How are you going to explain this, MacAlister?
Kate didn’t want to think about explanations or make any decisions, so she pushed the question away. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to be held in a man’s arms, in Roman’s arms.
Strange how it had always been that way. From the first time they’d held each other to the last time, Kate had responded to Roman on more than just a physical level. From the moment their souls connected, she was lost. She’d never wanted another lover after he’d left because she knew deep down no man would ever reach her as he did.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then, unable to stop herself, she moved her mouth softly against his neck, relishing the familiar musky taste of him on her lips.
A soft hiss brushed past her ear, and his body tightened against hers. He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her face up. His warm breath fanned her lips in a light caress. A shiver of desire skittered down her spine. She squashed the feeling of betrayal that threatened to surface and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss, her mouth parting with an eagerness that surprised her.
A muttered “hell” was the only warning she got before he slid her from his lap onto the cushions of the couch. She blinked, stunned, as he wrapped her in the discarded quilt and stood.
“Try to relax, Doc. I’m going to stoke the fire, then find us something hot to drink—or if I’m lucky, something strong.” She tried not to blanch at the coolness in his voice. It was apparent the man was not happy to see her again.
The sharp sting of humiliation traveled down to the core of her being, but thankfully she was too numb to care.
Almost.
KATE GAZED into the fireplace, watching the flames lick greedily around the new logs Roman had tossed there. She tucked her bare feet under the quilt as a shiver danced over her. Even with the extra fuel, the fire did not drive away the coldness seeping into her bones.
The wind howled outside the cabin, and its agitation echoed her unease. Ignoring Roman’s order to rest, she draped the quilt over her shoulders and forced herself off the couch toward the window. He wouldn’t be happy, but she didn’t care. While the panic attack had left her feeling drugged and unstable, she refused to succumb to the aftereffects. Experience had taught her that immobility only delayed her recovery.
Her legs wobbled but supported her well enough to get her across the room. Once there she peered into the pitch-black beyond the cabin, careful to remain concealed behind the slightly parted denim curtains. How much time did she have before they found her? Were they out there now, watching, waiting?
The faint clatter of pans reached her from the kitchen, and reminded Kate of her unwanted company. What was Roman D’Amato doing here? More important, how was she going to get rid of him? Or did she want to? As much as she disliked the man, she wasn’t sure she dared risk his safety. She sighed and adjusted the edges of the curtains together. Placing another human being in jeopardy, even a questionable one like D’Amato, went against her nature.
She hugged her arms tight to her chest, knowing she wasn’t in any shape to do any more strategizing tonight. Under the quilt she rubbed her arms with her hands. In the few minutes by the window, the tremors had stopped, leaving her legs feeling quite a bit steadier, but the iciness still lingered deep within her joints. It would, she was sure, until her nightmare ended.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Kate stiffened at the militant tone. He’d missed his calling when he’d chosen computer consulting over the Navy as a career. Well, she wasn’t a subordinate he could order about. Relaxing her features, she planted a wide smile on her stiff lips and swung around.
“Looking outside,” she said, being deliberately obtuse.
The light from the kitchen flooded the living room, allowing her to see every harsh, irritated angle of his face. Her smile almost faltered.
Up to an hour ago no one had ever seen her fall apart, not even her family. She would be damned if she let it happen again.
Roman walked toward the couch, a coffee mug in his hand, his eyes narrowing as they took in every detail. The dark brown of his irises reminded her of tarnished copper, flecked and ringed with gold she knew turned molten amber with anger or desire.
Now they glinted with suppressed annoyance.
“You look like hell, Doc.” Deftly he placed the mug on the end table, and in two strides he was standing in front of her.
She had a good idea what she looked like. She’d caught a glimpse of her image in the rearview mirror of her sports car, right before she deliberately drove it into a ravine. The dark smudges. The pale skin. “Thanks, I wish I could return the compliment,” she retorted, not trying to hide her sarcasm.
Almost forty, Roman was in better physical condition than most males half his age. The man oozed masculinity, not that it surprised her. His broad shoulders, well defined under his dark T-shirt, tapered to a lean, narrow waist. A worn pair of blue jeans sheathed his muscular thighs. Her eyes followed the snug fit, setting off a heat in Kate’s stomach. Uncomfortable, she forced her gaze back to his face.
He kept his dark, curling hair longer then she remembered, with the ends brushing casually against his shirt collar. The thick mane now showed signs of silver shimmering in its depths, but instead of detracting from his looks, it added to the rugged hardness of his features.
Distracted, she missed the determination reflected in those same features until it was too late. Before she realized his intention, she was off the floor and against his chest.
“Stupido,” he muttered over her head.
Stupid. Nobody called her stupid. She tried to escape his iron grip, but the covers acted as a cocoon, thwarting her attempts. Furious, she resorted to verbal abuse, calling him every vile name she’d learned from her brothers over the years.
“Shut up.” The words were clipped, their sting sharp enough to cause her to flinch. “I can’t believe you kiss your mother with that mouth.” He dumped her onto the couch and stood away, his hands on his hips. “When’s the last time you ate?”
She blinked. Ate? When was the last time she ate? Long before the phone call from Marcus…
“Never mind.” He let out a sigh and shoved the cup toward her, forcing Kate to drop the quilt to grab it. The warmth from the ceramic felt good against her cold hands.
“Drink.” He squatted in front of her. “It’s canned, but it’ll do.”
Irritated, she hastily sipped the warm broth, not really tasting it. “I’m—”
“All of it,” he commanded, placing his hands over hers before lifting the mug to her lips again. Inwardly seething over his high-handed approach but afraid he would notice her hand trembling beneath his, Kate drank most of the soup in one gulp.
It slid down easily. So easily in fact, she disregarded the vague, bitter taste it left behind on her tongue. Vegetable. She should have guessed. Cain was addicted to vegetable soup.
The warmth filled her stomach, then slowly mushroomed through her body, diminishing some of the hollowness and leaving her strangely comforted. She smothered a yawn.
With a soft grunt of satisfaction,
