Of course she didn’t. His dark frown stifled anything she might have said. “You’re gonna have to sit up again,” he told her curtly.
With a hand behind each shoulder, he pulled her into a sitting position again and propped her against the headboard. He gathered the T-shirt up and tried to pull it over her head. Alex winced the instant he set it against her hair.
“This isn’t working,” he muttered. Then, with a single, violent motion, he ripped the neck of the shirt wide enough to slip over her head without causing any pain.
When she lay back down, she touched the long tear in the fabric. “Thanks. This was one of my favorites.”
“Sorry.” He pulled the covers up to her chin and stood up. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes.”
He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”
She nodded weakly. “Do you need anything before I go? Water?”
“Okay. Put a glass of water on the nightstand, please.”
When he returned to the side of the bed, carrying the glass of water, she had already fallen asleep. Reede stood above her. Her hair, fanned out over the pillow, had bloodstains in it. There was an unnatural wanness to her complexion. It made him sick at his stomach to think how close she’d come to serious injury or death.
He set the glass of water on the nightstand and gingerly lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Alex stirred, murmured unintelligibly, and extended her hand, as though reaching for something. Responding to that silent, subconscious appeal, Reede carefully covered her cut hands with his strong, callused ones.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if her eyes had popped open and she had started rebuking him for taking her virginity. How the hell could he have known?
And if I had known, he thought to himself, I would have done it anyway.
She didn’t wake up. She only snuffled softly and trustingly curved her fingers over his knuckles. Good sense and impulse warred within him, but the fight didn’t last long, and the outcome had been decided before his conscience raised its head.
He eased himself onto the bed, until he was stretched out full beside her, facing her, feeling her gentle, drug-induced breaths against his face.
He marveled over the delicate bone structure of her face, the shape of her mouth, the way her eyelashes lay upon her cheeks.
“Alex.” He whispered her name, not to awaken her, but merely for the pleasure of speaking it out loud.
She sighed deeply, drawing his attention down to the torn T-shirt. Through the tear he could see the smooth slope of her breasts. Her cleavage was dusky in the faint lamplight, shadowy and velvety, and he wanted to press his open mouth there.
He didn’t. Nor did he kiss her vulnerable mouth, even though his mind was wildly occupied with how softly and deeply and wetly she kissed.
He thought of fondling the tempting mounds of her breasts. He could see the dark impressions of their centers behind the soft cloth of the T-shirt, and knew that with the merest touch of his tongue or fingertips, they would become taut. And that damned T-shirt was far sexier than any fancy negligee and garter belt that Nora Gail had ever worn.
It was hell to lie this close to her and not touch, but it was heaven to have this much access, to stare his fill. When the pleasure and pain of it got to be too much, he reluctan
tly withdrew his hand from hers and left the bed.
After making certain that she had enough blankets, that the medication had her completely sedated, he slipped quietly out of the room.
Chapter 39
“Come in.” Junior was sitting up in bed watching TV and smoking a joint when Reede entered his room. “Hi. What brings you around?” He offered Reede the marijuana.
“No, thanks.” Reede dropped into the easy chair and propped his boots on the matching ottoman.
The room had undergone very few changes since the first time Reede had been invited into it, although Junior had updated the furniture when he elected to move home after his last divorce. It was a spacious room, designed with comfort in mind.
“Lord, I’m tired,” Reede said, running his fingers through his hair.
Junior pinched out the smoldering cigarette and put it away. “You look it.”
“Thanks.” He grinned ruefully. “How come I always look like forty miles of bad road and you’re always perfectly groomed?”