Men of courage

by Lori Foster

  “Go to sleep.” His voice sounded terribly desperate, even to his own ears.

  “I will. If you come back.” When he just looked at her, she let out a low laugh. “To keep me warm.” Her voice had it all—patience, worry, affection. Fear.

  It was the last that really got him. Fool that he was, he climbed back onto that cot and wrapped his arms around her small, hurting and, God help him, hot body. And when her breathing was deep and steady, he stared down at her, wondering what it was about her that reached to the very depths of his soul, as no one else ever had.

  She dug her fingers into the branch and whimpered. She hung over the roaring river, which rose with every second. It hit her toes, her calves… her thighs.

  Her life flashed in front of her eyes; her boring, staid, sexless life.

  No, she refused to die like this. With all her might she held on to the branch, but the vicious water swirled around her waist now, dragging her down. If she fell, the current would sweep her away.

  Then the branch cracked. Terrified, she stared up at it, watching as it fell away from the tree in slow motion.

  Screaming, she fell toward the swirling depths of the water—

  “It’s just a dream, Molly. Come on now, it’s okay, you’re safe. Molly?”

  She jerked awake to find Matt holding her close, his face hovering above hers.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, his big hand cupping her jaw. “You’re awake now. You’re fine.”

  Frantically, she patted herself, amazed to find her body dry. “I’m… not wet.”

  “Do you remember where you are, Molly?”

  He seemed worried about her head injury, was looking into her eyes very intently. Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I remember. It just seemed so real.” A shiver racked her, and with a deep sound of regret, he tucked her closer.

  Brought her in full contact with his long, deliciously built, warm body. She moaned softly as he skimmed a hand down her spine. When he feathered his lips over her temple, the tip of her nose, she lifted her face, wanting more, wanting him to come down on top of her, nestling his weight between her thighs.

  Yearning and burning, she shifted, wrapping a leg around his hip. She felt his erection, felt him sigh into her hair. “Matt…”

  A husky groan tore from his lungs and he lifted his head, his eyes hot and heavy. “You need to go back to sleep.” His fingers skimmed over her cheek. The sensation was so delicious she wanted him to stroke the rest of her, too, and when he would have retreated, she grabbed his hands.

  “Stay with me.”

  “I am.” He cupped her face, looked down at her, letting out an agonized groan when she arched to him, telling her without words he didn’t intend to stretch out over her, link their fingers and drop a kiss on her waiting mouth.

  So when he did just that, her heart nearly overfilled. The tension left her body, and she sank into the kiss.

  Oh, yes, this is what she wanted, needed. His kiss, his touch. She wanted more. “Matt.”

  His kiss deepened and her bones just melted away. But he wasn’t close enough, not yet… she shifted in fumbling haste… and gasped in pain.

  He let out an answering moan and pulled back. “God, I lost my mind for a minute. Molly—”

  “I’m fine, I’m hardly hurting anymore at all.”

  “No. You need rest.” Gentling his hands on her, he put his forehead to hers. “Not another body touching your hurting one.”

  “Yeah.” But that’s exactly what she wanted as she drifted off again, held close to the body that took over her dreams.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sometime later, Molly jerked awake. Her senses kicked in first. She was seeped in warmth, wrapped tight to the source. Above her the shrieking wind howled. Candlelight flickered over the dark, musty room, and as she blinked the cot, the wall lined with shelves into focus, she remembered.

  The storm. The rescue.

  Her hero.

  Oh, yeah, her hero. They were spooned together, her back to his front. She was using one of his arms as a pillow, the other was draped over her, his fingers curled around her hip.

  His legs were much longer than hers, which left his bare feet sticking out of the blanket. Not that it affected the heat radiating off his big body, which, given how she’d cuddled up to him in her sleep, she’d been grateful for.

  As she lay there marveling over how lovely it felt to have a man holding her, he stretched and groaned, then went still again.

  But not her heart, which had started pumping at the flood of realizations. With the storm still raging, she remembered him waking her several times in the night, his low, husky voice murmuring questions. Feeling better each time, she’d hoped for more.

  There had been no more.

  Gallant, her hero was. But she didn’t want gallant. She wanted passion and heat, all of which she’d seen in his eyes. She wanted to know she was alive, and that she’d stay that way.

  His breathing was deep, even. He was lost in slumber while she lay here smoldering. Couldn’t have that, so she stretched, wondering how he’d react to her arching like a cat against him.

  “Mmm,” came from deep in his chest, but he remained perfectly still, his breathing still deep and even.

  One hard thigh lay against the back of hers. It took little to shift that powerful leg between hers. Little to rock her hips back so that there wasn’t an inch between them.

  Oh, yes, he was aroused, and it wrenched a helpless little murmur from her throat.

  Suddenly, instantly awake, Matt sat straight up. She imagined years in the E.R. had taught him how to do that.

  “Molly?” The blanket fell away from him as he surged up and leaned over her. He put a hand on her forehead as he frowned down into her face. “What’s the matter? You hurting?”

  Oh, yeah, she was hurting. Just looking at him. His dark hair had rioted in his sleep, falling over his forehead. He had a shadow of growth along his jaw. His eyes were deep and full of concern. And his chest… good Lord, his chest was bare, his every muscle perfectly defined, and lit by the soft glow of candlelight as he was, he looked like a pagan god.

  “Molly?”

  “I’m… good.”

  “Your head? Your ribs?”

  “Better.” Unable to help herself, she tipped her head down the expanse of his flat, hard belly, trying to see the rest of him, but her own body thwarted her view.

  When she struggled to sit up, he slid his hands beneath her to help, one getting caught in the material of his grandfather’s shirt so that his fingers touched her bare spine.

  Her gaze flew to his just as he practically leaped off the cot.

  He wore a pair of sweats, low-slung on his hips and untied. “I…” He looked around him as if he desperately needed something to do, and if she hadn’t wanted him to touch her again so badly she might have laughed.

  “I remember there being a box of dried foods,” he said quickly. “I’ll… find us some breakfast.”

  Interesting. They could be close only when he was the caregiver, she the patient. When she became a flesh-and-blood woman, he went for distance.

  Carefully holding her ribs, she sat up. She put her feet to the floor and tested her equilibrium. Pretty good, considering, so she stood. She wobbled for a moment, but held her own, even when the sweats she wore threatened to fall off her hips. Smiling, she held them up and shook her head at the man who’d done nothing but take care of her. “It’s my turn now.”

  He looked adorably wary. “Your turn to what?”

  She made her way to him. Her head didn’t quite reach his wide shoulders. Up close and personal like this, with all her wits about her for the first time, it wasn’t easy to tear her gaze off his body, but she figured, given the volume of the storm still raging outside, she’d have all day to look her fill. “It’s my turn to take care of you. I’ll make breakfast.”

  He stared down at her as if no one had ever offered to do anything for him before. Which only stirred up a lot
more than lust within her. She moved past him on her way to the boxes and, quite accidentally, her arm brushed his. Just that light touch brought her to a level of awareness she didn’t know exactly what to do with.

  Especially since it suddenly was more than just his body she wanted. That was a first for her, too.

  She found that by moving slow, her ribs didn’t hurt too much. In the storage bins there were granola bars and dried fruit, bottles of water, more candles and a radio and batteries.

  She held up the bounty and smiled. “Breakfast and news is served.” Her smiled faltered when he came close with an intent expression on his face. Then it was her heart that faltered as he cupped her face, tilted it up and put his mouth on hers.

  “What was that for?” she asked shakily.

  “I’m not sure.” He looked shaky, too, as he spread a blanket on the floor. “But it felt right.”

  That it most definitely did. So right, she wanted another. And another.

  Instead they sat leaning against the wall, their legs out in front of them, because sitting any other way was uncomfortable for Molly’s aching ribs. They shared the food and listened to the radio tell them what they already knew.

  The storm hadn’t abated. The damage was extensive and reports of injuries and deaths had started rolling in.

  Molly watched Matt’s face grow more and more somber. “There’s nothing you can do,” she said gently, putting a hand on his forearm, feeling the muscles jump beneath her touch.

  “I should be at the hospital.”

  “You will be. Soon as you can get there.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you’d been there already instead of looking out the window of the house when the storm broke out…” She lifted a shoulder. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be here, all warm and toasty. I’d be…”

  He grimaced, reaching out for her hand. “Molly.”

  “I’m glad you were there,” she said fiercely, clutching his hand to her heart. “I wasn’t ready to die—”

  “You wouldn’t have—”

  “I would have. If not for you.”

  The wind roared. The house above them groaned. Cracked. Beside her, Mart’s eyes darkened with worry.

  To take his mind off the house and the very good possibility he was losing it, Molly rose to look through the other boxes. She found one that didn’t have supplies, but a teddy bear, a cap gun and a photo album. On the front of the album was a picture of two smiling little boys’ faces, their arms tossed around each other, each missing their front teeth.

  “What did you find—” Coming up behind her, Matt peered over her shoulder and let out a slow, shaky breath.

  “You?” She pointed to the boy with piercing eyes filled with wit and humor.

  He ran a finger over the teddy bear and the cap gun, then picked up the album. “Yeah. And Luke. I had no idea…” He slowly turned the pages.

  Molly wondered if he had any idea how stunned he looked, how touched.

  “I didn’t know Grandpa kept anything. I thought…”

  “That it didn’t matter?” she wondered softly. Oh, yes, he was moved. Unbearably so if the working of his throat and warmth in his eyes meant anything. And so was she that it meant so much to him. “Want to look through the rest together?”

  He started, as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  “Come on.” She backed him to the cot and carefully sat, patting the spot next to her. “Sit.”

  Wearing nothing more than sweat bottoms, he did. He put a hand behind her so that she was settled into the crook of his arm. When she tipped her head to see his face, he let out a half smile and she nearly melted because truly, he was the most thrilling, intense, sexiest man she’d ever met. “Is the teddy bear yours?”

  Lifting it, with its missing eyes and ripped arm, he grinned. “This was my best friend. Max.”

  “Did Max keep all your secrets?”

  “He did.” His smile faded slowly and he shook his head, his eyes dark with memories. “My grandfather wasn’t a sentimental man. Nor an affectionate one. He took care of us because my parents dumped us on him. In fact, he’d been thrilled when we were too old to come and destroy his world. Or that’s what I used to think…”

  “Would a man who wanted you out of his life have kept these things?”

  Matt stared down at a picture of himself sitting in front of a bonfire, roasting marshmallows. His grandfather stood beside him, guiding the stick into the fire, watching him with love and pride while Matt just grinned at the camera. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  “When was the last time you smiled like that?”

  Turning his head, Matt met Molly’s gaze and slowly shook his head. “I look pretty happy there, don’t I?”

  She never took her eyes off him. “Yeah,” she said softly. “You look pretty happy.”

  When she’d been standing, he’d noticed she’d needed one hand to hold up the too big sweats. He’d wondered what would happen if she let them fall, but she hadn’t.

  Now, sitting, her hands were free and she ran a finger over his lower lip, a touch that went straight to his groin. “I meant right now, when you were smiling as you looked at the picture. You looked happy.”

  When he looked at her in surprise, she cupped his jaw. “It’s a good look for you.”

  How long had it been since he’d felt that content? Carefree? That he couldn’t remember didn’t seem good enough.

  And yet in spite of the storm, in spite of possibly losing the house, and not being at the hospital where he needed to be, he did. He felt… content. Happy.

  She did that for him. He had no idea how that was possible, when for years and years he’d avoided any emotional attachments. But in a matter of twenty-four hours she’d found her way past those barriers.

  Taking her hand in his, in a gesture he didn’t know he had in him, he brought her fingers to his lips. “Thank you,” he said a little hoarsely.

  She looked a little stunned. “You saved my life. What are you thanking me for?”

  “For being here with me.”

  Her lips curved in confusion. “But you know I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Yeah, but if I had to be stuck in a basement during the storm from hell…” He set down the album. Slid a hand into her hair, his thumb lightly tracing the bruise on her temple. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have with me.”

  She went still, searching his gaze with that heart-stopping vulnerability he’d seen before.

  Then a horrifying crash sounded above them, and another. Then yet another, and he instinctively reached for her when she cringed. “It’s okay,” he said, knowing it wasn’t. Knowing that above them everything he knew and loved might just have been torn off its very axis.

  “You don’t have to be strong for me,” she said, her face pressed into his neck. “You don’t.”

  The noise above them was incredible. It was terrifying.

  Or it would have been if he’d been alone.

  But he wasn’t. There was Molly, holding him as tightly as he was holding her, looking at him with so much trust in her eyes it hurt.

  “Matt…”

  When he met her gaze, she kissed him. Just another of her sweet, unbearably arousing kisses, but this time apparently it wasn’t enough for her.

  Hell, it wasn’t enough for him, but…

  She nibbled at the corner of his mouth, tearing a groan from his throat. “Molly. This isn’t—”

  “Shh.” Cupping his face, holding it still, she nibbled at the other corner of his mouth. “Let me do this,” she whispered. “Let me be there for you for a change.”

  He didn’t need that. He never would.

  “Don’t hold back, Matt. Not with me.”

  He gripped her hips and rocked them to his so that she couldn’t possibly mistake the throbbing bulge behind his insubstantial sweat bottoms. “Does this feel like I’m holding back?”

  Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. The puls
e at the base of her neck had rioted. And she kept her wide, wild eyes on his as she purposely slid the neediest part of her over the neediest part of him. “But you are holding back. Please, Matt…”

  “We’ll be out of here by tomorrow morning at the latest,” he said with his last vestige of control. “You’re going back to your life and I’m going back to mine.”

  “I’m not going back to the same life.”

  “But I am.”

  She made a sound of regret. A sound of sorrow.

  “I am, Molly.” His fingers traced her jaw. “My life is full, I don’t have time or room for anything else.”

  “Or anyone?”

  Fingers still on her, he swallowed hard and fought with the need to pacify. But he never said anything less than the truth. Ever. “No,” he said softly.

  “Well, then.” Her eyes were bright as she sank her fingers into his hair. “We’ll just have to make the most of this time, won’t we?”

  “Moll—”

  Her tongue outlined his lower lip.

  With a rough groan, he hauled her close and surrendered. “God, Molly, what is it about you?”

  She lifted her face, smiled a smile that reached straight through and grabbed his heart and squeezed. And this time when their mouths met, he knew. When she touched him, when she kissed him, she soothed a part of him that no one had ever touched or soothed before.

  She needed this, she needed him, and for right now he could be what she needed.

  After this, they were still going back to then-lives, their very separate lives. He didn’t have time or the heart for anyone in his, so he could do no less.

  Yet right now, with her arms around him, with her body arching against his, and her tongue in his mouth, he was hers.

  Just as when he was with her like this, she was his.

  As simple and devastating as that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As that shocking realization came to Matt, he stood. Molly stood, too, her mouth wet from his, her eyes half hopeful, half resigned.

  “Is that it?” she whispered, holding the ridiculously too large sweats up. “Is that all you’ll let me give you?”