myself and I’ll be fine. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to...the clinic.”
Her voice broke on the last words. As her self-control began to crumble, she rose, flung her linen napkin onto the table, caught up her purse and walked swiftly out of the restaurant. There had to be a ladies’ room close by, where she could shut herself in a stall and huddle until her heart stopped thundering. Experience had taught her to recognize the symptoms of a panic attack. But short of doping herself with tranquilizers, she had little control over the rush of irrational terror that flooded her body.
She reached the lobby and glanced around for the restroom sign. The desk clerk was busy. No matter, she could find it by herself. But where was it? She could hear her heart, pounding in her ears.
Where was it?
* * *
Caught off guard, Cal stared after her for an instant. Then he shoved out his chair, stood and strode after her. She hadn’t made it far. He found her in the lobby, her wide-eyed gaze darting this way and that like a cornered animal’s.
Without a word, he caught her shoulders, forcing her to turn inward against his chest. She resisted, but feebly, her body shaking. “Leave me alone,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Come on.” He guided her forcefully through the lobby and out the back door to the patio. Sheltered by the overhanging roof, they stood veiled by a curtain of rain. Her body was rigid in his arms. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, feel the slight pressure of her breasts. She’d stopped fighting him, but the trembling continued. Her breath came in muted gasps. Her fists balled the fabric of his shirt.
He might not be the most sensitive guy in the world, but even he could tell that the woman was terrified.
What had she been through? Cal had visited the Sudan refugee camps—a hell of human misery if ever there was one. Tens of thousands of people crammed into tents and makeshift shelters, not enough food, not enough water, open sewers and latrines teeming with disease. Organizations like the United Nations and private, nongovernment charities, known as NGOs, did what they could. But the need was overwhelming. And Megan had spent eleven months there.
He wouldn’t have been surprised to find her dispirited and worn down—which she clearly was. But there was something more here. Harsh conditions wouldn’t have made her this fearful. Something had happened specifically to her. Something so terrifying that the briefest reminder of it was enough to make her quake.
He was here about the money, he reminded himself. She was guilty as hell, and he couldn’t let himself be moved by sympathy. But right now Megan’s need for comfort appeared all too real. And besides, hadn’t he wanted to get close to her—close enough to learn her secrets? Here was his chance to take that first step.
“It’s all right, girl,” he muttered against her silky hair. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”
His hand massaged her back beneath the light jacket. She was bone thin, the back of her bra stretched tight across shoulder blades that jutted like wings. He’d come here to get the truth out of her and see that she was punished for any part she might have played in Nick’s suicide. But arriving at that truth would take time and patience. Megan was fragile in body and wounded in spirit. Pushing her too hard could shatter what few reserves she had left.
Not that Cal was a saint. Far from it, as his hardening arousal bore witness. It might have been an indelicate response to the situation, but it was the only way he knew to reply. His relationships were usually short-lived affairs, with plenty of heat that burned out quickly. With all the time he devoted to J-COR and the foundation, he had little to spare for romantic entanglements. Brief, passionate flings were usually his preference—the sort of relationship shallow enough for every conflict to be solved by taking matters to bed. He had little experience comforting genuine distress, and his body shifted into default mode, wanting to solve the problem by replacing her troubled thoughts—and his own niggling guilt for causing her such distress—with ecstasy for them both.
The desire was there, smoldering where her hips rested against his, igniting the urge to sweep her upstairs to his luxury suite and ravish her till she moaned with pleasure. Maybe that was what the woman needed—a few weeks of rest, good food and good loving to restore her health and build her trust.
But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. It was comfort and support she needed now, not some big, horny jerk making moves on her.
Giving himself a mental slap, Cal shifted backward, easing the contact between them. She was calm now. Maybe too calm. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
She exhaled, pushing away from him. “I’ll be fine. Sorry you had to see me like that. I feel like a fool.”
“No one’s blaming you. I’ve seen those camps. You’ve been through eleven months of hell.”
“But not like the people who have nowhere else to go. Seeing their children die, their women—”
“You can’t dwell on that, Megan.”
“I can’t forget it. That’s why I plan to go back as soon as I’m strong enough.”
“That’s insane. I could stop you, you know.”
“You could try. But if you do, I’ll find another way.”
The defiance in her gaze stunned him. Back in San Francisco, where he’d known her as a charming hostess and a lovely ornament, he would never have believed she could possess such an iron will. But her will looked to be all she had left. She was like a guttering candle, on the verge of burning out.
“You should go back and finish your dinner,” she said. “I’ve got my rain poncho. I can catch a matatu back to the clinic.”
“One of those rickety little buses? You’d end up walking for blocks, alone in the rain. I’ll take you.” Cal wouldn’t have minded inviting her upstairs for a hot bath and a chaste, restful night in his suite’s second bed—as a simple act of kindness. But she was certain to turn him down. And even if she accepted, he didn’t trust himself to behave. For all her devious ways, Megan was an alluring woman, made more so by her surprising strength and the unspoken challenge in her manner. The urge to bury himself between those slim, lovely legs might prove too much to resist.
But an idea had taken root in his thoughts—one so audacious that it surprised even him. First thing tomorrow he would make some calls. What he had in mind might be just the thing to restore her health and win her trust.
* * *
Minutes later Megan was huddled beside Cal in the cab’s backseat. The rain had stopped, but the night was chilly and the black blazer she’d worn to look presentable was too thin for warmth.
“You’re shivering.” Cal peeled off his Burberry coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, enfolding her in the heat and manly scent of his body. A thread of panic uncurled inside her. She willed it away.
“We’ve talked about me all evening,” she said, making conversation. “What’s new with you?”
“Nothing much, except that I’m here. The company’s doing fine. So is the foundation. I’ve hired a team of professionals to do the fund-raising. But they don’t have your elegant touch. I miss you and...Nick.”
Megan
