Her gaze slid up his body with a brazen courage she would never have imagined herself capable of carrying out. She wanted to memorize him, every inch of him, to remember when she sat in a cell somewhere or was put to work on some penal colony light years away. She wished it could be more. She wanted to carry with her a memory that was much more complete than just his appearance... But that was her fantasy and not something she should even think of burdening him with. Or so she told herself then promptly ignored.
“Would you help me to step into the tub? Its sides are too high for me to do it with my bad ankle.” She looked down at her foot. A dark purple stain colored most of the circumference of the swollen ankle which had gone down some, thanks to the Freeze-It. She stood, lifted the shirt over her head and then untied the rope belt. The shorts fell around her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her completely naked. She held out her hand to him, feeling as brazen as one of the floozies from that place in town. She knew she should feel shame at showing herself to him, searching for it but failing utterly. Her boldness was growing and she had no wish to stop it.
She could have managed the momentary pain of putting her full weight on the ankle to get into the tub. She could have waited, as she'd planned, to hold off on her bath until he was gone. She would have, but she wanted him to see her, hoping as naughty as it was, that he might find her desirable enough to want her as much as she realized she wanted him.
Chapter 10
Miguel turned to face her, his eyes drawn by the movement of her hand towards him. He paused, all of his good intentions dead on arrival. Her body was far more generous than the shapeless coveralls had advertised. Not even the hint he'd had when her top was torn, nor the shadow-heavy look he'd glimpsed when her back was to him from across a room, prepared him for the milk and honey perfection that was Lyrianne.
He opened his mouth to speak and his breath came out but his words were lost somewhere in the translation. His eyes stroked an indulgent caress over her natural-born treasures, lingering here and there until he was trembling. Was it possible that she was more innocent than he'd realized a woman could be? Or was she just waiting for him to show her the way...?
Raising his hand to take hers, his heated brown stare fixed finally on her blues. His stomach muscles tightened and his hand reflexively followed suit. There was nothing doing but to act and the pilot drew her to him, his other hand moving to the small of her back where it lay firm, holding her against him where nothing could hide the need he felt for her. Yet he did not bring his lips to hers; he merely held her against him, close enough that the luscious tips of her breasts were made to rub against him.
The contact wasn't enough for her. She deliberately, slowly, undid his shirt buttons and pressed herself against his chest. She was caught up in the new fires igniting inside her until she was having trouble focusing her thoughts or even thinking at all. Her eyelids lowered partway as she kept her gaze locked on his, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. When she felt his hard erection move against her, her mouth opened on an exhaled breath at the elevation of desire it awoke in her.
She knew what sex was in all the forms the farm boys had the vocabulary to describe. She'd just never experienced it for herself. Her breath caught and she rubbed her belly against him, a sensual smile on her lips as she put her hands in his hair and pulled his head down so she could cover his mouth with hers. She wanted him, oh, did she ever, but...
Pulling her head back, her eyes once again locked on his, she held on to his shoulders as she stepped into the hot water, only momentarily distracted by the sting emanating from her ankle. “I really, really need...“ you, she managed to stop herself from saying it, though she made no attempt to hide its unsaid implication, “...to get this day off my skin. Perhaps if you can help, it will take less time?”
Miguel grinned wolfishly at her and helped her get settled into the deep tub. It had enough of a lip that he could partially sit upon the porcelain back with little danger of getting water on his coated burns. His hands slid down over the woman's shoulders until his fingertips touched the hot water, then drew back to collect soap into his palm.
“You are out of Freeze-It for your ankle,” he commented, thinking of the painful looking bruising. That didn't concern him nearly as much as the swelling did. “You are going to need to keep it up.”
After a quick glance at his hips she refrained from making a naughty comment that had nothing to do with her foot. “Some ice will take care of it.” She managed the response through a wicked grin while she rotated her ankle to emphasize that it was nothing serious, trying to force herself to behave.
Snorting rudely to let her know he did not buy it, the pilot let his eyes roam over her hair, watching it wave upon the water before partially submerging. Rubbing his hands together until he had a good sud going, Miguel carried his slick touch to her smooth neck, lifting the heavy hair aside before running them in a leisurely pace to her shoulders where his fingers slid over the delicate bones before sliding down her arms. He hadn't forgotten the fat neighbor. At best he figured they had a couple of hours before the house was stormed and he was arrested. Until then, he intended to have some epic memories to take with him.
Submerging his hands in the water enabled him to caress the silky swell of the sides of Lyrianne's ample breasts. Using his thumbs, he stroked them in a teasing glide that deliberately avoided the tight peaks he could just see beneath the soapy water.
Holding a sponge in her hand, she kept trying to concentrate on scrubbing her legs. It wasn't working and she finally slid from under his hands to submerge herself. With her hair soaked, she sat up again and smiled at him as she poured shampoo into one hand then raised both hands to lather up her hair.
Turning her back on him, though she honestly didn't want him to stop what he'd been doing, she released her hair and pulled the tub's stopper to let the water drain. As the sudsy water began to swirl away, she turned the water on again then reached for the large pitcher kept beside the tub for rinsing.
“If I'd been thinking, I'd have used the shower downstairs.” She raised an eyebrow when she found herself finishing the thought with the image of pulling him into the shower with her. Perhaps she could pull him into the tub... She gave him a considering look over her shoulder, contemplating it, then grinned at him before forcing herself to behave once again.
She wiped at the suds that cascaded down her face then filled the pitcher again for another rinsing. The soapy water ran down and into the drain until she was satisfied her hair was free of shampoo.
Replacing the pitcher on the shelf, she stood. Pulling her dripping hair over one shoulder, she squeezed and pressed it in long strokes to rid it of as much water as possible. Her skin glowed and she felt renewed, her exhaustion replaced for the moment by the exhilaration of being clean. “Help me out? There are towels behind you in the cupboard.”
She didn't appear to mind that he was looking at her. In fact, she liked that he didn't seem to mind, either. Perhaps she was a hussy and had never had a chance to find out until now. But, hussy or not, and though she blushed, she stood and waited, having to be satisfied with a sheen of water and long strands of wet hair for covering.
He had stood when she did and was already looking for the towels, using it as an excuse to hide the very evident way her bathing had affected him. Finding a soft fluffy one, he turned with it in hand and decided not to give it to her. It was far more preferable to admire the figure of this fine creature, naked save for the water that dripped and ran on her skin, and the tantalizing screen of her hair that did nothing to hide her from him.
Lowering his hand, he let the towel drop to the floor before he stepped over to the tub and simply scooped her out into his arms to better avoid knocking her injured ankle on the hard sides. Rather than set her down with the towel, however, the pilot walked right out of the bathroom with her.
“Point me in the right direction,” he told her, his voice low and quiet to keep the growl in i
t at bay. He might have been feeling particularly amorous but he was still a gentleman, mother save him.
Point him in the right direction to what? His unexpected action and request – order? - had her confused for a moment. Only for a moment, however. “Oh.” She put her arms around his neck and nodded to the closed door next to the bathroom. Her room.
She pushed away the shock and censure that part of her still insisted on clinging to. What was she doing? He was a stranger. Gorgeous and more man than she'd ever thought would give her a second look, true, but she didn't know him. Yet, she felt more comfortable and trusting with him than she had ever felt with anyone outside her family. But, he would be gone soon. She'd never see him again. She'd never have a chance again, either. Stop thinking, she told herself. Just go with it.
She reached out and turned the knob, giving the door a little push. This was her sanctum. It wasn't girly and frilly but that wasn't her. The color blue dominated the room. From the strong deep azure of the curtains to the quilt on her bed which covered just about every shade of blue there was. The secondary colors of the room were green and gold, found in the glass base of the lamp and the upholstery of the chair that sat in front of her vanity. Bookshelves lined one wall with real books. Received as gifts or scavenged treasures from years of searching, they filled each shelf. The room was peaceful and ordered and just as she liked it to be. Yet, she was suddenly worried he'd think it shabby and ugly. She said nothing, though, as he entered with her in his arms.
Shabby wasn’t what came to mind, as it turned out. Miguel did pause and let his eyes search the room, not expecting that it would look as comfortable and appealing as it did. What had he expected? Mouse holes and cobwebs? Peeling paint and broken floor boards? Shaking his head mutely, he turned to the bed and away from the woman’s collected treasures, more interested in discovering the bounty she naturally possessed.
As he set her down gently upon the bed, he wondered what made him think she was devoid of hardware and why that intrigued him. Even the poorest farmers back on Earth could afford some of the cheaper enhancements that had become so important to daily living. And what did it matter either way?
Lowering himself to the floor and one knee, he propped his arms up on the side of the bed and gazed at this fascinating woman. What was he to do?
Lyrianne watched him for bit, impatient as well as insecure in her inexperience, wondering why he hadn't joined her on the bed. Had she been right with her first thoughts? He didn't find her attractive. She knew that men's bodies sometimes reacted despite their mind's protest. He was strong enough to resist and that was to his credit, she told herself, though it made her feel strange to think he'd want to.
She'd thought the way he'd looked at her meant something but how much of that was wishful thinking on her part? Who knows, maybe he had a girl – or a wife! - at home. Hell's bells, maybe he didn't even like girls at all. Or, it might just be he wanted nothing to do with her; a girl from a nothing planet with nothing to offer him that was even close to what he could find where he came from. What must he think of her?
She really was a hussy, she thought with shame. She was no different than the whores who went after anything wearing pants, ready and willing to spread their legs at the crook of a finger or the wave of a credit chip, just as Fat Farley had accused her of in the basement. Was that what Miguel was thinking, too?
Suddenly feeling naked, exposed, and no longer warmed by what she'd stupidly thought was his mutual desire for her, she felt like four kinds of a fool. She slid down to the foot of the bed, taking the quilt with her. Wrapping it around her, she went to her closet and pulled down a big box. Going back to the bed, she sat on the edge of it, her back to where she'd left him, too ashamed to even look in his direction. She pulled out a roll of gauze and an ankle brace that had been in her family longer than the twenty years she'd been alive. It still worked so it remained and she'd claimed it. Releasing her leg from the quilt's confines, she set the ankle brace on the mattress and began to release the gauze from its wrapping, deliberately avoiding acknowledgment of his presence.
She had no idea what to say to him. Sorry? I was totally in the wrong? Yeah. She should. She probably owed him an apology, but knowing it didn't make it any easier to say. No easier, in fact, than looking up and seeing what he really was thinking of her confirmed in his expression. She couldn't even do that.
That she couldn't read the very obvious desire in his eyes did not occur to him. Every part of him -every part- was hungry to touch her and yet by him showing restraint and not simply going feral hound dog on the woman, he appeared to have missed his opportunity at all.
Muffling a sigh on his shoulder, he sat back and raised his knees. Watching her cover up and putter about, he started to cool off; his ardor and his skin where her bathwater wet him. What really told him he was a jerk was when she started fussing with her ankle. Yeah, real sleek of him. Thinking of sex when she was obviously in pain.
“Want me to help you with that?” he asked, not expecting she wanted it but offering all the same.
“If you'd like, I guess. But, you don't have to. I can do it myself.” When she looked up, picking at the edge of the gauze, she felt her cheeks burn. The smile she'd meant to offer him trembled and she quickly looked down again, a single tear trickling down her cheek. Why did it hurt so much to know he didn't want her? She'd only just met him and very soon she'd never see him again. What was the matter with her?
Miguel got to his feet smoothly and walked over to join her, seeing the tear as it rolled across her cheek. Frowning with concern, he reached out and tenderly brushed his knuckle across it and asked, “Did I make you cry, querida?”
“No! Of course you didn't.” The denial came quickly. Probably too quickly but she didn't blame him and she couldn't stand the thought that he might think she did. It was all her doing. All of it. Including making a fool of herself and then feeling sorry for herself. She uncovered her leg even more then extended it for him.
“I guess I've just had a rough day all around and, before you think otherwise, I'm glad I'm the one who found you. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.”
She gripped the top of the quilt just above her breasts, holding it in place with one hand while looking down at her other. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't stand seeing the disdain, or pity, or, worst of all, disinterest that his look might hold. She had to be able to leave some fragment of her fantasy alive to help keep her warm once he was gone.
When she continued, her voice held nothing but the genuine concern she felt for his safety. “You need to get out of here, Miguel. You've wasted too much time already.” Her free hand, her stubborn, rebellious free hand, wanted to touch his lips, his jaw line, his bare chest, his gentle hands. She wanted to kiss him again and again. She wanted... Chastising herself, she tightened her grip on the folds of the patchwork bed cover. “I meant it, by the way. Take the hoverbike. It will allow you to get further away.”
Lyrianne handed him the gauze then brushed his hair back from his forehead. She continued the motion by combing her fingers through his thick dark hair, thinking there was nothing particularly seductive about the gesture. He shouldn't have cause to worry she was throwing herself at him yet again and still it was intimate enough to satisfy at least a tiny bit of her craving to touch him.
“I'll bet you can't wait to get back to civilization.”
He had been watching her face, her lips as she spoke. As she touched him. “There are a lot of things I cannot wait to do,” he answered her, his voice low with suppressed desire. Gently, he took her by the calf and heel and knelt before her for the best possible angle.
Starting with her foot, he used a thumb to firmly hold the edge of the stretchy wrap and began to wind it around, leaving her toes and heel unfettered when he moved on to the swollen ankle. “I will know when my people are close,” he added, careful in his ministrations. “Until they come, I have nowhere else to be.”
Nowhere else he wanted
to be, either, he mused as he glued the adhesive edges shut around the top of her calf. Lingering there, he indulged in a tentative stroke of her knee, just below where the quilt parted around her leg. Her shin had been skinned but would heal and the purpling would get worse before it got better. A surge of violence surprised him, and in that surprise it was banished, but for just a moment... a split second...
“How long before he reaches help?” Miguel asked, finally raising his eyes to hers from where he still knelt, one hand cupping the back of her wrapped calf, the other deceptively at rest upon her knee. “How long, querida?”
Her hands moved to his shoulders and she had to restrain herself from scooting closer. She couldn't stop herself from looking into his eyes, though, and she took longer to answer than she should have, caught by the look in them. Or, she scolded herself, what she was imagining that look to mean. He was just wanting to know how much distance he could put between himself and the authorities who would come looking for him. And she wanted that distance to be sufficient to buy him the time to be picked up by his people.
“We're talking about Farley. Even when motivated to try running, he's going to take at least several more hours.” She was finding it impossible to think while looking at his beautiful eyes but couldn't break the spell of them. “Probably closer to four hours, to be honest.” She knew she should move but she didn't want to. Instead she smiled encouragingly. “You have time.” Time enough to get away, she thought. Far away, where you'll be safe when they come for me.
He smiled back at her, one corner of his mouth edging higher. “That will not be enough time,” he told her, and leaned down, guiding her legs further apart to prevent them from rubbing and causing her pain. “But I will make do.”
Miguel's lips brushed tenderly over the bruised shin, just above the medical wrap. He did not remove his gaze from hers as he then kissed the side of her leg, to the inside of her calf. “Ask me to leave again,” he challenged her, another kiss he lay soft above the other while against the back of her knee his thumb caressed the hollow. “Ask and I will comply.”
Catch a Falling Star Page 11
