Читать книгу Lone Star Knight - Cindy Gerard, Dianna Love, Шеррилин Кеньон - Страница 10

Helena knew she was dreaming. She knew it because in the dream she was perfect and she was whole. Still…it felt so immediate, so real and oh, so preferable to the nightmare that always concluded with searing flames and brutal pain.

Oh, yes. She liked this dream so much better.

In it, she was in the middle of a grand ballroom. A gentle mist drifted at her feet as if conjured by a medieval mage from a swirl of stardust and moonbeams. She floated with the fantasy of it, seeing herself as she’d once been. Her left hand was smooth and pale, a perfect, graceful backdrop for the pearl-and-ruby ring that had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s before her.

Her dress was the same blue as her eyes. It was also strapless and shamelessly seductive. The parchment-thin, watery silk clung to the full curve of her breasts, nipped in at her waist then hugged her hips to end at mid-thigh and reveal the long, unblemished length of her legs, showcase her slender ankles in three-inch heels.

That there were no scars to hide, no broken bones as yet unhealed, wasn’t even the best part. The best part was the tall, gallant Texan who held her in his arms, his green eyes glittering, his captivating smile an irresistible mix of affable charm and unapologetic interest.

She laughed at something he said, for he was enchanting, this man whose eyes gleamed with a desire he did not attempt to hide. His arm tightened around her waist as he danced her effortlessly through open French doors and out into a warm, starry night. Even the moon, it seemed, was in league with his not-so-subtle seduction as he waltzed her to an intimate corner of a flagstone terrace made secluded by a vine-draped arbor, fragrantly blooming cactus and whispering crape myrtle.

When she smiled and backed away from him toward the low stone wall that encompassed the terrace, he let her go with a lingering caress, a brush of fingertip to fingertip, and a meaningful look in his eyes.

He wanted her.

Despite the warmth of the Texas night, she shivered in anticipation of the passion those green eyes promised.

“Is it wise, do you think? For us to be out here? Alone?” she asked, turning away from him and leaning into the low wall. The cool, hard stone pressing against the front of her thighs felt solid and real. Her awareness of the man and the moment sent her pulse rate soaring.

“Offhand…” his voice was meltingly low, seductively Texan, as he moved up close behind her, “I’d say it’s one of the smarter moves I’ve made lately.”

He was so close she could feel the hush of his breath, warm and intimate against her bare shoulder, so near she could sense the callused roughness of his hands even before he settled them at her waist and drew her back against him. A ripple of excitement eddied through her blood as he gently squeezed, then in a slow, smooth caress, glided his broad palms, fingers spread wide, possessively down the curve of her hip.

Her heart jumped to her throat, her breath quickened. “Mr. Walker—”

“Matt,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to her nape and his hands, in an unmistakable claim, to her outer thighs. “I think current circumstances absolutely dictate that you call me Matt.”

On a sigh, she let her head fall back against his shoulder, covered his hands with hers. The heat and the hardness of him pressed against her set her on fire.

“Are all Texans this bold and sure of themselves?” she managed breathlessly.

“There’s only one thing I’m sure of,” he murmured and with her hands still riding his, covered her abdomen and tugged her snugly against him. His arousal pressed, provocative and brazen, against her hips. “I want you.”

He turned her in his arms. His eyes smoldered with longing and lust, yet, he smiled slow and heart-meltingly sweet. Clasping her hands in his, he lifted them to his mouth, touched his lips to the fingertips of her right hand and then her left.

“You’re perfect, Helena.” He met her eyes in the shifting, midnight shadows. “I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

He kissed her then. There beneath the West Texas moon, with the scent of the desert wafting in the air, the silk of his softly curling hair drifting through her fingers, she kissed him back. As she’d kissed no other man. Wanting him as she’d wanted no other man.

It was everything a kiss should be. Stirring yet sweet. Hot yet unhurried. And she wanted it to go on forever. Just the two of them. Just this rich savoring of each other’s mouths in the moonlight.

“Dance with me,” he said against her lips and they began to move as one to the slow rhythm of the night and the hearts that beat in tandem.

The mist swirled around them, shimmering and cool, enveloping them in yet another realm, a singular world of delicious sensations and softly murmured praise. The magic continued as he waltzed her through the night to a bedroom richly appointed with sensuous satins and gossamer lace. He praised her body as he slowly undressed her. She complied willingly as he laid her naked on a down-draped bed. She invited him into her body without reservation as he whispered her name, covered her, entered her.

Like silk, he moved inside her. Like life, he gave of himself.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against her brow then nuzzled heated kisses across her cheek, beneath her jaw, against the crown of her breast until she was trembling and helpless to anything but him.

“Perfect…”

A perfect pain engulfed her. So perfect and so pure she knew in an instant she was no longer dreaming. What she was feeling was real. Excruciatingly real.

She opened her eyes, jolted cruelly from the dream to predawn light, to sterile white walls, the scent of antiseptic and the awful awareness that she had been thrashing in her sleep and had slammed her left hand against the gunmetal-gray headboard of her hospital bed.

Biting back tears, she cradled her hand against her ribs and waited for the pain to subside. When, at long last, it did, she waited for sleep to reclaim her. For the magic of the dream to take her.

But sleep didn’t come. Neither did the magic. Magic was for dreamers and dreamers were merely fools who found reality too difficult to bear.

“Do you have any questions about Dr. Harding’s or Dr. Chambers’s discharge instructions, Helena?”

Sitting up in her hospital bed, Helena smiled at Justin Webb. Not for the first time in the two months that she’d known him, she thought how lucky his new bride was to have found him. The good doctor, in addition to being handsome, had kind blue eyes. She met them steadily as the soft inflections in his voice told her his major concern had less to do with her questions than with his—specifically, the ones he didn’t ask anymore because he’d given up on getting a straight answer.

A game smile in place, she shook her head. “No. I think I’ve got it. Watch for infections, do my mobility exercises, have a nice life.”

He smiled patiently. “Helena, I’m all too familiar with the trauma a burn victim suffers when faced with the scarring and the inevitability of future reconstructive surgeries. Despite that brave front you hide behind, you’re not fooling me, sweetie.”

Helena’s mind locked on one word and wouldn’t let go. Victim. The word raced through her head like a brushfire that would consume her if she let it. She would not be a victim. She would not be perceived as a victim, and yet, when Justin eased a hip onto the corner of her bed it was all she could do to meet his eyes.

“The infection set you back, but you’re healing well now. I know that doesn’t necessarily mean any of this is easy.”

For the barest of moments, she felt moisture mist her eyes. She looked quickly away before he could see it and know how right he was. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy to know that while she would walk, she might never ski again, or ride her favorite mount—or dance with a beautiful green-eyed Texan who had haunted her dreams almost as often as the memory of the crash. But those were her problems to deal with. No one else’s.

Quickly composing herself, she smiled the smile she’d perfected over the years for both the paparazzi and the public. “Justin. Darling.” She patted his hand. “You worry too much. It’s a—how do you Americans say it?—a piece of pie.”

His grin was both indulgent and exasperated as he gently corrected her. “I believe that’s piece of cake. And you’re ducking the issue. Again.”

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her uninjured hand. “I’m alive. I’m in one piece. And as you said, I’m healing. I’m a lucky woman. Now, I know it’s part of your bedside manner to fuss, but stop it, would you? I’m fine. Really,” she insisted when his grave look suggested that he suspected otherwise. She was fine. She was. And if she repeated it often enough, maybe she’d start to believe it.

“There are support groups,” he offered after a long moment.

“Oh, please.” She shook her head, smiled her most brilliant smile. “Justin. You are a kind and gifted physician. And I am a strong and healthy woman. So I’ve got some scarring—and this bothersome broken ankle. So I may never ski Mount Orion again. Life goes on. I’ll adjust.”

“I have no doubt, Helena, that you will adjust—in time. But if you would talk with someone it might speed the process. If not a support group, your family—?”

“My family,” she interrupted, her smile disappearing, “must not be bothered by this. On that point, I insist. They are not to be made aware of my condition until I’m ready to tell them.”

“How can they not be aware? You’ve been front-page news for two months.”

“They are not aware because they chose to believe me when I phoned to inform them that the American press is littered with sensation-seeking bottom-feeders who fabricate those horrible stories about me because they sell papers and magazines. Honestly, do you believe everything you read in the paper?”

She tossed her hair behind her shoulder—a purely aristocratic gesture of dismissal. “No. Of course you don’t. So, of course they’re not aware. My parents are on an extended tour of the Orient for their thirtieth wedding anniversary and I will not have their vacation interrupted.

“Now don’t you glare at me like that, Justin. As far as my parents know, the only reason I decided to stay in the States was to see if I could cultivate interest and gather additional financial backing for one of my projects.”

She graced him with another wide, winning smile—the one that had successfully opened thousands of checkbooks to the tune of millions of dollars for her numerous causes. “You Texans are known for the size of your bank accounts as well as the size of your state, is that not so? Which reminds me, darling…I’ve been meaning to speak to you about a donation.”

“All right. All right.” He held up both hands in surrender, his grin relaying both defeat and exasperation. “Message received. I’ll back off. You’re a big girl. You know what you can handle. Just—just call me, would you? Call anytime if you change your mind about the support group.”

“Yes, Mother doctor.”

“Okay. That’s it.” He scowled with mock seriousness and stood. “Take your smart mouth and your stubborn blue-blooded pride and do not darken these hospital doors again until I tell you you’re ready for cosmetic surgery.”

“Don’t worry. As kind as everyone has been, I still can’t get out of here fast enough.”

“The timing is good then because I believe your transport is waiting.”

“Gregory and Anna are here?” While Helena did not relish imposing on Princess Anna von Oberland and her husband, Gregory Hunt, she was nonetheless relieved at their offer to recuperate at their ranch, Casa Royale.

“The press got wind that you might be released today and have been camping out on the front steps. Greg and Anna are running a little interference, hoping to take some of the heat off you.”

They were very gracious, the princess and her handsome husband—especially in light of the recent unpleasantness between Asterland and Princess Anna’s homeland of Obersbourg. As unpleasant as it was, however, it was still more appealing to dwell on that horrible business than on the horde of reporters waiting for their first glimpse of her since the crash.

Waiting to be shocked by what they saw.

Waiting to look at her with pity in their eyes. To feed on her weakness and expose her for what she no longer was.

That, she promised herself, would never happen. They would see only what she wanted them to see. And they would not see a victim.

“Helena? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Fine,” she insisted quickly and attempted to mask the shakiness in her voice by sitting up. “Now unless you want to see my bare backside, I’d suggest you leave me so I can get dressed.” To prove she meant business, she tossed back the sheet and carefully swung her legs to the side of the bed.

“All right. I’m gone.” He laughed and turned to leave.

“Justin.”

Her soft voice stopped him, one hand on the door.

“Thank you. Thank you for being my friend. I’m glad it was you on call that night.”

His smile was achingly endearing. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

“And I’m just doing mine, so don’t forget about that donation,” she reminded him, with another of those practiced smiles that she knew could charm him out of a generous contribution.

“The check’s in the mail,” he promised with a shake of his head, then chuckled when her playfully muttered, “Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” chased him out the door.

Helena watched the door close slowly behind him. Alone, she let down her guard, dropped all pretense of bravery and hung her head like the coward she feared she’d become.

She’d said all the right things, made all the right noises. While Justin wasn’t altogether convinced that she was all right, she felt she had convinced him that after spending most of January and all of February in the burn unit, she was bursting to get out of here.

The truth was that the thought of leaving terrified her. Yes, the isolation had been, in some ways, like a prison—but it had also been a refuge. As long as she was here, she didn’t have to face the public. She didn’t have to face the press.

As long as she was here, she didn’t have to face the fact that she had left the world a whole, perfect person—and that she would be returning to it profoundly diminished.

A few minutes later, a light rap on the door brought Helena’s head up from the simple task of buttoning her blouse. At any rate it used to be simple. Now, getting any assistance from her left hand was an exercise in pain and frustration.

Squeezing her eyes tightly, she composed herself. These resurgent and pathetic bouts of self-pity simply had to stop.

“Please come in,” she called cheerily. “I’m decent. At least I’m getting there. Although you might find the air in here a bit blue.”

When Anna von Oberland-Hunt walked into the room, Helena manufactured a sheepish grin for the elegant princess.

“You know, Anna, when I was a little girl, my mother was always threatening to ship me off to Australia to some obscure penal colony for foul-mouthed little hellions.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m thinking, in retrospect, it might not have been a bad plan. No doubt, if she’d been here just before you arrived, she’d have thought she should have followed through and sent me packing.”

“If she were here,” Anna said gently, “she would have offered to help. I’m a poor substitute, but if there’s anything I can do, just say the word.”

Helena shook her head to combat the renewed threat of tears that Anna’s kindness fostered. “It’s these cursed buttons.” She sighed in exasperation. “It’s rather like starting from scratch, isn’t it? One two, buckle my shoe…three four, what’d they invent these blasted buttons for?”

“I’m so sorry, Helena. I should have thought of that when I selected your clothes.”

“Oh, please. I already feel that I’ve taken horrible advantage of you. Don’t make me feel worse by apologizing for your kindness.”

A look that passed between them underscored Helena’s gratitude for all that Anna and Greg had done—right down to retrieving her luggage from the authorities and selecting lingerie in the form of camisoles and teddies so she wouldn’t have to deal with the impossible task of wrestling with a bra. Hooks, and now it seemed buttons, were currently beyond her.

Yes, she owed Anna and Gregory Hunt. The invitation they’d extended for her to stay with them was one she appreciated for both its kindness and its diplomacy. Given the strained relations between Anna’s homeland of Obersbourg and Helena’s of Asterland—a result of Helena’s late cousin Ivan Striksky’s disgraceful and failed plot to force the princess to marry him—their offer was generous beyond measure.

“It looks like you could use a little help right now,” Anna offered kindly.

“A lot is more like it,” Helena admitted. “And I’m past being too proud to accept it until I can manage better on my own.”

If she could ever manage better. Tears welled up again. She blinked them back. Damn and blast it. She’d begun to think that someone had surgically removed her spine when she was under anesthetic. Worse even than dealing with her new limitations was fighting this crippling depression. She would not give in to it.

She met the princess’s eyes as Anna made quick work of the pearl buttons on the dove-gray silk blouse that matched Helena’s slacks. Not for the first time, she admired Anna’s beauty and grace. She thought of the times that their paths had crossed. Theirs had been a passing acquaintance even though she’d often thought they would make fine friends. Now she was sure of it.

“I hope I won’t have to impose on you for much more than a month. I need to stay close to the medical complex until the graft is more stable. Then, there’s this pesky thing.” She tapped the temporary boot cast that was nearly hidden beneath her loose-legged slacks. “This, at least I can walk in and remove from time to time until I lose it for good.”

“You have something major to look forward to then.”

“Truth to tell,” Helena confessed, needing to take the focus away from herself, “I am so looking forward to seeing Casa Royale. An honest-to-goodness Texas ranch. How exciting.” Rallying another smile for Anna’s benefit, she confided with a teasing lift of a brow, “This cowboy thing is…well, it’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

Another rap sounded on the door.

“Ladies?” a deep masculine voice intoned. “How are we doing in there?”

Helena’s eyes were twinkling when they met Anna’s. “Speaking of fascinating…”

Helena laughed when Anna answered her wicked grin with one of her own.

“Actually, we could use your help, Gregory.” Anna eyed Helena’s wheelchair with a dubious scowl as her husband walked into the room. “I’m not sure how to make this thing work. Or for that matter, how to get you into it, Helena.”

“That part, I can manage,” Helena assured them, then proved it by easing carefully off the bed. In halting steps, she maneuvered into the chair.

Greg Hunt was quick to kneel down in front of her, support her cast and adjust the leg and foot brace on the chair.

“Goodness, you’re very good at that dropping to one knee business.” Helena’s eyes sparkled as she watched his dark head bent over her leg. “Makes one wonder if Anna pulls rank on occasion and has you kneeling to the crown.”

A totally male, totally engaging grin stole across his darkly handsome face. “A loyal subject always knows when to step and when to fetch where the princess is concerned.”

Anna looked from Greg to Helena and back to Greg. She smiled sweetly. “Having fun?”

“Always, darling.” He stood and dropped a kiss full of promises on her brow then turned back to Helena, who was quietly envying the love they shared. “All set?”

“Absolutely.” Helena told herself it wasn’t a lie. She was ready to do this, and she held on to that belief right up until a racket in the hallway had them all turning their heads.

Greg strode swiftly to the door and looked outside. He turned back with a scowl. “Looks like it’s show time. The press are on the floor—and they’re salivating.”

Helena had been anticipating this. She’d been preparing for it. And she’d thought she was ready. Her racing heart said she wasn’t. The rush of dizziness confirmed it.

The press had tried to feed on her for her entire life. She’d always known how to handle them, had always maintained control. She’d treated them like the predators they were, using her looks to hold them at bay as a lion tamer used a whip and chair.

In a stunning moment of truth, she realized that no matter what she’d thought she could do, she couldn’t hold them off now. Not in this condition. She most definitely could not control them. She wasn’t that strong. To her mortification, she realized that she wasn’t that brave. Without her full arsenal to draw from, they would rip her to shreds.

She met Greg’s eyes, determined he’d see neither her shame nor her fear as the noise in the hall escalated to an electric buzz in anticipation of the feeding frenzy she knew it would become.

“You know,” she said, drawing on her reserves to keep her voice steady, “I really don’t think I want to do this today. It’s so pedestrian and, well, tacky—this spectacle they would make of something as uneventful as my release from the hospital.”

Greg and Anna exchanged a concerned glance.

“I mean—can’t we just make them go away somehow?” she suggested with a regal calmness her racing heart worked to undercut.

Her breath caught when the door swung open, and it suddenly seemed it was going to happen with or without her permission. She steeled herself, closed her eyes, and waited for the first verbal blow to land.

Instead of a chorus of demanding voices, one voice—a gruffly velvet, Texas drawl—rang out, clear, composed, and in total control. “It seems we’ve got a situation out here.”

If possible, her heartbeat quickened, not with fear but with relief as she looked up and into a pair of forest-green eyes that burned so furiously and so fiercely that she would have flinched if she hadn’t recognized them.

It was Matthew Walker. Her tall, green-eyed Texan. On the heels of that shock, came another. Neither her memory nor her dreams had done justice to this magnificent man in a silver-gray Stetson, slim dark slacks and crisp white shirt who had just burst back into her life like an avenging angel intent on slaying Lucifer himself if he had to.

He glanced first at Anna then at Greg before his gaze settled, with grim intensity, on her.

She didn’t stop to ask him why he was here. Didn’t think to question whether it was odd or out of the ordinary. She only knew that he’d come. And because he’d come, she knew that everything would be all right.

“Well,” she said, praying that neither her relief nor her panic affected her voice, “it would seem the cavalry has arrived. How wonderfully John Wayne of you.” Like her tone, her smile was carefully contrived to convince everyone—including herself—that this was all one grand adventure. “So tell me, darling, how, exactly, do you intend to save the day?”