The Groom's Stand-In

“That sounds a bit odd,” she murmured, even as she turned sideways on the couch and complied.

Donovan ordered himself to keep a tight lid on his emotions as he reached for her right foot and rested it on his knee. Even making a fierce effort to be completely objective and impersonal, he couldn’t help noticing that her feet were small, high-arched and perfectly formed.

And so bruised and torn that the sight of them made his chest ache. “Damn, these must have hurt,” he muttered, running a fingertip very lightly over her scarred and peeling sole.

She squirmed and laughed softly. “That tickled.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he had liked hearing her laugh. He would bet she did so often under the right circumstances—and in more entertaining company.

Frowning, he set to work with antibiotic ointment and bandages, covering the worst of the cuts. Two cuts looked badly infected; he suspected they would have to be treated by medical professionals. “I hope you’re current on your tetanus shots.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He reached for her left foot. To his relief, it didn’t seem to be as badly damaged, though there were several deep scratches around her ankle. Looked as though she’d tangled with a thorny vine. He spread ointment on those wounds, as well, still trying to keep his mind off the intimacy of their position.

Not to mention the fact that she was wearing nothing but a large flannel shirt.

Either his awkwardness was affecting her or she, too, was trying to divert herself when she asked, “Why do you suppose the electricity is turned on in this trailer? D’you think the owner leaves it on all the time, even when he isn’t here?”

“He’s probably been here recently—maybe even last weekend. Probably fishes nearby.”

“If he comes often, then he probably doesn’t live very far away. We must be getting closer to civilization.”

“I think you’re right.” Satisfied that he’d treated every visible cut, he looked up from her feet. “Any other injuries you need me to treat?”

Her smile was suddenly wicked. Before he could predict what she was going to do, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just one,” she murmured against his lips. And then kissed him.

Oh, hell. He was only human. Dragging her against him, he slanted his mouth to a better angle and took her up on what she was offering.

Chapter Thirteen

Chloe’s lips had been ice-cold when Donovan had pulled her from that stream. Now they were warm enough to sear a brand on his soul…if he wasn’t careful. But maybe it was too late for caution.

She murmured her pleasure with his response and snuggled closer, so that it was too damned obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the shirt. Or anything else, most likely. His hands wandered almost without volition, stroking her smooth thighs, her softly curved hips and slender waist. Her breasts were on the small side, but firm and high—just the right size to fill his hands when he smoothed them slowly upward.

Pressing herself into his touch, Chloe locked her hands in his damp hair, and kissed him as though she had been starved more for him than for food.

Being wanted so badly was intoxicating. Made him feel special. Almost like a man who deserved a woman like Chloe.

He started to pull back. She tightened her grip and parted her lips for him. There was no way he could resist the temptation to deepen the kiss. Just for a moment, he promised himself.

One taste and he was lost.

The too-loose borrowed jeans grew significantly tighter as his tongue plunged repeatedly into her mouth to mate with hers. Her hands were suddenly all over him, stroking, exploring, testing his strength. She seemed to take as much pleasure from touching him as he did her—and that, too, was a heady sensation.

He tried to remind himself that she was endowing him with qualities he didn’t possess. That she was turning him into some sort of hero because they had grown so dependent on each other during their ordeal. Yet when she kissed him like this, he found it all too easy to believe she wanted him for exactly who he was. Flaws, baggage and all.

That sort of self-deception was dangerous. Addictive. He’d never even been tempted to indulge in it before.

Everything was different with Chloe. She tempted him in ways he’d never been tempted before.

She almost tempted him to forget she was the woman his best friend planned to marry.

The thought of Bryan gave him the willpower to rip his mouth from Chloe’s. “We can’t do this.”

She blinked and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue—a gesture that almost shattered his sanity again. “Are you in pain?” she asked, her voice bedroom-husky.

“Oh, yeah,” he groaned, pushing himself away from her. How had they ended up sprawled in this position, with her on her back and him draped over her? He didn’t even remember moving.