Defending His Own

'What are you doing?' She stared at him, wide-eyed.

'Taking you to the bathroom.'

'I'm perfectly capable of walking, you know.'

'I like carrying you,' he said. 'It gives me an excuse to hold you in my arms.'

She relaxed, allowing him to carry her. She felt completely safe and secure wrapped in Ashe's strong arms. When they passed through her bedroom, she noticed he had turned down her bed and laid out her gown. The gesture touched her, making her feel cherished and cared for in a way she couldn't remember being cared for since she was a child.

'Ashe?'

'Hmm?'

'Thank you for being so wonderful with Allen.'

'It was easy. Allen is a great kid. He reminds me so much of you, Deborah. The way you were at his age.'

And he reminds me of you, she wanted to say. Every time I look at him, I see you. The way he smiles. The way he rests the side of his face in his hand when he's pondering something. The expression on his face when he's trying to talk me into allowing him to do something he knows is against the rules.

Once in the bathroom, Ashe lowered Deborah to her feet, sliding her slowly down his body, his big hands holding her hips in place against him.

She felt his arousal, knew he wanted her. And heaven help her, she wanted him.

She pulled away, turning her back to him. 'Thank you for everything.' Bending over the tub, she turned off the faucet. 'I can handle things from here on out. Good night, Ashe.'

He whirled her around. She gasped when she saw the look of longing in his eyes. 'Are you sending me away?'

'Yes, please, Ashe. Go.'

'All right. If you're sure that's what you want.'

'Yes, I'm sure.' She really didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to stay, to undress her, to bathe her, to dry her damp skin and carry her to her bed.

Ashe ran the tip of his index finger down her cheek, then stepped back. 'If you need me, you know where I'll be.' He laid her pink silk robe on the vanity stool.

Looking down at the bathtub, she nodded. Ashe turned and left her alone. She closed the door behind him, and took a deep breath. She undressed quickly, throwing her clothes into a heap on the floor, then stepped into the bathtub and buried herself in the soft, scented water. Leaning her head back against the wall behind the tub, she closed her eyes and picked up the washcloth. Soaping the cloth, she ran it over her face, then rinsed by splashing water in her face. She slid the cloth down one arm and then the other. Lowering the soapy cloth to her breasts, her hand froze when the material made contact with her nipple, which jutted out to a peak.

She was aroused and aching. Aching to be with Ashe. Aching to open her arms and her body and take him in. But she didn't dare. For if she opened her heart to him, she would be lost

Hurriedly, she bathed, washed her hair and dried off, praying she would be able to find forgetfulness in sleep.

Chapter 9

« ^ »

Ashe stood at the window of his bedroom that looked down over the patio. The moonlight illuminated the autumn flowers and shrubs so lovingly cared for by the Vaughns' weekly gardener. Ashe sloshed around the brandy in his glass, took a sip and set the liquor down on the ornate antique table to the left of the window. He scratched his naked chest, then ran his hand across his stomach.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd ached so badly for a woman, and certainly not for one particular woman. Deborah Vaughn had insinuated herself into his mind so firmly that he couldn't shake her. She had become his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. Not Deborah Vaughn his client, but Deborah the woman.

He'd made a mistake coming back to Sheffield, seeing Deborah again. He had walked away from her once, rejected her because he hadn't loved her the way she'd loved him. Now he wanted her as he had never wanted another woman. He burned with the need to possess her.

Ashe slipped on his leather loafers. Buttoning his open shirt, he walked out into the hall. He'd tried for nearly an hour to relax, to stop thinking about Deborah, to quit remembering how she'd felt in his arms when he'd carried her to her bath. But he couldn't forget.

He walked down the hallway, stopping at Allen's open door. Looking inside, he saw the boy sleeping soundly, his upper body uncovered. Ashe crept silently into the room and pulled the sheet and blanket up to cover Allen's shoulders. The little fellow had been through quite an ordeal. Ashe balled his hands into fists. Buck Stansell didn't deserve to live. But his kind always landed on their feet, always found a way to slip through the cracks in the legal system.

After leaving Allen's room, Ashe eased the door to Miss Carol's room ajar and peered inside. She slept peacefully. Deborah had told him that often her mother had to rely on sleeping pills in order to rest.

He opened Deborah's bedroom door. More than anything he wanted to find her awake, waiting for him, her arms open, imploring him to come to her. What he found was an empty bed, Deborah nowhere in sight. Where the hell was she?

He made his way down the stairs, checking each room, one by one, until he entered the library. A table lamp burned softly, casting gentle shadows over the woman sitting alone on the leather sofa, her feet curled beneath her. When he stepped inside the room, she turned her head and looked at him.

'Couldn't you sleep, either?' she asked.

'No.'

Did she have any idea how beautiful she was, how irresistible she looked? Like a porcelain figure, all flawless creamy skin and pink silk clinging to her round curves, her long blond hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders.

He grew hard just looking at her, just smelling the scent of her bath oil clinging to her skin. He stood inside the open door. Waiting. Wanting. Needing.

'I can't believe I'm still wide awake.' She looked at him with hunger in her eyes, and wondered if he realized how much she wanted him. 'I'm exhausted and yet I feel as if I've had an extra dose of adrenaline.'

'Yeah, me, too.'

She stretched her back, leaning into the sofa Ashe caught his breath, the sight of her almost more than he could bear. Her firm breasts strained against the silk of her gown. Her full hips pressed into the soft leather cushions.

'I fixed myself a drink.' She nodded to the partially full glass on the end table. 'It didn't help.'

'I did the same thing,' he said. 'I came down about thirty minutes ago and swiped some of your brandy.'

'Obviously it didn't help you go to sleep.' She clenched her hands, then unclenched them, repeating the process several times. She wished he hadn't come downstairs and found her alone and restless. He'd know she couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't make herself forget the feel of his arms around her, the strength of his arousal pressing against her.

'Since neither of us can sleep, how about taking a ride?' Holding his breath, he waited for her reply.

'A ride?' She scooted to the edge of the sofa, knowing there was more at stake than just a moonlight drive. 'That sounds like a great idea.' Standing, she smiled at him, then rushed past him and out into the hallway. 'Give me a minute to put on some clothes,' she said softly, then ran up the stairs.

He checked his back pocket for his wallet, then thought about his gun and holster lying on his nightstand. He hurried upstairs, retrieved his gun and put on his jacket, then walked down the hall to Simon Roarke's bedroom. He knocked softly. Within seconds Roarke cracked the door and peered out at him.

'What's up?'

'Deborah and I are going for a ride,' Ashe said. 'I wanted you to know I'd be out of the house for a while.'

'Yeah, sure. No problem.' Simon grinned, something the man didn't do often.