Fever

by Joan Swan

  Light drifted through the bedroom door, softly illuminating Alyssa’s sparse surroundings. Somewhere safe. Teague’s words came back to her, and the air left her lungs in one long whoosh as she fell back onto the bed. She closed her eyes. Forced her breath to slow, her mind to clear. A nightmare. Just a nightmare.

  The reassurance did nothing to control the quiver along her limbs. She was alone in a remote cabin with a man convicted of murder.

  No. It didn’t fit.

  Or did it?

  Her mind returned to his comment when he’d rejected her advance—another nightmare.

  I know what I need.

  But you don’t know who you’re asking to fill those needs.

  How humiliating. She could blame her behavior on the circumstances, but it didn’t ring entirely true. She was attracted to him. Had known what she was asking and what part of her still wanted despite all the unanswered questions. Despite all she didn’t know about him.

  Alyssa thought of his previous girlfriend, of the horrible way she’d died, and familiar questions surfaced. Had she become a threat to him, as Alyssa was now? She couldn’t see any sound reason for Teague to keep her, and he wasn’t offering any justification. It didn’t matter what she thought she saw in the man. What mattered was the risk Alyssa presented to his freedom—the freedom he’d vowed to retain at all costs. Hence the money transfer, the handcuffs, the continued captivity.

  She pushed back the covers. As soon as she tried to stand, she realized where the pain in her dream had come from. Stabs and aches and burns erupted with every movement.

  The heat she’d imagined had come from the fever still lurking in her body, dampening her skin and clothes with sweat. Clenching her teeth against the pain, she picked up her shoes and made her way down the hall toward a dim light. At the opening to the living room, she peered around the corner. A fire smoldered in the hearth. A single lamp shed light on a sectional sofa, rocking chair, low coffee table and a few file boxes settled by the arm of the couch. All the windows were blocked by exterior shutters.

  Teague lay on his back, stretched out on one arm of the L-shaped sofa, arms and ankles crossed. Eyes closed. Breathing even, deep and slow. And he was stripped down to a pair of gray gym shorts. She supposed if she harbored that much body heat on a consistent basis, she’d wear minimal clothing, too. Only she wouldn’t look half as good. Man, he was gorgeous with the firelight bouncing over those muscles, creating dramatic shadows in their valleys.

  While physical beauty had never been one of the most important elements of attraction for Alyssa, Teague was downright distracting. Evidently, he didn’t find her quite as irresistible. Probably for the best.

  She scanned the kitchen counter for car keys, then the tables, the floor, the hook by the door. No keys. Looked like she was going it on foot.

  Only when her feet were supposed to move toward the door, they stayed planted there in the hallway. She could swear she had an angel sitting on one shoulder and a devil sitting on the other, each urging her in opposite directions.

  There was a lot of good in this man, more good than she’d seen in most men. How a woman had died at his hands, in a reportedly brutal fashion, she’d never understand, but her deeply rooted common sense simply wouldn’t allow her to stay in a dangerous, potentially life-threatening situation when she had the opportunity to escape, even if another part of her, the rusty emotional part, urged her to stay, to get involved, to help.

  Misgivings twisted her guts as Alyssa side-stepped her way to the kitchen door without taking her eyes off Teague. When he hadn’t moved so much as an eyelash, she set her shoes on the floor and stepped into them. The fire crackled. Fear spiked in her stomach, then receded to a slow burn as she lifted a heavy jacket off a peg nearby. Still, Teague didn’t move. She eased the deadbolt lever to the right, wincing in anticipation of the click, but the lock rolled with nothing more than a shhhhh.

  Alyssa twisted the metal in her hand, and the door cracked open. Purposely avoiding another glance at Teague, she held her breath and slipped out the door, closing it quickly and quietly behind her.

  The cold hit her with a clean, icy stab to the throat, then it closed around her in one frigid sheet, eking out a violent, full-body shiver. She hustled into the jacket and pulled it tight, fumbling with the zipper as she tip-toed down the steps. She scanned the area and found nothing but darkness. No streetlights, no other homes or structures, no cars. Nothing but black pine trees silhouetted against a navy sky, the sliver of moon her only light.

  She had no idea where she was, but instinct led her down the drive while another part of her mind nagged, You impulsive idiot, get your ass back in the house with the man who hasn’t once intentionally hurt you.

  Eventually, she had to reach a road. Unless she froze to death first, which was a very real possibility she hadn’t considered. As she moved, her traitorous mind kept at her, reminding her of all Teague had done for her—every instance he’d gone above and beyond, every offer of comfort, every sweet touch or kind word.

  To escape the haunting voice, she eased into a light jog. Her stiff body protested, but she ignored it. For all of sixty seconds. Then she was out of breath from the altitude, her throat raw from the frozen air. Her teeth chattered as she dropped back into a quick walk, pulling her hands into the sleeves of the jacket to protect her now-aching fingers.

  I’ve never hit a woman in all my thirty-four years and I’m not going to start with you.

  Alyssa stopped in her snowy tracks. The voice in her head came out of nowhere. Teague’s voice. She’d believed him in that moment. The statement had been made with spontaneity and sincerity. But if he’d never hit a woman, then he couldn’t have beaten his former girlfriend, Desiree. Couldn’t have murdered her.

  Is that true? Did you really ... do that?

  You tell me, Alyssa. Did I?

  The voices rattled around in her brain as she turned in a slow circle.

  Looks like I should go back to expecting you to think just like everyone else.

  Her breath created billows of icy clouds in the clear, frozen air. She glanced at the cabin, so quiet and serene in the distance. Something deep inside pulled at her to go back. And it pulled hard. She looked over her shoulder toward the wilderness. The only thing urging her in that direction was obligation. What she thought she should do. Going back to Teague was what she wanted.

  She groaned as she dragged her feet in the direction of the house. “I’m s-so s-s-screwed.”

  Something rustled in the trees. Alyssa whipped toward the sound, lost her balance and stumbled. Her butt ended up in a mound of snow, her hands submerged in an attempt to break her fall. Her ribs jammed her injury, spearing pain through her side and sucking the wind from her chest. Another rustle sounded, closer. A low growl floated out of the darkness. Panic cinched her chest.

  She scrambled to get back on her feet, but kept slipping on icy snow pack. By the time she succeeded, her jeans were soaked, her hands scraped, her shoes filled with ice.

  Another growl sounded in the midst of more rustling. Closer. Maybe. She couldn’t tell. She could see the cabin steps now. Just a little farther.

  The scuffle of paws on ice rippled through the night, followed by a howl so high, loud and long, the echo shimmied down her neck and rocked her body.

  At the base of the stairs, Alyssa swiveled toward the sound and steadied herself with a hand on the banister.

  A wolf trotted out of the forest and crept along the edge of the moonlight shimmering through the treetops. The animal was silvery gray with a white undercoat and shiny yellow eyes.

  A high-pitched sound eked from Alyssa’s throat.

  The animal’s shoulders hunched, head dropped, muzzle peeled back, baring a mouthful of pointed white teeth. It let out a throaty growl and approached.

  Her fingers tightened on the banister. Panic sliced her thoughts into fragments. She wouldn’t make it to the door before those teeth sank into her leg.

  Anothe
r shadowed animal appeared at the tree line, tilted its head back and belted an ear-piercing howl.

  The outside light flipped on, blinding Alyssa. She threw her arm over her eyes. The bay cut off midstream.

  “Get out of here, you stupid sonsofbitches.” Teague’s voice bellowed over her head, ricocheting off the trees and fading into the forest. “She’s no meal, for God’s sake. Look at her.”

  Heavy footfalls pounded down the stairs, joining the wolves’ retreating barks and whimpers.

  Frozen in place, Alyssa watched the carnivores disappear.

  “You goddamned idiot.” Teague’s angry voice bit at her ear. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Get in the house. You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

  “T-too l-l-late.” She tilted her head back and zeroed in on his eyes, filled with irritated indignation, as if she was nothing but a nuisance. Why had she turned around again? “Y-y-you’re what’s w-wrong with m-me, you j-j-jackass.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on. It’s seven fricking degrees out here.” As he seemed to have done a dozen times in the last two days, he lifted her into his arms without effort. “Yell at me in the house.”

  Alyssa couldn’t find the motor skills to speak. She’d never known how physically painful the cold could be until she ached with it. Or the way true terror ripped from the inside out until she’d been so completely vulnerable to those wolves. Her jaw felt frozen into place, so many parts of her on the throbbing edge of numbness. Her mind wasn’t working well enough to drum up treatment strategies, but she knew getting her body back to regular temperature would involve hot water and a lot of pain.

  Teague bumped her ribs as he started up the stairs. A pathetic moan bubbled out of her throat, drowned by the thud of the front door hitting the wall as it opened, then slammed at her back. The warmth of the house immediately wrapped around her, and Alyssa groaned at the beauty of it. What had ever possessed her to leave?

  Teague set her down on the sofa in front of the fire. “Don’t move.”

  He disappeared down the hall and Alyssa sat watching the fire in the hearth, wishing she could jump into the flames. As her body temperature rose, she shivered uncontrollably.

  Teague returned with a space heater in one hand and a stack of towels in the other. After plugging in the heater and pointing it directly at Alyssa, he dropped to his knees in front of her. He pulled off her shoes and socks, then tugged the jacket off her shoulders and threw it aside. He curled his fingers into the sleeves of her shirt at her wrist and pulled one arm out, then the other.

  Alyssa gurgled a protest. Her arms were as stiff as tree limbs, her teeth clenched as if the hinges of her jaw were rusted shut. With one pull, her shirt came off over her head and joined the jacket on the floor.

  He picked up a towel, threw it over her head and started scrubbing. Icy droplets from her hair needled her back like little knives. “S-s-s-so c-cold.”

  She barely got the murmur from her mouth. Nothing was working right—not her body, her voice, and most definitely not her mind.

  “I know. Give me a minute.” Teague slid the towel off her head, made one swipe of her back and tossed it away. “Lie down.”

  She cast a sidelong look at the sofa, wanting more than anything to obey. “I c-c-can’t move.”

  Teague lifted her legs and eased her back. Alyssa rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, soaking in the feel of the lush, warm corduroy fabric. Then his hands were on her again, pulling at her sweats. Before she could push his hands away, her pants were gone.

  “Everything has to go,” he said. “You’re soaked.”

  With a simple flick of his fingers, the knot she’d tied in her pathetic excuse of a bra opened. Alyssa pulled in a surprised breath as he yanked it off. Then his hands were at her hips. A second later, her panties had disappeared. She found herself caught between shock and embarrassment before something soft layered over her, cocooning her in warmth. A breath of relief slipped through clenched teeth. Teague stood in front of her, bare-chested, his hands unbuttoning his jeans.

  Excitement spiked in her chest, and melted into her pelvis. “W-what are you d-d-d-doing?”

  “Getting you warm as fast as possible.” He toed out of his boots and dropped his jeans.

  Alyssa was too exhausted, and honestly, too interested, to look away. He was so beautiful, like a work of art she could study for endless hours. The tattoos were shadows of her imagination now, his body perfectly pristine and tan as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “W-w-warm w-w-water,” she said. Preferably with him in it, too.

  “The water heater is ancient.” In an abrupt move, he lifted the blanket and lay on the sofa alongside her. “No warm water until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  He pressed his body full length against hers, worked his arms around her back, laid his top leg over hers and ratcheted his body close. Alyssa sucked in a breath at the feel of him, so supremely warm, all hard muscle and soft skin.

  Oh, man. Okay. This worked, too. Maybe even better.

  “Jesus Christ,” he growled. “You’re a fucking ice cube.”

  “S-s-stop—”

  “Swearing,” he finished for her. “I know, I know.”

  His hands were everywhere, sliding, rubbing. And every place of her that he touched warmed instantly, the feeling so primitive, so perfect. Alyssa pried her arms away from her chest and slid them around his back, pulling him until the flat plane of his chest pressed to hers. His warmth instantly seeped into her skin. This was just what she’d wanted a few hours ago. Now she was too damned frozen to take advantage.

  “Oh, my, G-god,” she murmured against his chest. “You feel so g-good.”

  She shifted closer, a leech searching for heat, and she found it when his hips aligned with hers. His erection pressed along her thigh, pumping heat through his cotton briefs and directly into Alyssa’s skin. A mixture of excitement and nervousness tangled in her throat. His arms tightened around her on an irritated groan, and he tried to shift his hips away. But with the edge of the sofa at his back, he didn’t get far.

  “Stop wiggling, for God’s sake. You’re going to push me off the couch.” With a kick of the blankets, he tightened the fabric around their feet, then rubbed the arch of his foot over her instep and toes. And somehow managed to put space between her hips and his. “Your hands and feet are the parts I’m most worried about.”

  Those should be the least of his worries. He should be concerned with the craving deep in her belly, the one that made her mouth want to taste and her hands want to touch. Between the moment he’d dragged her into the house and now, one vital fact she’d suspected had been confirmed: He had no plans to hurt her. She’d given him the perfect opportunity to get rid of her quickly, quietly, permanently, and without any involvement. All he’d had to do was leave her out there. Yet he’d saved her, not only from the wolves and the elements but, ultimately, from herself.

  She pried one hand from his grasp, slid it up his chest and around the back of his neck. With her face pressed between his thick pectoral muscles, Alyssa rubbed her cheek against his warmth and strength. Dragged in the smell of hotel soap lingering from his shower that morning and his purely male and unique scent.

  She hummed in pleasure. “How can you c-create so much h-heat?”

  “We’ve been over this, remember?” His voice sounded thick and rough. “You know, my father, Hades, god of the fires of hell and all that?”

  She would have at least snickered, only her face would crack. She wedged her other arm underneath him, trying to align every inch of her skin with his. He might not have had much room, but he managed to scoot away again.

  Frustrated with both the lingering chill and his resistance, she pulled on his shoulder to roll him into her. “Hold m-me.”

  “I am,” he snapped.

  “Closer. I’m s-so cold.”

  “Honey.” His voice dropped to a raspy growl. He slid a thigh between hers, wrapped his arm around
her back and pressed their bodies together. “We can’t get a whole lot closer.”

  She’d like to prove him wrong. Dammit. Only he was still resisting. And she just didn’t get it. She might not be a Swedish goddess like Hannah, but she wasn’t the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either.

  She tightened her arms around him, soaking in his heat, revelling in the feel of him while the fire inside kicked up a notch. He smelled good, he felt good, he looked good. He was the only good thing in the moment. She couldn’t look ahead, couldn’t look back, or everything fell apart. All she could do was live right now.

  He wanted her, too. There had been hunger and passion in their kiss earlier in the day. There had been ownership and control in the way he touched and maneuvered her body in his arms. There had been demand and need in that thick, heavy shaft pressed against her pelvis.

  Her thoughts raised her body temperature, and closing that last bit of distance between them gained appeal by the moment.

  There was no time left for second-guessing herself. She knew what she wanted and she was going to reach for it. Now.

  TWELVE

  Alyssa let her hand drift down Teague’s ribs, her fingers playing along each indentation as she kissed his chest. He groaned, a pained, frustrated sound. His hips rocked and pressed into hers. His erection was thick and hard and so damn hot. Now this was more like it. Alyssa absorbed the deep zing of pleasure pulsing through her core.

  His fingers curved around her upper arm and pushed her back. His eyes skimmed her face and paused on her mouth.

  Yes. Kiss me.

  “What happened to that line in the sand?” he asked.

  Damn you.

  “What line?” She added pressure to the back of his head to bring him closer, craving the feel of his mouth.

  His hand fisted in her hair. Yes. Yes. Yes. Her mouth parted in anticipation of the pressure of his lips, the swirl of his tongue.

  But he pulled back instead of diving in. “You just went out in ten-degree weather to get away from me, remember?”

  Why was he being such a pain in the ass? That throbbing shaft pressed against her leg made it clear he wanted her. He’d been in prison for years. But maybe he didn’t want to want her. Or maybe it wasn’t her he wanted at all. A familiar determination prompted her to slide the inside of her thigh along his. “I changed my mind, didn’t I?”