Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

He cupped her face with his hands, smoothed his thumbs lightly over her cheekbones.

“I’m here for you, honey.” His eyes searched hers. “I know damn well I can’t even begin to comprehend what you’re going through. You need to cry, cry. You need to shout, shout.” He smiled. “Just go easy on those punches, okay? You’ve got a mean right.”

He’d wanted to make her smile and she did. It made him feel good. Not only did she have a beautiful smile, he suspected she hadn’t done much smiling in a long time.

If only she could remember. If only she could tell him about Pastore, about what he’d done to her…

About why she’d married him.

It was impossible to see her falling for a man like that.

“What are you thinking?”

Nothing he could share with her.

“I’m thinking that it’s been one long day. I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep.”

Her answer was a huge yawn.

“So do I.” She paused. “But it doesn’t mean I’m giving up on wanting answers. It only means I’m willing to admit I’m probably too tired to think straight.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“I hope so, because I’m bound to end up asking you questions again. Fearing something, running without knowing why … I can’t begin to explain what that’s like.”

“Ariel. I swear, I’ll keep you safe.”

“From what?” she said, with a little catch in her voice. “See? That’s the problem. I don’t know what I need to be kept safe from. And I don’t know why you’d do all this for me, if we’re just acquaintances.”

The truth was, that last was a damned good question.

Anyone would ask it. He knew that. Hell, hadn’t he asked it of himself?

Yes, she was in trouble. Yes, she needed help. And yes, it had been his name in her pocket, but none of those things were truly enough to turn a logical man into one who was willing to lie, ignore the rules, ignore the law…

“Okay,” he said, a little gruffly. “I guess we’re more than acquaintances now.”

She smiled. “Progress,” she said, and yawned.

She slumped against him. He could feel the beat of her heart, the warmth of her body. She felt wonderful, in his arms. He wanted to gather her closer, hold her this way all through the night.

“Okay,” he said again, and cleared his throat. “Time to get some rest.”

“I’m not going to argue with that. I think I could fall asleep standing up.”

“Well,” he said, “we can’t have that. Dr. Stafford would never approve.”

She smiled, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the other room, sat her in a big wing chair beside the bed. It squeaked as she settled into it, and she gave a soft laugh.

“Musical chairs,” she said on a jaw-cracking yawn.

He chuckled as he drew down the blanket. Blankets, he saw, with a nod of approval. By the time he’d fluffed the pillows and turned back to Ariel, her lashes were fluttering. He picked her up, laid her down in the bed, and drew the blankets over her.

“Warm enough?”

“Mmm.”

She gave him a loopy smile. How could he not bend down and brush her lips lightly with his own? It had no actual meaning, that kiss. Hell, it was hardly a kiss, just a whisper of skin against skin.

“Nice,” she whispered.

The bed? The prospect of sleep? Or maybe his kiss.

“Yes,” he said briskly. “Nice.”

She yawned. Gave him another smile and, what the hell, he kissed her again. Her lips clung softly to his and it took all his determination to pull back.

He eased into the chair. Dio. What was it made of? Bristles? Well, it would have to do. Maybe he could drape a bath towel over it.

Thinking of bath towels made him think of the last time he’d showered. That morning, sure, but how many zillions of hours had gone by since then?

Okay. He’d take a shower. A fast one, because even with the fire still going, it was getting cold in here. There was a heating unit on the back wall, but he suspected it had stopped putting out heat about the same time they’d finished eating.

Shower time.

Then he’d put on the jeans he’d bought, wrap himself in the afghan that was at the foot of the bed, and catch a few hours sleep on the sofa.

He checked Ariel again. She was lying on her side, all curled up like a kitten.

What if he took that shower, then lay down beside her? On top of the blankets, of course, not under them.

No.

Bad idea.

Shower. Put on the jeans. Hit the sofa.

That was the plan.

Ten minutes later, he discovered that sleeping on the sofa was impossible. It was a minefield of busted springs.

Time to use the chair instead.

Hell. The chair squeaked like a live thing and, also like a live thing, it seemed intent on swallowing him whole.

It was old. Worn out. So was he. Not old, but definitely worn out. So what? As Ariel had said, he could have slept standing up.

Yeah.

He just couldn’t sleep in this chair.

He shifted his weight. Squee. Slumped down. Squee. Sat straight. Squee. Stretched out his long legs, gave that up, crossed his feet at the ankles…

“Matt’o?”

Dammit! All that moving around, the chair squeaking… He’d woken her.

“It’s okay, honey. Go back to sleep.”

“You…ca… …slee…that way.”

“Sure I can. I’m half-gone already.”

“…can…share.”

Share what? The bed? Matteo swallowed hard.

“Ariel,” he said, “I’m fine here.”

“Don’ wan’…be alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Sleep with me.”

Everything around him seemed to go very still. Talk about bad ideas…

“Matteo. Sleep with me.”

He rose from the chair. Got on the bed. On the very edge of the bed. Lay on his back outside the blankets, his arms straight at his sides, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling and the soft glow of the flames reflected against its dark surface.

It was as cold as Alaska. Why hadn’t he brought the afghan with him?

She sighed his name. Lifted up the corner of the blankets.

“’S’okay,” she said drowsily, as if she’d read his mind. “More’n acquaintances now, remember?”

She was teasing him; he could hear the smile in her voice. Well, hell, he thought, why not? Any second, his teeth would start to chatter. And he had to get some sleep. Tomorrow, and all the decisions that went with it, would be on them soon enough.

Sharing the bed would be completely innocent, no different than sharing their meal.

She was married. She was hurting. She was trapped in a nightmare, and his job was to protect her. Besides, she was already asleep. The sound of her breathing had become slow and steady.

He’d be asleep, too, once he was warm, probably in less than two minutes. And he’d stay where he was, far away from her on his own side of the bed.

He breathed in, breathed out, got under the blankets and shut his eyes.

He’d been wrong about falling asleep within minutes. It happened within seconds. He’d been wrong about the rest of it, too, because when he came awake hours later, in the darkest part of the night, Ariel was nestled in his arms.

CHAPTER TEN

At first, he was disoriented.

He was in complete darkness, lying in a bed that wasn’t his own. The mattress was too short, too narrow, and as lumpy as a bowl of oatmeal.

The sounds around him were wrong, too.

At home, he had a water wall in the sitting room that adjoined his bedroom. He’d grown so accustomed to the soothing whisper of the water as it fell down the slate and copper wall that he hardly heard it.

Now, what he heard was its absence.

Instead, he heard other things. Wind, moaning through trees. The desolate cry of an owl.

The soft whisper of a woman’s breath.

And it all came rushing back.

He was in a cabin somewhere in the Adirondacks, on the run with a woman he’d never seen until a few days ago. The fire had gone out, which explained the lack of so much as a glimmer of light.

What nothing could explain was how come Ariel Pastore was in his arms.

He was still lying on his back, but nothing else was as it had been when he’d joined her in the bed.

There was zero space between them.

Instead, he was holding her in the curve of his arm. She was on her side, her body flush against his. Her head was on his shoulder, her leg lay high over his hip.