JAVIER WATCHED LAURA struggling to cope, watched her throw her energy into a load of late-night laundry, pretending that she wasn’t in pain, that she wasn’t afraid. But he knew her head hurt, knew that what she’d learned from the police had shaken her badly. When she poured the third capful of laundry detergent into the machine, he took the plastic bottle from her hands, set it aside, and drew her into his arms.
“Stop,
“I think it’s in my handbag.”
“You get into your pajamas, and I’ll get you water and a pill.” He released her, but she didn’t budge. “That’s an order.”
She glared up at him, gave him a mock salute, and walked off to her bedroom, her step seeming to drag under the weight of the news she’d just heard.
He walked out to the living room, found her handbag on a chair, and fished around inside, finding her .22 SIG and a plastic bag holding two prescription pill bottles—one with hydrocodone, the other containing Valium. He carried the bottles to the kitchen counter, took one pill from each, and got her a glass of cold water. He turned to find her standing behind him.
She was wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe over a nightgown of pale blue silk or satin—hell, he didn’t know the difference—her curves delicate beneath the layers of soft fabric. Her hair was almost dry now and hanging in thick, tousled strands. Her feet were bare, her toenails peeking out from beneath the hem of her robe and painted a soft shade of peach. And for a moment all he could do was stare.
She was everything soft and sweet and beautiful in his world, feminine in a way that made his chest ache, his urge to protect her strong.
“I really shouldn’t take those.” She looked at the pills in his hand. “I need to be alert in case something happens tonight, in case whoever—”
“He won’t bother us tonight.” Javier handed her the glass of water, turned her other hand over, and dropped the pills into her palm. “Even if he wanted to come after you, he’d need a plan, and he’d need an opportunity. Nothing is going to happen tonight.”
She looked at the pills and placed them one at a time on her tongue, washing them down with deep drinks of water. She set the empty glass down on the granite countertop, her fingers finding their way to massage her temple. “This stuff never really works for me anyway.”
They settled on the sofa, Laura insisting that she wouldn’t sleep, so they might as well watch a movie. She chose
He popped the DVD in her player and was about to sit down beside her, when she started to get up again. “Stay put. What do you need?”
“I was going to start a fire. It’s chilly.”
“I’ll do that.” He wondered where she stacked her firewood, then realized she had one of those natural gas contraptions. “How do you make this thing work?”
“Flick the switch.” Her voice, though strained by pain, held a note of amusement.
It was like turning on a light. A fire sprang up between fake logs, putting out a surprising amount of heat. Still, he preferred the kind of fireplace that actually burned wood. What the hell good was this thing if the electricity went out and you actually needed a fire?
He sat beside her, consigned to watching the film. Instead, he found himself watching Laura. Her eyes grew heavy, the lines of pain on her face easing as the medication kicked in, but still she fought to stay awake.
“Come here.” He drew her close, resting her head in his lap, his fingers finding their way to stroke the softness of her hair.
In a few minutes, she was sound asleep.
He left her on the sofa, drew down her covers, then went back, lifted her into his arms, and carried her into her bedroom. Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment as he laid her on her bed. He drew her covers up and turned to go.
“Javi?” she said sleepily. “Don’t go.”
“If that’s what you want.” Heat pulsed through his body at the idea of being in bed with her, but he ignored it. He pulled off his T-shirt, crawled between the sheets, and stretched out beside her, still wearing his jeans.
“I’m . . . I’m afraid.” She turned toward him, snuggled into him.
He knew she was half-asleep and sedated, but he liked that she trusted him. He stroked her hair. “You don’t need to explain,
JAVIER LAY ON his side, watching Laura sleep, the first weak rays of winter sunshine peeking through the cracks in the blinds. He wished he could say he’d slept well, but he hadn’t. Every part of him had been aware throughout the night that she was there. When he had managed to drift off, he’d had the nightmare again—the helo exploding in midair, bits of metal and body parts raining down on him and his element, the stench of charred flesh and burning helo fuel. Only this time, Laura had been on board, and he’d known she was dead. He’d jerked awake, covered in sweat, unable to sleep again.
If he’d been alone, he’d have gotten out his guitar and worked the dream out of his system with music, but he hadn’t wanted to risk waking her up. Instead, he’d watched her sleep, grateful she was safe and alive.
She lay curled against him now, her face pressed against his chest, her left leg tucked between his, her hair tangled. She looked serene, untroubled, her sweet face relaxed, her eyelashes dark against the pale skin of her cheeks, her breathing deep and even. Even though she was taller than most women, she felt delicate in his arms, her body soft and slender compared to his, her hands fine-boned, her nails neatly manicured with just a touch of clear polish.
For some time now, a part of him had wondered whether everything that had happened—their weekend in Dubai, her abduction, the false news of her death, his role in rescuing her—had made him see her in some kind of ridiculous, rosy light, exaggerating his feelings for her, leaving him confused. But holding her like this, he knew that nothing he’d felt had been exaggerated.
Okay, so maybe he
His gaze traveled over the soft curve of her cheek to her jaw and along the silky skin of her neck. He’d once kissed her there, nipped and tasted her there, raising goose bumps on her skin, making her gasp and shiver, the heat inside him like a fever. He’d nibbled his way across her collarbone to the valley between her breasts, then taken her soft pink nipples into his mouth and suckled her, feeling her arch beneath . . .
Blood surged to his groin at the memory, making him hard—not typical morning wood, but a full-blown boner. Pretty certain Laura wouldn’t like waking up to find herself being jabbed by his junk, even if it was still encased inside his jeans, he shifted his hips.
But the moment he moved, Laura stirred, stretched, pressing her belly against his erection. Her eyes opened, her gaze unfocused. She blinked, gave a little gasp, went rigid. Her gaze fixed on his chest, then slid slowly upward until their gazes met.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
“Sleep well,
She nodded, her gaze flicking southward toward his erection, then up to his face again, her cheeks turning pink. “You?”
“Yeah. Like a rock.”
“I’m glad.” Her gaze flicked southward again, and she drew away from him.
“Don’t worry about the . . . uh . . . hard-on.” He shoved aside the covers, his dick catching awkwardly against the seam in his jeans as he slid out of bed and stood, leaving him a choice between adjusting himself or
