One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  He closed the door to the bathroom and stood under the stinging spray of mountain water. Comforting her hadn’t been without its consequences. Ten minutes later, reasonably sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself if she was awake, he zipped his jeans, tucked the pistol between his waistband and spine, then walked back into the bedroom.

  She still slept, her chest rising and falling by peaceful measures. He stood at the foot of the bed for long moments, staring at her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and she’d tucked the sheet beneath her chin. Long lashes barely distracted his notice from the bruiselike darkness beneath her eyes that sleep hadn’t been able to vanquish.

  His respect for her nudged up a notch. She didn’t complain, did what she had to do and dug deep for guts that she probably never knew existed.

  Having spoken to Rhone and Shannen, Doug knew Arielle was precious to her parents, as well as her students. He resisted the emotional tug that told him she was precious to him, as well. Doug didn’t do precious. That knowledge didn’t give him the power to turn away from her, though.

  Only the demands of duty did that.

  With reluctance, he finished dressing. He did a cursory check of the upstairs, glanced at window locks and the positions of curtains and blinds, then jogged down the stairs two at a time, doing a visual sweep on his way to the coffeepot.

  He carried a mug into the office, hoping a fax or update had arrived. No such luck. He typed an e-mail to Brian, sent another. to Rhone, knowing not all Internet firewalls were sophisticated enough to keep out hackers, then went outside.

  Cold Colorado autumn nipped at him, the predawn hour making the chill worse. No prints marred the gravel driveway, except those of a deer who bolted when the beam of Doug’s flashlight startled her.

  Twenty minutes later, satisfied, he returned inside to find Arielle on the couch, with her legs tucked beneath her and her nightgown pulled over her knees. Her hands circled a cup of coffee, steam bathed her face, and the smile she offered barely curved her lips.

  He bolted the door, the click echoing through the living room.

  “I didn’t dream it, did I?”

  He raised a brow, taking a seat across from her.

  “That you held me last night?”

  “You had a nightmare.”

  “And you saved me from it.”

  He shrugged. “Had to protect myself. You’ve got quite an aim.”

  She flushed, the color standing out against the paleness of her features. Even though she didn’t complain, she couldn’t have denied that events had taken a toll on her. The sooner this was resolved, the better. She should be at the head of a class, not locked behind a safety door and looking over her shoulder.

  He’d get her through this, no matter what it took. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.

  “I don’t like to eat this early.”

  “Scrambled, boiled, poached, sunny-side up? You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of it turning out okay if I need to flip them.”

  “Doug—”

  “You need to keep up your strength.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You asked for pancakes that first day on your boat.”

  “Yacht. She’s a yacht.”

  She nodded. “If I make pancakes, will that work?”

  “Do you know how to make French toast?”

  “Can you be bought?”

  “The way to a man’s heart...”

  “Is through his stomach. Is that true?”

  “Try me.”

  She made breakfast every bit as well as she played cards. And he had to admit, her coffee was better than his, too. Maybe that was why some men got married. Cold cereal and eggs held limited appeal.

  For the rest of the day, he didn’t let her out of his sight. She frowned when she went into the bathroom later that afternoon for her shower, scowled when she found him sitting on a chair when she walked into the bedroom wearing only two towels, one on her head, the other wrapped around her body. Pale blue had never had so many possibilities before.

  “Do you mind?”

  He raised a brow.

  “I’d like some privacy.”

  “This is as much as you’re going to get.”

  “You’re driving me crazy.”

  He studied the blunted tips of his nails.

  “Since Brian called yesterday, you haven’t left my side.”

  “And your point is?”

  She sighed. “You’re infuriating.”

  “You’re still alive,” he countered.

  Arielle pressed her hands to her face, then slowly lowered them. “Doug, I know you mean well.”

  He waited. Goose bumps raised on her arms. Still, she stood there, facing him.

  “I can’t do it this way,” she insisted. “You need to back off and leave me some breathing room.”

  Her words fired him. Doug stood and devoured the distance in three biting strides. Anger sparked. He stood close to her, his gaze searing into hers.

  Doug tried to tell himself she was just an assignment. Tried to tell himself that their touches meant nothing, that holding her in his arms meant nothing.

  But he could no longer make himself swallow that lie.

  By the minute, his ability to resist her drew on shallower and shallower reserves. He wanted her safe, wanted her smiling, wanted her in his arms. He wanted her. “Make no mistake in this, Arielle.” He ground out the words. “I will keep you alive. I’ll do whatever it damn well takes to let you see your parents again and teach school.”

  Blood thundered in his temples, trampling tenderness. Her eyes were open wide, and she’d dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. Wisps of drying hair framed her delicate face. Yeah, he wanted her, all right, but he wanted a whole lot more than just her body.

  That thought scared him spitless, reminding him of the time he’d stood at the helm and stared into the hungry grip of a hurricane. Lowering his voice, knowing it matched the dangerous churning inside, he said, “I warned you you’d be sorry to be stuck with me. You took the gamble.

  “And sweetheart, I hold all the cards.”

  Doug pivoted. He strode from the room, taking power and frustration with him, sucking energy from her.

  When he slammed the door, a picture jumped on the wall. Her shoulders fell forward in the sudden silence. She felt as if the earth had been shaken, leaving her on a piece she’d never stood on before.

  She dragged the towel around her more, keeping a tight grip on the terry cloth...something to hold on to, anything. Last night, she’d asked if everything was a joke to him. He’d proved it wasn’t.

  Arielle lowered herself to the edge of the bed, seeing his clothes from yesterday discarded in an untidy heap. The covers were mussed on his side of the bed, smooth on hers. She hadn’t made her side of the bed. Rather, Doug had invited her to share the security of his.

  She remembered waking up in a tangle of sheets and sweat, recalled a gentle voice that vanquished the demons chasing her. Doug. She took a deep breath and allowed it to ease back out. Stress management, they’d called it at the teacher in-service. Survival, she now called it.

  He was a strong man, rigid and unmalleable as the steel of the gun he carried. He didn’t want to be seen that way, so he made wisecracks and smiled easily. But that core of strength inside was undisguisable. He’d offered a glimpse of his humanness last night, allowed her inside to see his pain and uncertainty.

  She was starting to care for him, she knew, woman to man. As impossible, irrational and illogical as it was, the fact hit her in the heart. She desired him, ached to be in his arms again.

  Heaven help her, what was wrong with her? She’d never yet fallen for a man who could come close to giving her what she wanted. Doug Masterson, loner, could never offer what she needed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Would she never learn? She couldn’t want him, couldn’t.

  She’d lived with heartbreak before, and she knew she wouldn’t survive it again. Which meant she had to stop the feeling
s now, before he swept her away.

  Standing, Arielle reached into a drawer for underwear. The towel pooled around her, leaving her clothed in doubts and nothing more.

  The routine of drying her hair and clipping a barrette around it provided some distraction. She jumped when he knocked on the door.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Doug.”

  “I’ll be downstairs.”

  She’d been in the bedroom barely twenty minutes, and he’d knocked twice. His words of yesterday, when he’d indicated he would be her constant shadow, were proving prophetic. A part of her already regretted the power he held over her. Still, no other option existed.

  After stalling for five more minutes, Arielle finished dressing, then made her way downstairs. He sat on the couch, remote control in hand, but with the TV volume muted. He’d been flipping aimlessly through channels until he looked up at her. With the touch of his finger, he zapped the picture. “I apologize if you think I was harsh.”

  She slipped her hands in her back pockets. “Are you apologizing for what you said?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t expect you would. No regrets are necessary, Doug. You said what needed to be said.”

  “No grudges?”

  She shook her head.

  A fire blazed in the hearth. She looked into it, watching the flames flicker. The wood crackled and popped in the silence. A fire. Such a mundane thing.

  At home, she might have held a match to kindling, then sat in front of the burning logs to grade papers. All across the country, people tossed wood on top of kindling, cooked dinner, prepared for the evening. Only here, even though she did all those things, nothing was normal. “How much longer?” she asked him.

  When he didn’t respond, she dragged her gaze away from the mesmerizing flames. “Doug?”

  “I don’t know. Since getting a trace on Pickins’s license tags, there’s been no more news.”

  She moved to the couch and sat. “How do you do this? All this waiting?”

  “Get good at cribbage.”

  “I’m going crazy, Doug,” she confessed, looking directly at him. “Even on summer break, I teach courses or take them. I’ve never had this kind of enforced isolation before. I’ve never had someone follow me around, watching my every move. I don’t know if I can take it much longer.”

  “We’re doing the best we can.”

  She wrapped her arms across her chest. “I’m not blaming you. I appreciate everything you’ve done and continue to do.” She feathered her hair back from her eyes. “It’s me, I suppose. Sorry about complaining. Mom always told me patience was a virtue.”

  “And you’re not virtuous?”

  “I guess not. I try, though. Mom still insists Mr. Right will come along, and that I’ll give her grandchildren to bounce on her knee.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  She didn’t need to answer, could tell him to mind his own business. But for some reason, this seemed too important. “No. I believed it once upon a time, but not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  Maybe it was the night, or the flames, or the loneliness, or maybe it was Doug’s presence. There was something about him that inspired confidence, the right amount of sympathy blended with an attitude for irreverence. Whatever it was, she admitted, “Prince Charming doesn’t exist, at least not for me.”

  He waited quietly. Although she’d decided not to say another word, she continued anyway. “When I even hint at commitment, my phone never rings again.”

  “Any man would be a fool not to want a relationship with you.”

  She smiled, but it froze when she realized he wasn’t joking. Slowly the smile faded. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  A log shifted on the grate, and the fire flared, sparking the room with intimacy. “Well, I’ve met a number of them. Went as far as getting engaged. I thought I loved him, thought he loved me the way I wanted to be loved. But when I mentioned that I wanted kids, several of them, he said he wasn’t ready for fatherhood and supporting a brood.”

  Even now, after a few years, the wound on her heart still ached. She threw herself into her job with enthusiasm, treating the kids at school as if they were her own, because she’d probably have none of her own. “He asked for his ring back.”

  “Bastard.”

  “There has to be something about me...”

  “Don’t believe it. You just haven’t met the right man yet. It can happen.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve seen it firsthand, with Rhone.”

  “Has it ever happened to you?”

  Silence shrouded the room. Honesty had been replaced by a different kind of electrical charge. A pop exploded from the fireplace, making her jump. Doug wasn’t going to answer, and she’d pushed too hard again, blindly jumping over that invisible line he constantly drew.

  “Yeah, it happened to me, once.”

  Arielle sucked in her breath.

  “Her name was Kerry.” Rawness scraped through his words, as if he’d dragged them over a painful memory.

  He turned from Arielle, staring into the depths of the flames.

  “Did you get married?”

  “Didn’t work out.”

  She sighed in frustration. Doug was determined to shoulder his burdens alone, never sharing or opening up. On the other hand, he was never satisfied unless he’d dug out another person’s innermost secrets. She’d have bet on his ability to wring confessions from hardened criminals...without ever giving away a thing about himself. “Did she dump you?”

  “No, she didn’t dump me.”

  “Then you dumped her.”

  “No, Arielle, I didn’t dump her.”

  “Then?”

  “Leave it be.”

  “You don’t. You push and prod until you know every detail. You demand my trust, my belief, my complete honesty, and you’re not willing to give anything in return.”

  Doug surged to his feet and swallowed the distance between them. She saw his anger. It brewed like an ocean storm in his eyes, whipping into deep swells.

  “Leave it alone, Arielle.”

  On a surge of bravery, or stupidity—she didn’t stop to analyze which—she pushed on. “What are you afraid of this time?”

  He leaned in close, then closer. “I said, leave it alone.”

  She should respect the boundaries he drew, should respect that line he warned her not to cross.

  “You can run, Doug, but you can’t hide. You can never hide.”

  His brows drew together, and his lips compressed. A pulse throbbed in his temple. Too late, she found rational thought. She wanted to retract her words, but she couldn’t force them past her thundering pulse.

  “Neither can you, Doc,” he said, words containing nothing but granite.

  She tipped her head back, her breath squeezing out in ragged little bursts.

  At that, he caught her shoulders and said, “Anyone tell you you talk too much?”

  There was no teasing in his tone, nothing but seriousness and frustration. “Doug, don’t.”

  His lips caught hers.

  She drew back, but he tightened his hold on her and deepened the kiss, demanding surrender.

  He’d kissed her in New York to shock her, and other times with passion. But this was about punishment, for delving too deeply. She wanted to resist, wanted to stand there till he stopped, but she couldn’t.

  She’d started to care about him. With that had come the ability to see through his facade of anger to the anguish. Nothing was more painful than slicing open your heart and exposing it, and she’d asked him to do that.

  She met his tongue, his thrust, with a gentle parry. Then she reached her hands around and clasped them behind his neck. He smelled of masculinity, of power, of determination. And beneath her hands, she felt the corded strength of him, but not the tenderness she knew him to be capable of.

  Whatever had happened to Doug had very nearly destr
oyed him. Despite his actions, she remained doubly determined to find out what it was that had hurt him so badly.

  He ended the kiss. Then he took a step away from her. “That shouldn’t have happened.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, raking it backward.

  “Doug, I...” She pressed her fingers to her swollen lips. Her heart reeled with the intensity, the undiluted passion of his kiss. She’d never felt anything like it before.

  “I’ve never kissed a woman out of anger. You shouldn’t have been the first. I have no excuses.”

  He dragged in a breath. “You have every right to demand someone else protect you.”

  Chapter 12

  Disgusted, Doug turned and strode to the window. Sightlessly, wordlessly, he stared out into the encroaching blackness of night. Tree branches snapped back and forth in the wind, tossed around like his insides.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? Women didn’t get to him. Beyond an occasional evening together, women had barely impacted his life in the past few years. He pre-ferret the sweet song of the sea to the seduction of a sensual woman. The ocean in a storm was calmer than any woman he’d known.

  Except Arielle.

  Even now, when she had all the reason in the world, she hadn’t uttered a cross word, hadn’t fallen to pieces.

  Just when had things gotten so screwed up? He’d always exercised taut control over his emotions, masking everything he didn’t want people to see. Yet, with a few carefully aimed words, Arielle had found his heart and hit it with the intensity of an armor-piercing bullet.

  In his years in the field, he’d seen the damage a piece of shrapnel could cause. And now... He sighed. And now he’d experienced the soul-shredding impact.

  The damnedest thing was, she’d found the truth he was trying to deny. He couldn’t run, and he couldn’t hide. It was always there, Kerry was always there, the guilt was always there. And he’d punished Arielle...for being honest.

  When he turned, she was still sitting on the couch, a finger against her lips. Guilt clawed at him. Some protector. Instead of getting his protection, she needed protecting from him. Seeking, but finding no other option, he reluctantly said, “I’ll call Brian and ask him to fly out.”

  She dropped her hand and surged to her feet. Her eyes were open wide and a flush crept up her cheeks. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want Brian. I want you.”