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‘You mean, you remember the things he used to give you. The gifts.’
She looked at him, surprise etched into her face. ‘No,
I didn’t mean ’
‘This is an expensive house. Did you buy it with his money?’
His voice was as hard as forged steel and just as cold.
Her head came up sharply and she looked at him, cheeks flushed. ‘My father’s insurance policy was the down payment. And I don’t think I like the way you said that, James.’
His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘I was only repeating your words, Gabrielle. You said he gave you things.’
‘Yes. But you—you gave it a different meaning. He was my uncle, but you made it sound…’ Her breath caught; suddenly, all her suspicions about him were reawakened. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, pulling her hand from his. ‘What do you want from me?’
He stared at her while the kitchen clock ticked away the seconds, and then a crooked smile twisted across his face.
‘I wish to hell I knew,’ he said.
‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘Gabrielle.’ His hand tightened on hers and he leaned towards her. ‘Let me help you. You can’t run forever.’
Her face paled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not a fool, Gabrielle. Let me help you. I know you’re running from something.’
‘I’m not,’ she said quickly. ‘I told you, my father’s death was hard for me.’ She pulled her hand from his;
her chair squeaked as she pushed it back and got to her feet. ‘It only hurts to talk about the past.’
‘You can’t ignore the past, dammit!’ James’s tone was harsh. ‘You have to make peace with it. If you don’t, sooner or later it’ll catch up with you.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Gabrielle turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘If I let myself believe that, I’d never be able to face tomorrow. The past is over,’ she said in a voice that trembled. ‘It has to be.’
She heard the rasp of James’s chair as he shoved back from the table, then the drag of a crutch as he moved towards her.
‘It can’t be over if you’re still running from it.’
‘I told you, I’m not. You don’t even know what I’m
talking about, James. You ’
‘Face whatever you’re afraid of. Face it squarely and then you can put it behind you.’ He put his free hand on her shoulder and clasped her tightly. ‘If you don’t, you’ll never be able to get on with your life.’
She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered.
. ‘I want to,’ he said softly. ‘Tell me what you’re afraid of, Gabrielle. Trust me. Let me help you.’
She felt herself tremble beneath his touch. She thought of last night and how he’d held her and comforted her, how he’d kissed away her tears—and how she’d spent the night wondering what it was he wanted from her. ‘Trust me,’ he’d said.
She did. Didn’t she? Hadn’t she made peace with her fears? She must have; she’d taken James Forrester into her home, hadn’t she? Surely that meant something?
She turned towards him. Maybe it was time to believe in someone. Maybe that someone was James. Maybe…
Gabrielle’s hand flew to her mouth. How could she have been so selfish? Caught up in her own misery, she’d all but forgotten how ill he was. The aspirin hadn’t done any good at all: his colour was ashen, his eyes dark slits in his taut face. Her eyes moved over the gash on his cheek, where the stitches rose darkly against the swollen and reddened skin.
‘James,’ she said, ‘you look terrible.’
His expression remained implacable. Then, slowly, a smile curved over his mouth. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ he said. ‘But that’s one hell of a way to change the subject.’
‘Here, lean on me and let me get you back to the chair.’ She put her arm around his waist and led him to the table. ‘There. Sit down. That’s it. Do you want to put your leg on this footstool? I should have thought of it
before; I ’
He caught her hand as she knelt beside him. ‘Gabrielle. Tell me what you were going to say a minute ago.’
‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’
‘You were. I know you were.’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t important. Anyway, it’s something I have to work out alone.’
James brought her hand to his lips. ‘You’re not alone,’ he said softly. ‘Not anymore.’
Inexplicably, tears rose in her eyes. She blinked them back, but not before dampness welled on her lashes.
He drew her to him, one arm curving about her.
‘Gabrielle,’ he said thickly, ‘don’t cry.’
‘Your knee. James, you’ll hurt yourself.’
His eyes darkened. ‘It’s you I’m afraid of hurting,’ he muttered, and he pulled her into the hardness of his body. His mouth took hers with a hot, open abandon that sent the blood pulsing wildly through her veins, his lips parting hers quickly, hungrily, as if he were dying of thirst for her.
Gabrielle moaned as his tongue thrust between her lips. The sweet taste of him filled her mouth; her head fell back and her hands rose between them, moving against his chest. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, then flattened against him. The strong, swift beat of his heart pounded beneath her palms.
James groaned against her mouth and drew her closer. His hand moved along the flare of her hip and to her buttocks, cupping the curve and bringing her tightly against him. She felt his body stir and quicken against hers, the hard power of his erection more erotic than anything she’d ever imagined. She moved against him in unconscious need and he groaned again.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘do that. Do that…’
His mouth fell to her throat, his kisses hot, his teeth sharp as he followed the long, curving arch. He whispered her name as he cupped the back of her head and brought her face to his, whispered it again as he kissed her.
Gabrielle was dazed with desire; she was aware of her body in ways she’d never been before. Everywhere James touched her, tendrils of flame seemed to ignite beneath her skin. Her blood felt thick and sluggish. There was a strange sensation low in her belly, as if something were spreading its wings within her.
She moaned as James ran his hand along her back and traced the outline of her ribs through her thin cotto
n sweater, moaned again when his fingertips grazed the under-swell of her breast. When finally he cupped her breast, she cried out and James bent to her, caught her cry in his mouth, returned it to her as a groan of his own impassioned need. She shuddered as she felt the fierce hardening of her nipple in his seeking hand.
James whispered something to her, her name, perhaps something more intimate—she was beyond the ability to understand anything but her desperate need to be close to him. Still kneeling between his legs, she pressed herself to him so that her breasts flattened against his chest while he feasted on the sweetness of her mouth.
‘James,’ she whispered, her voice soft and urgent. ‘James…’
Her hands lifted and she caught his face between her palms. His unshaved skin rasped against her flesh; it sent a savage passion spiraling deep within her, and she thought of how that roughened skin would feel against the softness of her breasts or the tender, secret flesh between her thighs.
Her body fell limp against his and he caught her to him, moulding the length of her to him while he kissed her. She moaned softly; her hands cupped his face more tightly while she raised herself to him, offered herself to him.
His breath hissed sharply. ‘Gabrielle,’ he whispered, and he caught her hand and lifted it from his sutured cheek.
Her eyes opened and focused on his face. The realisation that she’d touched his wound came slowly; when finally it did, she recoiled in horror.
‘James,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
His smile was quick and taut. ‘It wasn’t your fault, love. Don’t apologise.’
‘Have I hurt you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’
She knew he was telling her what he wanted her to hear. But his eyes told another story, as did the play of muscle beside his mouth.
Gabrielle took her hand from his and lay it against his chest. His heart was still racing, as was hers.
‘I—I wasn’t thinking, James. I…’
James cupped her face and lifted it to his. ‘I’d have been insulted if you had.’
Gabrielle smiled. ‘Just imagine what Nurse Ramrod would do if she found out.’
‘Throttle you,’ he said solemnly. ‘And banish me to the orthopedics floor.’ His eyes were warm on hers and his thumbs moved lightly over her cheeks. ‘A fate worse than death.’
