This Side of Heaven

'I went home. Like you, I've been trying to sleep and couldn't.'

'Home? Where's home?'

'Didn't you know that I'm your neighbor? I bought the old house across the road.' Using his gentle hold on her head, he brought her closer to him. Their bodies touched. Nate groaned when her soft breasts grazed his chest. Even through their clothes, he could feel her, his body reacting in a natural masculine fashion.

Cyn sucked in a deep breath, her head feeling light and slightly swimmy. 'You bought Miss Carstairs's old place?' Dear God in heaven, Nate Hodges, the living, breathing embodiment of a ruthless warrior, was living in the old co-quina house, built on the grounds where the Spanish mis­sion had stood. Miss Carstairs had sworn that the storage rooms had been part of that original mission. And she had told Cyn the legend, time and again, of the ancient warrior and his Indian maiden whose spirits were doomed to wan­der this earth until a new warrior and his mate fulfilled the prophecy.

'The realtor told me that the owners didn't use this cot­tage in the winter months.' Nate let his other hand roam downward, from Cyn's shoulder, over her arm, inward to her waist.

'It's spring,' she whispered.

'You shouldn't be here,' he said. 'No one should be here. I need to be left alone.'

'You've been alone for far too long.' She wasn't sure how she knew that Nate Hodges was the loneliest man she'd ever met, that he'd spent a lifetime without the warmth of sharing. She just knew. Instinctively, she felt his loneliness, his pain. When he grabbed her hip and shoved her body into his, she didn't resist.

'Why now, Brown Eyes? Why now?' He took her mouth with the greed of a man starving, his lips feasting on the sweet surrender he found. It was just as he knew it would be, the feelings erupting from within him somehow famil­iar and yet more devastating than any he'd ever known.

She accepted the hard, relentless thrust of his tongue, the bruising force of his lips. No one had ever kissed her like this, no man had ever aroused such unrestrained longings within her. She couldn't understand why, but the very sav­agery of his lips on hers, his big hands raking her body, brought back memories of their wild matings. Memories from her dreams of him? she wondered, and then ceased to think at all.

She knew he'd opened her robe when the cool night air hit her chest a second before he covered her breast with his hand.

He wanted to lie her down, here in the sand, and take her. More than anything, he wanted to bury himself deep inside her, feel the shudders of her release, hear her cries of satis­faction. He touched her lips with his in a quick, light kiss before moving to her ear and nipping the lobe with his teeth. 'I'm a dangerous man.'

'I know.' He didn't have to tell her how dangerous he was, didn't have to warn her that she should stay away from him. Her mind had already issued its own warnings, but her heart was incapable of heeding them.

He captured her in his arms, burying his face in her neck, groaning so low the sound was barely audible. Cyn threw her arms around him, letting her hands slide down his back, savoring the feel of his corded strength. He was so big, so powerful. Just touching him was ecstasy.

Her hands continued their downward trail until she reached his waist, then she felt it—the leather sheath at­ tached to his belt. She ran her fingers over the warm, sup­ple leather.

He's wearing a knife, she thought. The knife he had held at Lazarus Jones's neck? She stiffened, her whole body go­ing rigid against him.

He knew her hand was on his knife sheath and realized she was afraid. He wasn't sure why she was reacting so strongly, but perhaps it was for the best. Neither of them seemed capable of resisting the other. Sexual attraction could be powerful. But no matter how much he wanted this woman or she him, now was the wrong time.

Ryker is coming for you, Nate reminded himself. If she's with you, anywhere near you, he'll use her. Get away from this woman and stay away or your recent dreams are likely to come true.

'I've killed men with that knife.' For twenty years, from Nam to every cesspool in the world, he'd used his special skills to subdue the enemy, to achieve the goals of his su­periors. At first, the killing had been difficult, but it had been a release for all the pent-up rage he'd felt as a kid. But eventually, the killing became easier. Until one day it be­came too easy, and Nate knew he had to get out—or lose what was left of his soul.

She dropped her hand from the sheath as if it were a burning coal. Trembling, she closed her eyes and gulped down a tortured sob.

Nate took her by the shoulders and gently shoved her back, an arm's length away from him. Gripping her soft flesh, he met her questioning gaze.

'I know every conceivable way there is to kill a man, and I've used my knowledge to teach others.' He could feel her withdrawing. He wanted to beg her not to leave him, to un­derstand, to accept the beast within him, to give his savage heart peace.

'You were a soldier?' She stepped backward.

He let his hands drop from her shoulders. 'I'm profi­cient at using everything from a machine gun to a flame­ thrower. I've learned how to rig claymores, how to construct homemade booby traps and how to turn rope or piano wire into a deadly weapon.'

He waited for her to run. She didn't. She stood there staring at him, tears misting her eyes.

'I was a navy SEAL for over twenty years,' he said. 'I make no apologies for who I am. Not even to you.'

She didn't know what to say, how to respond. How could she ever explain to him that she had been having dreams about him for twenty years, that she had thought her dream lover was a gentle man, comforting and caring? How could she accept the fact that, after all this time, her green-eyed protector was actually a brutal warrior?

He saw the doubt and confusion in her eyes, and wished that she had never stepped out of his dreams into reality. When she had come to him in his dreams, she hadn't judged him, hadn't been appalled by the blood on his hands, hadn't cringed at the sight of the battle scars marring his body.

'I won't bother you again,' he said, turning away from her.

She wanted to reach out, to call him back, but she couldn't. She was afraid. She stayed on the beach, watch­ ing him until he disappeared from sight. Hesitantly, she raised her fingers to her mouth, running them across her kiss-swollen lips. On a strangled cry of fear and remorse and unfulfilled longing, Cyn ran toward her cottage.

Nate Hodges needs you.

The ocean's gentle roar seemed to moan a premonitory message. She tried not to listen.

Chapter 4

Cyn placed the small wicker basket on the kitchen table as she debated with herself about the decision she'd made. Common sense told her to stay away from Nate Hodges. He was, by his own admission, a dangerous man. She didn't need a man, any man, least of all a troubled one. And she knew that Nate was a very troubled man.

If she'd learned anything from the tragedies she'd en­dured in recent years, it was the senseless waste that vio­lence brought into the lives of both the perpetrators and the innocent alike.

Nate Hodges was no innocent. 'I was a navy SEAL for over twenty years,' he'd told her. 'I make no apologies for who I am. Not even to you.'

She kept reminding herself that a man like that didn't need anyone caring about him, worrying about him, want­ing to be his friend. And, even if he did, she was hardly the right woman for him. He was a violent, dangerous man who carried a knife and was quite capable of using it. She ab­horred violence of any kind, and the very thought of a knife brought back all the vivid memories of Evan's brutal mur­der.

The oven timer sounded. Cyn slipped her hand into the mitt, lifted the muffin tin from the stove and placed it on a wire rack to cool.

'Don't do this,' she said aloud. 'Be sensible, Cynthia Ellen. You can't take care of the whole world. You can't fix whatever's wrong in this man's life.'

The whole time she was giving herself rational advice, she was searching the cabinets for a jar of Mimi's homemade orange marmalade. The delectable preserves would taste great spread atop the bran muffins.

She lined the basket with a soft, clean towel, then re­moved the muffins from the tin and placed them in the linen nest. Covering the muffins, she slid the small marmalade jar and a container of her favorite gourmet coffee inside the basket.

Taking a deep, confidence-boosting breath, Cyn picked up the basket and headed out the back door. She didn't want a sexual relationship with Nate Hodges, she told herself, despite the fact that no man had ever made