Passionate Protectors?

by Anne Mather

  ‘Megan. This is a little unexpected.’ His voice turned suddenly smoky—intimate, almost.

  A little flare of heat exploded in Megan’s insides, chasing every notion of coldness away. Winding the telephone lead round and round her fingers until she practically cut off her circulation, she struggled to compose herself. If he’d unleashed another tirade about the time she wouldn’t have blamed him. It wasn’t as though he was her counsellor or anything like that—someone who might expect to receive occasional distress calls from clients at three in the morning.

  ‘I’m sorry to be ringing you in the middle of the night. I wish I hadn’t now.’ An embarrassed flush seared her cheeks, along with a sense of futility so acute she thought she might suddenly burst into tears. ‘Bad idea,’ she added breathlessly.

  ‘Who says? You can ring me any time you want. I mean it. What is it? What’s the matter?’

  The genuine concern in his voice was almost her undoing. Shuddering helplessly, she unravelled the cord round her fingers, staring blankly at the deep red indentations the flex had left across her knuckles. ‘I…I needed to talk to someone.’ Her gaze lingered on the postcard pinned to Penny’s noticeboard—at the casually signed ‘KH’ which had told her nothing about the intriguing man who wrote it.

  ‘My flatmate Penny’s away for the night and I’ve woken up with this dreadful pain in my leg. I’ve taken some painkillers, but when I put my foot to the floor just now it gave way. I—I didn’t know what to do…who to speak to—’

  ‘You did the right thing in ringing me. Where are you now?’ His tone changed yet again, becoming brisk and businesslike.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen. I managed to get to the phone.’ Gingerly, Megan lowered her foot to the floor, then tried to apply some weight to it. As soon as she did, a knife-like pain ricocheted up her leg, almost making her swoon with its ferocity.

  Kyle heard her sudden gasp and clamped the receiver to his ear with a grip like steel. ‘Megan! What’s happening? Are you all right?’

  ‘I tried to put my foot down…not very successfully. It hurts like—like…’ Her voice drifted off as hot useless tears coursed unstoppably down her face. She hated feeling so weak and helpless. She hated needing anyone’s help, let alone a man she had only known for the shortest time. She had no right to intrude on his time or his consideration like this.

  ‘I shouldn’t have rung,’ she mumbled into the phone, her mind torn between replacing the receiver or hanging on to illustrate how sincerely sorry she was for being such a nuisance. Somehow she should have just tried to get back to bed, wait it out until the painkillers did their thing…

  ‘I’m coming over. Give me your address.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Stunned, Megan felt her mouth drop open. ‘I mean I—I only wanted someone to talk to…You really don’t have to come round.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Is there any way you’ll be able to let me in?’

  Megan pressed her fingers deeply against her forehead, rubbing the smooth, slightly feverish skin, her mind racing to be coherent. ‘I can probably manage to get to the flat door. I’d never get down the stairs to let you in the main door, but if you go down the fire escape to the basement there’s a front door key under the mat by the basement flat door. The girl downstairs is an air stewardess and she’s away most weekends. We agreed to leave a spare key under the mat just in case any of us ever got locked out.’

  ‘Not the most sensible thing from a security point of view, but in light of the present circumstances I’m not going to give you a lecture.’

  There was a slight softening in his tone, but not much. Megan exhaled slowly. He really did sound like a grouchy bear disturbed from his sleep. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she said feebly, suddenly too tired to care what he might think of her.

  ‘Give me your address, Megan. I’ll be there with you just as soon as I can. Until then, promise me you’ll rest, okay?’

  She switched on late-night radio, and with her head in her hands at the breakfast bar listened to a string of ‘golden oldies’, mostly love songs. Some reminded her painfully of Nick, others of her youth—before college, when she was at school…Memories came and went in her head, almost like scenes from somebody else’s life.

  She longed to make a hot drink but didn’t dare risk an accident with a kettle of hot water. She still couldn’t put her foot to the floor. Her dark eyes gritty with tiredness, her body aching, Megan wryly conceded a marathon runner couldn’t hurt any worse. Finally she switched off the radio and slowly and carefully made her way into the living room.

  The ache in her leg gnawed away as if someone had taken a screwdriver and gouged a hole in her flesh, and she gritted her teeth, glanced at the little carriage clock on the mantelpiece and prayed for Kyle or daylight to get there soon. Right now she didn’t care which; she was beyond making rational decisions about anything. She struggled across another expanse of carpet to switch on one of the lamps.

  It had just flooded the room with its softly filtered glow when she heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs to the landing. Her stomach lurched, emotion making her feel almost faint. Kyle. It had to be. She was hopping slowly across to get the door even before he rapped a loud knock.

  ‘Hi.’ Her uncertain smile was anxious with apology and tinged with pain. Kyle saw it immediately in the revealing shadows on her face, in the dark bruising circles beneath her eyes. Against the midnight sheen of her lustrous dark hair her face seemed much paler than usual—almost as if she were standing in moonlight. Dressed in an unbelievably prim white cotton nightdress, her slender arms bare, she presented an almost childlike figure—if it wasn’t for the delectable womanly curves that the soft material more than hinted at underneath.

  A surge of something fiercely protective, a primal instinct to do with guarding one’s own, flared inside him. He saw her holding onto the doorjamb, one slender leg raised carefully off the ground. Tight-lipped, he advanced into the room, a well-worn but clearly expensive black leather jacket thrown carelessly over impressively broad shoulders. A black T-shirt and faded blue denim jeans riding low on his hips without a belt completed the hurriedly put together ensemble.

  Megan involuntarily sucked in a breath. He looked like someone who’d just got out of bed, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine anyone else looking as good having just done the same. His square sculpted jaw was shadowed with a full day’s growth of beard, his dark hair sexily mussed, as if it hadn’t seen a comb for a couple of days. But it hardly seemed to matter—it just made him look all the more appealing. All the more commanding and dangerous. All the more able to wreck any last vestiges of peace of mind she had left. She must have been insane to call him.

  ‘You should be in bed,’ he intoned huskily. Under any other circumstances he might have suggested he join her there, but it was plain to see that the woman was in considerable pain and practically dead on her feet.

  Without further ado Kyle unfurled Megan’s fingers from the doorjamb, then swept her bodily up into his arms, holding her tight against his chest, almost knocked off balance by the sheer sense of rightness that rolled over him at having her so near. Her body was soft, warm and deliciously pliant, and as he held her the gentle hint of some intoxicating perfume provocatively wrapped itself round his senses like a whisper of silk rippling seductively over his flesh.

  As her beautiful lustrous hair swung round his shoulders—teasing every single nerve-ending he possessed—heat stirred so fiercely in his groin he had to bite down the urge to groan out loud. He had never felt so damn aroused and yet so powerless to do anything about it. All he could do was grin and bear it right now, but as far as Kyle was concerned it merely confirmed what he had already concluded.

  Megan Brand was all a woman should be and more. Feminine, soft, and sexy as hell without even trying…

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing this.’ Her dark eyes nervously met his, their liquid brown depths eliciting a feeling so akin to tenderness ins
ide his chest that the corners of his mouth dragged helplessly upwards in a smile that simply dazzled, did he but know it. Every warm responsive feeling he was capable of was entirely and vividly present in that smile, and it stirred Megan’s blood more potently than the most powerful liquor. It was a smile filled with the desire to make more intimate contact as well as comfort and reassure.

  ‘There’s nothing else I can think of that I’d rather be doing,’ he said honestly, then saw her eyelids droop helplessly downwards. Saw, too, that she was trying to fight it. ‘You’d better point out your bedroom to me. You look done in.’

  He lowered Megan gently down onto the rumpled bed, and as he drew the lilac-coloured duvet snugly up to her waist he couldn’t help noticing how devoid of the usual feminine fripperies the room was.

  Apart from an old-fashioned silver-backed hairbrush and comb set and a framed photograph on top of her dressing table, the clean pine furniture was ornament-free. No other adornment was evident except a digital alarm clock and a very nondescript seascape above her bed—otherwise the indisputably plain magnolia walls were left bare. Whether by accident or design the room was fairly minimalist. A plain white terry robe hung on the hook at the back of the door, but apart from that no other evidence of the room’s occupant was apparent.

  Somehow the thought that Megan had denied herself some of the small luxuries that most women would deem essential moved him deeply. No more than now, when he knew she was in pain. She lay with her head propped up against the plump white pillows, fighting to keep her eyes open, her ebony dark hair a riveting contrast that drew his artist’s eye in admiration as well as his male gaze in appreciation.

  Every living cell in Kyle’s body burned to touch her. He had felt bereft the moment he’d put her down and her long slender arms had slipped gracefully from around his neck, robbing him of her satin-smooth warmth, her beguiling vanilla-laced scent…

  ‘Do you think I should call a doctor?’ Kyle’s tanned brow furrowed deeply as he stood beside the bed looking down at her. Her dark velvet lashes kept fluttering helplessly downwards as she struggled to focus on him and, concerned, he eased himself down carefully onto the bed, cautiously mindful of her injured leg. Gently, he took one of her pale hands in his.

  ‘Megan? You said you took some painkillers before I came; is that what’s making you drowsy?’ He was suddenly terrified that she might be losing consciousness for other reasons—reasons connected with her injury that he was powerless to do anything about…except maybe call the emergency services. He could do that. Immediately all his senses switched to red alert, transferring the scene to a hospital bed while he kept an all-night vigil, because he was damned if he was going to leave her alone.

  But then she nodded, and—making his heart almost stop—directed the most bewitching little smile straight at him. It hit him somewhere round about the centre of his solar plexus, and want and need slammed into him so hard he actually sucked in his breath.

  ‘It’s all right, Kyle. I’m not going to faint on you or anything like that. Painkillers are…very strong. Sorry—can’t…stay awake somehow…’ Megan felt herself being dragged away on a sea of silky warm darkness as her surroundings diminished to nothing but Kyle’s mesmerising golden gaze.

  He was regarding her as if he really cared about what happened to her—which was impossible, of course, when they hardly knew each other and she had dragged him out of his bed at three o’clock in the morning simply to succumb to drowsiness practically the moment he arrived. Oh, Megan, you’ve done some reckless things in your time—you really have…What were you thinking of?

  She drifted helplessly away, her last conscious thought a fervent hope that Kyle would forgive her for disturbing him unnecessarily. That he wouldn’t withdraw his offer of help with her painting. That he would still like her…even if it was only just a little bit…

  Megan stirred, sensation gradually permeating the heavy wall of slumber that had closed in on her, opening her eyes to a room flooded with the pale light of morning. Opposite her bed, blue voile curtains moved softly in the breeze from the open window, and she breathed in the sharp freshness of the air with a fervent stab of gratitude for having survived her night-time torment.

  The pain in her leg had definitely subsided. All she had to do now was try and walk on it again. Thank God for the painkillers—even though she detested having to take them. Thank God for…Kyle. He had left his bed in answer to her plea for help and come and helped return her safely to her own.

  Shoving herself upwards to a sitting position, she threaded her fingers anxiously through her tumbled hair, biting her lip at the thought that she had exposed her hour of weakness to someone she hardly even knew. She never did that. She even kept things from Penny sometimes, just so that her friend would think she was coping far better than she actually was. Because she didn’t want to appear like the failure she really knew deep down she must be. Hadn’t Nick reiterated the fact enough times for her? ‘You’re just a dreamer, Meg—dreamers never amount to anything very much…Just thank your lucky stars you’ve got your looks to fall back on.’

  Feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes too readily, Megan cursed softly, then pushed back the duvet. She had to get up. She had to find out if Kyle had left a note—a note which might possibly indicate that he wasn’t too happy with her for hauling him out of bed in the middle of the night to play Shining White Knight to her Damsel in Distress.

  But even as the thought surfaced the bedroom door swung open and there he stood, looking like some dissolute raffish pirate rather than the white knight of her fantasy. The day’s growth of beard she’d seen in the night had darkened even more round his hard jaw, while his unsettling hazel eyes simmered banked golden fire, making him look…well, making him look aroused.

  Beneath her gown, Megan’s breasts were suddenly hot and tingly, her nipples peaking to hard, achy nubs of delicious sensual awareness. Her brown eyes widened helplessly as her heartbeat slowed down to a heavy throb.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, a mug of coffee in one hand and a sinful grin on his face that would surely have made a nun rethink her vows, Kyle assessed her at his leisure, just as if he were contemplating having her for breakfast.

  Oh, my. Megan swallowed with immense difficulty, then felt her stomach drop as though she was falling into thin air.

  Chapter Five

  ‘I HOPE you weren’t contemplating going anywhere without calling for my assistance?’

  ‘I…I didn’t think you were still here, to be honest.’ Megan’s dark eyes slid guiltily away from him, from the too disturbing assault that his piratical dark image was having on her senses. She would do well to remind herself that she was in an extremely vulnerable position. They were alone in her bedroom, for goodness’ sake, and she was temporarily incapacitated—at least until she tried to see if she could walk or not.

  ‘Did you think I’d leave you alone after the condition I found you in?’ His hazel eyes reflected both confusion and disbelief. He pushed away from the doorjamb and came fully into the room. He easily dominated it with the overwhelming impact of his presence alone, stamping an indelible masculinity on it that Megan knew would linger in her senses long after he had gone.

  Cradling his mug of coffee between his hands, he sank down onto the bed beside her, his brooding tawny gaze roving freely over her features as if committing every one to memory.

  Heat coiled in Megan’s stomach. Glancing downwards, she contrasted the solidly muscular jean-clad thighs beside her with her own, hidden as they were beneath her demure cotton gown. There was a little muscle wastage in her injured leg, but physiotherapy and her exercises were gradually helping to build it up again. Even so, her limbs appeared impossibly fragile and slender next to such a vibrantly healthy specimen of manhood.

  Kyle probably had more power in his little finger than she had in the whole of her body right now. He was big and strong and indisputably, irrevocably male. The very air around him seemed to stir in viv
id response to his strength, heat and virility. She couldn’t deny the almost overwhelming sexual attraction that was buzzing through her body, drowning every sense she possessed in sizzling golden honey, and she knew in the subtle, sudden narrowing of his eyes that he felt it, too.

  ‘I had no right ringing you like that in the middle of the night. I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.’ Tangling her fingers in the soft material of her gown, Megan stole a glance at him. The heat that blazed back at her from those languorous golden depths made her clutch the malleable cotton between her fingers so tightly that it made her palms sweat.

  ‘You did the right thing. I told you.’ His voice a disconcerting rasp, Kyle lifted a strand of her hair—his expression intimately intrigued—then wrapped it languidly round his fingers. It not only shone with the fierce sheen of expensive silk, it felt like silk, too.

  Profoundly satisfied with the knowledge, Kyle experienced the full, unbridled heat of arousal deep in his groin. He was hard and aching in an instant. Carnal instinct made him long to ravish the beautiful sultry brunette by his side with a reckless hungry abandonment that he could barely recall feeling for any other woman—ever. Right now, self-restraint was a thin veneer glazing a veritable torrent of emotion. A muscle clenched and unclenched in the side of his bronzed cheek, his deeply hazel eyes glittering hard with the sheer effort it cost him to stay in control.

  ‘How’s your leg this morning? Are you still hurting?’ Furious with himself for allowing the force of his desire to temporarily take precedence over Megan’s health and wellbeing, he unravelled her hair from his fingers, watching it fall away with regret, automatically assuming a distance he knew was necessary to put her at her ease. The last thing in the world he wanted right now was for her to be frightened of him.