by Cindy Dees
Annie jumped forward. All her best intentions to keep her distance from him went right out the window. She bent over him in concern.
“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you? I picked up some painkillers from Dr. Clark today. Shall I get you one?”
“No. Just leave me alone. I’ll be okay.”
His voice sounded thin, not the rich tones of his usual speaking voice. It took all the punch out of his attempt to be stoic and macho.
She sat down on the edge of the sofa beside him. His eyes flew open and the expression in them shifted from annoyed to startled. She kept forgetting he’d been unconscious most of the time she’d been getting so intimately familiar with him. He looked away.
She spoke quietly to his averted face. “You must hate having anyone see you like this.”
He didn’t respond. But then she didn’t really expect him to.
“I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for you to be accustomed to perfect health and then to find yourself in this situation. Give it a little time. You’ll be back to your old self soon.”
He turned his head and gazed bleakly at her. “Will I?”
His words cut like a knife. She was responsible for potentially ending his career and causing him all this anguish.
She reached out to smooth away the frown from his forehead. To her surprise he closed his eyes and accepted the comforting touch. And as usual her fingers couldn’t resist straying into his dark, silky hair. She massaged his scalp gently.
As much as she savored touching his vital warmth, she had to stop this. He’d made it crystal clear earlier that he wanted nothing personal to do with her. She’d pegged him correctly. He was one of those men to whom the mission was everything. Reluctantly, Annie removed her hand.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
He sighed. “Actually, you can. In the top pocket on the right side of my pack, there’s a beeper.”
She fished around and found a small black object that looked like a pocket pager. “Is this it?”
“Yeah.”
She handed it over, watching while he punched in a series of numbers.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if my team has left a message for me.”
“They probably don’t know you’re out of the hospital yet, let alone that you’ve got your gear back.”
“They will soon. I just sent each of them a message to come here.” He set aside the beeper. “In the big section of my pack, near the top, there’s a little vinyl notebook. Could you get it for me?”
Annie found it and gave it to him. Interested, she watched him flip to several pages covered with a jumble of numbers.
“Do you have some paper around here?”
“Yes, sir.” Annie got up and fetched a yellow legal pad for him.
He tore off a single sheet of paper.
“Never write on a pad of paper. The impression goes through to the pad and can be lifted for someone else to read.”
“I’ll remember that, Major.”
Tom stopped and looked up at her. “What’s all this sir and Major stuff?”
“Well, you do outrank me, and I am working for you now.”
He scooted back on the sofa. “Sit down.”
She sat beside him in the spot he patted by his hip.
“You and I are going to be living together in very close quarters, Annie. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m going to need your assistance. I’d feel awkward accepting your help if you decide to stand on military ceremony with me.”
Annie resisted the charm in his voice. She knew better than to become vulnerable to one of these gung-ho types. “I understand your point, but it wouldn’t be proper to fraternize—”
“Hey, I’m the first person to shout about the danger of superiors and subordinates getting too friendly and blurring the lines of command. But you don’t work for me.”
“Then what was all that stuff about me following your orders without question?”
His voice went dead serious. “I don’t give orders often, but when I do, it’s because people are going to die if something doesn’t happen pronto. If I ever do give you an order, I expect you to hop to it.”
She nodded. “Fair enough.”
“One of my team’s missions is to pull civilians out of dangerous situations. That’s essentially how we’ll treat you, even though you’re military. It’ll be less confusing for everyone if we treat you as a non-combatant evacuee. Can you live with that?”
Annie considered him. She knew full well he was splitting semantic hairs with her, but he had made several good points. They were going to be living together in pretty intimate circumstances. And he was still going to need care and assistance.
She didn’t for a minute believe the ridiculously hopeful expression he was throwing at her was sincere. He was a smart enough operator to try charming her into agreeing with him. But darned if that boyish smile wasn’t hard to resist.
“You’re just saying this stuff because you want another one of my massages, don’t you?”
He accepted her surrender gracefully. “Darn straight, I do. In fact, I may even have to order you give me one on a daily basis.”
“Oh, yeah? And who’s going to die if I don’t do it?”
He arched a dark brow at her. “My, my, we have led a sheltered life haven’t we?”
Abruptly she blushed to the roots of her hair and jumped up off the sofa. “And just when I thought you might be turning out to be a gentleman, after all.”
She hustled over to the kitchenette and fussed with putting away the groceries. “Are you hungry?”
“Now that you mention it, I could use a bite to eat.”
Tom’s answer was mild, but she definitely heard undertones of amusement in his voice. The rat.
While she cooked up pasta and vegetables, Tom fiddled with his notebook and paper. From her vantage point, it looked like he was encoding some sort of message.
He set aside the pen and paper to eat. Annie was dismayed when, a few minutes later, he handed her his plate still half-full of food.
“You didn’t like my cooking, did you?”
“Yes, I did. It was a far sight better than the grub I was living on before the accident. I’m just not hungry.”
“Once you get more active, maybe your appetite will pick up.”
He put his hand on her arm as she bent down to pick up his glass. Her breath hitched at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin.
“Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. The meal was great, and I appreciate you making it for me.”
Flustered, she sidled away from his hand. She’d finished washing and drying the dishes before she calmed down enough to breathe normally. How in the heck was she going to live with this guy if every time he touched her she got the vapors?
Tom’s voice interrupted the stern lecture she was giving herself. “Annie, would you mind helping me for a minute?”
“Not at all.”
He rolled on his side and gestured for her to sit down by him on the sofa. She did so and found her fanny wedged against his lean, hard stomach.
“What can I do for you?”
Resting his forearm on her thigh, he showed her the sheet of paper he’d been working on. The top half of the sheet was covered with what looked like random mathematical doodles. The bottom half of the sheet was covered with neatly printed rows of numbers. They swam in a jumble before her unfocused gaze.
His muscular power surrounded her. His clean, male smell filled her nostrils and made her light-headed. Or maybe it was the picture that came to mind of all those brawny, bronzed muscles she felt as he spooned his body around her that made her feel faint.
“You see here where the sequence starts with 924681?”
She swallowed to clear the lump from her throat. “Uhh, yes.”
“Start there and read me the numbers in sets of six while I enter them in my pager.”
The procedure took a cou
ple of minutes. Somewhere along the way she found herself relaxing back against the warm wall of his body.
When they finished, she jerked herself upright once more. “So. Can you tell me what we just did?”
“We sent a status report to my superiors.”
“How?”
“Digital satellite paging. When we’re out in the field, headquarters monitors all the transmissions over our assigned frequencies.”
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now we wait.”
“For what?”
“For my team to arrive.”
She nodded. “Pretty slick. And here I was wondering how my contacts in St. George were ever going to find your guys to let them know where you are.”
He grinned. “We stand by the Boy Scout motto—Be Prepared. We have contingencies for all sorts of things, including teams getting split up.”
“Very impressive.”
His answering grin was downright boyish. Dang it. Why did he have to be so blasted appealing? Her plan to resist him was in a shambles, and they’d barely been together twelve hours. She was going to be a mess in a week.
“By the way, Annie. Do you happen to know how I’ve been getting shaved for the past seven weeks?”
His question knocked what little equilibrium she had right out from under her. She managed to mumble, “I might.”
“Uh-huh. I thought so. Is there anything you haven’t done for me?”
Her face heated up. “Not really.”
His eyes glinted. Suddenly he seemed a lot less bothered by their forced intimacy than she was.
“Do you want me to give you a shave, Tom?”
“What I’d really like is a bath.”
Oh, Lord. There was no way in heck she was going to manage to give him a full-body sponge bath when he was wide awake and watching her.
“If you think you can make it into the bathroom, I’ll run a bath for you. How does a long, hot soak in a tub sound?”
“Amazing.”
“Great. Stay here, and I’ll get it ready for you.” Relieved to have dodged that bullet, she jumped up and headed for the bathroom.
While steaming water filled the tub, she tucked her serviceable bar of Ivory soap out of sight and laid out shaving cream, a new razor and a towel. Grinning, she set out the array of floral soaps in frilly packages she’d bought that afternoon.
She returned to the living room. “All set. Do you want me to put a plastic bag over your cast, or can you keep your arm dry?”
“I’ll keep it out of the tub.”
She nodded as he swung his feet to the floor.
“How do your legs feel?”
He grimaced up at her. “Like spaghetti. It’s damn annoying. Did the doc say how soon I can start working out again?”
“You mean like exercising?”
“Yes. Like exercising, you know, getting my strength back? Becoming mobile and self-sufficient?”
“Tom, you’ve got broken bones all over the place.”
“It’s been seven weeks. They must be repaired by now. Besides, I’ve had broken bones before. I feel healed.” And with that, he stood up.
Despite his brave pronouncement, there was a distinct wobble to his steps. Annie wedged her shoulder under his arm and steadied him as they walked slowly to the bathroom.
“That’s just great,” she griped. “You feel healed. You have no idea at all how hurt you were, do you?”
He stopped in his tracks and gazed down at her. His arm, which rested across her shoulders, abruptly tightened.
“I remember getting dragged through the jungle, slamming into tree after tree. I remember feeling each bone break, and I remember hoping the next tree would be the one that killed me. Believe me. I know exactly how bad I was hurt.”
Annie felt positively sick to her stomach. She’d never dreamed he’d actually been conscious through that horrible ordeal. Dear God.
They made their way into the bathroom in silence.
“Tell you what, Tom. How about if I have Dr. Clark come take a look at you? Let’s see what he says about how you’re doing before you embark on any aerobics programs, okay?”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“I’ll blow your cover if you don’t see him.”
He gave her a deadly look. “I do not appreciate being blackmailed.”
If she’d learned one thing in eight years of working with macho males, it was never to back down. Even though the look he was giving her turned her gut to Jell-O, she glared right back at him.
“And I don’t appreciate seven weeks of my hard work caring for you going down the tubes because you’re too antsy to let yourself heal properly.”
He replied grudgingly. “Okay, okay. I’ll talk to the doc.”
“Thanks. Now, let me help you with your shirt.”
She eased the shirt off his shoulders, savoring the feel of his skin sliding under her fingertips. She guided the left sleeve over his cast and greedily devoured the sight of his back as the fabric fell away.
Despite the many times she’d seen his body, the sight of all that muscle never failed to impress her. And to see it moving, bending and twisting in all its supple grace, stole her breath clean away.
Then she noticed he was looking over his shoulder at her.
“Uh, the cuts on your back have healed up nicely. You can barely see the scars.”
He shrugged. “I never cared much about having a perfect body. Another scar or two doesn’t matter one way or the other.”
She refrained from mentioning that his body was as close to perfect as she’d ever seen. Instead she asked, “Speaking of scars, where did you get this one?” She touched a small round scar under his right shoulder blade with her fingertip.
He sucked in his breath, and she jerked her finger away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He turned to face her. In the tight confines of the bathroom, they were only inches apart. His voice was little more than a husky whisper. “You didn’t hurt me.”
She stared up at him, startled by the sudden intensity of his gaze. The attraction between them flared, hot and thick. Slowly, as if against his will, his arms came up and surrounded her, drawing her close.
Ohmigosh. It was all she could do to keep her hands at her sides, not to lean into him, and most especially not to return his embrace.
“That’s an old gunshot wound,” he murmured. “A woman gave it to me.”
“A woman shot you?” Annie asked breathlessly.
“She led me into a trap, and her father’s men shot me.”
“That sounds horrible,” Annie whispered, her heart aching for all he’d suffered in his career. First a trap and a gunshot wound, and now multiple broken bones and a possibly career-ending injury. No wonder he didn’t like working with women.
His husky voice drew her back to the present. The very steamy present.
“I like it when you touch me, Annie. Do you like doing it?”
“Uhh,” she cleared her throat, “sure.”
“Good. Then here’s your first order. Do it some more.”
She replied nervously, “I don’t think that qualifies as a lawful order under the Uniform Code of…”
His finger stilled her lips. “Remember what I told you about following orders?” he murmured. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “Make it a request, not an order, and I just might.”
He smiled back, slow and smooth. “Touch me, please.”
Her hands settled on his lean waist. Pure, sexual pleasure shot through her. This was wrong. Really wrong. But did he ever feel good.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Annie. You’ve had your hands all over me already, but I don’t know the feel of you at all.”
His hands began to move, roaming gently over her back. His fingers kneaded the muscles along her spine, melting her will to stand up. Only the knowledge of his injuries kept her from sagging against him.
She mustered enough strength to murmur, “Your bath’s going to get cold.”
He drew her closer and spoke against her temple. “Sweet Annie, there’s always more hot water. Besides, I may be needing a cold soak, anyway.”
She buried her face against his shoulder. “We’ve got to stop this.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re in the middle of a mission and don’t need distractions, and we’ve got to work together.”
He sighed. “You’re right.” He set her away from him, but his hands lingered on her shoulders. “But holding you makes me feel alive.”
His hands slid down her arms, and with a final caress of her fingertips, fell away from her.
“Did you know there was a time in the hospital when I thought I had died?”
She shook her head in the negative.
“When I first saw you, I thought you were an angel, and I couldn’t figure out how I’d ended up in Heaven.”
“Me an angel? Not a chance.”
“To me you were one. Every time you came to me, you took away my pain. And you let me know I wasn’t alone. You have no idea how comforting that was.”
The extent of his suffering made her ache inside.
“I’m so sorry, Tom…”
“For what? It’s not your fault I got hurt.”
His words were a knife straight through her heart. Only the sink at the back of her thighs kept her from staggering at the blow.
“But—”
“Are you all right? Annie? You look a little pale.”
“It’s probably all the steam in here making me light-headed.”
“Why don’t you go into the other room? I can handle the rest of my bath, and I’ll give you a holler if I need anything.”
He guided her to the door, gave her a gentle push into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
She turned to face the wooden panel, leaning her forehead against it in misery.
She whispered, “But it is my fault, Tom.”
Chapter 5
O n the other side of the door, Tom scowled at the bath supplies she’d left him. “Hey! Where’s some real soap, dammit?”
The sound of snickering drifted through the closed bathroom door. The minx. She’d left him with nothing but those girly soaps he hated. Ah, hell. Who cared if he smelled like vanilla orchid sachet?
