He wasn’t sure Jillian had the proper equipment—or experience—to give him that eternal smile.
He was distracted from his thoughts when she bent low over the mattress directly across from him to help shove. The position gave him a clear view straight down the front of her shirt.
Well, what do you know, he noted, taking in the view without a flicker of remorse, she did have boobs after all.
“You gonna stand there all day staring down the front of my shirt or are we going to move this mattress?”
Reese looked up at her, expecting the harsh expression her voice indicated he’d find. It was there. But mixed in with the flippant I-could-give-a-damn look was a thread of pained vulnerability that shook him up more than he cared to admit. Didn’t she know survivors never revealed their weaknesses? Especially to a man like him?
His gaze dropped from her tempest-filled eyes, past her pressed-together lips, then with a will of its own, on down to the peep show below.
But it was when he noticed the white-knuckled grip she had on the mattress pad that he felt his face heat. He’d been ogling her like a man sizing up the interior of a new car, debating on whether to take it for a test drive.
Which was perfectly in character for him. So why was he blushing for the first time in his thirty-three years?
He abruptly turned his attention back to the task at hand. He’d obviously overtaxed his thigh injury. The sweat beginning to bead on his brow, his heart’s slight acceleration. All signs he needed to rest.
He swore under his breath as he took a good hold on the mattress. Not only had she managed to irritate him more than any female he’d ever met, she was also turning him into a compulsive liar. And a damn lousy one at that.
With a grunt and a vicious tug, he pulled the thick pad half off the bed, barely hopping back in time to keep from falling.
“What happened to a three count?” Jillian grumbled as she crawled back off the bed he’d just yanked her half across.
“Stop griping and help me get this thing upright.”
She slanted him a tight look, but thankfully did as he said without comment.
Once they’d maneuvered the mattress out into the front room, Reese motioned her to change ends. “You pull, I’ll push.”
“How about I pull, and you and your attitude go to hell.”
She’d muttered the words, but he heard her nonetheless. All things considered, he should have let it pass. After all, her curvy little butt wasn’t the only one on the line, and time was short. Still, he leaned his end of the mattress against the wall and hobbled around to face her.
“You ought to be on your knees thanking God or whatever you believe in that I’m stuck here with you.”
She actually had the nerve to roll her eyes at him. If she hadn’t been using all her strength to keep her end of the mattress from crashing to the floor, he wasn’t too sure she wouldn’t have decked him. Or kneed him.
For some reason the sight of her struggling with the ungainly hunk of bedding made him even angrier. “What the hell did you think you were going to do all alone out here? Huh? What on earth possessed you to try and ride this thing out?”
“Yell at me later, okay? This thing is about a quarter century old, long before anyone invented lightweight coils.”
He wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to strangle something. Someone. He growled at her, then hobbled back to his end without bothering to see if what he’d said had any effect on her. He knew better.
“Why are we doing this anyway?”
He let his head drop to rest on the thick width braced between his hands. “We’re going to bend this thing into the storage room so that it covers our heads. That way, when your roof caves in, we’ll have a passing fair chance of not getting our skulls bashed in.” He’d made the entire statement through clenched teeth. He raised his head and angled it to one side so he could see her. “Now can we get on with it? If I wanted to die on a mattress, it sure as hell wouldn’t be this way.”
Jillian ducked back behind the safety of her end of the mattress. Her face flamed even as she damned herself for letting him get to her. Her lips twisted in a rueful grin. Yeah, she imagined she was the very last type of woman a man like Reese would fantasize about spending his last minutes on earth with. To her eternal shame she couldn’t say the same thing about him.
She vented her frustration on the task at hand. In less than a minute they had the mattress in front of the door. She stepped into the closet and quickly arranged the pillows in a framework around the edges of the room.
“No, pile them in the middle. We’ve got to move the boxes around the edges as support.”
Jillian understood his plan. She quickly began rearranging boxes in stacks at each corner of the room, not bothering to tell Reese to sit down. She was only half surprised that his thigh wound and the necessary mop-handle crutch were barely noticeable impediments as he efficiently arranged twice as many boxes as she had in half the time.
Of course, if she’d stop gawking at him … his shoulder muscles and biceps flexing as he shoved boxes around, the way his jeans cupped his nice, tight … Sighing in disgust, she heaved the last box into place, then stood and wiped her damp palms on her jeans.
“Okay, what next?”
“Round up as much stuff from the kitchen as we can.”
They were back in the storage closet in under ten minutes. Jillian stowed the lanterns and flashlights where she could reach them. Reese shoved the cooler they’d filled with the contents of the fridge off to one side, then ducked back into the hall and started shoving bottled water through the door. She stacked them neatly along another wall.
Once everything had been moved in, she turned in a slow circle and surveyed the space. The boxes were stacked about four feet high at the corners, three feet in between, with a row that would form a tower in the middle once the mattress was inside.
Even with the water, cooler, and lanterns, they had plenty of space, she noted with satisfaction.
A loud grunt had her spinning around.
“A little help here?”
She instantly moved to the door and grabbed one side of the mattress Reese was shoving into the room. She really liked the way he said the word “here” she mused as she struggled to make the thick pile of foam bend the way she wanted it to. Something about a man with an accent—
“Not that way!”
—Made her want to commit murder. “Which way would his highness like the slave girl to move it?” she asked with false obeisance.
“Sweetheart, if you were my slave, the last thing you’d need to ask me is how to move it.”
Jillian clamped her mouth shut. At least he spared her a leering grin. Probably too busy trying not to laugh. She hoped he’d bust a gut. Reese grunted as he squeezed into the room. The mattress was bent almost in half, with the curve butting against the top of the doorframe.
“I’m going to wedge my body back into the fold and drag it forward,” he instructed, still studying the doorway. “You face me and pull the edges. As it comes into the room, spread the sides out. Then we can prop one side up at a time.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she responded. Reese apparently didn’t need her approval as he was already cramming his broad shoulders into the tight fold of foam.
Jillian was a foot away when it occurred to her that, initially at least, in order to grab the edges and pull, she’d have to all but thrust her chest into Reese’s face.
Meager problem though it might seem, the prospect didn’t thrill her. Telling herself he’d probably never even notice, she moved toward him, waiting until he ducked his head before she grabbed hold as best she could.
“Okay, pull.”
Determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, Jillian put her back into it and yanked hard. Unfortunately she caught Reese off balance and along with a foot of mattress, she got Reese right where she didn’t want him. Between her breasts.
“Whatever happened to a three cou
nt?”
It took a second for his muffled words to register. She was too busy praying her nipples wouldn’t betray her reaction to having Reese’s lips pressed in their near vicinity.
“Jillian?”
She wasn’t certain, but she thought she might have groaned. When he spoke, the words vibrated against her skin. His lips were entirely too close to her …
“Mmmm?”
“If it were up to me,” he said calmly into her shirt, “I’d spend the next several hours right here. But if we’re going to survive the storm, you’re gonna have to move back.”
“Huh?” Then his words penetrated her suddenly fogged brain. What in the world had she been doing?
Standing there reveling in the feel of Reese Braedon’s lips on her chest, was what she’d been doing.
Well jeez, a tiny voice inside her head retorted, it was probably the only chance she’d get.
“Jillian!”
Dear Lord, she was still doing it! Mortified, wishing Ivan would descend and pluck her off the face of the earth, Jillian leapt backward. Unfortunately, she also let go of the mattress.
“Holy mother of—” Reese’s curse was cut short when he catapulted into the room, the mattress on his back adding unwanted velocity.
“Reese! Look out! Slow—oof!”
In the next instant Jillian no longer had to worry about the secret thrill of having Reese’s face pressed between her breasts. It was nothing compared to the feel of the full length of his hard muscled body on top of hers. Shoulder to belly to toe contact.
He lifted up on one elbow. She clenched her eyes shut to keep from seeing his expression, certain it was only going to make the awkward moment worse.
“You okay?”
He hadn’t shouted at her. He wasn’t swearing. In fact, he sounded downright … sincere. She cracked open one eye.
“Fine,” she managed to whisper. “Pillows broke my fall.” She swallowed. “You?”
“Well, this is the first time I’ve ever pinned a woman under a mattress.”
He wasn’t smiling at her. But his tone was gentle. The only time she’d heard that tone from him had been those few dark moments in the pantry.
“Why did you hug me?” The question just popped out.
Reese hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d landed on top of her. “This isn’t hugging. This is called breaking a fall.”
“No, I mean in the pantry. Earlier.” Using all of her nerve, she turned her head so their noses almost touched, her gaze locked dead on his. “Why did you turn the light off?”
Whatever light had penetrated his normally lifeless blue eyes blinked out. Jillian felt his body tighten, until he felt like stone on top of her.
“Never mind,” she said quickly, damning herself for giving in even that small fraction. “Can you move?” she asked brusquely. “Is your leg hurt?”
His answer came after a lengthy pause. “I’ll live. I’m going to push up on my hands and raise the mattress. Slide out and scoot over to the boxes we saved for the middle support and shove one over toward me.”
Without waiting for her to answer, he lifted his weight from her. She sighed with relief and scrambled away as quickly as she could, taking care not to bang against his bad leg. In a matter of minutes they had the mattress propped up on the corner stacks, the center stack raising the middle high enough for them to sit without having to hunker down.
Jillian sat cross-legged on one side of the small space, and Reese stretched out his legs toward her from the other. The tear in his jeans caught her eye, thankfully giving her something to do.
“I’d better have a look at your thigh.”
“Fair’s fair.”
She glanced at his face. There was that quiet tone again. It was hard to tell with him, but she knew he was teasing her. The good kind though, the kind that made her belly feel warm.
She smiled at him, deciding she’d better learn how to handle his quixotic brand of charm fast since she was stuck in this crawl space with him for God only knew how long.
“You think looking down my shirt was a fair trade?”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. She’d surprised him with that one. Good.
Not willing to push her luck, she scooted over to his side and bent her head to examine his wound.
“Could you move the flashlight over this way a few inches?” She motioned with one hand, but didn’t look up. He didn’t reply, but the light shifted. “Stop. Good.” She moved the torn fabric away and peeled back part of the bandage. “It’s red and there’s been a bit of bleeding, but none of the stitches popped.”
“You do right good work.”
She looked up at him then. “Thank you.” He looked at her in a way that made the warm feeling in her stomach dip a bit lower, and burn a bit brighter. She cleared her throat. “Let me get you something a bit stronger for the pain.” She started to scoot away, but his hand on her arm stopped her.
“I’m okay. Just sit still. Relax.”
She laughed without thinking whether or not she should. “Easy for you to say.”
“I know you’re worried,” he responded, misreading her meaning. “You’d be a fool not to be. But don’t add me to your list, all right?”
She looked down at his hand on her arm. His fingers were rough, scarred, his skin darker than hers. She watched them rub gently along her forearm. In the next instant his hand dropped away. She looked up at him, and it hit her that her attraction to him was more than simply physical. Sometimes, like now, she’d look in his eyes and find something … familiar.
“You don’t like people caring about you, do you? Why, Reese? Do you think that makes you weak?”
She’d asked him seriously, but as soon as the words were out she wondered if she should have given voice to her thoughts. He waited several moments, holding her gaze the entire time, until she was certain he wasn’t going to answer. But he did.
“Not weak. Just less self-sufficient.”
“And being completely in control is important to you?”
“It used to be the difference between breathing and dying.”
“Used to be?”
He didn’t move so much as a hair, but she sensed the sudden restlessness her question sparked.
“You’re one to talk,” he said finally. “Everything you’ve done today tells me you feel the same way. Your walls are pretty sturdy. What’s your reason?”
Now it was her turn to feel restless. “Not the same as yours, I imagine.”
Reese nodded, knowing Jillian’s response was an unspoken request not to push the subject any further. He gladly complied, not at all comfortable with this conversation—or the woman he was having it with. And yet, he found himself unwilling to let the matter drop entirely.
“Why didn’t you evacuate?”
“For Cleo.”
“Cleo. The alligator?”
“Yup.”
“You mind explaining why you’d risk your life for a reptile?”
Reese winced inwardly when her expression became shuttered again. Too late, he recalled her words in the kitchen earlier. Now she thought he was just another coldhearted bastard who didn’t respect life in all its forms.
And, to a degree, she was right. He respected life, the right everyone had to live their own. But to do his job, to survive, he’d had to remain carefully detached from the rest of it. It was just that he’d never been bothered by that truth until just this moment.
“You tell me why you carry a gun and look at me like you can’t decide if I can be trusted—with what I don’t know—and I’ll explain why it’s so important to me to follow through with my commitment to Cleo. I imagine we’ll be equally unsuccessful.”
Obviously considering the matter closed, Jillian turned toward her side of the small space.
“I hugged you in the pantry because I thought you needed one.”
Jillian froze, holding as still as if he’d taken hold of her arm again, stunned by his admission. “You don’t strike me as
the type to give comfort.”
He shrugged. But even more telling, he looked away from her.
She was crossing a mine field here, but she felt compelled to traverse the rest rather than retrace her steps. She turned completely and bent her knees, circling them with her arms and propping her chin on top. “You bark and roar like it’s second nature, you order and command and expect immediate compliance. I imagine that all has to do with the reason you carry a gun. But you can also be nice.”
His expression had grown quickly dark with her mini-analysis, but that last comment raised his eyebrows. “Me? Nice? What a horrible thing to say.”
She smiled. “See, you can tease. It doesn’t come easily to you.”
Reese’s expression darkened further. “Do you psychoanalyze all your patients, Doc?”
“Know what I think?”
“If I lie and say yes will you spare me?”
“I think you turned the light out in the pantry because you needed a hug too.”
“I strike you as a shy type? A man who can’t take what he wants in the light of day?”
“Darkness is as much a mental cloak as a visual one. In the dark it’s easier not to examine motives. It’s easier to give in to instinct.”
“Ah, who are we talking about now, Jillian?” His voice was a rough purr, and as dangerous as a mountain cat. “What instincts do you give in to only in the dark?”
The way Reese said her name, with the soft Aussie twang, made it wonderfully exotic instead of plain and ordinary. She didn’t mind that he’d avoided commenting on her theory. She’d hardly expected a confession.
She pressed her lips against her folded hands, thinking about his question. She knew he was deflecting her, trying to put her on the defensive. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was uncomfortable with her sexuality. And Reese was far from stupid. But she answered him anyway.
“I try not to give in to instincts at all, dark or light.”
“Then we are very different people.”
“Why, because you let yourself be guided by instinct?”
Wild Rain Page 7
