by Val Daniels
"You're not quitting now?" he taunted, sounding almost like his usual self. "I'm going to need help with the rest of my clothes."
"Tough." Tears of relief itched the back of her eyes and she went to the kitchen to sponge off their stained coats. He was swinging his long john-clad body under the sheet when she returned.
"Do you feel queasy at all?" she asked, exhaling slowly. She'd spent the time in the kitchen trying to remember the rules for giving first aid to head injury victims. "Would you like some turkey broth?" she offered after his negative response to the first question.
He lifted the corner of his lip in distaste.
"You shouldn't have anything to eat. You can have liquids." She raised a shoulder defensively.
"I'm glad you didn't take up nursing," he said, obviously amused by her attempts at taking care of him. "You'd probably worry your patients to death."
"I'm the first to admit I'm no Florence Nightingale. That's why I think I should try to go for help. We don't have any idea how badly you're hurt. What if something happens, Matt?"
"It won't. I'm only letting you hover over me like a mother hen to keep you from doing something drastic. I'll go along with it for a while to let you get the nurse bit out of your system. Then I've got to go back out and bring in some of that wood. That's it." He nodded toward the three lonely logs stacked in the corner. "That will never get us through the night."
"Then I'll go," Jillian said and started for the bedroom to get her coat. She remembered that it was hanging over a kitchen chair, still damp, as Matt caught her wrist.
"Uh-uh."
"But—"
"If you go, I go with you. You try to leave this cabin by yourself, Jillian, and you're going to find out I'm in a whole lot better shape than you imagine."
She lowered herself to the bed and his grip on her arm loosened. He let his fingers slide down and lightly encompass her hand.
"With the windchill, it's probably minus twenty degrees. I've been every direction today and we can't get out without walking almost five miles. In this weather that kind of trip would be suicide, and no one could get back without help from a snowplow. We'll manage."
"We'll manage better if you let me go out and pick up the logs you dropped when you fell."
"I don't fall."
She looked at him blankly. His statement didn't make sense. "The tree attacked you, I suppose?" She suddenly remembered one of the things you had to watch for with a head injury. Lord, was he losing touch with reality?
He looked at the dismay on her face and grinned. "I guess I should say that if I couldn't make it back without an accident, neither could you. And don't accuse me of male chauvinism. But I can't remember any other time when I've slipped and fallen on ice." He held up a finger to stop her interruption, covering her lips gently. "I have great balance. And I know that path. Jim and I went up and down it at least ten times a day last summer when we were here fishing."
She remembered his catlike grace and understood. "But I'm not exactly uncoordinated."
"No-o-o," he agreed, turning her hand over in his. "I like watching you move."
She blushed at the intimate sound in his voice. His color seemed to be returning. She'd better concentrate on his health and ignore her quickening heartbeat.
"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you go out in the dark and try a balancing act with an armful of logs on an icy path you aren't familiar with. We'll manage." He grinned. "And there are vicious trees about, remember?"
He absently traced the lines on her palm with his finger. Icy flames danced along her spine and she jerked her hand away, stretching to explain her sudden movement. "At least it's warm in here now," she said. "And I can get the two blankets off the bed in the other room. That should help us get through the night without more wood."
"We'll add one log at a time when the fire's almost gone." Matt yawned.
Were his pupils dilated? She felt helpless again. What if she couldn't tell if he needed a doctor before it was too late to find a way to get one?
Matt sipped some of the broth she brought him, then slept. Jillian sat upright in a chair, resisting sleep. She woke him every two hours to check his pupils and see if he was lucid. The second time she brought him some aspirin for the mild headache he admitted having.
Around midnight, the second to the last log was rapidly becoming a smoldering ember, and she could see her breath. She considered turning on the oven but decided against it. It was something of a relic, and she feared it might gas them both while they slept.
When her fingers were numb from the cold, she unearthed the travel alarm she'd packed out of habit, setting it for 2:00 a.m. The bare essentials of getting ready for bed completed, she crawled under the layer of heavy blankets. She didn't worry about what Matt might think as she coiled herself against his back, reversing their positions of the previous night. Maybe with her hand over his heart, she'd notice any change in his condition. And if he commented about the way she "plastered" herself against him, she'd plead the cold.
Matt was his irritable self when she woke him at two. He watched as she unsuccessfully attempted to relight the fire. Eventually he got out of bed to do it, despite her protests. He used the last log, closed the damper as far as he possibly could and raised crossed fingers as she held up the covers for him to get back onto bed. "I guess we're on our own when that one's gone." His eyes glittered wickedly as he leaned toward her and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. "Think we can generate some heat?"
Her eyelids drooped and her body screamed, "Danger."
"I'm going back to sleep," she said, turning away from him.
"Shall we cuddle your way, this time?" he murmured, nestling into her. Jillian pretended to be already asleep.
The alarm went off at four. Matt lay on his back with his arm circling her. Her head was on his chest. Jillian propped herself on her elbow and shook him gently. "What?" he groaned irritably.
"Wake up."
"I'm awake, Jillian. Please, leave me alone."
Well, at least he knew her name. She leaned across him to light the lantern. It was on the coffee table she'd pulled over next to the bed. "What time is it?" she asked, hoping he'd open his eyes to look at his watch. She wanted to check them.
"Who cares?" he moaned, defeating her plan. He turned onto his side and pressed deeper into his pillow.
"Wake up, Matt." She laid a hand on his shoulder to prod him.
Suddenly, he was sitting. "I've been awake for hours," he flared. Grasping her arms, he reversed their positions so quickly that she found herself flat on her back and staring up at him, wide-eyed with surprise. He was leaning over her. "I think you want to leave me alone, Jillian."
For a moment, she forgot her reason for bothering him. Her lips went dry as his eyes lingered on her mouth.
"How much do you expect me to take? Every time I get to sleep, you wake me up and turn me on like a light. Then you roll over and go to sleep." His head dipped closer to hers. "Even Grandma wouldn't expect me to endure this without some return." His lips made gentle contact as his hand wandered down her side.
"Matt," she protested against his mouth, "I woke you to make sure you're all right."
"I'm fine, Jake. Never been better." His fingers fumbled with the knit edging of her sweatshirt, then he slid his hand under it and onto bare skin. Her stomach lurched.
"Matt," she tried to protest again, but the way she sighed his name sounded more like an invitation.
He lifted his head. "If I have a concussion, it's a slight one," he said in a voice that told her just how good he felt. "Why do you think I fell in the first place?" He continued to stroke her midriff. She couldn't have responded if her life depended on it.
"I wasn't thinking about what I was doing," he continued, answering his own question. "I was thinking about you."
The look in his eyes was doing funny things to her. "I want to make love to you," he whispered.
Her lips quivered in the attempt to say something—an
ything.
"Why do you think I stayed out in the cold all day? I was fighting the urge to do this." He bent to sprinkle mind-reeling kisses from her lips to a sensitive spot behind her ear. "Jillian, you're making me crazy."
His hand shaped itself around her breast. "Matt, this isn't the way it should be," she protested feebly, aching to give in to her body's demands, but trying to be sensible.
"How should it be? I want you…" His lips covered hers as if he could hold back any disagreement. "And I think you want me, too. Stop me if I'm wrong."
CHAPTER SIX
His sweet kisses turned hungry. Jillian's hands involuntarily wrapped around his shoulders and she pulled him closer, needing him, longing for release from the intense pressures building within her.
Her lips felt desperate for more. She parted them in invitation and his mouth explored hers searchingly. She found the taste of him delightful.
He broke off the kiss to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue. She giggled softly. "That tickles," she whispered, unaware of the way her body arched against his.
His hands were skillfully leading her to the point of delirium. He dropped a kiss on her eager lips then pressed his full length against her.
One of her hands weaved its way through his hair and the other slid beneath his shirt. She stroked his heated skin. Moving against him, she was shyly conscious of the intimacy of their touch, yet aching with need.
"You're beautiful," he murmured against her silky neck. His words sent a shiver of desire from her toes to her fingertips and back again.
His hands renewed their exploration of her body. "You're so beautiful, Jillian," he echoed breathlessly, "so lovely. Do you know what you do to me?" Her hands flattened against his back and held him close.
A tide of emotions surged through her and her heart thundered until she thought it would burst. "I love you," she whispered against his ear, putting a name to her feelings and leaving a kiss with her words.
His fingers drifted to a stop across the flat of her stomach. "Are you protected?" he asked huskily, lifting himself away from her and allowing the cold to rush in at her.
Jillian blinked, not understanding. Her eyes glazed with confusion.
He lowered his head to nibble briefly at her neck. "Are you protected?" he repeated.
Jillian's mind worked frantically as her body lay motionless. She was stunned by the sudden intrusion of reality. "No!" she managed to gasp, protesting their mutual insanity.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise and rolled away from her. "I assumed that since you were meeting the boyfriend…" He let the rest of the statement drift away and started to leave the now bone-jarringly cold bed. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
"Matt?" She gulped back a sob.
He paused in the act of taking off his heavy shirt. Goose bumps rose along his bare back, and her fingers itched to smooth them away, itched to touch him again.
"Yes?" His passion-heavy eyes examined her body.
She couldn't speak. Feeling exposed and vulnerable despite her sweat suit, she drew up the blanket to screen herself from his gaze.
"It's nothing to worry about," he assured her. "I'll be back in a minute."
"No." She locked her eyes on the dark ceiling, guilt-ridden over what her instincts had led him to expect, ashamed that she didn't want to stop even now.
He leaned down and eased a lock of hair from her face. "Two consenting adults don't have to declare love before they make love," he explained gently, referring to the declaration she had made from her heart only moments before. She wished he hadn't heard it. "We do have an obligation to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. I wouldn't do that to you, Jake. Think what that would do to your dreams of playing house and living happily ever after."
He started to kiss her and she turned her head. The heart that had raced in response to his burst into a million tiny pieces and she crumbled inside from the pain. "I didn't mean 'no, I'm not protected.' I meant 'no, I can't do this,'" she whispered between parched lips. "It's all wrong. I…we…" She couldn't meet his intent eyes. "Long after I've forgotten the effect you've had on me tonight—" I'll never forget, she realized "—I'll regret this," she finished miserably.
"Sometimes you take what fate hands you and don't worry about what will happen next. This feels right, doesn't it?" Matt's hand cupped the side of her face and Jillian leaned into it, like a kitten seeking a stroke. "You're feeling guilt about the boyfriend? He doesn't own you," he added, urging her to grant him the same rights she had intended to grant Harrison.
"I plan to spend the rest of my life with him," she defended herself.
He said nothing—didn't move—just braced himself on his hands above her and questioned her decision with puzzled eyes. "You want me," he stated in a cool, factual tone that made her shiver.
She didn't deny the truth, but tried to control the shakiness in her voice. "You said that two consenting adults didn't have to profess love, but I want someone who does love me. I can't ignore the promises I've made to Harrison, disregarding everything I've always dreamed of, simply because my body is in control instead of my brain. You were right. One night could change everything."
His jaw tightened. A vein throbbed in his neck. "There are no lifetime guarantees."
"I know." A choking sadness closed her throat. "But I've never been one to casually give myself away in bits and pieces."
"I didn't think you were."
"Would you want me to sleep around if I was your fiancée?"
"If you were my fiancée—" He broke off, wrenching away from her and out of the bed. "Damn. You've got me talking like I believe in your fairy tales."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things get out of hand. I wasn't—I couldn't think." She forced herself to speak calmly. Putting on a good act was everything now. In his memories, she wanted to be the sophisticated woman-who-got-away, not a prehistoric frightened virgin who couldn't cope with her feelings for him. Tapping her forehead in the same general vicinity as his bandage, she ended the discussion. "I'm sure this isn't doing your head any good."
Holding the covers close to her breasts, she lifted his side of the blankets. "Now, you'd better get back in bed before you freeze to death."
Matt's eyes widened in disbelief, then without a word, he yanked his insulated shirt over his head and strode to the bathroom.
Jillian carefully refrained from looking after him. With a shudder that felt as if it came from her soul, she slid down beneath the covers to quietly lick her wounds.
She was so disgusted with herself, it took an effort not to cry. She wanted him—with every aching pulse point in her body. Desire was something she'd never really experienced before—she didn't know how to deal with it. But how could she have mistaken desire for love?
Matt didn't have any such problem. He wanted a casual roll in the hay. At the mention of the word love, he thought of protection. Did she want to give her whole self—heart, body and soul—to someone who wanted only safe little fragments? And if she gave her body to Matt, how would she piece herself back together for Harrison?
Did she want to?
She cared for Harrison. He shared her vision of the future. He kept loneliness away. Did that add up to love? No, she admitted, and pain knotted her stomach.
She'd always believed her reluctance to sleep with Harrison was a result of Grandma's straitlaced teachings. Maybe that had been part of it, but her feelings, or lack thereof, explained a lot.
So why this outrageous longing for Matt?
Jillian stiffened as she heard him come back and pretended to be asleep. He wasn't fooled, but it was easier for both of them this way. He stayed far over on his side of the bed, his back to her. She stayed on hers.
Her eyes burned from not crying, her body ached from stiffly holding herself away from him and trying to keep her teeth from chattering. Dawn was sneaking around the edges of the curtains before she finally let herself relax enough to fall asleep.
"What the hell?"
>
Harrison's voice jarred Jillian awake. As she groped for words to explain the apparently compromising situation, Harrison's jaw sagged, and Matt calmly got out of the bed and told him the truth—or at least most of it.
"You must be Harry," Matt finished in his easy drawl, though his chin was set and rigid.
Harrison scowled. "The name is Harrison." The tall, model-thin man looked down his nose at Matt.
Jillian watched as Matt's fist clenched. A punch in the mouth wouldn't help matters, she decided, and quickly rose to her knees, pulling the blankets with her.
Harrison turned his sanctimonious stare on her.
"It isn't the way it looks, Harrison—"
Matt cut her off. "You don't owe him any explanation, Jake." He kept his eyes trained on the new arrival. "He should have been here if he wanted a say in what happened."
Harrison's expression darkened.
"Nothing happened," she denied quickly, as much to Matt as to Harrison.
"She's right," Matt agreed derisively, snatching his jeans from the back of the couch. "Nothing except being snowed in without electricity or heat or a phone."
With characteristic grace, Matt yanked the jeans on over his long underwear and Jillian realized that Harrison's suspicions were justified. Three days ago, she would have hidden her face in the blanket, uncomfortable that Matt was dressing in front of her. Now, she watched unself-consciously.
Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and viciously pulled his boots on. His stark white bandage clashed with his angry red face, reminding her that he shouldn't even be out of bed. Not till he'd seen a doctor.
"How did you get here, Harrison?" Jillian demanded, her question surprising both men. "Can we get out now? Matt needs to see a doctor."
