He tried to turn toward her, but his injured shoulder stopped him, and he swore again, halting the movement. “Climb over on this side, so I can sleep on my right side and hold you.”
“I don’t need holding, thank you.” She was still feeling a little shaken by the way he’d reacted, as violently and swiftly as a snake striking. “You must have a hard time keeping bed partners.”
“You’re the only woman I’ve slept with, in the literal sense, in years,” he snapped. “Now do you want to take your chances on startling me again, or are you going to crawl over here?”
She got out of bed and walked around to the other side, and he slid over enough to make room for her. Without a word she lay down, turned her back to him and pulled the sheet up to cover them. In equal silence he positioned himself against her like a spoon, his thighs against the backs of hers, her bottom snuggling his loins, her back against his hard, broad chest. His right arm went under her head, and his left one curved around her waist, anchoring her in place. Rachel closed her eyes, branded by his heat and wondering how much of it was fever. She’d forgotten how it felt to lie like this with a man, to feel his strength wrapped around her like a blanket. “What if I bang against your shoulder or leg?” she whispered.
“It’ll hurt like hell,” he replied dryly, his breath stirring her hair. “Go to sleep. Don’t worry about it.”
How could she not worry about hurting him, when she would rather die than cause him pain? She nestled her head into the pillow, feeling the iron hard strength of his arm beneath it; her hand slid beneath the pillow and lightly closed over his wrist, a touch that she had to have now. “Good night,” she said, sinking into his warmth and letting drowsiness take over.
Sabin lay there, feeling her softness in his arms, the female sweetness of her scent in his nostrils and the remembered taste of her on his tongue. It felt too good, and that made him wary. It had been years since he’d actually slept with anyone; he had trained to such a fine, sharp edge that he hadn’t been able to tolerate anyone close to him while he slept, including his ex-wife. Even while he’d been married he had still been essentially alone, both mentally and physically. It was odd that he could feel so comfortable now, with Rachel sleeping in his arms, as if he didn’t need to be distant with her. He was innately cautious and solitary, on guard with everyone, including his own men; that trait had saved his life more than once. Maybe it was because he was already subconsciously accustomed to sleeping with her, to touching her and being touched by her, though that light touch on his arm had startled him into a violent reaction before he could catch himself.
For whatever reason, it felt good to hold her, to kiss her. She was a remarkably dangerous woman, because she tempted him in ways he’d never been tempted before. He thought of having sex with her. Every muscle in his body tightened, and he began to harden. Too bad he wasn’t able to roll her onto her back and do all the things to her he wanted to do, but that would have to wait. He would have her, but he’d have to be very careful that it didn’t become anything more than a good time. He couldn’t afford to let it be anything else, for both of them.
RACHEL WOKE SLOWLY, so completely comfortable she was loath to open her eyes and start the day. She was normally an early riser, wide-awake as soon as her feet hit the floor, and she really liked the morning. But on this particular morning she had burrowed deeply into her pillow, her body warm and relaxed, and she was aware of having slept better th
an she had in years. But where was Kell? She was immediately aware that he wasn’t in the bed; her eyes popped open, and she was out of bed before the thought was even completed. The bathroom door was open, so he wasn’t in there. “Kell?” she called, hurrying out of the bedroom.
“Out here.”
The answering call came from the back, and she almost ran to the rear door, which was standing open. He was sitting on the steps, wearing only the denim shorts, and Joe was lying on the grass at his feet. Ebenezer Duck and his faithful flock were waddling around the backyard, peacefully hunting insects. The rain the night before had left everything so fresh it almost hurt to look at it, and now the sun lit a dark-blue sky that didn’t have a cloud in sight. It was a remarkably peaceful morning, warm and sweet.
“How did you get out of bed without waking me?”
Bracing his hand on the step, he pushed himself to a standing position; she noticed that he seemed to be moving more easily than he had the day before. He faced her through the screen. “You were tired after taking care of me for four days.”
“You’re getting around better.”
“I feel stronger, and my head isn’t hurting.” He opened the screen door and hesitated for a moment, his black eyes swiftly running down her body. It was all she could do to keep from folding her arms across her chest, but she knew that the gown she’d chosen didn’t reveal anything, so the gesture would have been futile. She probably looked a mess, with her hair uncombed, but she’d seen him at his worst, so she wasn’t going to worry about that, either.
“I’m too used to playing mother hen,” she said, laughing a little. “When you weren’t in the bed I panicked. But since you’re all right, I’ll go get dressed and make breakfast.”
“Don’t get dressed on my account,” he drawled, a comment she ignored as she walked away. Kell watched until she was out of sight, then slowly made his way back up the steps and inside. He latched the screen door behind him. She didn’t play games by wearing slinky nightgowns and then pretending to be embarrassed by what was revealed, but she didn’t have to. With that pink flowered nightgown and her tousled hair, she looked warm and sleepy and so damned soft a man could sink into her. That was exactly what he’d wanted to do when he awoke to find that her nightgown had ridden up during the night and he was pressed against her bare thighs, with only the thin nylon of her panties keeping him from her. He’d become so aroused that he’d had to get out of bed, to remove himself from the temptation of her body. He swore impatiently at his own physical disability, because it kept him from taking her the way he wanted to take her, hard and fast and deep.
In only a few minutes she came back into the kitchen, her hair brushed out and pulled up on each side of her head with a wine-red butterfly clip. She was still barefoot, and she wore denim shorts so old that they were almost white, along with an oversize maroon jersey with the tail knotted at her waist. Her tanned face was completely free of makeup. She was comfortable with herself, he realized. She could probably stop traffic when she did deck herself out in silk and jewels, but she would do so only when she felt like it, not for someone else’s benefit. She was self-assured, and Kell liked that; he was so dominant that it took a strong woman not to be completely overpowered by him, not to shrink from him both in bed and out.
Working with an economy of motion, she put on the coffee and started the bacon frying. Until those twin aromas started filling the air he hadn’t been aware of how hungry he was, but abruptly his mouth began watering. She put biscuits in the oven, whipped four eggs for scrambling, then peeled and sliced a cantaloupe. Her clear gray eyes turned toward him. “This would be easier if I had my best knife.”
Sabin seldom laughed or was even amused, but the dry, chiding tone of her voice made him want to smile. He leaned against the work island to take the weight off his injured leg, unwilling to argue. He needed a means of self-defense, even if it was just a kitchen knife. Both logic and instinct insisted on it. “Do you have any sort of gun around here?”
Rachel deftly turned the bacon. “I have a .22 rifle under the bed, and a .357 loaded with ratshot in the glove compartment of the car.”
Swift irritation rose in him; why hadn’t she said anything about them the day before? Then she gave him another of those long, level looks, and he knew she was just waiting for him to say something. Why should she give a gun to a man who had held a knife on her? “What if I’d needed them during the night?”
“I don’t have any shells for the .357 other than ratshot, so I discounted it,” she replied calmly. “The .22 was within reach, and I not only know how to use it, I have two good arms as opposed to your one.” She felt safe at Diamond Bay, but common sense dictated that she have some means of protection; she was a woman who lived alone, without close neighbors. Both the weapons she had were for what her grandfather had called “varmints,” though anyone looking down the barrel of the .357 wouldn’t know that it was loaded with ratshot. She had chosen both for self-protection, not for killing.
He paused, his black eyes narrowed. “Why tell me now?”
“One, because you told me who you are. Two, because you asked. Three, even without the knife, you weren’t unarmed. Handicapped, but not helpless.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked down at his hard, brown bare feet. “The calluses on the outside edges of your feet, and on your hands. Not many people have them. You work out barefoot, don’t you?”
When he spoke his voice was quiet and silky, and it raised a chill along her spine. “You notice a lot, honey.”
She nodded in agreement. “Yes.”