Eve’s Wedding Knight

Eve muttered aloud to herself, “This is ridiculous.”

With her fantasies supposedly disposed of, why on earth was she still so nervous? It wasn’t as if it was a real doctor’s appointment. And yet, as she gave the examination table-not, thank heaven, one of those short ones with the stirrups at the end-a sideways and wary glance, she felt as vulnerable as if she were perched on its slick paper covering wearing nothing but one of those tissue paper napkins. Her neck, completely bare for the first time in more than a week, felt fragile and exposed, her head too heavy for it to support. Tremors rippled through her in waves, almost as if…

But, she thought, I’m not afraid. Why would I be?

Why indeed, when she was surrounded here by FBI agents, in the middle of an operation so efficient, they made it look routine? They must do this sort of thing all the time. She was in absolutely no danger. She knew that. So why was her heart pounding and her breathing quick and shallow? Why were her hands so clammy and cold?

Because, her truthful soul insisted on answering, you are afraid. There’s all kinds of fear-your body’s just not programmed to know the difference. It’s not your life you fear for, dummy. It’s your-

No! Oh God, no. Don’t even go there.

At that moment the door opened and Jake walked in. Eve’s stomach flip-flopped, her mouth opened and air rushed out in a soft, helpless gasp.

See? Aha-I told you so!

Shut up. No sir, no way.

“Eve.” Jake’s nod was brief and impersonal, and of course unsmiling, as he moved aside to make way for Dr. Shepherd, who pushed into the room after him like a big, wet, friendly dog wallowing through a crowd.

“Hey, there, Eve-honey, how we doin’ today?” The doctor loomed in front of her, his white coat and FDR grin blocking her view of Jake, who was looking unexpectedly handsome, she thought, in his FBI uniform of dark gray suit, crisp white shirt and blue-and-navy-striped tie, with jaw freshly shaven and his thick, unruly hair neatly tamed.

Okay, that’s all it was, she told herself, drawing a careful, relieved breath. Just a little bit of physical attraction. Nothing you can’t handle.

“Well, you’re lookin’ pretty good,” Dr. Shepherd mused, giving her cheekbone a cursory brush with his thumb. “Little yellow here, still, but that’ll be gone in a day or two, and you’ll be your gorgeous self again. How you doin’ with that collar? Doin’ okay? Gettin’ a little bit uncomfortable?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” said Eve, flicking a glance at Jake, just visible beyond the doctor’s shoulder, leaning against the door in his familiar brooding stance-arms folded on his chest, one ankle crossing the other.

His examination completed, Dr. Shepherd stood back, folded his arms and frowned. “Don’t really like the idea of you wearin’ that thing all the time, young lady, especially since we’ve got no way a’knowin’ how long you’re gonna have to keep up this charade. Tell you what-I believe it’s time we started you on some physical therapy. What do you think? Three days a week? We can set it up somewhere out there on the island so you don’t have to come all this way. That way we can keep those neck muscles toned. Jake-that okay with you?” He turned to ask the question as Jake straightened and pushed away from the wall.

“Long as you don’t bring her along too fast,” he said in his expressionless, federal agent’s voice. He came, arms still folded, to stand beside the doctor. “Don’t want her graduating out of that collar before she’s done what she needs to do, do we?” His dark eyes studied her, heavy-lidded and surly.

“Unless…” he murmured, “you’ve changed your mind about staying out of your fiance’s bed?”

“No,” she answered him, the word soft but emphatic. “I haven’t changed my mind-about anything.” And suddenly she found her gaze locked with his in a struggle she could neither fathom nor escape, a struggle some buried instinct evidently considered vital, because it focused on it all her physical and emotional energy, every sense and perception. Dr. Shepherd simply disappeared; the room around her faded into darkness and shadow. She saw nothing except Jake’s eyes, lit from within by that strange, angry glow; heard nothing except the sound of his breath, poised to form words that he didn’t utter. She felt nothing except the energy from his body that seemed to flow across the space between them like an electrical charge.

“Well, then, I’ll get on it-see what I can set up for you.” Dr. Shepherd’s jovial voice released her from the spell.

She jerked her head toward him and answered breathlessly, and with more than a small measure of guilt, “Yeah, okay, that’d be great. Thanks…” She returned his wave, waited until the door had closed behind him, then jerked herself half-around and took two steps away from the man who still stood gazing at her, motionless and silent.

The movement had been instinctive, an attempt to escape the attraction that still held her like the grip of some powerful magnet, but with that increased distance came, not release, but instead a jangled, off-balance feeling as if her entire being had been knocked off its axis. Her throat felt raw and raspy as she tried a careless laugh. “What the hell was that? You decided not to trust me?”

Jake made a soft, hissing sound. “It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s Cisneros I don’t trust.”

“Yeah, right,” Eve muttered without turning. She lowered her voice an octave, mimicking his cynical tone. “‘So, you’ve changed your mind about staying out of your fiance’s bed?”’

“Your fiance can be very persuasive.”

Something shivered through her, though she couldn’t have said whether it was anger, hurt or fear-or perhaps a little of all three. “Please,” she said, throwing him a sharp, bitter look, “give me some credit.”

Silence thundered between them. But if she’d expected-hoped for-an apology, none came. Instead, after a long pause, he abruptly asked, “Neck bothering you?”

She realized only then that she’d been rubbing it. Still royally miffed, she waved her hand and said coldly, “A bit of a crick-it’s nothing I can’t-”

“-handle… yeah, I know.” There was an odd thickness to his growl that perhaps should have warned her, but didn’t.

So it was with a jarring sense of unreality that she felt the warm weight of his hands on her shoulders. So unexpected, it was-and so unexpected a pleasure-that her entire body responded from the top of her head to the tips of her toes with an all-over tingling that was like the hot-cold prick of sparklers on a sultry Fourth of July. And at the same time she could feel the warmth melting into her shoulders and spreading through her insides, and it was like being a little girl and drinking hot cocoa on a cold frosty morning.

“Relax, Waskowitz.” His voice, raspy and soothing as a cat’s purr, stirred the air near her ear.

Relax? Redfield, if I were any more relaxed, you’d have to pick me up off the floor.

But that was only her body. Her mind was sputtering like a bad electrical connection, alternating between dead blankness and shooting out useless sparks. What’s this, what’s this? Oh…that feels good… Don’t react-don’t make a fool of yourself! It’s not personal-remember that. This is his job…his job…

But her body wasn’t listening. Jake’s fingers were pressing into her cramped trapezius muscles, his thumbs stroking upward along the sides of her spinal column and pushing under her hair to probe the base of her skull… and her head dropped forward, her eyelids drooped, her knees grew weak and her nipples shivered and hardened.

“You’re too high,” he complained, and Eve blamed her own fuzzy-headedness for the fact that his voice seemed slurred and thickened. “I can’t reach you. Here-lie down.” He patted the table with one hand while he guided her to it with the other.

Oh, how she wanted to say something clever and witty, fire off some wisecrack double entendre that would show him how sophisticated and cool she was. Unfortunately, her mind was a blank; if he’d led her to a bed of fire ants and poison ivy, she’d have laid herself sweetly down. She thought, And he’s worried about Sonny’s powers of persuasion?

The paper-covered table was cool under her cheek. But her body felt trembly and hot, and her heart was beating so hard, she could feel it pushing against the table’s resilient surface. He must feel that, she thought, panic-stricken. He must!

She couldn’t let the silence go on. She had to think of something to say, something that wouldn’t humiliate her…

So she groaned, laughing a little, and said, “Oh, that does feel good.” That seemed safe enough. Anyone would