by Rita Herron
Sonya bit down on her lip. A hotel room would be the wisest place for her.
But Brack cleared his throat. “I’ll take care of her.”
Cohen glanced from her to Brack, then back to her again, and she nodded in agreement. “I have medical training. I need to clean up his wounds. And he’ll drop me where I want to go.”
Cohen shook his head. “I warned you, Ms. Silverstein.”
Sonya frowned at him, irritated that he continued to harass Brack when Brack had been nothing but protective and kind. For God’s sake, he’d nearly been killed chasing this psycho. She caught Brack’s sideways look and heat rippled between them.
He’d said he was taking her back to his place. Was she really going to stay at Falcon Ridge with him?
With Katie away for the night, they would be all alone….
FOR A MINUTE, Brack had been certain Sonya would leave with the sheriff. Play it safe.
Unreasonable relief filled him when she didn’t.
Damn. He didn’t want to admit his weakness, his failure. Didn’t want to admit that the thought of seeing her again, of protecting her, had driven him forward.
Cohen sped away, his distrust leaving a sour taste in Brack’s mouth. His father had been right to return to Arizona. Cohen had cheated him out of twenty years of his life.
Brack also had the urge to leave, but he was too stubborn to let the man win again.
And now…the injury was taking its toll. He felt light-headed and mad as hell. He’d lost the SOB, and he had almost passed out on the way back to Sonya’s house. But pain had been his friend for so long that he welcomed it. It reminded him that he was a survivor. That he had trained for extended periods of time and had survived in the wilderness under conditions more brutal than this.
That he would suffer if it meant catching this killer.
Sonya’s hand pressed against his back sent a shard of pleasure through him. An unwanted emotion and sense of coming home.
He wanted Sonya at his place as much for his own peace of mind as for her safety.
Not a good predicament for a man like him to find himself in. That meant he was allowing emotions into the game. Beginning to care about her.
Frustration gnawed at him. If he’d only caught the creature that had attacked him, he could have ended this mystery tonight. Then he could walk away from Sonya with a clean conscience and know that she wasn’t in danger.
And he would be able to keep his resolve and stay uninvolved.
She took his keys, and he relented and climbed into the passenger side of his SUV. She quickly ran into the house to pack a bag. His head hurt like the dickens as he allowed Sonya to drive them to Falcon Ridge. Either he was hallucinating, or the silhouette of her slight frame looked ethereal in the sliver of moonlight that finally broke through the storm clouds, like some kind of angel of light that had appeared to ward off the angel of death.
He pointed to the turn-off for Falcon Ridge, set in the curve of a thicket of trees, and she maneuvered the SUV up the winding drive as if she’d driven through winding mountain roads all her life. Maybe she had.
His chest swelled with pride as his old homestead came into view. The huge stone structure with its turrets and arches resembled a gothic mansion from medieval times. Maybe an old castle. At least he saw it that way.
But his mother hadn’t been comfortable in the cavernous stone walls. He understood her hesitation and knew the house held painful memories for her.
The walls also echoed with fond childhood memories for him. Playing with his brothers. Hiding in the corridors and basement. Inventing ghost stories to explain the haunting sounds echoing off the walls at night.
Climbing to the attic so he could be higher, closer to the sky as he studied the falcons in flight.
Anxiety rippled across Sonya’s face. “This is your home?”
He nodded. “The house belonged to my parents, and my grandparents before that.” He reached for the door handle, climbed out, then retrieved her overnight bag. She met him in front of the SUV. Relying on drilled-in instincts from security details, he surveyed the property, the outside of the house, scanning each nook and cranny, the stillness of the woods nearby, the dark shadows of the eaves and overhangs as they climbed the massive stone steps. Her sharp hiss of breath shattered the night as they stepped inside, as if she was gathering courage.
His protective instincts kicked in, along with anger. “I know you’re afraid of me,” he said in a husky voice. “But I’m not going to hurt you, Sonya. I promise.”
Her gaze locked with his, and emotions warred in her eyes. Need. Desire. Fear.
His gut clenched, and the same emotions ran roughshod over him. He wouldn’t hurt her.
But she definitely had the power to hurt him….
SONYA WAS tired of being afraid.
Brack’s quiet promise tempted her to trust him. But trusting a man completely was impossible.
The massive stone walls and high ceilings of Falcon Ridge seemed ominous as they entered. Woods surrounded the house, the floor and walls streaked with shadows from the towering trees, reminding her of the isolation of the mansion. At first sight, the rooms felt cold. But warm burgundy and green tones filled the den to the right, an oil painting of the mountainside hung above a sleek cherry table in the foyer and thick red velvet carpet inched up the steps.
Above the staircase, photos of falcons lined the paneled walls. All black-and-whites. Eagles, hawks, other raptors she didn’t recognize. Some in flight, their beautiful wings spread wide. Others feeding or attacking their prey.
“We rescue and train the birds here,” Brack said in a deep voice tinged with pride. “I can show you the garden outside, the cages…”
Fear careened through her. Irrational maybe, but memories of her attack still hovered at the edge of her mind. “No, thanks. Not right now. We need to look at your head wound.”
When she glanced up, he was staring at her. His expression was etched in granite, but his eyes held questions. “They don’t attack humans, not unless they’re threatened,” he said.
She shivered. “But you were attacked tonight.”
“By a human. At least part human,” he said in a husky voice.
Nervous tension rattled between them as he led her into the kitchen by the tall stone fireplace. She wrapped her arms around herself, still cold from standing outside her house while the crime scene team finished.
He frowned. “You’re freezing. I’ll start a fire.”
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
He threw some wood into the massive fireplace and lit it. Seconds later, a fire blazed, the wood crackling as it caught. “Yes, but I’ll take a shower and clean up myself.”
“Brack, I’m a paramedic. Let me look at your head first. You might need stitches.”
“No, no stitches.” He remained intense, but he retrieved a first aid kit, then pulled out a kitchen chair, turned it backward and straddled it. Then he leaned forward, offering her access to the back of his head.
His raw masculinity overwhelmed her. His shoulders were so broad they filled the expanse of the chair, and he was so tall that even sitting, his head was at her breast level. She inhaled sharply, told herself she could touch him without responding. She had to think like a professional. She’d treated countless men before and hadn’t fallen apart over touching them.
She slid her fingers gently into the long strands of his hair, and his breath hitched. His hair was tangled and clumped together with blood. She dampened a cloth and wiped away as much as possible, separating the strands of his hair with her fingers until she could check his scalp. “The talons punctured the skin, and ripped away the top layer in places,” she said softly. “You probably should go to the ER.”
“No. Just clean it and it’ll be fine.”
She’d known he would be stubborn, tough. Would refuse medical help unless it was forced on him. Deciding a butterfly bandage would do, she used the antiseptic and began methodically cleaning
the wounds, grateful to see the bleeding had stopped.
“Do you remember being here last night?” he asked.
She frowned. “No…”
“After you were attacked, I brought you and Katie in here. I cleaned your back while we waited on the paramedics.”
A frisson of unease skated up her back. Yes…the memory slipped into her consciousness. Fleeting seconds of feeling his hands on her. Gently touching her, wiping away blood. Soothing her with his quiet strength. Feeling safe and warm in his care.
So he had seen the wounds on her back. She would have scars.
Visible ones this time, although Stan had left emotional ones with his cutting words.
She was imperfect on the inside. And now on the outside, as well.
She gently pressed a piece of gauze over his neck and wiped away the dried blood. His breath hitched again, and fire shot through her fingertips. His masculine scent overrode the scent of blood and fear in the air. His quiet strength and powerful size robbed the room of air. The firelight painted a soft, golden glow around his solid form. And as she leaned forward to wipe his forehead, his arm brushed her breast.
“That’s good enough.” He stood abruptly, ending her medical attention, then faced her, towering over her. Dark emotions glittered in his black eyes. Eyes filled with a raw, primal hunger that sent fire through her belly.
Their gazes locked. She felt trapped, mesmerized. His breathing vibrated in the silence. Hers followed. Then he slid his hands up into her hair, angled her face in his hands as if he were molding her to fit him, lowered his head and claimed her mouth beneath his.
His lips were soft, but demanding, his kiss gentle yet powerful, his hands cradling her like a delicate china doll, yet insistent that she meet his hunger with her own.
She couldn’t resist.
Once, she’d watched a movie called Never Been Kissed. As Brack took her lips below his, she melted in his arms and realized she had never truly been kissed by a man before, not as if he might starve without her taste. He slid his tongue over her lips, teased them apart, then swirled his tongue inside her mouth.
Desire speared her, and she moaned in response, then lifted her hands and gripped his muscular arms. If he let go, she would fall.
He deepened the kiss and released a guttural groan from deep in his chest.
Sonya whimpered, desperate for more. And terrified that she would disappoint the man.
That second of fear destroyed her confidence, and she stiffened in his arms.
He noticed immediately. Pulled away and stared into her eyes.
“Sonya…”
His voice sounded heady with passion, and her heart fluttered. But old insecurities rose to torture her.
“I can’t do this, Brack,” she whispered.
He dropped his hands to his side and squared his shoulders. Although heat still radiated from his body, a troubled look flickered in his eyes.
Then he stepped away from her, turned and removed a key from a hook on the wall. “Here. You can sleep in the wing at the top of the stairs. The room on the right.” He folded his big hands around the counter edge with a white-knuckled grip. “Lock the room if you’ll feel safer.”
She stared at his hands, at his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, at his mouth which had set hers on fire. The question of fear and trust lay between them, waiting to be answered. Tension scorched the air in heat waves.
God, she wanted him. And she almost relented and fell back into his arms.
But Brack was brooding. Mysterious. Strong. Physical.
Controlling.
And she had to maintain control.
So she took the key, ran up the stairs and closed the door. The bedroom seemed massive, the hollow walls echoing with her fears. Heaving for a steadying breath, she locked the door. Not because she thought he might come to her.
But to keep herself from going back to him.
Chapter Nine
Nightmares of giant birds of prey disturbed Sonya’s sleep. The winged creatures swooped through her house, snatched Katie, and disappeared into the forest where she never saw her again. She lay awake in the predawn light, her body aching from the gutwrenching fear.
Another kind of ache seared her as well. An ache to be held by Brack. Comforted by his strength. To feel his lips claiming hers again in a wild dance of passion.
What was she going to do?
She could not rely on Brack or give herself to him in any way and chance losing a part of her soul that had barely healed from Stan’s rejection.
No. Focus on the present. Get through one day at a time. Today she had to rid her house of the blood. Add security.
Even then, should she take Katie back to the house?
While she wanted to be stubborn and prove she could stand on her own, she’d be a fool to disregard the reality of her attack and the violence of the night before.
And what if she failed to protect her daughter?
Terror at the thought sent her climbing from the massive four-poster bed in Brack’s guest room. She quickly showered, letting the warm water soothe her sore back, then turned to study the claw marks in the mirror. The skin looked puckered, red and purple and ugly beneath the light, a visible reminder of the danger surrounding her and the only reason Brack had befriended her.
Dismissing her troubled emotions, she dressed in jeans and a thick, warm sweater, then brushed her hair and tiptoed down the stairs. Inside the cavernous kitchen, coffee brewed, and a fire warmed the tiled room. A box next to the fireplace served as a bed for Katie’s kitty, Snowball. A cat toy lay beside the kitten, and a bowl of water had been placed within reach. Katie would be relieved to know Brack had taken care of her new pet.
A sliver of sunlight streamed through the French doors, the snowy woods beyond painting a landscape that belonged in a postcard. A garden area with a trellis draped with rose vines filled a large area, the view of the cliffs and valley below stark.
She poured herself a mug of coffee, then walked to the window to look outside. Her stomach fluttered. Set against the primitive wilderness of the mountains behind him, Brack looked so powerful and big, so rough with his dark, unkempt hair and sheepskin jacket, that he took her breath away. He wore thick gloves and held a falcon perched on his forearm. She froze, gripping the cup with steely fingers, waiting for the animal to attack. She could feel its talons ripping at her flesh….
Instead of attacking, though, the hawk lowered his beak against Brack’s arm, and Brack gently stroked the wing tip, an expression of intense concentration on his face as he spoke to the bird.
He was so mesmerizing she simply stared at him while she sipped her coffee, drawn to him in a way she didn’t understand. Fearing him in a way that finally forced her to admit that she wanted him more than she’d wanted any man since her divorce.
Maybe since her marriage.
Sex with Stan had been less than satisfying. He had focused more on his own needs than hers. When she’d suggested couples counseling, he’d claimed any problems they’d had were her fault.
Finally she’d given up trying to talk to him. And then she’d stopped loving him….
The realization startled her, but she knew now that it was true. And that truth would help her heal.
Brack glanced through the window and saw her, and their gazes locked. Dear heavens, she had never lusted after a man before, but she wanted this man. After four years of being alone, feeling undesirable, his touch the night before had awakened a need in her she’d forgotten even existed.
His dark eyes flickered with the same heat sizzling through her veins. A heat that grew hotter with every look and touch. A touch she wanted so badly she couldn’t tear herself away from him.
She sensed Brack would take his pleasure in bed, but she had no qualms that he would satisfy her first. But acting on the heat between them meant she might get hurt.
She itched to go to him, but ordered her feet to remain in place. She couldn’t deal with the pain o
f failure again.
BRACK STARED at Sonya, his body rock-hard from a sleepless night of lying awake wanting her. One touch last night, one taste, had only whetted his appetite.
An appetite he feared would not be abated until he made her his in every way.
He cursed himself. Physically he craved her with a pain that throbbed in his loins. An ache that would have to remain unassauged.
And mentally, emotionally…no. He refused to go there.
He’d been weak with another woman and nearly lost his soul. Hadn’t he learned his lesson then?
He tore his gaze from Sonya and spoke quietly to the hawk, grateful his injuries were healing. He wished he could erase Sonya’s fear of the birds he loved so much. Wished she could see their beauty the way he did. Then maybe she could understand him. Trust him completely.
No sense wanting the impossible.
He stroked the falcon’s wing tip again. Soon he’d turn the bird back to the wild where it belonged.
Just as he belonged there.
Time to get on with the day. He eased the falcon into the cage, removed his gloves, then strode back inside, forcing a blank expression on his face as he scrubbed his hands.
“I already arranged for the cleanup crew to take care of your house,” he said, looking into the fire instead of Sonya’s face. “They should be done by lunchtime. And my team is there installing dead bolts, new window locks and a security system.”
“Brack, I’m not sure I can afford a security system.”
He poured himself another cup of coffee, still avoiding facing her. Would his naked desires show in his eyes? “Don’t worry about it.”
She touched his arm, and his gaze swung to hers. “Then we’ll work out a payment plan.”
So independent. She had to stand on her own. He admired that about her. “Security work is my specialty, Sonya. I refuse to let you and Katie back in that house until it’s completely safe.”
Dissension settled in her eyes. She wanted to argue, but her daughter’s safety took priority over pride. He’d known her motherly instincts would override her personal feelings about accepting help from him.
