In his voice, she heard an element of wonder, but she couldn't comprehend his words. She was afraid, disoriented. He kicked gently, propelling them both through the gray emptiness.
"Don't let me go,” she begged.
"I won't."
"Hold me. Please, Brent!"
He laughed. “In a minute, I won't be able to let go. Do you realize what you're doing to this poor celibate soul?"
She tried to laugh and hiccupped instead. “I'm scared."
"I'm aroused. Who ever decided cold showers were the remedy for desire?"
She couldn't feel a thing. Her body was numb. “I want to go back."
"We're headed that way now."
He was telling the truth, for Peggy realized they were making steady progress toward the sound of the dogs’ barking. She could discern the trees through the foggy air, too. But she didn't loosen her embrace. Tensely, she clung to Brent. Even when they passed out of the freezing current and back into the warm part of the lake, Peggy didn't relax. She forced herself to breathe again and managed to take in short, painful bursts of air.
"There,” he said. “See it?"
The dock loomed, and in another moment, Brent grabbed it. Peggy still could not pry her arms from around his neck. She hugged his firm, warm frame, pressing both her large breasts against his hard chest, her soft belly against his taut one. His penis was soft and gentle. He felt strange, but secure. He was safety. Her cheek found his, and she clung there, fighting back the urge to cry.
"I'm sorry.” His one hand slipped up to cup the back of her head through her wet hair. “I shouldn't have taken you out that far."
"I felt so alone!"
"Did you?” Gently, he said, “I don't. When I'm out there, I feel like a part of things—of the entire experience."
"I felt blind!"
He said, “I like not being able to see anything. It makes me look inside myself instead. I'm sorry. I thought you'd feel the same."
She shuddered on a suppressed sob. “I don't like looking inside myself."
He held her awhile longer, rocking her gently with the movement of the water. “You're not so bad inside, Peggy. Don't be so hard on yourself."
She felt his lips on her temple, then her cheek. His breath warmed her flesh, just as his quiet words warmed her mind. At last, she allowed him to unwrap her arms from around his neck.
"Stay here.” He fastened her hands to the post of the dock. “I'll get a towel."
He slipped smoothly out of the water and returned ten seconds later to lift Peggy from the lake into the cooling air. She was naked, wet, vulnerable, and shivering there before him, but he took no notice. Instead, he wrapped her tightly and protectively in a towel, one that smelled slightly of mildew, but it was wonderfully warm and big.
He draped a smaller one around his neck and put his arm across Peggy's shoulder to lead her up the path to the cabin. The animals followed, whining anxiously, sensing something wrong. Peggy stumbled, hardly able to control her legs.
Indoors, Brent guided her to the fireside and eased her down into the nearest chair. She was shivering hard by then and couldn't stop. He snatched something warm and soft from the couch and wrapped it around her swiftly. He left her for a moment, then returned and pressed a glass into her shaking hands.
"Drink this,” he said.
Peggy's teeth chattered on the edge of the glass. She gulped, expecting wine or some kind of liquor, but it was water. She swallowed convulsively and choked.
She cursed and said, “I ought to rate a real drink, don't you think?"
"This is a real drink."
"I mean booze."
He laughed, sounding relieved to hear her temper rise. “I left my alcoholic beverage mixer at home. No booze for you, young lady. It would send you straight into shock."
"Who says?” she demanded.
"I'm a doctor,” he shot back. “I say."
Peggy's mind cleared. Maybe it was the sip of water. Maybe it was the truth—words she believed completely for once. She tilted her head and peered up at Brent. He looked momentarily stunned, having admitted something he clearly hadn't intended to let slip.
It was obvious that he wished he could snatch back the words. His dark eyes were wide, the rest of his face blank.
"Well, well.” Peggy took the glass from his hand. “I must be under some new kind of professional medical care. Do many physicians practice in the buff these days?"
The towel was still wrapped around his neck, and Brent was still wet and dripped over the floor. He sent Peggy a wry look and straightened, prepared to gloss over his hasty words if she were willing to do the same. “I'll go get some clothes on. You'll be fine?"
She nodded and sipped her water. Brent went up the stairs two at a time, and could be heard pulling drawers open and ruffling through clothing. Peggy mulled over the information about him he'd just let slip.
In a couple of minutes, he came back down, dressed in a pair of faded trousers, socks, and no shirt. He carried a couple of garments over his arms, though, and offered Peggy her choice.
She pointed, selecting a worn, but comfortable-looking plaid shirt. Brent crouched down before her, pulled the blanket from Peggy's body, and reached, clearly intending to use her towel to rub the rest of the water from her skin before putting the shirt on her.
Peggy blocked his hands. “I can dress myself, thanks."
Brent released the towel, but stayed beside her. “I'm sorry, you know. About what happened out there. It was my fault, Peggy."
She smiled. “No, it wasn't. I'm a grownup and make my own decisions. I panicked, that's all.” She used the end of the towel to rub her hair, but discovered her hands were shaky and stopped. “I nearly drowned you in the process. Sorry about that. I almost deprived the world of a valuable medical man, didn't I?"
He looked pained and took a deep breath. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm not really a physician, but—"
"It's too late to deny it!"
"I'm not denying it.” He spoke doggedly, apparently ready to come clean. “I'm just clarifying. I studied to be a medical doctor. I finished the schooling, did some research work, but I don't practice."
"Why not?"
"Something,” he looked her in the eye at last, “came up."
"And?"
"And nothing. I left, that's all. I came here. I don't practice anything anymore."
"Except fishing."
"Except fishing,” he agreed.
Peggy watched him, seeing how dearly he wanted to end the conversation, but believing he also owed her something for causing her to panic in the lake. He was ready to pay for his bad judgment by telling her anything she wanted to know. And Peggy couldn't believe she wasn't asking questions.
But her mind was filled with the many sensations still vivid from the experience in the Great Lake—the hard solidity of Brent's body, his heat, his soothing kindness. She relived the moment when he wrapped the towel around her, inadvertently gathering her body to his own. She remembered details suddenly—the touch of his hand on her skin, the sound of his voice, the way he matched his steps to hers to guide her safely up the path. Her mouth was dry, her hands still quivered maddeningly in her lap.
"What's the problem?” he asked.
Whatever she was feeling made it impossible to ask Brent to reveal his secrets.
* * * *
Brent couldn't believe she wasn't asking, either.
But all she said was, in a somewhat quivery voice, “Would you get my hairbrush, please? It's in my briefcase."
He did as she asked. The brush lay on top of her case, and he carried it to Peggy without a word. She took it from his hand and set to work at once, struggling to keep the blanket and wet towel pulled around her and tug the snarls from her hair at the same time. Brent stood over her, struck by the picture she made sitting there by the fire, the first female to enter the cabin in years.
Demurely unaware of the effect she made, she attended to her hair. The long, floss
y strands hung down her back and had begun to steam gently in the fire's heat. She looked like a fairy tale princess with a mass of dark hair, a porcelain face with a sensual mouth. Clasping one tawny lock in her small hand, she ran the glinting bristles of the brush through it repeatedly. She looked almost like a spirit sitting there. But Peggy was no spirit.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders. Brent couldn't forget the way she'd felt against his body. Slim and lithe and womanly, her lovely, full breasts practically branded his chest with their feminine heat.
In his mind, he heard the frightened breathlessness in her voice when she'd called for his help and imagined, instead, how she might cry out in a moment of passion. He had felt the slender strength of her arms as she'd clung to him in the water, but wondered if she'd hold him so tightly in the act of lovemaking.
He reached down and removed the hairbrush from her hand. Peggy spun her head around, her eyes wide, her arms remaining uplifted, as if still holding the brush. Her large breasts were motionless, their perfect contour clearly visible through the towel. She kept her knees clamped together. She had pampered, pretty knees.
But as the blanket slipped further, the flesh of her curving thighs shone with the erotic gleam of a harem girl's in the firelight. Brent could see that she was shivering. He picked up the shirt she'd rejected.
"Come on,” he said. “You're freezing."
Her eyes looked scared, but she allowed him to slip the shirt over her head. The towel slid to the floor. Brent wanted to see her unclothed again in the golden light, to watch the process of her dressing. Due to his conscience, he didn't and cursed himself a moment later for being stupid.
He helped her pull her hair out from under the shirt and, with Peggy enfolded in the garment, tucked the blanket around her legs, avoiding contact with her skin and longing to caress her.
You should have taken her to the village as soon as the rain stopped. Now it was too late. A couple of hours in an open boat, and she'd be one very sick lady. Besides, he wanted to be the one to take care of her.
The hairbrush was still in his hand. Without knowing exactly how, Brent found himself wondering if he dared try untangling her hair. It was clearly her crowning glory, a phrase that seemed a meaningless cliché, except where Peggy was concerned. Tentatively, he passed the brush down through it. Peggy sat quietly.
She did not speak as he drew the brush through the strands of her hair a second time. Brent settled into the task then, sometimes tugging, but gradually establishing a rhythm—slow, purposeful. He liked the texture, the way it curled around his fingers. The color glinted in the firelight. It smelled vaguely of the lake, but intoxicatingly of Peggy herself.
"You have a gentle touch.” She tilted her head this way and that as he pulled the brush through. His mouth felt incredibly dry. He wanted to speak, but couldn't find the words.
"It feels wonderful.” She sighed.
He could make her feel wonderful in other ways, too. Peggy made another sound, practically a purr of contentment. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth curved into a smile that was innocently sensual.
Brent dropped the brush on the chair. He turned Peggy by her shoulders and knelt before her, bewitched. She was both girl and woman—sure of herself at times, but easily frightened. He touched her face, sliding one finger down the indentation of her cheek, pausing under the rounded point of her chin.
The only sound around them was the quiet snap of the fire. Peggy opened her eyes, but didn't move. The firelight played over her features.
As if mesmerized, she whispered, “Brent?"
He caressed her throat with his fingertips, brushing her hair out of the way. He could feel her pulse flutter and accelerate. Her breath caught in her throat. Brent couldn't control what happened next. He found himself moving closer, seeking her mouth with his own, pressing deeply into her lips.
Peggy trembled, but she didn't pull back. Brent cupped her face, holding her for his kiss. She tasted sweet, her mouth potent against his. He longed to plunge his tongue inside her, and just barely held that urge in check.
Instead, he gyrated her head, finding ways to coax her lips apart. Exquisitely awkward, she finally opened her mouth. Her tongue touched his. That tiny contact triggered a surge of pleasure. Brent tightened his hold on her. Peggy brought up her hand to his chest, her nails skimming his flesh, then weaving into his hair. Brent felt a terrible hunger grow inside him. He wanted to push the blanket from her knees, spread it on the floor, and roll Peggy onto it. He wanted to part her legs and kiss her there, too. He wanted to taste her skin, to mouth her large, firm breasts, lick the moisture from the downy soft tendril at her temples.
He could see himself stroking her thighs, whispering to her, slipping inside and moving swiftly until peace—yes, it was peace he sought—came to both of them. Kissing her, he saw it all in his mind. He longed to have this female, to orgasm inside of her. However, common sense intervened.
What was he doing? Brent drew back, his brain finally kicking in. This female could ruin his life—what little there was left of it! Had he gone crazy? He released her. Peggy opened her eyes and blinked.
"I'm sorry,” he said. “That was stupid of me."
Peggy cleared her throat, but couldn't manage any words. She looked positively stunned. Or, perhaps, repulsed.
Brent stood up. “I don't know what got into me."
In a split second, he imagined what could have happened next. He'd have taken her to bed, spent the night making love to her, and the next morning, he'd spill every word of his family story. She'd take the next available transportation to the city and alert every branch of the security forces stationed in the entire country. And he'd be a dead man in one day's time.
Brent backed up a pace. He drove his fingers through his hair, trying to settle his swirling thoughts. “I'm sorry. That won't happen again."
Peggy collected herself, hugging the shirt closer around her body and avoiding his gaze. Her face was flushed, not from arousal, but from embarrassment.
"I'm really sorry. Honestly. It was very rude and—"
She shook her head hastily. “Look, forget it. It was a mistake, okay? I know I'm nothing to get excited about.” She laughed. “Did I mention I was once voted Most Likely to Become a Cloistered Nun?"
"Peggy, I didn't mean—"
"It's okay,” she interrupted gruffly. “I'm used to it. No sex is better for me, anyway."
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Chapter 4
Brent swore.
"It's all right,” Peggy said swiftly.
She stood up, shaky but determined not to show any weakness. “You don't have to be kind to me. I've experienced that before, too. A knight in shining armor who thinks I want to become a nymphomaniac. I don't like being a challenge. You don't have to prove how much of a man you are."
"Peggy, it's not that I don't find you attractive—"
She laughed coldly and cut him off. “Yeah, I've heard that line before, too. The next word is ‘but.’ Let's just drop it, okay? I think I want to be alone. Do you mind?"
She started past him to terminate the discussion before she broke down and humiliated herself with tears.
"Peggy, wait. We've got to talk about this."
She shook off his hand. “No, we don't need to do anything, Doctor Brent. No talk, no therapy, no nothing."
"Give me a chance, for God's sake!
"No, thanks. My sex life is a subject I've gotten very sick of in the past few years, so just—"
He blocked her escape. “Damn it, Peggy, I'm talking about my problems and not yours, all right? Just listen, will you? I won't be manipulated into bed with you just to—"
"Manipulated!” she snapped, incensed.
"Hear me out.” Brent's face was set, brows locked dangerously over snapping brown eyes. “I feel bad that you've got some kind of complex. But I won't spend the night making love to you to prove you wrong."
"Don't do me any favors!” She spun around to
get past him, but Brent grasped her shoulders and stopped her.
"Listen.” He held her tightly. “I'm in trouble, Peggy. Surely, you've figured that out by now. I wouldn't be spending my life here if I weren't in some kind of a situation, eh? Well, the longer you stay here, the closer they get, and the worse it could get for you."
"Don't be so melodramatic!"
"I have to be,” he said. “It's the truth. If I make love to you, I'm bound to let you inside of me emotionally—into my deepest, most vulnerable being. Do you understand?"
"No..."
"I'm sure to let something slip,” he said, words spilling faster. “I'll tell you some meaningless bit of information that someone, somewhere, will want to hear very badly. And that someone might hurt you to learn what I've told you."
Peggy looked up at him, torn between thinking and feeling. She longed to be held in his arms again, to feel his mouth on hers. To breathe with him, in unison together, once more.
He said, “I can't take you to bed and just—just do it. I can't. Sex is not a sport for me."
She swallowed. “I'm not asking you for anything."
"I know. But I—I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm not sorry, but I'm sorry. Agh, I'm not making any sense.” He shook his head. “I shouldn't have started anything. It wasn't fair to you."
The pain was clear in his face. Brent was a complex man, but also a caring one. Peggy could see he meant every word. She took a deep breath for courage.
Then, softly, she asked, “Is it bad trouble?"
Brent met her eyes at last. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. “Yes."
"Someone's looking for you?"
"Yes."
"Did you do something terrible?"
He smiled grimly. “Not to my way of thinking."
"Did you hurt anyone?"
"Hell, no. I want to make sure no one gets hurt. That's my problem. There are other people in this world who are in the business of harming others."
"Brent, you—you're starting to make me nervous."
He laughed shortly, ruffling her hair. “That must be an unusual circumstance. I don't think you're nervous very often, Peggy."
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