the desk. The emotions welling up inside her were confusing and alarming. She didn't know how to deal with them. As she removed a sterile gauze pad from its sealed packet and taped it over the cut, she could feel Ward's eyes on her, and the tightness in her chest grew even tighter. She was quivering all over and fighting against the overwhelming desire to cry. Her throat ached with the effort. She couldn't love him. She wouldn't!
When the wound was bandaged Althea returned the supplies to the first-aid kit and snapped the lid shut, but still she did not move away. Lowering her eyes, she stared at her hands. She felt Ward's steady gaze, felt the warmth of his thigh, felt the soft stirring of his breath in her hair. Her nostrils quivered as she drew in the scent of soap and woodsy cologne and pure male. Rage and joy, resentment and tenderness, fear and longing, all warred within her.
"Althea? What is it, sweetheart?"
Ward's soft question was almost her undoing. Althea's chin quivered as she shook her head.
Very gently Ward took her hands in his and pulled her around in front of him until she stood between his outstretched legs. One hand lifted and curved around the side of her neck, his fingertips tunneling into the silky hair, his thumb tenderly caressing the soft skin on the underside of her jaw. "You're trembling," he whispered huskily. "Tell me what's wrong, darling. Talk to me."
Althea swallowed hard on the lump in her throat. "You have no right to do this to me," she finally managed shakily.
"What am I doing to you?" he prompted in a low murmur.
"I ... I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to . . ."
"Love me?" Ward finished the statement for her.
Althea froze, despair overwhelming her, and a slow smile curved his mouth.
"Do you love me, Althea?" he asked in that relentless soft voice. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
But she didn't have to. As she stared back at him pleadingly, her blue eyes slowly filling with tears, the love she felt—and tried so hard to deny—was there for him to see, and with a low chuckle of victory, Ward drew her unresisting body against his and lowered his head.
His lips moved hungrily over hers, kissing her with all the pent-up desire that had tormented him for weeks, months. Surely, determinedly, her lips were explored, every curve and contour investigated with sensuous thoroughness. It was a possessive kiss. There was no hesitancy, no pleading, no entreaty; he was a man taking what was his.
Under the insistent pressure of his kiss Althea's mouth became soft and pliant, opening to the thrusting demand of his tongue. Instantly he delved into the warm sweetness, stroking and caressing the dark recesses with heart-stopping intimacy. A soft moan escaped Althea, and helplessly her arms twined around his neck.
A part of her, the sane part, the logical part that had guided her actions for years, shrieked a denial of what was happening and urged resistance, but it was no use. Althea couldn't stop the quivering response that trembled through her. There was a hunger, a need in her that refused to be suppressed any longer.
Caressing hands molded her to him. Her hips were imprisoned between his muscled thighs, her belly pressed intimately against his aroused manhood, her breasts crushed against his chest. From shoulder to hip they were fused together, but still their
bodies strained for a closer union.
At last Ward loosened his hold and ended the kiss, dragging his mouth over her cheek to her temple. His breath was warm and moist in her ear as his tongue delicately traced each convoluted swirl. Bending his head, Ward nuzzled her neck and alternately licked and nipped at her sensitive skin. "Oh, love, I've been going crazy with wanting you," he muttered thickly as his exploring fingers found the row of buttons at the front of her dress and skillfully freed them from the material.
A soft moan, half-pleasure, half-denial, issued from Althea as his hands slipped inside and unhooked the front closure of her brassiere. Ward's mouth returned to hers, swallowing the sound as her breasts spilled into his hands. "Your skin feels like satin," he declared in a husky murmur against her lips.
He leaned back and watched with fiery eyes as his hands kneaded the ivory globes, then, with a groan, lowered his mouth to one rosy tip.
As her knees began to turn to water, Althea leaned against him and curled her fingers into his hair, urging him ever closer. The sweet tugging of his mouth started a throbbing ache in the center of her being and sent the blood surging hotly through her veins. In that delirious moment of time she forgot all her fears, all her firm convictions to stay away from this man. Her heart was filled with love and her body ached with need. Nothing else mattered.
With a low growl, Ward straightened and pulled Althea tightly against his chest. His breathing was harsh and labored, his heart pounding against her breast. She could feel his big body tremble. "I need you so much, sweetheart. I hadn't planned for our first time together to be on a couch in the reception room, in the middle of a storm, but, heaven help me, I don't think I can wait."
Slowly, very slowly, the words penetrated Althea's brain, and with them came cold reality. It came crashing down on her, settling on her chest like a painful, heavy weight.
Taking him by surprise, she twisted out of Ward's arms and walked unsteadily to the other side of the room. Shaking fingers fumbled with the fastenings on her clothes. When she was finished, she stood with her back to him, arms crossed, hands gripping her elbows.
"There's not going to be any 'first time' for us, Ward," she said in a whispery voice that wasn't quite steady. "I'm not going to become involved with you." Althea pressed her lips together to stop their quivering and stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to force back the threatening tears. It had hurt to say the words, but she'd had no choice.
"What?" The exclamation burst from Ward, conveying a mixture of confusion and anger. "Not going to become involved? Honey, we've been involved for weeks. You're kidding yourself if you believe otherwise. The attraction between us is strong, and I know damned well it isn't one-sided," he declared with a challenging edge to his voice.
Feeling cornered, Althea resorted to anger. "That's beside the point!" she snapped. "Don't you understand? I am not interested in having an affair!"
"Neither am I."
The quiet statement brought Althea spinning around, her expression one of wary confusion. "Wh-what is that supposed to mean? What do you want, then?"
Ward pushed away from the desk, shrugging out of the coat and extra shirt. They were tossed onto the couch as he strolled toward her. Instinctively Althea backed away a step. She felt like a cornered animal being stalked. A smile curved Ward's mouth as he noted her panicked expression. "Are you sure you really want to know?" he asked with taunting amusement.
"Y-yes."
"I want to marry you."
"Marry me?" Her eyes grew huge and round. "You can't be serious!"
"Oh, but I assure you, I am."
"Why?"
Every trace of amusement left Ward's face. The warm brown eyes seared her with a look so intense she could feel it on her skin as he came to a halt just inches from her. "I would think that was obvious. I'm in love with you."
Joy exploded inside Althea, and for a brief unguarded moment it was revealed by the shining radiance of her expression. She masked it quickly, but Ward saw the telling reaction.
A grimly determined look settled over his harsh features and he grasped her upper arms, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I love you, Althea. And I want to marry you," he repeated in a low, velvety rough voice. "Whatever the future holds, I want to face it with you. I want to wake up every morning to find your head on the pillow next to mine. I want to give you happiness and love and babies. I want to grow old with you."
The evocative words pierced Althea with bittersweet pain. It all sounded so wonderful, so right. It was exactly what she had dreamed of for years. But then she told herself that dreams were merely dreams, the fanciful meanderings of the mind, and had little or nothing to do with reality. Just as she told herself that she must deny both Ward and the longings of her heart.
Her eyes swimming with sadness, she stared at him and shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Ward. It just wouldn't work."
"Why not?" he demanded. "Can you honestly say that you don't love me?"
Althea bit her bottom lip and looked at Ward pleadingly, but she could see that he was determined to have an answer. For a moment she considered lying, but dropped the idea almost at once, aware that she wouldn't be able to do it convincingly. "No. No, I can't do that. I do love you. But," she added quickly when his eyes flared with emotion and he went to draw her into his arms, "it doesn't make any difference. Love isn't enough."
"What!" Ward looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. "You can't mean that!" His rugged features were pale and gaunt with shock. Then slowly the shock began to fade and anger took its place. "Dammit, Althea! I won't let you do this to us!"
Althea flinched at his harsh tone, and Ward grimaced. With an effort he reined in his temper and continued in a milder voice. "Look, Althea, sweetheart, I don't know what's bothering you, but whatever it is, we'll work it out. If two people love each other, they can make it."
"Do you really believe that?" Althea shook her head and gave him a pitying look. "I'm sure all the couples who make up the divorce statistics loved each other at one time, but that didn't seem to do them any good. My aunt and uncle have been married for thirty years, and it's been thirty years of seeing just how miserable they can make one another. Evidently my own parents' marriage wasn't much better. According to my aunt, on the night they were killed in an auto accident they had left a party early because they had been quarreling." Althea's soft mouth curled in derision. "So don't try to tell me that love conquers all."
"Okay, I'll admit a lot of marriages fail. But there are also a lot that succeed. Look at your friend Judy. She seems happy."
The laugh that sprang from Althea's throat was short and bitter. He couldn't have picked a worse example. "Oh, by all means, let's discuss Judy's marriage. Her husband is a handsome, skirt-chasing pilot who has a woman stashed away in just about every country. The selfish bastard couldn't even be bothered to be here for their son's birth. Yesterday morning he happily flew off to Rome, even though Judy was already overdue. She had the baby alone, after taking a taxi to the hospital. Some happy marriage!"
Ward muttered a soft curse under his breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. But dammit, Althea! Just because you know of some bad marriages is no reason to throw away what we could have. You're not even giving us a chance."
Ward's anger merely served to harden Althea's resolve. With an irritated twist of her shoulders she broke free of his hold and stalked back across the room. "There's no point in discussing it. I won't marry you, Ward, and that's that." She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the couch, curling into a tight ball as she pulled the raincoat over her. "Good night," she said curtly, closing her eyes.
Pain, bewilderment, frustration and anger mingled in Ward's face as he stared at her huddled form. What in God's name was he supposed to do now? He had thought that once he had gotten her to admit her feelings the battle would be over, but evidently it had only just begun. Dazed, Ward shook his head. What had soured her so on marriage? He couldn't believe it was just the divorce rate or a f
ew bad examples. There was something else. Something deeply ingrained, something that frightened her. You could see it in her eyes. But what? And how did he fight what he couldn't even identify? God! He felt like punching something!
Through the veil of her lashes, Althea watched Ward move to the couch that was at a right angle to the one she was occupying and stretch out full length, his clasped hands beneath his head. Grim-faced, he stared at the ceiling.
Althea bit the soft inner flesh of her lower lip to stop its trembling. She really did love him. The flickering candlelight played over Ward's rugged profile, and she noticed his clenched jaw, the muscles that worked spasmodically in his cheek. He was angry. More than that, he was hurt and confused.
But how could she explain that she was frightened? Frightened by his dominance, his strength, that driving intensity that was so essentially a part of him? Frightened by the way he made her feel, by the strong emotions that drew them together? But, most of all, frightened that those emotions would change into something she could not deal with?
When her Aunt Edna had married Bill Holland they had been in love. Althea had heard the story of their elopement from both her mother and grandmother. She had seen snapshots taken of them in the early days of their marriage, when they had gazed at one another with love and adoration. But somewhere along the way that love had eroded into something ugly and sick. Something violent.
A cold sensation trickled down Althea's spine, and she shuddered as the dark memories crowded in on her—her aunt's foolish, compulsive goading, her uncle's explosive eruptions, her own frantic scurrying to remove Greg from the scene, the two of them huddled together, hiding, shivering, trying not to hear the screams, the vile curses, the horrifying sounds of fists hitting flesh, the violent crashing and splintering of objects, and then . . . the awful silence.
Drawing herself into a tight ball beneath the poplin raincoat, Althea swallowed the bitter gorge that rose in her throat. She had escaped that nightmare existence once. She simply could not take the chance of being caught in it again.