Men of courage

by Lori Foster

  Dizziness mixed with humiliation as he moved, so she closed her eyes and pretended she couldn’t hear him.

  “All you had to do was call for me.” He carried her out of the bathroom into the main room of the basement, where the storm was even louder, if that were possible. Thanks to the candles, light flickered over the walls that were vibrating from the force of the wind. “You should have let me help you.” He set her on the cot in what she supposed was a gentle manner for a giant of a man. It still hurt like hell. “But you had to be stubborn.” And then he not so gently tugged off her skirt, leaving her in nothing but a pair of plain white serviceable panties.

  He stopped talking.

  She squinted her eyes closed tighter and told herself some men liked short, slightly too rounded women.

  For a long moment there was nothing but the sound of the wind destroying all that was above them. Then a blanket drifted down over her body, and then another one. She opened her eyes when a weight sank at her hip.

  “I’m a doctor,” he said gruffly. “I, uh…”

  “See stupid naked women all the time?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, despite the fact that he looked less than thrilled to be holed up here with her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper because it hurt her head to talk any louder. With her eyes closed, she said, “I’ll be quiet and stay out of your way until we can leave.”

  “Okay,” he said so gratefully that she would have laughed if she could.

  Men. The not-so-mysterious species.

  She drifted on that thought for a few moments, but then nearly leaped off the bed when something cold was set to her temple.

  Her hero again. He had an opened medical bag at his side. He was studying her face intently as he cleaned the cut by her eye, and another on her chin she hadn’t even realized she had. “I’m go-ing to wake you every few hours,” he said. “Fair warning.”

  “My name is Molly.” When he frowned, she tried to smile. “You know, in case you wanted to know.”

  “Molly,” he repeated, and at the sound of her name on his very sexy lips, she shivered.

  His frown deepened and he went into the bathroom, coming back with the things she’d dropped when she’d taken her embarrassing tumble. He shook out the first item, a man’s button-down flannel shirt. Before she could say a word, he’d tugged the blanket off her, gently pulled her to a sitting position and held out the shirt for her to slip into.

  Molly closed her eyes to the view she was presenting him with and jammed her arms into the shirt. As she reached up to pull the thing closed, her hands bumped into his.

  Her eyes flew open again to lock gazes with his, which was no longer quite so calm. “I can do it myself,” she said, her voice awfully husky.

  “Are you’s—”

  “Positive.” She even managed a smile as her overly sensitized nipples scraped against the old, soft flannel. They wanted more. They wanted him. They wanted… She felt hysterical laughter bubble up as she buttoned the shirt. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but it just wouldn’t stay that way. When she was nervous, as she was right this very minute, her mouth tended to run off with both her brain and good sense. “I’m a scientist.” She hauled the blanket up to her chin. “And a professor at the university. I was in your field studying the effects of the last storm on the land.”

  “You might have waited for this storm to be over first.”

  “Yes, I should have.” She licked her dry lips. “I don’t know how to thank you for—”

  “Don’t thank me.”

  “But I have to. I want to. I…” She stared down at her hands. “I’m incredibly grateful. Look, I know I don’t pay too much attention to what’s going on around me when I’m working. That’s what everyone tells me, anyway—everyone being my students. I’m not married,” she added inanely, wanting him to know, wanting to know about him.

  But he didn’t say anything. He just shook out a pair of sweatpants and held them out to her. “Here.”

  He clearly didn’t want to talk. Just as he clearly expected her to lose the blanket and ex-pose herself again. It was shocking how much she suddenly wanted to do just that, and have him reach for her. Hold her. Touch her.

  It hadn’t missed her notice that this could be fate. After all, she’d been rescued by an enigmatic, beautiful, strong-minded, strong-willed man who could possibly give her part of what she’d been missing. An adventure. A decent orgasm.

  So why hadn’t she worn exciting panties?

  Because she didn’t own any.

  “My life is going to change,” she said, bicycling the blanket down with her legs, wondering if she turned him on at all. She watched him carefully but he was equally careful and didn’t look at her. “I decided that when I was locked on to that tree,” she said, telling him even though he obviously didn’t want to hear her story. Look at me. “My life is too dull. It needs a facelift.” She stuck her feet into the sweat bottoms. “Did you know I still don’t know your name?”

  “Matt,” he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he said it from between his clenched teeth as he carefully studied the wall above her.

  He didn’t want to look at her.

  Interesting. “Well, Matt, I need more from life. I need to let people in.” She wriggled the sweats to her knees. “I haven’t done much of that… especially men.”

  His gaze flew to hers and she let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not a virgin or anything, I just… I’ve… never been much interested. Not that I don’t like men,” she added quickly. “I do. I think I do, I just…”

  “The sweats.” He swallowed hard. “Pull them up.”

  Because he could, or couldn’t, resist her? She wished she knew. “I need something new. A cat. Or to learn to ski. Do you ski, Matt?”

  “Please,” he said again, sounding a bit desperate. “You need to finish. You need to warm up.”

  “Yeah.” She tried to sit up. Instead she sucked in a breath, paled from the dart of pain, and closed her eyes.

  He was there in a second, putting a big hand on her belly. The other reached for the pants at her knees. As he pulled them over her legs, the backs of his fingers touched the bare skin of her knees… her thighs.

  “It was the storm,” she said, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged. “I thought I was going to die. That’s when I made the promise to myself, that if I lived, I wouldn’t ever just let life pass me by again.”

  Matt let out a slow breath and told himself he was a professional. He was not, absolutely not, attracted to this woman who was hurt and talking too damn much. He was not aroused, not at all—

  She lifted her hips so he could pull the sweats past her thighs.

  His knuckles brushed against the heat of her.

  Her eyes flew to his and she stopped breathing.

  So did he.

  Instead of jerking his hand back, he watched his own finger trace a path over her quivering belly.

  “Tell me you’re not married,” she whispered. “Pretty please, tell me that you’re single. Available.”

  “I’m not married,” he whispered back.

  “Okay, good.”

  “I’m single.”

  “Thank God.”

  “But as for available, I’m—”

  “Shh.” Then she pulled him down and put her soft, warm mouth to his.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a heart-stopping moment her lips clung to Mart’s, and he let them. He let her kiss him until he couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t.

  Then finally apparently taking mercy on him, she slowly pulled back. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Molly—”

  “You can see why I want to get a cat.” The lips that had so thoroughly kissed him let out a little laugh. “And learn to ski. I want to live, Matt. But mostly I want…”

  No. Don’t ask. Don’t even look at her, but damn… Her hair had started to dry, tightening into blond curls, one of which fell over the softest, most amazin
gly expressive eyes he’d ever seen. She lay there, open and beautiful, wanting him.

  How long had it been since he’d allowed a woman to look at him that way? Since he’d reciprocated?

  Too long. But this wasn’t the place or the time, it wasn’t—

  “Mostly I want a man,” she whispered, still holding his gaze. “Not permanently, nothing like that. Just… just to show me what I’ve been missing, if only for a night.”

  Ah, hell. Because he was a man.

  And he had a free night. “You need sleep.” He lifted the flexible wrap he wanted to put around her ribs. “After I put this on, you’ll be more comfortable.” And sleepy, he hoped. Very sleepy.

  Eyes on his, she reached up and unbuttoned his grandfather’s flannel shirt. “I guess you have patients who throw themselves at you all the time.”

  “No.” When he helped her sit up, the shirt fell away from her a little, playing peekaboo with her incredible body.

  “No?” She tipped her head, then winced and carefully straightened it. “How can that be?”

  “I’m not exactly known for my bedside manner.” He unraveled a long stretch of wrap.

  “How come? You don’t like people?”

  “Not especially.” He took a deep breath and spread the material of the shirt away from her so he could work.

  Beneath was nothing but a creamy expanse of belly and two perfect, full breasts tipped with rose-colored nipples his mouth was suddenly watering for.

  And a left side already bruising so badly his stomach dropped. “God. You got it good.” Forcing his gaze to what he was doing, he wrapped her as gently as he could, experiencing the oddest sensation. Compassion and empathy, if he wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his other patients, he did, he most certainly did, but he had been working too hard, had become too jaded.

  But damn it, that’s what this house was supposed to do for him, slow him down, give him something to focus on besides work. And yet chances were that the house wasn’t going to make it.

  Leaving him back at square one. His fingers brushed Molly’s sides and she sucked in a breath. “Cold fingers,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered back. He leaned over her, bringing the wrap from her back to her front, his knuckles brushing against the very bottom curve of her left breast.

  Her nipples hardened, and so did his body. He’d done this countless times before and had never, ever, felt aroused. He couldn’t say that right now. Then he realized he wasn’t breathing, and neither was she.

  “I’m nearly done,” he said, not wanting to look into her eyes, not wanting to look at her body, and failing at both. When he finished, he slowly reached out and tugged the material of her shirt closed. His fingers were shaking.

  She put her hands over his. “It’s okay if you don’t want me. It’s happened before.”

  He stared at her in shock. Obviously she’d missed the erection threatening the buttons on his Levi’s.

  “They call me the absentminded professor, did you know that?” Her vulnerable smile broke his heart. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached. Men, intelligent men, don’t like that.”

  “Molly. I want you.”

  “You… do?” Her gaze searched his with a hopeful hunger that made him groan.

  “Yes. But—”

  “Uh-oh. The but.”

  “It’s just that you’re hurt. You’re vulnerable. I can’t, won’t, take advantage of that.”

  “I’m not that hurt.”

  “Really? Because you’re green, which means you’re nauseous. Dizzy. You need to rest, Molly.”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes closed, her expression too tight with pain for his comfort. “Matt?”

  He swept her hair from her face, shocking her with the gentleness of his touch. “Yeah?”

  “If you’re not going to kiss away the pain, could you talk to me?”

  His fingers went still on her. “What?”

  “I rambled on about me, it’s your turn. Talk to me. Tell me about this house, your job. You.”

  “I don’t like to talk about myself.”

  “Please?” Carefully scooting back, she made room for him, looking up at him with eyes hurting and more than half braced for rejection.

  Ah, hell. With great care he lay on his side, facing her, and very gently brought her still shivering body against his. Then he closed his eyes as a wave of unexpected tenderness and need rolled over him.

  She’d hit his weak button dead-on. He couldn’t stand to see anything or anyone hurting. It was as if she knew he’d never willingly open up, but because she was in pain and he was programmed to try to alleviate that pain, he’d do as she’d asked.

  But to actually do it, talk about himself… “Well… you asked about this house.”

  “Yes.” Eyes still closed, she put her cheek to his chest and smiled. “It’s a lovely house.”

  “It was my grandfather’s. He—” A vicious wind whistled through the basement, followed by the sounds of wood straining, cracking.

  Had he only a few hours ago been whining to himself about the work the house needed? Now, with all his heart, he wanted to be able to do that work. “He left it to me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They died in a plane crash on vacation in the West Indies three years ago.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

  “No.” He’d expected her hair, with its wild curls, to be rough to the touch, but it was soft and silky. Irresistible. “My parents… they weren’t really meant to have children.” Damn, where the hell had that come from? “We didn’t spend much time with them, my brother and I.”

  “But you had your brother.”

  “Yeah. Luke.”

  “You’re close?”

  “As close as we can be living one thousand miles apart. He’s in L.A.”

  “And you had your grandfather.” She opened her eyes and studied his face.

  He wondered what she saw when she looked at him like that. “So to speak. He was pretty much stuck with us.”

  “But he left you the house. What a lovely legacy.”

  “I didn’t want it.”

  Beneath his touch, she sighed and closed her eyes again. The tension lines around her mouth eased a bit. “Why?”

  “It needs what I can’t give. Time. I don’t know why he did it, I don’t need the legacy.”

  Her fingers rested over his heart. “Everyone needs something from their past. It’s what you build your future on. I don’t have much because we moved around a lot, but I have pictures and my old Barbie dolls. And postcards from my dad from wherever he was.”

  And because she was sentimental—something he was not—these things obviously meant a lot to her. “My parents didn’t save anything.”

  “No pictures, nothing?”

  “Nope.”

  “Surely your grandfather kept something of your childhood?”

  “Just the house. Which I don’t need, not when I spend my time in Houston in the E.R.”

  “Ah. You work too much.”

  He looked down into her face and stroked at the remaining tension in her temples. “Like you, apparently.”

  “Like me,” she agreed. “But past tense only.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t feel the need for a cat and I already know how to ski.”

  As he’d hoped, a ghost of a smile touched her lips.

  “And this house…” He looked around the damp basement. “It just seemed like too much work. Until…”

  Eyes still closed, she squeezed his fingers. “Until what, Matt?”

  He’d never heard her say his name before, and on her lips it sounded so… intimate. “Until I got here.” He took a deep breath and tipped his head back to study the ceiling, wondering what was happening above, if there was anything left. “I spent summers here. I didn’t remember until today, when I was walking down the empty hallways, that the time I spent here, with my brother and gran
dfather… those times were the best times of my life.”

  “And now that you remember? Are you okay with taking over the care of the house?”

  “There probably won’t be a house left to care for, not after this storm.”

  Now she opened her green, green eyes. Brought his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips over his knuckles lightly. “Do you believe in fate, Matt?”

  Slowly he shook his head, mesmerized in spite of himself by her lovely eyes, by the feel of her lips on his skin. He should pull away, should take his hands off her, but he couldn’t. “No, I don’t believe in fate. We make our own destiny.”

  “If that’s true, then this will work out, because you’ll make it work out. Right?”

  An image came to him. It was summer, he was on a ladder painting the house, bringing it back to its former glory.

  On a ladder next to him was another painter, back turned. But then she faced him. Molly. Smiling and working with him side by side.

  His heart skipped a beat and he surged abruptly to his feet.

  “Matt?”

  How had he let that happen? How had he managed to spill his guts? Managed to get himself good and attracted to a woman he knew little about and was never going to see again after this? “I’m… still wet.” He turned and pawed through the box for more clothes.

  She let out a sound of regret. “My God, you are, I’m so sorry, I forgot. How could I have? Here, take one of the blankets—”

  “No,” he said a little too harshly when she struggled to rise. “There’s more here.” He gentled his voice, hardened his emotions. He was a doctor. He was her doctor. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you soon enough.”

  She wasn’t buying his sudden retreat. “Matt? What’s the matter?”

  What was the matter? Other than she’d somehow coaxed him to talk about himself when he never did that? “You need rest.”

  “And I scared you. Was it because you opened up? Or because you want me as much as I want you?”

  “Molly.”

  She let out another ghost of a smile. “It’s unnerving, isn’t it? This… this instant connection we have?”