Fever

by Joan Swan

  His brows dipped. “What?”

  “I came back. That’s what I was doing when you found me. Coming back, not running.”

  He continued to stare at her, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief to fear and finally to anger.

  “Fucking A.” He released her hair and rolled his shoulder back so their bodies were still touching, but not in the most sensitive areas. With gentle pressure, he pushed her head to pillow it on his shoulder. “For a smart woman, that has to be the stupidest thing you’ve done so far.”

  Her chest pinched. Anger rushed up to soothe the hurt of yet another rejection. “What? Running or coming back?”

  “Both. Didn’t take you long to figure out you’d freeze or be eaten, huh?”

  She wasn’t quite ready to declare her faith in his innocence. Not because she didn’t believe, but because she doubted he’d believe her. “Maybe I decided since you’re the one who created this mess for me, you should be the one to get me out of it.”

  “I don’t know how the hell you expect me—”

  “You’ll find a way. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do your damnedest.”

  “Have I told you lately what a jerk you are?”

  “Not in the last hour, but I think it’s been implied from day one.”

  A hard shiver came out of nowhere and racked her body. Teague tightened his arm around her shoulders and made a sweep down her arm with one big, warm hand.

  She cuddled closer, his warmth finally settling in and easing her muscles. “I didn’t come back to fight with you.”

  He didn’t respond, but the silence remained tense, as if all the unspoken issues between them sat like parrots on swings swaying above their heads.

  Teague continued to stroke her back and arms, and she tried to think about something other than the way she felt pressed against the hard muscle of his chest, his ribs, his thigh. But every other topic that came to mind brought trauma. Her work, her future, her family.

  Alyssa’s thoughts turned to the same topics for Teague, which brought a flood of questions, the first and foremost centering around this Kat—evidently the whole reason Alyssa was here in the first place. And the sudden realization that she might have very well been throwing herself at a married or otherwise committed man made her feel queasy.

  Alyssa decided to drag the biggest parrot off its perch and start plucking feathers.

  “You must really love her, this Kat.” She murmured the thought, wondering, maybe hoping, that was the reason he’d rejected her. “I mean, it takes a big man to, you know, overlook the fact that the woman he loves has been with another man or might love another man.”

  Teague’s hand stilled. His body tightened. “It’s not like that.” His voice was oddly soft. Filled with an emotion that reached out and tugged at Alyssa’s heart. “And I do love her. More than I could ever explain.”

  Not like what? was the real question she wanted to ask, but she already sensed he was shutting down. “Does she know how much you’re risking to get back to her?”

  “That doesn’t matter.” His tone took on a determined edge. “All that matters is that we spend the rest of our lives together.”

  Alyssa’s eyes floated closed. She would have to get stuck with the best-looking man around who still had morals after being imprisoned for three years. She thought of his conversation with Luke. Teague had threatened to kill himself if his freedom was placed at risk. What would he do if Kat rejected him?

  “Will she be there when you get wherever it is you’re going?” she asked.

  His fingers increased the pressure over her shoulder blade, then released. “She’ll be there.”

  The surety, the finality, the forceful determination in his voice made Alyssa pull back and look up at him. The firelight cast shadows over the planes of his face, making him look fierce in the sexiest way.

  “Teague.” She waited until he tilted his chin and looked at her. “You have to be prepared for the possibility that she doesn’t want the same things you want. It’s been a long time.”

  His eyes glazed over as if he was remembering, then hardened with resolve. “She wants to be with me. I have no doubts about that. We love each other—unconditionally.”

  Unconditionally. Envy niggled deep in Alyssa’s psyche. The only person who’d ever loved her to that degree, had been her father. But somehow her mother had always interfered with that love.

  Alyssa closed her eyes, shutting out the ever-present source of disillusionment. She shifted closer to Teague, feeling warmer by the moment.

  “She must be something,” she murmured. “Two men who love her enough to fight for her.”

  Teague’s hand lifted to Alyssa’s head and stroked down her hair, then paused at the ends to twirl a lock around his fingers. The gesture was so sweet, it sent uncomfortable mixed messages considering the conversation.

  “Are you going to marry her?” She dreaded the answer, but had to know. “I mean, after going to these lengths to get back to her, you must be planning on marrying her, right?”

  Teague had known this would happen. It hadn’t taken long to realize Alyssa’s curiosity would bring them to this subject.

  He breathed a frustrated sigh and pulled away from her. He couldn’t take it anymore. Her body was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again as he’d undressed her. With all that luscious skin and those perfect curves pressed against him, he was about to go insane.

  Not to mention her advance. The warmth of her lips on his chest, the slide of her leg over his, it was enough to make him come in his shorts. Now she was pushing about Kat, and the two thoughts combined brought up too much frustration to bear. Then there was the fear she’d unearthed—one he’d kept buried somewhere deep and dark—that Kat wouldn’t want him when he came for her... . He planted his feet on the floor and stood.

  “Wait,” she complained from the sofa. “Don’t go.”

  He glanced back to find her reaching for him. And Jesus-God-Almighty she was so beautiful. And so naked. And warm. And soft. And ... fuck. It took everything he had to turn away and crouch in front of the hearth to fiddle with the fire.

  Part of him wished she’d just kept going, escaped tonight and gone back to where she belonged. But another part of him ached at the thought of her absence. And, logistically, it was too soon. He needed her to stay quiet a while longer so he could follow through with his plans. But, hell ... keeping her close under these circumstances ... Yeah, complete hell.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to upset you. I just want you to realize that things may not go your way.”

  “That’s an interesting comment coming from you.”

  “Don’t get all pissy. I’m worried about what you’re going to face when you see her again. I’d rather not have to witness you getting your heart broken or have to deal with the fallout.”

  “When did you turn into Miss Compassion?”

  “You know I’m right. You’ve considered the possibility or you wouldn’t be so defensive.”

  He looked over his shoulder. She was still turned on her side, huddling beneath the blanket, her tousled black hair spilling everywhere, those light eyes sparking with what had become a familiar look of determination.

  Teague didn’t want to think about the repercussions of failure when it came to getting Kat back, because if it didn’t happen, there was only one option, and the thought of putting a bullet in his brain wasn’t particularly appealing.

  “Kat’s my flesh and blood. She’s my daughter. She belongs with me. Period. I will get her back.” He turned back to the fire and tossed on three more logs.

  “D-daughter?” she squeaked. “She’s your daughter?” The shock in her voice made a grin turn the edges of his mouth. “You have a daughter? How old is she? Why does whoever this Luke is have her? And where the hell is your wife?”

  His grin dimmed to a bitter smirk. Those inevitable que
stions were exactly why he’d avoided the subject. He heaved a breath, pushed to his feet and turned back toward the sofa. Each time she looked at him, her gaze traveled over his body with such hunger. Hunger that in turn brought the lust he’d been harboring to the surface.

  When her eyes reached his face again, she veiled them. “Are you married?”

  He thought of Suzanna. She’d been gone so long now, he sometimes believed she was a figment of his imagination.

  “No, I’m not married, but I am tired. And I don’t want to be peppered with questions.”

  She pushed herself up on her elbow. The blanket slipped off her shoulder and dipped at her chest. Teague told himself to look away, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

  “You can’t just dump that bombshell and expect me to accept it,” she said. “You’ve put me through a hell of a lot the last couple of days. The least you can do is tell me why.”

  “Playing the guilt card,” he said. “That’s good.”

  She lowered her chin and glared at him, then sat up, swinging her feet to the floor, holding the blanket up around her chest. Her dark hair fell over her forehead, skimmed her cheeks, drifted down her shoulders.

  Teague’s fingers curled into his palms. He wanted her so badly, she eclipsed all rational thought. He’d bet she’d be a fireball in bed. A woman who gave as much as she took. He pictured sweeping passion and erotic satisfaction. And she was five feet away, completely naked and willing. Even inviting.

  And that would be a really stupid move. If he started something with this woman, he was well aware there would be consequences—mind, body and soul. Yet ...

  The ring of the phone startled him back from the edge of fantasy. A streak of panic shot through his chest as he turned toward the kitchen, where an old rotary hung on the wall.

  The phone rang again. Not the kitchen phone. Teague swiveled toward the sound, but the ring traveled with him. His jeans. The pocket of his jeans. The cell?

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Alyssa asked.

  He dug into his pocket, pulled the phone out and looked at the display, which read “private caller” with no number. He picked up the gun and went to the front door, tilted his head and listened. No voices, no crunching footsteps, no car engines. With the phone still ringing in his hand, he cracked the front door and peered through the inch-wide space. Nothing but blackness beyond the porch.

  He exhaled, long and slow, closed and relocked the door. Then he punched the answer button on the cell and put it to his ear, but didn’t speak.

  “Teague?” Seth’s voice drained all the remaining tension from Teague’s shoulders. “You there?”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “It’s called caller I.D. It was in effect long before you went to prison.”

  Yeah, but Teague had thought the number on a throwaway cell was blocked. “Who else knows I called you? Who else has this number?”

  “No one, shithead. You think I ran around the neighborhood telling everyone that I’m taking Kat to see her escaped convict father?”

  Teague closed his eyes on the rush of excitement, his anxiety from moments before forgotten. He could almost feel Kat’s warm little body against his chest, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck she choked off his air, just like the last time he’d seen her in the prison visitation room. “When and where? I’ll be there.”

  “Tomorrow,” Seth grumbled. “I convinced Tara I needed a little time alone with Kat before ... before ... fuck.”

  Teague could relate to the pain in Seth’s voice. He’d lived it every day for the last three years. A certain amount of guilt nagged in the back of his mind. But either Luke would take Kat away from Seth or Teague would.

  “Okay,” Teague said. “That’s doable. Give me the details.”

  “I’ll have to call you tomorrow. The atmosphere around here is volatile. Tara’s been under so much pressure. She’s anxious and ... Anyway, I have to play it by ear to gauge everyone’s mood.”

  Teague ground his teeth. “Call me by eight to let me know what’s going on. I’m going crazy here.”

  “Fine.” Seth sounded distracted. “What are you going to do now? After you see Kat, I mean?”

  Teague had more than a little doubt about that moment himself, the moment he’d have to take Kat from Seth and walk away. He only hoped Seth would see the rightness of Teague’s plan.

  “I’m still working that out. Just focus on Tara. She’s the one who needs you now.” He closed his eyes and scratched at the new hair growth on his scalp. “I’m sorry it all turned out like this. Sorry it’s been so hard on you two.”

  “Not your fault,” Seth mumbled. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Teague disconnected and stared at the phone a moment. He dropped his head back, closed his eyes and hissed, “Yessssssssssss.”

  “What was that about?”

  Teague startled back to the present at the sound of Alyssa’s voice. For a moment, he’d forgotten she was even there. But it only took one look at her huddled in that blanket, the firelight playing over her beautiful face and all that dark hair to remember where his mind had been before the phone call.

  “That was about something finally going right.”

  Alyssa floated out of sleep gradually, like a diver breaking the surface of the water. She didn’t open her eyes, but snuggled into the warmth surrounding her. She knew exactly where she was and whose lap her head rested on. And this time she didn’t wake fearing him.

  He’d stayed in the living room with her all night, made sure she was warm, continually monitored her for fever, checked her stitches twice and plied her with ibuprophen and antibiotics. In between, he’d spent long moments with healing fingers stroking her injury, his palm laid over the stitches. Not once had he attempted to take advantage of the situation. Much to her disappointment.

  In fact, he’d refused to climb back under the same blanket with her after his phone call and had taken up residence on the other side of the sectional sofa. At some point during the night, he’d fallen into the corner seat and laid his head back. Alyssa had seen the opportunity and scuttled close until her cheek lay against the supple warmth of his thigh.

  Now, as she lay curled as close to him as she could get, the most comfortable she’d been in days, Teague’s fingers toyed with her hair. He picked up a strand, ran it through his fingers, then curled the tip round and round before doing it all over again. Continuously.

  She didn’t know what it was exactly about the gesture that made her want to purr like a kitten. The touch was sweet and endearing, intimate and loving. It was something no man had ever done before. In fact, none of the other men in her life had ever acknowledged her softer side. No one except her father. Maybe that’s why Teague could see it, because he was the father of a daughter himself. One risking the very freedom he swore he’d never jeopardize to get back to his baby. A fact that twisted her image of the man a hundred and eighty degrees.

  Alyssa repositioned her head on Teague’s thigh, rubbing her cheek against the muscle, tipping her nose to his skin and breathing him in. Warm. Masculine. She opened her eyes, and took a moment to let them drift over the small room. Since there was no source of natural light, it looked exactly as it had the night before. “What time is it?”

  Teague lifted the cell he held in his hand and looked at the display. “Seven-fifty-seven.”

  The tightness of his voice exposed the impatience he was stifling as he waited for his call.

  Alyssa looked up at him. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s, clear and bright, the color she imagined the sky would be today. His jaw ticked beneath the stubble of overnight beard. The hair on his head was already half an inch long, and it was coming in lighter than she’d expected, more golden than brown.

  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

  “Some.”

  “You’re in another talkative mood.”

  His eyes flicked down to meet hers, then rolled away. “Don’t tell me you’re a morn
ing person.”

  The gesture made her wonder more about his daughter. “Does Kat look like you or her mother?”

  He hesitated. “Her mother. Dark hair, brown eyes, fair skin.”

  Wow, he’d actually answered her. She felt a sense of accomplishment. Wanted to push forward with questions about Kat’s mother, but knew she’d instantly stop the flow of information.

  “Straight or wavy?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Her hair. Straight or wavy?”

  “Wavy. Curly, actually.” His voice softened. “Hard to get a brush through it some days.”

  “Hmm. Turned-up nose? Freckles?”

  “No. She’s got delicate little features and perfect skin with these cheeks that are constantly pink.” He sighed. “She’s beautiful.”

  The love in his voice tugged at her. “I bet she is. Is she shy or friendly?”

  “A social butterfly. She makes friends with everyone she meets. Totally open. No fear. Starts up conversations in the supermarket line.”

  “How old?”

  “Almost six.”

  Which meant she’d been only two when he’d gone to prison. Probably just a baby when the crime occurred. “She’s in kindergarten then?”

  “Next fall. Her birthday missed the cut-off.” His voice turned distracted. He lifted the phone and looked at the display, mumbling, “Come on, Seth.”

  Alyssa waited, letting the comfort of their conversation sink in. She snuggled against his leg again, but her mind couldn’t stop wondering how he had possibly been accused of killing his girlfriend.

  “Who is Seth to you?” she asked.

  “A friend.” The clipped tone was back, warning her off the subject.

  “And Luke?”

  He hesitated. “My former brother-in-law.”

  So he had been married. “Your wife’s brother. Kat’s uncle, then.”