Читать книгу Sleeping With Beauty - Laura Wright - Страница 12

Hot water pelted her aching muscles. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing the water to cleanse her wound and her spirit. The fresh citrus scent of shampoo drifted from her hair, while the soapy suds slid down her back, over her buttocks, thighs and calves.

All anxiety slipped down the drain with the bubbles and the day’s dirt.

“How’s it going in there?”

Her pulse kicked and her skin tightened at the gruff query.

So much for relaxation.

Dan stood guard outside the sway of a shower curtain, the outline of his exceptional frame a mere inches from her naked body—strangely, a body and a face she’d hardly recognized when she’d spied herself in the mirror earlier. The strangeness of this entire situation was staggering, from the blank canvas that was her mind to the thrilling shots of awareness she felt whenever her rescuer was near.

But there was nothing for it. She was going to stay here tonight, in his cabin in the woods, feel an overwhelming surge of need and try like hell to keep her wits about her.

Actually, step one of that strategy had gone off without a hitch. Before she’d removed her clothing and stepped under the spray, she’d removed Dan. When she was safely behind the blue curtain, she’d told him he could return, as per their agreement.

And they’d had to make an agreement. The man was incredibly stubborn and protective and arrogant and handsome and—

“Angel?” The pet name glided over her heated skin like the soft, cotton washcloth in her hand.

“Yes?”

“I asked how it’s going in there.”

“Everything’s fine. Just fine. Thank you. No worries. Or problems.” Except for the fact that she was rambling on like an idiot.

“You sure you don’t need any help?”

“Positive. Except…”

“Except for what?”

“Well, there is one thing—soap.”

“You don’t like it?”

“There is none.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. I must’ve used up the last of it this morning.”

“Perhaps I could use the shampoo as a—”

“No, no, I’ll get you another bar.”

Over the thrashing water, she heard a cabinet door open, then the sound of paper being torn. And before she could even think, blink or gasp, a hand—Dan’s hand—shot through one side of the curtain.

“Here you go.”

She mumbled a quick, “Thank you,” but didn’t take the soap from his hand. In fact, she didn’t move at all.

She felt incredibly exposed as she stared at his hand, at his long, tapered fingers wrapped around that pale-blue cake of soap. Shudders of electricity began in her stomach, then dropped lower as her mind conjured images of that hand cupping something else…cupping her, her face, her hip, her breast.

“It’s the manly scented stuff, but it gets the job done.”

Clearing her throat, she managed to say, “I’m sure that it does.”

All she had to do was take the bloody bar. What was wrong with her? When she’d fallen and hit her head, had she unleashed some lusty side of her that had gone unchecked? Because, Lord, she felt as though she’d never had thoughts like this.

“Aren’t you going to take it, Angel?”

With an unsteady hand, she reached out. Her fingers wrapped around his, eased the bar from his hand.

Soft and wet met dry and rough.

Her breath came out in a rush. Her fingers lingered.

So did his.

“Angel?”

She snatched her hand back. The soap slipped, dropped into the tub with a thud. She stared at it, unable to go near it. “I’m almost done in here,” she called out. “I just have to rinse off. You can go. Really. I can dress myself.”

He was silent for a moment, then, “You sure?”

“Quite sure.” Her tone excessively firm, she added, “Now, please go. I’m fine. I’ll be dressed and out in a few moments.”

“All right. But careful getting out. It’s slippery.”

When he left, she snatched up the notorious bar of soap and leaned against the shower wall, tried to regain her composure. Around her, the steam moved, breathed, like a living being.

Suddenly, a memory tugged at her mind. She’d been here, or in some place like this, surrounded by some kind of white haze, before. And more than once.

She tried to claim more of the impression, but the vision evaporated and she was left with only current memories, ones that made her skin tighten with a frightening sense of excitement she didn’t recognize but was tempted to explore.

She stood directly under the shower’s spray, hoping to rid herself of such thoughts and feelings. But as soon as she touched the fragrant bar of soap to her skin, she was lost.

For, just moments ago, it had been in his hand.

Nothing fancy. But it’ll do.

Dan scooped up some of the warmed, canned spaghetti into two bowls, placed a few slices of buttered bread on a plate and brought it all to the table. He was no cook. Too much career, too little time for anything else.

“May I help?”

Dan turned at the silky-sounding offer, watched the woman walk out of the bathroom, rosy-cheeked, hair down and damp. “Nope. It’s all set.”

She was wearing his clothes. Big and baggy clothes. But that didn’t stop his imagination from running wild. Just as it had during her shower.

He’d stood there, back to the curtain, trying to stop himself from thinking, from breaking the zipper on his jeans, and from sliding open the curtain and joining her. And now, here she stood, dressed in his gray sweats. Her skin, her thighs, the backs of her knees, her breasts, all brushing against the fabric.

Dan forced himself to get back under control, back to the hard-nosed lawman he was. Maybe the boys down at the office were playing a trick on him. Maybe his superiors had sent this sexy creature up here to make him nuts, make him cave, make him so desperate for the world of the living that he’d admit he was wrong for messing up the perp responsible for killing his fiancée.

“Everything looks wonderful,” she remarked, glancing around the table.

It sure as hell did… “Clothes fit all right?”

She lifted the sweatshirt just enough for him to see the waistband and one blessed inch of flat stomach. “These pants are a tad large. I have to hold them up with one hand, but I don’t mind.”

Heat pounded him in the groin. This was too much. He stalked into the kitchen, fumbling around in a drawer, grabbed a piece of rope and came back.

“Lift the sweatshirt again.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Tentatively, she did as he instructed. He had the rope around her waist in one second, tied in another. “There.”

She stared up at him, an uncertain smile playing around her mouth. “Much better. Thank you.”

He should’ve taken a step back, run out the friggin’ front door, but he didn’t. He stood there, looked down into her eyes and wanted to haul her against him, cover her mouth with his, feel her tongue…

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

It had been a long time since he’d stood this close to a woman and felt a pull so strong it fairly knocked him off his feet.

Getting involved with someone in the past four years, even sexually, had seemed too easy and totally undeserved. No matter how masochistic it sounded, he felt the need to punish himself, deny himself, always and forever. After a while, he’d just forgotten to want.

Then, this violet-eyed temptress had stepped into his path, got herself hurt, got herself dropped between his sheets. Thank God she was only going to be around here for one night.

He held out a chair for her. “Have a seat.”

She sat with her back to the fire, her wet hair glowing tricolor fire. “If I didn’t say this before, I really appreciate all that you’ve done. I’m sure I’ve inconvenienced you terribly, and as soon as you deem me well enough to travel, I’ll be out of your way.”

“It’s not a problem.” What a bold-faced lie.

“But it is a bother. Were you on holiday? Is this your vacation spot?”

“No.”

“Oh. Do you live up here year-round then?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing up here?”

His gaze lifted. He watched as she twirled her spaghetti against a spoon. “You know, you ask a lot of questions for someone with no memory.”

Spaghetti stopped twirling, forehead creased. “Are you in some type of law enforcement, Dan?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?”

“You’re very suspicious of me. I doubt very much that I am a criminal.”

He doubted it, too, but after five years as a cop and ten as a marshal, you wondered about everyone. Especially someone you were attracted to. Could make for big problems.

“Perhaps I’m asking questions,” she began, returning to her dinner, “because I’m frustrated. I have no memory, no identification, no personal effects. Perhaps I’m asking questions because I think learning about someone else’s past might trigger memories of my own.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“Yes.”

The pasta suddenly felt like worms in Dan’s mouth. He dropped his fork onto his plate, sat back in his chair. “I have no past.”

She raised her gaze, studied him. “What does that mean?”

“That means, Angel, that I don’t want to talk about it.” He ground out the words, frustration building inside him.

“Sounds rather daunting. Maybe you would feel better if you did.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s try and—”

“You know what I feel?” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Tired.” He pushed away from the table, took his bowl into the kitchen, dropped it in the sink, enjoying the crashing sound it made.

Sure, he owed this woman his care, his protection. But his personal life was none of her business. It was no one’s business. “You can take my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“The couch is very small. I’d hate to have you be so uncomfortable.”

A swift jolt of desire rose up and bit him on the butt. She was making him crazy with all her questions and good manners. He spun around. “We could share the bed.”

Her gaze met his for a moment, then dropped to her plate. “No, no.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “I didn’t mean… The offer for your bed is a very generous one.”

He exhaled. “Tomorrow, we’ll head into town. See the doctor.”

“All right,” she agreed, taking a dainty bite of pasta.

And the doctor could take her off his hands for good. Then things would get back to normal. Fishing and cussing and forgetting about the past. He could go back to eating in peace and not thinking about beautiful violet-eyed women and where his soap had been.

At that moment, the beautiful violet-eyed woman in question stood up and began collecting plates and bowls. “You know, you’re a very good cook, Dan. Was there fresh thyme in the tomato sauce?”

The woman had to be a diplomat or something. He shrugged. “You’d have to ask Chef Boyardee.”

“You have a chef?”

Dan paused, rewound. Then a chuckle—an honest to goodness chuckle—escaped his dusty lungs. Leaning back against the sink, he shook his head. “Man, you really have lost your memory. The pasta’s from a can.”

“And so is the chef?”

He nodded.

Her face broke out into a wide grin.

His, too.

He reached for her plates and placed them in the sink, this time with only a mild clatter. She disarmed him with that smile and easy way of hers. Extraordinary.

Yet worrisome. If she could make him smile a dozen times—and laugh—all in one day, she was a bigger batch of trouble than he’d even imagined.

“You should probably head in to bed,” he suggested. “I have an injured horse who needs tending.”

She nodded. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, thanks again for dinner.”

“No problem.”

“And I really hope my memory returns in the morning.”

“So do I.” Truer words were never spoken. “Make sure to keep the door open a crack.”

“Okay. Good night.” After one of those irresistible smiles, she turned and left the room.

“Good night, Angel.”

Dan grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the couch, his bed for the night. In the fireplace, the flames crackled and sputtered, fighting to stay alive. He knew their fierceness, their hunger.

For four years, he’d been crawling around on his belly, unwilling to stand up. He’d never thought he’d have the pluck.

From the bedroom, he heard the woman pull back the comforter, heard the bed dip with the weight of her body.

Around her, he had the pluck. Around her, he had the urge to stand.

He drained his beer, then headed for the front door.

Around her, he had a new hunger, dangerous and demanding.