her throat, her amusement seeming to dissipate in the blink of an eye. “I think it would be better if we just pretended that never happened.”
His head was throbbing. His toes sticking out from the bottom of his cast were throbbing. And every spot in between was throbbing. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, and not all of it was because of some stupid temperature.
The fever he had for her was ninety percent of his problem.
“You brought it up first,” he reminded. “But if you can pretend, go for it. I can’t.”
“Why not?” For the first time, he heard frustration in her voice. “It was just one night.”
“Yeah, it was one night. But there wasn’t anything just about it.”
She shook her head. It only made the long, thick strands of gold hair slide across her gold shoulder and curl over the full jut of her breast, which was clearly—thank you, Lord, for torturing him with that incredible sight—delineated by the thin fabric of her shirt.
“It’s only going to make things … awkward,” she insisted.
“Then things will be awkward,” he said flatly. “‘Cause I can’t forget about it.” Nor did he want to.
The night they’d spent together was as much a perfect memory as it was a very necessary reminder.
Making love with her had been the most indescribable thing he’d ever experienced. And he needed to remember that it had been temporary.
Short-lived by necessity.
And by choice.
He pressed the damp, not-so-cool cloth down over his eyes. “Just make sure you’re careful about it.” His voice sounded as dark as he felt inside. “Meeting up with whatever hopeful suitors you find. There’re a lot of crazies out there. And guys who’ll take advantage of you the second you let down your guard.”
“So … you don’t have any problem with the idea of me finding a, um, a date like this.” Her voice went so smooth that warning bells jangled in the back of his mind.
She sounded miffed.
If he were honest, he could have told her, hell yeah, he had a problem with it.
He had a problem with the notion of her going out with any other guy, no matter where or how she met the man.
He had a problem thinking about anyone touching her. Physically. Emotionally.
But that sort of honesty wouldn’t get them anywhere.
“Like you said. You’re a grown woman. It would be unusual if you didn’t want to date.” To marry. Have children. “Though, I’d have thought you’d have plenty of pickings at the hospital and wouldn’t have to resort to meeting strangers in a bar. Or aren’t there any eligible doctors there?”
She was silent just long enough that his curiosity started nagging at him and he peered at her from beneath the cloth again. She was chewing at the inside of her lip, her eyes narrowed. But after a moment, all she said was, “You should be in bed.”
“No.”
He was almost surprised when she didn’t argue.
“All right. But if you need to get up or anything, just call my name. I’ll hear you.”
The last damn thing he wanted to do was call her name so she could help his sorry butt off the couch just so he could take a leak. That was the only thing he could think of at the moment that would make him willing enough to bring on a fresh set of agony by moving around.
Unless it was to go to her bed.
Which would be a joke right now.
The mind and some parts of his body were definitely willing, but the rest of him—the injured, aching part of him—just sat back with a snide, cruel laugh at the very idea of it.
“I’ll yell,” he said, having no intentions of it at all. “G’night.”
She hesitated a moment longer, still looking strangely indecisive. But then she did turn on her heel and head down the hall. A moment later, he heard the sound of a door closing softly. Then water running.
His fertile mind took off like a shot, and again, the part of him that was in control got a damn good laugh.
His head hurt. His ribs and his back hurt. He had an itch beneath the cast on his arm that was driving him batty. It was hours before he finally dozed off. The sky that he could see through a kitchen window was beginning to lighten. And when he did sleep, his dreams were a jumbled mess.
Cole was behind the wheel of the SUV aiming for little Lari McDougal. Mason watched it all unfold, his dream-state legs refusing to run fast enough, knowing he wasn’t going to make it. Wasn’t going to be able to save the child.
Only, Lari wasn’t a child, he realized as he forced his legs to move through the sludgelike paralysis that was holding him in place. It was Courtney.
Beautiful, young Courtney.
The SUV was speeding closer. Mason could see the whites of Coleman Black’s eyes.
He yelled out to Lari. To Courtney.
Knew it was too late. He was too late….
He jerked and barely caught himself from rolling off the couch. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and hard.
But at least he knew where he was.
In Courtney’s house. Sleeping on a surprisingly uncomfortable leather couch while cool sunshine streamed through the plentiful windows.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
