Shiver

by Karen Robards

  He was looking at her steadily. “You know you can’t, right?”

  “I have to. We’ll lose everything.” Sam’s stomach was in the process of turning inside out.

  He frowned. “Make a list of what has to be paid. I’m sure some kind of arrangements can be made.”

  “Some kind of arrangements can be made? What about my class? And who’s going to go out every night and haul cars in for me? Who’s going to keep my business going?” Sam’s fists clenched, and she turned away abruptly. “And then there’s Mrs. Menifee. She was never anything but kind to Tyler and me, and she’s dead. She’s dead, and Tyler and I almost died, and now our lives are going to be ruined. And it’s all because of you.”

  “Sam.” He was following her into the hall when the edge of his crutch caught on the threshold, where tile met thick beige carpet. “Look out!”

  Sam turned in time to see him stagger. Just as quick as that he lost his balance and started to fall. Instinctively she surged toward him, tried to grab him, to steady him, only to have him crash into her and send her reeling into the wall.

  God, the guy was big.

  “Umph.” The sound was forced out of her as he smacked into her. With the wall hard against her back, she felt like a bug being squashed.

  “Ow! Damn it!” The exclamation came from him as, in trying to regain his footing, he apparently accidentally put weight on his injured leg. He pitched sideways. The crutches went tumbling. Clutching at her shoulders, he tried to save himself. Locking her arms around his waist, Sam did her best to hold him up, but he was too heavy, and was off-balance to boot. There was nothing she could do. They performed a kind of staggering dance that ended badly: together they tumbled to the floor. Sam landed flat on her back, with him partly beside and partly on top of her. For a stunned moment she lay unmoving, fighting to catch her breath, as a stream of muttered curses passed over her head. His fall had loosened his robe so that what was pinning her to the floor was a lot of near naked man. He was heavy as a sack of cement, and she pushed at him in a vain attempt to shift his weight. With his robe askew, her hands encountered smooth, damp skin over sinewy muscles; she was pushing just above his hipbones, on the sides of his taut waist, without making any appreciable difference at all to their respective positions. She could feel the expansion and contraction of his rib cage as he breathed. Unwillingly inhaling the scent of soap and man, she felt the prickly warmth of hair-roughened bare skin brushing her cheek, along with the solid length of his uninjured leg lying against hers. A lightning sideways glance told her that it was his chest that her cheek was touching. Tan like the rest of him, his chest was wide and muscular, with a wedge of black hair in the center. The unmistakably masculine look and feel of it—of him—bothered her in a way she refused to even try to define. Jerking her face clear of skin-to-skin contact, she shifted as best she could, managing to scoot upward an inch or so, winding up at approximate eye level with his square chin and his grimacing mouth. One of his hard-muscled arms rested beneath her head. The other curved across her shoulders. His injured leg lay across her thighs. His entire body was tense, with pain, she thought. Uncomfortable with the closeness of the contact, she would have shot to her feet if it had been at all possible, but it wasn’t. There was no way she was getting up until he moved. Shifting her gaze higher with some reluctance, she met his eyes. They were a little glazed, unfocused even. She wasn’t even sure that he knew whom he was looking at.

  Which suited her fine.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, although from his expression it wasn’t hard to guess that the answer was no. The fall had undoubtedly jarred the wound. She only hoped that it hadn’t done more than that, like make it start bleeding again or something. Luckily the carpet was thick plush, and his leg had landed on her rather than anything less yielding.

  “I’ll live.” His voice was tight, but at least he was answering.

  She took a steadying breath. If having him wrapped around her like this was making her feel ill at ease, she sure wasn’t going to let him know it. “See why you should have stayed in the wheelchair?”

  “Staying in a wheelchair doesn’t work for me.” She could feel the tension slowly easing out of his muscles. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him carefully flexing his hand, and remembered that his leg was just the worst of his injuries, and not the extent of them by a long shot.

  “Why not?”

  “I need to get back up to speed. ASAP.”

  “That’s really not going to happen if you keep falling all over the place.”

  “The end of one of my crutches got caught on the carpet. Pure accident.”

  “You’re trying to do too much too soon.” Good God, she sounded like she could have been scolding Tyler, if he were doing something of which she disapproved. The smallest upward quirk of Marco’s lips told her that he recognized the tone, too.

  “I’m a little older than four, you know.”

  “You could have fooled me.” She squirmed discreetly, just to see if there was any possible way she could get out from under him. There wasn’t. But she needed to. The warmth of his body, the feel of so much nearly naked masculinity wrapped around her, was doing funny things to her insides. “Do you want to try to get up now?”

  Their faces were only inches apart, so close that she could smell the faint minty aroma of the toothpaste he had apparently just used. He needed a shave: probably two days’ worth of stubble darkened his jaw. Glancing up in an effort to avoid looking at his mouth, which was actually really very nicely shaped, she met his eyes instead. He was regarding her almost meditatively.

  “Yeah,” he said, without making the slightest move to do so. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She looked at him more closely. His eyes were more black than brown now, and she realized that it was because his pupils were dilated. Of course, there was a reason that he had stumbled, a reason he had knocked them both down, and a reason he wasn’t moving faster to get up. As that reason became crystal clear to her, she gave him a disgusted look. “You’re really flying now, aren’t you?”

  “Flying?” He frowned, then as comprehension dawned gave a negative shake of his head. “Nope. Not flying. Thing is, you’re not high if you really need the pain meds you’re on. And right now, I need them.” He inhaled, seemingly more deeply than before, and his lids lowered a little. From beneath a fringe of stubby black lashes his eyes held hers. There was something in the look he was giving her . . . “You know what? You smell like strawberries.”

  Before she could even begin to formulate a reply to that, he lifted his head, shifted a little, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It had been way too long since a man had kissed her. That was the problem, Sam told herself fiercely as his mouth molded to hers like the two were separate parts of the same whole, like they were meant to fit together. That explained why she didn’t jerk away at the first touch of his lips on hers, why she wasn’t trying to shove him off her, why she wasn’t saying no. That explained why her body clenched and her heart speeded up and her pulse went haywire.

  Why she wasn’t even thinking no.

  Why she was letting him kiss her.

  Why she was lying there with her hands splayed flat against his bare chest and her head nestled on his robe-cushioned arm and her lips parting to let him in.

  Why her eyes were closing.

  Why she was kissing him back.

  It explained everything. The intensity of her response. The electricity that arced between them.

  The heat. Oh, God, the heat.

  He was kissing her with a raw hunger that made her burn deep inside. That made her go all soft with pleasure, and arch up against him and slide her hands up over the hard warm muscles of his chest until her arms were wrapping around his neck.

  His lips were firm and dry, and he knew what to do with them—and what he was doing dazzled her. His tongue was hot and wet and tasted faintly of mint. He was bigger than she was, stronger than she
was, all muscles and sinews and hair-roughened flesh, unmistakably, overwhelmingly male—and she loved that he was. His arms were hard around her, pulling her closer. Only the thin cotton of the shirt she was wearing separated her breasts from the unyielding wall of his chest. The silky nylon of her granny panties slid against the smooth cotton of his boxers.

  He was aroused.

  So. Was. She.

  She couldn’t believe it, but it was true. So aroused she was burning with it. Melting with it.

  Just from a kiss. It was because it had been too long, because she had been caught off guard, because he was a really, really good kisser, she told herself feverishly. But none of those things explained the intensity of her reaction entirely. The only thing to do was put it down to chemistry.

  He slanted his mouth across hers, licking into it and sending ripples of fire shooting through her. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. Her body pressed against his. The hot sweet throbbing that he was awakening in her was the most erotic thing she had ever felt in her life.

  Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that he, of all the men in all the world, could excite her like this.

  She made a small, involuntary sound deep in her throat. He raised his head briefly, and she thought he looked down at her. She could have stopped it then, could have opened her eyes and turned her head away, could have said let me go.

  She did none of those things. Instead she lifted her mouth toward his, blindly seeking his kiss. When his lips touched hers again, she responded instantly, tightening her arms around his neck, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

  He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her mouth, and she kissed him back just as hungrily. Who would have thought the taste of mint could turn her on so? But coupled with the hot wet slide of his tongue against hers, it set her on fire. Pressing closer still, she rocked against him and felt the delicious thrill of desire shoot clear down to her toes. He was rigid with wanting her, hard and ready, radiating heat.

  The thought this feels so good revolved in her steam-fogged mind as her breasts tightened and her nipples contracted into greedy little nubs that pressed against his chest and her body moved sensuously against the hard bulge that was right there, right at the apex of her thighs, positioned in a way that was just too tempting, that was impossible to ignore. Moving against him like this was the sexiest thing she had done in forever. Forget sex, she had been telling herself for ages; who needs it? It just leads to trouble. But now she remembered vividly what sex was all about, and the real and very solid reminder made her breathless, made her tremble, made her go all liquid inside.

  “I want—” Oh, God, she was breathing the words into his mouth. At least she had the good sense to break off before she added you.

  But she did want him. So much she was dizzy with it.

  “Sam,” he murmured against her lips.

  It was hearing her name that did it, that almost broke through the blaze of passion, the wildfire of desire. For a moment her lids fluttered up, as one tiny, cold-eyed part of her brain tried to tell her that this—he—was not what she wanted at all.

  Too late. Lost cause.

  Her mind might know better, but her body did not. She was so turned on that she was stupid with it. She might even recognize that she was being stupid, but the kicker was that she just didn’t care.

  His mouth left hers to trail hot, wet kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So sexy. So sweet.”

  Take off my clothes. She retained just enough presence of mind not to say it out loud. But she rocked against him and kissed him back with abandon when his mouth returned to find hers, and didn’t do one thing to stop him when his hand slid inside her robe and cupped her breast through the thin T-shirt.

  What she did do was arch up into that hand. It was big and warm and knowing, and having it caressing her breast was just what she wanted, she discovered. When his thumb slid over her nipple, her bones liquefied.

  He was just repeating the exercise when she was jerked back to reality by a muffled cry. It shot straight to her heart, piercing the urgency that had her in its grip, causing her to pull her mouth free of that mind-blowing kiss and open her eyes and shove against his chest in a silent demand to be released. The sight of his big, tanned hand wrapped around her breast sent shockwaves through her system. It branded itself forever on her mind.

  The cry came again.

  “Tyler!” she said.

  Marco let her go, and, tightening her robe, she scrambled to her feet even as her son let loose with a full-blown scream.

  “Christ.” Marco’s reaction followed Sam down the dimly lit hall as she raced to Tyler’s side, along with a vivid mental image of him lying there looking after her as he sprawled on the carpet. His open robe revealed enough so that she knew exactly how wide and muscular his chest was, and how the wedge of black hair in the middle of it tapered down to a fine line as it disappeared into his boxers. She knew that his navel was an innie, and that it was positioned smack in the middle of a set of six-pack abs. She knew that he had the narrow hips of an athlete, and that he absolutely rocked the plain blue boxers that were all that kept him decent. She knew that the thigh that wasn’t bandaged was long and powerful, his knees were well shaped, his calves taut with muscle. She knew that his skin was tan everywhere that she could see, and that apart from his recent injuries he seemed healthy as a horse.

  Marco was balanced on one knee, grabbing for his crutches and doing his best to get to his feet as she reached the open bedroom doorway. Behind him, she heard Groves yelling something as he came bounding up the stairs. Then Tyler screamed again, a long, high-pitched scream that, even though she should have been used to it, still had the power to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The bedroom was dark, but not so dark she couldn’t see Tyler instantly. Racing across the carpet toward him, Sam felt her heart slamming in her chest. Her son sat bolt upright in the middle of the unfamiliar double bed, his small body rigid, his arms straight down at his sides, his eyes tightly closed even as his mouth opened to blast out another of those spine-chilling screams. In that instant she forgot all about Marco, and about those blistering kisses. She forgot all about the terrible situation they were in. She forgot about everything in the world except Tyler. Her entire focus was on her son.

  “Tyler.” She scrambled onto the bed, scuttling toward him as fast as she could. The skirt of her robe got caught under her knees, impeding her progress. Impatiently she jerked it out of her way. Just before she reached him his eyes opened. The fear and bewilderment on his face turned to instant relief as he saw her.

  “Mom.” He held out his arms to her. Reaching him, she enfolded him in a warm embrace. Wrapping his arms around her, he clung to her. She could feel him trembling. “You forgot to use the monster spray.”

  This one had been bad. But then, was it any wonder?

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll get some tomorrow.”

  “There were monsters. They were trying to eat me.”

  “It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” she crooned into his hair, rocking him back and forth, her knees folded beneath her, her hair spilling over them both.

  “I couldn’t run. My feet wouldn’t move.” Tyler burrowed closer against her.

  “You know it was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real.”

  Marco appeared in the doorway, with Groves showing up a split second later just behind him. Both of them were staring in at her and Tyler. Neither said a word.

  “I want to go home.” There was a quaver in Tyler’s voice.

  “I do, too. We will, soon.”

  She couldn’t see the men’s expressions because what light there was came from the bathroom in which she had discovered Marco, and was at their backs. But remembering how clearly she had been able to see Tyler from that same position, she knew that they had an equally good view of her. She frowned at them: the moment should have been a private one. Even with M
arco leaning on his crutches again, he was slightly taller than Groves. His shoulders were wide enough to almost fill the doorway. His robe was closed and securely tied around his waist now. With Tyler safe in her arms, Sam found that the memory of what had just transpired between them came flooding back; all of it, the heat, the hunger, every tiny detail, flashed into her mind with fresh, vivid intensity.

  She forced it out again instantly.

  “What happened? Did he hurt himself?” Marco’s voice was low, and she realized that he was doing his best not to make a big deal, not to up the ante on the situation, not to further upset Tyler.

  She shook her head.

  “He has nightmares.” Her response was equally quiet. Her arms were around her son. Her cheek rested on his hair.

  Marco said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke over his shoulder to Groves, too quietly for Sam to make out the words. The two of them moved away, Groves first with Marco turning to follow, out of the doorway, out of her sight. She could hear them talking as they walked down the hall, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying, and she didn’t particularly care. She gave Marco points for having the sensitivity to leave her and Tyler alone, and then she pushed everything else out of her mind and concentrated on Tyler.

  He told her all about his nightmare. By the time he was finished, he was once again lying down, his head nestled on his pillow, although her arm was beneath his head now, too. Curled up beside him, Sam made appropriate comments and gave him the comfort of her presence and waited for him to fall asleep.

  The thing was, she was really, really sleepy, too.

  She would just, for the teeniest tiniest second, rest her eyes . . .