Читать книгу Someone To Watch Over Her - Margaret Watson - Страница 8

Marcus Waters kicked at a shell on the sand and watched it somersault into the frothy blue waters of the Caribbean. It reminded him of his heart, he thought sourly, tumbled and tossed by his futile passion for Margarita Alfonsa de las Fuentes.

Shoving his hands into his pockets as the shell disappeared into the sea, Marcus continued walking down the deserted beach. It was just as well, he told himself, that Margarita had chosen Carlos Caballero. He wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. Hell, he wasn’t interested in any kind of a relationship, except for the ones that ended with a goodbye kiss in the morning.

Sure, he’d been half in love with Margarita. But then, who wouldn’t have been? The sexy SPEAR agent was beautiful and bright and had stirred his hormones since the first time he’d met her, years ago, when they had both been starting out with the covert agency. Working with her again had reignited the spark that had lain dormant for so many years.

It was better this way, Marcus told himself as he rounded another curve on the long, lonely beach. Margarita and Carlos belonged together. And he belonged by himself. He’d learned that years ago when he’d chosen his career with SPEAR rather than a woman he’d loved.

He pulled the loneliness around him like a cloak, using it to harden his heart and seal it against any more painful blows. He had his job, and that was all that mattered. That was all he wanted.

And right now, his job was to spend time on this beautiful tropical island, waiting for the elusive Simon to show up. Once he did, Marcus would keep an eye on him and report back to the agency so they could close in on him. Simon had been attacking the SPEAR agency for several months, trying to destroy what had taken over a century to build. The Stealth, Perseverance, Endeavor, Attack and Rescue agency had been started by Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War, and had been handling the government’s most dangerous and covert problems ever since.

Marcus was just one of a dozen agents dedicated to catching Simon and stopping his ruthless campaign. And their intelligence had told them that Simon was headed here to Cascadilla. But until Simon arrived, Marcus would employ his cover as a tourist on vacation and enjoy all the pleasures this idyllic island had to offer.

As he walked slowly down the beach, avoiding the shells and sea glass, he noticed the gulls and other shorebirds screeching and diving toward a dark bundle on the sand. Wondering if it was something that had washed off a boat, he walked a little faster. After years as an agent, he paid attention to everything. His life could depend on knowing the details.

There were pale tentacles on the bundle, and he frowned as he walked a little faster. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and suddenly he broke into a run. That was no bundle of seaweed. That was a body, lying half in the water and half on the sand.

The gulls wheeled off, shrieking, when he dropped to his knees next to the body, which was facedown in the sand. It was a woman. Her wet reddish-blond hair was tangled and matted with sand and salt. Marcus reached for her neck and felt a pulse, thready but present. Reassured that she was alive, he ran his hands over her quickly, looking for broken bones. Finding nothing, he gently turned her onto her back.

Several small cuts and bruises on her face were dark red against the bright pink of recent sunburn, but the skin beneath the collar of her T-shirt was pasty white. He watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment, reassured that it was regular and even, then put his ear against her ribs and listened to her breathe. Her lungs were clear, which meant that she hadn’t almost drowned.

Marcus rocked on his heels and stared at the unknown woman. She looked very young, and although she was bedraggled and bruised, he could see that she was beautiful.

What had happened to her? How had she ended up on this deserted part of the beach, unconscious and alone?

Once again the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. His instincts were working overtime. Quickly he glanced up and down the beach, but he didn’t see another soul. And he hadn’t passed anyone on his walk. He wondered if she had swum to the beach, then lost consciousness.

He couldn’t leave her lying in the sand. He scooped her into his arms, grunting as he stood up. His left arm was still tender from the bullet he’d taken in Madrileño. But he forced himself to ignore the pain as he headed back to his beachfront cottage at the Westwind Falls Resort.

Her body felt chilled in his arms, and in order to keep her warm he shifted her so that most of her body pressed against his. The weight of her breasts flattened against his chest, and her nipples burned into his skin through the thin, wet material of her shirt. Her thigh brushed against his groin, electrifying him.

His hands tightened on her firm, smooth skin, and instinctively he pulled her closer. His body stirred, shifting and adjusting to touch more of her.

Shocked at his unexpected response, he adjusted her in his arms so that she wasn’t pressed so intimately against him. But she groaned softly and moved restlessly against him, and once again they were touching as intimately as lovers.

“Hell, Waters, get a grip,” he muttered. He clenched his jaw and walked a little faster. “The woman’s been injured, for God’s sake.”

The lights of the resort twinkled through the gathering darkness, and he exhaled with relief. The sooner he got this woman to his cottage and called an ambulance, the happier he would be. His reaction to her closeness was unsettling and disturbing.

He shifted her again, holding her more firmly, and began to jog. His arm throbbed, but he ignored the pain. He knew his cottage was close. It stood slightly apart from the others, the last in the row before the development surrendered to the beach and the dense tropical foliage that began at the edge of the sand. Since Westwood Falls Resort was owned by SPEAR, this cottage was always available for an agent who needed it.

He hadn’t bothered to lock his door, and he used his hip to push it open. He walked through the comfortable living area, then laid the woman in his arms gently on the bed in the large bedroom. Then he took a step back and looked at her as he absently massaged his arm.

Her eyes were still closed, and her mouth had a bluish tint. But her chest was rising and falling regularly, and when he lifted her eyelids and looked into her eyes, her pupils were equal in size and reacted to the light.

She looked small and fragile and vulnerable lying on the huge bed. Once again he realized that she was very young, probably in her early twenties. “What happened to you?” he asked, assessing her. “How did you end up on that beach?”

That would be up to the police to find out, he told himself. She needed to get to a hospital. He picked up the phone that stood on the nightstand next to the bed and began to dial the local emergency number. But before he finished dialing, the woman cried out.

“No!” The single word reverberated with panic. “No, don’t.”

Quickly he set the telephone receiver into its cradle and knelt next to the bed. “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Her eyes remained closed, but her hands clenched into fists on the bedspread. “Stay away from me! Get out!”

He reached for her hand and cupped her tight fist between his palms. Her hands were small and delicate, the bones tiny and fragile. “Relax,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

Her hand gradually released its fist, then she turned her palm to his and gripped him tightly. “No!” she yelled again. Her hand jerked away from him and swung wildly in the air. “Why are you doing this?”

What had happened to her? He stood up slowly, his gut churning with anxiety as he stared at her. Whatever had happened to this woman was more than an accident. Someone had deliberately tried to hurt her. And judging from where and how he had found her, she was probably still in danger.

Warning bells clamored in his head. His gaze lingered on the restless woman on the bed, and he made a split-second decision. He wasn’t going to call the police until he’d had a chance to talk to her. He had to make sure that he wasn’t putting her in danger all over again by alerting the authorities to her presence. For the time being, she would be safe with him.

She cried out again, and he sat on the bed with her. “You’re safe now,” he said, taking her hand again. “I’m going to keep you here until you wake up and can tell me what happened to you. Do you understand?”

He spoke in a low, soothing voice. She couldn’t hear him, but perhaps that primitive place deep in the brain that judged danger would hear and understand that she was safe. He continued to talk to her, his voice quiet and gentle, until she stopped moving around on the bed. When she was quiet again, he let go of her hand and stood up.

“You can’t just let her lie there in those wet clothes,” he muttered to himself. “And you have to examine her thoroughly. If you’re not going to call an ambulance, you’re going to have to take care of her yourself.”

Her simple T-shirt and shorts were beginning to dry, and they were stiff with sand and salt. The sport sandals still on her feet were covered with sand and grit. He took those off first, then brushed the sand from her feet.

He unbuttoned the waistband of her shorts and slid the zipper down. But when his hands brushed over her skin at her waist, a sizzle of electricity shot up his arm, and he froze in place, unable to move.

Her skin was as soft as a butterfly’s wing and as smooth as cream. His hands were suddenly burning hot against the coolness of her skin, and he clenched his fingers around the waistband of her shorts to stop himself from touching her.

Appalled, he pulled his hands away as if he’d been burned and jumped up. He stared at the unconscious woman, feeling the heat of need rush through him. What the hell was the matter with him?

Shaken, he picked up the phone again to call for an ambulance, but hesitated before he’d punched in the numbers. This woman was in danger, he reminded himself. And he had sworn to protect those in danger. It was part of his code of honor, both professionally and personally. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t control himself.

Just because he was acting like a randy teenager didn’t mean he had to throw her to the wolves. He swallowed once and sat on the bed. He could do this. He could think of her as an impersonal object that needed his help.

His resolve lasted just long enough to remove her shorts. Tossing them on the floor, he looked at the tiny scrap of lace that she wore beneath the shorts and swore long and hard. A blond triangle of hair was visible beneath the almost-transparent lace. And although he estimated she was only a few inches taller than five feet, her legs seemed to go on forever. Slim and firm, they were evidence that his mystery woman led an active life.

Scowling, he deliberately looked away from her legs and grabbed the hem of her T-shirt. This was ridiculous. The woman was unconscious. He was the only person who could help her right now, and that’s what he would do. He could tame his hormones into submission.

But when he pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor, he closed his eyes and groaned. The bra she wore matched the lacy panties and did about as much to hide her body. He forced his gaze to her face and told himself his job was about her health and safety and nothing else.

“Snap out of it, Waters,” he growled to himself. “This woman already has enough problems. She doesn’t need you making a fool of yourself.”

Steeling himself, knowing he had to check her from head to toe, he forced himself to think of all the things that could be wrong with her. Then he began to examine her, utilizing the basic medical training that was part of every SPEAR agent’s education. He tried to ignore how she felt, ignore the softness of her skin and the smoothness of her body. He could block her beauty out of his mind, but it was more difficult to ignore the way her vulnerability touched a soft spot he didn’t even realize he still had.

Finally he stood up and draped a blanket over her. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. It was best to pretend that she didn’t have any effect on him, he told himself.

“You don’t seem to be too badly hurt,” he said to her, even though she was still unconscious. With an effort of will, he forced himself to ignore his physical reaction to her. “If you can hear me, you need to know that you’re safe now. You’ve got a bunch of scrapes and bruises, especially on your legs, but nothing is broken. And since there are no cuts, bruises or bumps to your head, it doesn’t look like you have a head injury, although we’ll have to wait until you’re awake to know for sure. You’re going to be plenty sore when you wake up, but I think that’s about all.”

Certain that he’d made the right decision about calling for help, he walked into the bathroom and started the water running in the bathtub. Then he walked out and crouched next to her again. “I’m going to give you a bath. You’re covered with sand and salt, and I don’t want it to irritate your skin.”

He stopped, reaching for the control that had never failed him before. She was a stranger who needed his help, he reminded himself. But he swallowed once before he continued. “I know this is pretty personal, but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.”

Would she? Or would she be horribly embarrassed that someone had undressed her and bathed her while she was unconscious? “Let’s get that underwear off of you. It’s not doing much good, anyway,” he muttered.

Steeling himself, he quickly peeled away the tiny scraps of lace and chiffon that passed for underwear. He tossed them on the floor, then slid his arms around her, trying not to notice how perfectly she fit against him, and carried her into the bathroom. He placed her gently in the tub, where he quickly sponged off the worst of the grit.

“You’ll have to do the rest yourself after you wake up,” he muttered after a few minutes. The sight of her perfect breasts and lithe young body had made him as hard as granite. “I know it’s not your fault, but I can’t do this anymore.”

He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her, then carried her to the bed. Peeling back the bedspread, he laid her on the sheets, leaving the towel wrapped around her.

“I can’t leave that on you.” He scowled. The large bath towel covered her body, but it was damp and she would be shivering in a few minutes. He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out one of his T-shirts. “This should work.”

He eased the towel away from her and quickly pulled the T-shirt over her head. It floated down her body, covering her almost to her knees. He breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a scowl when he realized that it did nothing to hide the curve of her breasts and the outline of her nipples. His hands ached to weigh her breasts, to feel their weight in his hands, and he jerked the sheet over her body. “I’ll be in the other room.”

Night had fallen completely, and the sky was dark velvet over the black of the Caribbean. Stars glittered in the sky, reflected in the water like sharp diamonds. The muted sound of voices and the low laughter of women drifted on the breeze from the common areas of the resort.

Marcus ignored the sounds of merriment that wafted from the resort. He stared into the darkness, looking down the beach, probing the foliage near his cabin. Who was out there? Where were they hiding? What predators prowled the night?

Somewhere, someone was looking for the woman who lay on his bed. Someone who meant her harm. The familiar adrenaline of a case rose inside him, making his heart pound, sharpening his senses. No one would hurt her, he vowed. He would make sure of that.

He picked up his cellular telephone and dialed a number he had memorized. After two rings a voice said, “Devane here.”

“This is Waters,” Marcus said. “Have you heard anything about a missing woman?”

“No.” Marcus could hear the interest sharpen in Russell Devane’s voice. “What do you have?”

“I’m not sure. I found a woman washed up on the beach about a half mile from the resort. There wasn’t anyone else around, and she didn’t have any identification. She’s still unconscious.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait until she wakes up, then find out what’s going on. I hoped you or one of the others might have heard something.”

“Not a word. But we’ll keep our ears open.”

“Let me know if you hear anything.”

Marcus closed the phone and went into the bedroom to look at the woman once more. She hadn’t moved from the place he’d set her down. But he could see that she was shivering.

Gently he drew the bedspread over her, then reached for the extra blanket. “No one knows a thing about you,” he murmured. “Devane would have heard if there was anything to hear. Who are you, mystery woman? And how did you end up on that beach?”

His only answer was the steady rise and fall of her chest. “I’ll be in the other room if you wake up,” he said. He let his gaze linger on her for another moment, then he turned and walked out of the room. It would be wise not to spend too much time with her, he told himself. The effect she had on him was too intense and too disturbing.

It would be better once she woke up. He was sure the attraction would disappear once she was conscious and talking to him. What could he have in common with such a young woman?

He felt much better as he sat on the sofa. That was the answer, of course. Once she was awake, he would see that she was just another woman, beautiful but very young. Once she was awake, this ridiculous state of arousal would quickly disappear. Hell, he wasn’t interested in relationships, anyway. Hadn’t they just established that he was better off without Margarita or any other woman? Hadn’t he learned his lesson all those years ago when Heather had forced him to choose between her and his career with SPEAR? His mystery woman would tell him what had happened to her, he would help her deal with it, and they would go their separate ways. It was that simple.

Marcus grabbed the book he had started reading earlier, but put it down after only ten minutes. Restlessly he stood and paced around the living room. Finally, unable to stop himself, he stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. The woman on the bed was still unconscious, but she had moved. She lay on her side and looked as if she was sleeping. Her left hand was tucked under her cheek, and her right hand was curled under her chin. He’d apparently managed to get most of the sand out of her hair, because it was drying in a soft golden cloud around her face. She looked innocent and helpless, and another fierce wave of protectiveness flooded through him.

He might not know much about relationships, but he knew how to protect a woman. And that’s what he would do. He’d get her back safely where she belonged and make sure that nothing else happened to her.

He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, then crouched next to the bed again. “You’re going to be all right,” he said in a low, comforting voice. “You’re safe now, and you’re not badly hurt. Sleep for as long as you like. When you wake up, we’ll figure out how to help you.”

She moaned in her sleep, but it didn’t sound as frantic and fearful as her earlier cries. Her forehead wrinkled as if she was trying to figure something out. Then she was quiet and still again.

“It won’t be long before you’re awake,” Marcus said, familiar enough with injuries to know when someone was regaining consciousness. “I’ll be close by when you do.”

He stood, intending to walk to the living room. But he was oddly reluctant to leave her alone. She would be frightened when she woke up. She wouldn’t know where she was. Maybe he should stay with her.

“She’ll think you’re one of the people who hurt her, you idiot,” he growled to himself. “Get out of here.”

He moved into the other room, but couldn’t sit down to read. He paced the small room, then went and stood on the tiny porch.

The sounds of the tourists’ voices were lower, muted and more intimate. It was the end of the evening, and soon everyone would be returning to their cottages and rooms. The time for shared gaiety and laughter had passed. Now couples would be dancing more slowly, their bodies touching, hands twining together. Men and women would exchange heated glances, allow their hands to linger just a little longer. Soon everyone would steal away and the resort would be silent and still.

Marcus scowled and walked inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He had a job to do, and the woman on his bed had become part of his job. He’d damn well better remember that.

He threw himself onto the couch and picked up his book again. After staring at the same page for too long, he closed the book and leaned back, willing himself to get some rest.

He had just fallen into a restless sleep when he heard a noise from the bedroom. It sounded as if someone was walking around. He leaped to his feet and ran into the other room.

The woman was no longer lying on the bed. She was standing next to it, swaying, gripping the chest of drawers for support.

Panic leaped into her eyes when she saw him. She grabbed a nail file that had been on the dresser. “Stay away,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I have a weapon.”