by S. M. Butler
He sunk his hand in hers and marveled at her velvety skin. It was hard to let go. “Deal.”
She turned back to fixing dinner. He didn’t move. He was still thinking about her warm, soft hands. He wondered how they would feel on other parts of his skin. The thought stunned him. For a second he was frozen in place watching the sleek muscles in her arms working at chopping red potatoes. His gaze traveled over her muscular shoulders and down her back to the firm butt that filled her khaki pants. A man could grab hold of that sweet behind and—
“Music?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
He cleared his throat and quickly brought his gaze up to her face. “Pardon?”
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she explained, “I usually play music while I cook. And eat, and well, everything. It keeps me company.”
He winced. He knew how quiet and lonely an empty house could be. “Sure. Music would be great.”
She reached behind him and pressed the power button on a boom box. He recognized the first cords of a song.
“Van Morrison?” He grinned.
Her chin dropped. “He’s one of my favorites. You’ve heard of him?”
“Are you kidding me?” He joined Van Morrison in singing the words to “Brown-Eyed Girl.”
She laughed. “I guess you have.”
He took her hands in his and led her to the middle of the floor. Pulling her close, he sang softly in her ear and swayed to the beat.
“What are you doing?” She pulled back stiffly.
“That was called singing. I’m not the greatest at it.” He spun her away from him and back. “I do know a few moves. Dance with me.” It had been years, maybe a lifetime, since he’d danced. He wasn’t going to let this moment slip through his hands.
“Your ribs. Your injured leg!”
“Relax, woman.”
She gave in and moved to the beat. They locked their fingers together and soon they were both singing about a brown-eyed girl standing in the sunlight. Their voices rose at the chorus until it was a competition to be the loudest to sing “la-la’s.” Ysabeau won. Soon they were laughing like children. His ribs did hurt, terribly. He ignored them. Ysabeau’s laughter was far more important than his bruises. He spun her under his arm one more time, and she landed against his chest, breathing heavily.
He held her there as Van Morrison began to sing another classic—“Have I Told You Lately?”
Luke whispered, “I love you?”
She jerked back until she realized he wasn’t making a grand statement, simply singing the words. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she held on tight as they swayed to the soft beat. He stopped singing. Her breasts pressed into his chest, their knees softly bumped together, and Luke’s heart beat like a race horse’s. It was a great moment.
Van Morrison stopped singing far too soon. The CD was over.
She sighed against him, and he thought it was possibly the most amazing sound he’d ever heard. It killed him. Time slowed, and Luke became acutely aware of his senses. Ysabeau smelled as sweet as a tropical morning. She was warm and soft in his arms. His own pulse thundered in his ears.
Her dark lashes feathered lightly on her cheeks, and her amber eyes were closed when she whispered, “I’ve never danced in my kitchen before.”
“That’s a crime.” When she opened her eyes and looked into his, his breath caught somewhere near his sternum. “A woman like you should never be alone.”
She blinked back a sudden welling of tears. He’d hit a soft spot.
He imagined her spot was similar to his. He’d be damned if he let himself dwell on the hole he carried around inside. Why waste time thinking about things he couldn’t change? His life was full of that shit. But every now and again, when silence slammed around like a poltergeist inside his empty rooms and his bed seemed too big for one man, he admitted the truth. He wanted to fall in love again and not die alone.
“Thank you for the dance.” Her voice was deep and sexy. “Both of them.”
She pulled back from him, exhaling through her parted lips, softly caressing his newly-shaved jawline. Did she know the single act of breathing was turning him on? Need, desire, and want all flooded his senses. A warning shot went off in his head. What he really wanted to do was a very bad idea. Super bad. He ignored everything but the beautiful moist lips so close to his. Very, very close.
He kissed Ysabeau.
Chapter Eight
‡
It was a gentle kiss that flashed through her senses as warm chocolate on silk. His lips on hers were luxurious and intoxicating. Before she knew what she was doing, she was kissing him back. Heat electrified every nerve ending she owned. How she wanted this heat, craved it. It had been so long since she’d kissed a man. Coiling her arms around his neck, she struggled to keep from begging, crying for more. More heat. More kisses. More everything.
He pressed the small of her back with his warm hands. She wanted those hands all over her skin. And those lips too. Everywhere. Holy Mother…
Passion pooled in her stomach, between her legs. It would be simple to give in. She’d let him lead her to bed, just as he’d led her around the kitchen—strongly, surely—and they’d perform a different dance. One which she could imagine would be hot and sweet. It would be so simple to make love to him.
So completely impossible.
What was she doing? She didn’t have the luxury of falling in love. Not when her patients were dying.
Her mind snapped to as if she’d been in a deep dream and was finally waking up. She broke the kiss and pushed him back. “I… need…” She struggled to find words. Her thoughts kept drifting to the heartbeat she could feel under her palms as she pressed against his incredibly muscular chest. Maybe he really was Baron La Croix, the sexy Spirit of Death. “…to finish dinner.”
His blue eyes pierced her. “We have time.”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “Time is something we do not have.”
*
Luke savored his last bite of the dinner. “This was wonderful, Ysabeau.” He meant it, even if he was trying to get back into her good graces.
She’d been extremely cool to him since she broke their kiss. He wished he could find a way to heat her up again. She had stirred feelings in him that he thought died two years ago with Soli. Feelings that were still flashing and snapping every time he gazed at Ysabeau.
“A healthy appetite is a good sign. And you look so much better than this morning. Your coloring is normal. Your eyes clear.”
He grinned, thinking her magical lips made him forget about his injuries. If he could kiss her again, he might be completely healed by tomorrow morning.
Then he remembered what she had said, and his grin fell off. She was right. They didn’t have time. He had a job to do. A job he was regretting more and more by the minute. “Good, then you can take me to the clinic tomorrow.”
She dropped her fork against her plate with a loud clank. “Too soon. You shouldn’t push yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said softly. But would she? The look on her face told him all he needed to know—the trial results were as bad as he thought they were. “Can I ride with you to work in the morning?”
“No. I’m not ready.” Her expression was grave.
“Look, Ysabeau, I saw the reports. It’s a lost cause. You did everything you could with your serum. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s not your fault—”
“I’m not ready!” She rose and her chair toppled backward. Her hands were fisted by her sides.
With his gaze pinned to hers, he righted her chair. “No one ever is. Ysabeau, the Guardians are pulling the plug.”
“No!” She blinked furiously. “They have no right to do this!
“There’s nothing more either one of us can do. It’s over.”
“I won’t let you stop me.” Her nostrils flared.
“I’m sorry, I really am. It’s not personal,” he said softly.
“Not personal! What do you
call it? Business?” She spit out the words. “Have you ever held someone’s life in your hands, knowing you are the only one with any chance of saving them? The only one who cares?” She shoved her hands in his face. They were shaking. “Well? Have you?”
Gently, he pressed her hands down. “Yes.”
Her shoulders sagged as if his answer knocked the air out of her. She pressed her lips together. They were quivering too.
He held her gaze for a long heavy moment. “You did everything you could, Ysabeau. Let it go.”
“I can’t,” she said softly. “I won’t.”
“The Guardians won’t give you more money and neither will any other legitimate pharmaceutical investors. Not with the way the trial is going. The results from last week are dismal.”
She stood up straighter. “Wait! I have new results! You haven’t seen them yet. The Guardians will change their minds when they see my new data.”
“New results.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Shit, this wasn’t going well, but what did he expect? Ysabeau was a beautiful, passionate woman who cared for her patients. She was also a fighter who wouldn’t give up. He was proud of her. Admired her. But none of that would change anything.
Dammit, the money isn’t mine!
He had no right to give her hundreds of thousands of dollars to squander on tests that wouldn’t succeed in the long run. But he wanted to, with every cell in his body, if only to take the sad look off her face and make her laugh again.
“I need a little time to validate the data before I bring you in.” Her voice was thin. “Give me time.”
He didn’t answer. Mesmerized by her rapid pulse throbbing just beneath the surface of her sleek neck, he had a wild desire to reach out and caress the beat back to normal and give her the time she needed. He had no right to act on his desires. He had to focus on the job and walk away before things got out of hand.
He shouldn’t have said, “Show me what you’ve got, and we’ll go from there.” But apparently things were well out of his hands already.
*
That night Luke had trouble falling asleep. He was clean for the first time in days and sporting a brand new navy blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His aches and pains were much better—the horn was a mere goose-egg and his puffed eye was only slightly smaller than the other one. With a full stomach, he settled deeper into Ysabeau’s ultra-comfortable couch. Life was good and sleep should have come easily, unless of course, the sleepless man was riddled with guilt.
The longer he stayed with Ysabeau, the harder it was to shut her down. And dancing with her made him feel for her in a way he shouldn’t. What in the hell was he going to do?
With his arms crossed behind his head, he stared at the moving banana-leafed fan overhead and worried. An hour passed and then two, and Luke was no closer to an answer that would ease his mind.
A noise from the back room made him sit up too fast. Cursing, he clutched the edge of the couch and listened. There it was again. Crying.
Quietly, he got up and walked down the hallway. The crying grew louder as he neared Ysabeau’s room. Softly, he knocked on the door, “Ysabeau? Are you all right?”
He stood there a moment with his hand on the door and wondered what to do. Should he leave her alone? Go in?
She screamed out.
He didn’t think. He opened her door. Moonlight streamed across her face, softly shimmering over her skin, dipping the tips of her hair with platinum light. He sucked in a breath. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
“No! Please, no!” She fought in her sleep. Something hurt her in her dreams.
“Shhh.” He sat on the edge of her bed and scooped her up in his arms. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he crooned in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
She whimpered softly and held on tight.
He stroked her hair. “No one can hurt you. I’m here.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Luke?”
He cradled her jaw in his hand. “Yes, angel. You’re safe.”
“I couldn’t save her.” Her voice sounded so small, so fragile. “It was an open coffin full of dying patients, dead bodies. Everywhere. A little girl was inside, reaching for me. I…I couldn’t grab her hand.”
He grimaced. “It was a bad nightmare. I’ve had a few myself.” Hell, he’d had a few years of them.
“You?” She let out a deep breath but didn’t let go. Not yet.
He nodded. “Here, move over a little. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Your injuries! I’ll hurt you.” She kept her sheets pulled up to her neck.
“Please, I’m tougher than that.” He lay on top of her covers and patted his shoulder. “Put your head here.”
She scooted over. Slowly, she lowered her head to the pocket of his shoulder and wrapped her arm over his chest. She trembled so badly the bed shook.
“This okay?” Her voice still quivered.
Okay? With a soft warm woman in his arms? He hadn’t felt this good in…well, years. Could she feel the insanely wild beat of his heart? “Yes. Go to sleep.”
She took a deep breath through her nose and snuggled a little closer. “I’m not hurting you?”
“Sleep, woman.”
She made a soft sound in her throat and relaxed. A few minutes later her head was heavier and her breathing deep. Ysabeau was peacefully out.
This is going to be one long, sleepless, tingly shoulder night. The thought made him smile. Moments like these were hard to come by. He wouldn’t let this one go.
Chapter Nine
‡
January 9, 2010. Three Days…
Luke woke alone on a strange bed. He took a moment to figure out the feminine surroundings. Mint-green painted walls, floral bedspread with over-sized ruffled pillows? Ysabeau’s bedroom.
Where was she?
Barefoot, he padded out to the kitchen. It was empty except for a pot of lukewarm coffee stationed next to a loaf of bread.
“Dammit!” She’d left without him.
Now what was he going to do? He had no car and no money for a cab, or a tap-tap. Could he walk to the clinic? After Map-questing the distance on his iPhone, he realized the answer was “no.” He doubted he was strong enough yet to walk ten miles. He was trapped in Ysabeau’s home. And she knew it.
Shaking his head, he put two slices of white bread into the toaster.
She was a clever girl, he’d give her that. He knew she wanted to drag out the closure on the hope—however impossible—the outcome would change. His preference was to get the nasty deed done quickly and go home. This was difficult enough as it was.
He buttered the toast and Googled the location of the nearest bank. Danny could wire the money, and he’d take a cab to the clinic and get the job done. Ysabeau would hate him for it, but what could he do? He thought about how fragile and scared she’d been last night, and his heart squeezed. He hated to hurt her, but wasn’t it better to do it fast? Rip the Band-Aid off quickly so that she could start to heal. Maybe he could help her find another job. He had dozens of contacts who would be thrilled to have a doctor with her clinical expertise.
First things first, he had to get his ass to the bank.
A thought occurred to him—would he be able to collect wired money without any form of I.D? He pounded the counter. Unlikely. Damn, Ysabeau had him right where she wanted him. Trapped.
A rustling sound outside the window caught his attention. Stealthily, he padded his way to the window. A figure popped up and ducked down quickly. Tico.
Luke raced out the door after him. “Stop!”
Tico held up his hands. “Kompoze. Calm down. I was just making sure Dr. M. wasn’t home.”
“Why?”
Tico grinned. “To bring you this.” He reached behind his back and pulled a blue object out his waistband. “Deolina said you’d need it to go home. She suggests you go today.”
“My passport!” He took it and checked it over. “Now I can get some cash.”
> Tico bobbed his head. “Bitchin’. See ya around. I gotta get back to the clinic before Ysabeau realizes I’m gone.”
Luke grabbed him by the back of his scrubs. “Not so fast.”
“Dude! You’ll wrinkle the garb.”
He let go. “Drop me off at a bank.”
Tico shrugged. “Yeah. All right. Deolina said to help you out. Come on.”
Who’s Deolina? Luke was about to ask as he followed the kid to the front, but his thought processes was interrupted by a multi-colored hippy van parked by the curb. It came complete with side-window curtains. “Yours?”
“Ain’t she a beauty?” Tico smiled brightly.
“She’s something all right,” he mumbled to himself and opened the door. Expecting a pot cloud to waft out, he was surprised that the inside was immaculate and smelled like vanilla.
“You gettin’ in?”
With the guy who tried to kill him? Did he have a choice? Luke scratched his jaw. He really wanted to get his job done and head home to Sunny. He climbed in.
“Deolina said to take you to the bank with the best exchange rate and is half a block from the bus station where you can get a ticket to the airport and fly straight home.”
He buckled up and cinched the belt extra tight. With any luck, he’d survive the ride. “Deolina. The receptionist at the clinic?”
“When she feels like it.” Tico snorted. “Mostly she’s the scariest black magic priestess who ever lived.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Before asking something stupid—like how she knew you were going to the bank—just trust me when I say, she knows everything.” Tico’s head bobbed. “She’s bad-ass.”
He started to laugh until his ribs reminded him that laughing hurt.
Tico cut his eyes at him. “Dude, if I were you, I’d do whatever she says. Wouldn’t want her evil eye on me.”
“Right. Well, I’ll keep that in mind. Keep your eyes on the road.”
Tico honked and yelled at a slow driver in front of them. After passing the slow car he said, “My cousin, Juni, ran over Deolina’s rose bush once—they share the same driveway—and she turned him into a zombie.”
