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He lay with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly in exhaustion, while she lifted his legs onto the bed and pulled the sheet up to his waist. “There,” she said softly. “You can rest now.” She stroked her hand over his chest, as she had done so many times in the past few days, an action that had become automatic because it seemed to calm his restlessness. He w
as much cooler; the fever had finally lost its grip on him. The knife was still clutched in his left hand, and she reached to take it, but his fingers tightened at her touch, and his eyes flew open, his gaze black and fierce.
Rachel kept her hand on the knife, levelly meeting his eyes. “Why do you need it?” she asked. “If I meant you any harm I’ve had a lot of opportunities to do something about it before now.”
Her eyes were gray, completely so, without any hint of blue. They were almost charcoal in color, but warm, and with an utter clarity that made them seem fathomless. He felt a shock of recognition. The eyes, and the woman, had filled his recent dreams with a tender eroticism that made his loins tighten. But…were they dreams? The woman wasn’t a dream. She was real, warm and firm of flesh, and her hands had moved over him with the ease of familiarity. She didn’t act like a guard, but he couldn’t afford to take the chance. If he relinquished the knife he might not be able to get it back. “I’ll keep it,” he said.
Rachel hesitated, wondering if she should press the issue, but there was something in his quiet, flat tone that made her decide to let it go. Even though he was weak and barely able to get around on his own, there was something about him that told her he couldn’t be pushed. He was a dangerous man, this stranger sleeping in her bed. She moved her hand from his.
“All right. Are you hungry?”
“No. I ate a banana and an apple.”
“How long have you been awake?”
He hadn’t checked a clock, but he didn’t need a clock to give him a sense of time. “Almost an hour.” His gaze hadn’t wavered from her. Rachel felt as if he could see through her, as if he were probing her mind.
“You woke up a couple of times before, but you were still feverish and talking nonsense.”
“What kind of nonsense?” he asked sharply.
Rachel regarded him calmly. “No state secrets or anything like that. You thought you were going to a party.”
Was there a double meaning to that crack about state secrets? Did she know anything, or had that just been a coincidence? Sabin wanted to question her, but he hardly had the upper hand at the moment, and his exhaustion was changing into acute sleepiness. As if she knew, she touched his face, her fingers cool and light. “Go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
It was, ridiculously, the reassurance he needed to let him relax into sleep.
Quietly Rachel left the room and went to the kitchen, where she leaned weakly against the work island. Her legs were shaking, her insides quivering like gelatin, in reaction to all that had happened to her already…and it wasn’t even noon yet! Nor did she have any of the answers she had promised herself she would get as soon as he woke up; rather than asking questions, she had been answering his. She hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of his gaze, so piercing that it was difficult to meet his eyes for any length of time. Warlock’s eyes… She certainly hadn’t been prepared for having a knife held to her throat! And she had been helpless, unable to do anything against a strength that was far superior to hers, even though he was undoubtedly weak from his wounds and illness.
The terror that had held her in its icy grip for those few moments had been worse than she had ever imagined. She had been frightened before, but not to that degree. She was still shaking in reaction, and her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall. Now wasn’t the time for tears; she had to get herself under control. He might sleep for half a day, or he might wake up in an hour, but she was going to be in complete command of herself whenever he woke. He would also need feeding, she thought, seizing gratefully on something practical to do. Banana and apple notwithstanding, his system would probably demand frequent feedings until he had recovered.
Her movements jerky, she set beef tips simmering for beef stew and began dicing potatoes, carrots and celery. Maybe the meal would be ready by the time he awoke; if not, he could settle for soup and a sandwich. When everything was in the pot she darted out to the vegetable garden and gathered the ripe tomatoes, then ignored the heat and began pulling up weeds. It wasn’t until she finally fell to her knees on a wave of dizziness that she realized how erratically she had been behaving, spurred on by the overdose of adrenaline her system had absorbed that morning. It was insanity to work out in the broiling sun, especially without a hat!
She went inside and washed her face with cold water; she felt calmer now, though her hands were still trembling slightly. There was nothing to do but wait: wait until the stew was ready; wait until he woke up; wait until she got some answers…wait.
It was a tribute to her self-possession and concentration that she was actually able to do some research for the course she would be teaching in the fall. Like a manuscript, the course would require pacing and plotting to hold the students’ interest, to make them stretch. Yet even though she was deeply involved in her reading and notes, she was so attuned to him that she heard the slight rustle made by the bedcovers when he moved, and she knew he was awake. Checking her watch, she saw that he had slept for a little over three hours; the stew would be ready, if he was hungry.
He was sitting up, yawning and rubbing his bearded face, when she entered the bedroom. Instantly she felt his attention settle on her like a beam of pure energy, tingling on her skin.
“Are you hungry now? You’ve slept for three hours.”
He considered that, then gave a brief nod. “Yes. I need a bathroom, a shower and a shave first, though.”
“Sorry, the shower is out while you still have stitches,” she said, hurrying to his side as he threw back the sheet and eased his feet to the floor, wincing in pain and holding his left thigh. Rachel put a supporting arm around him until he was steady on his feet. “I’ll put a new blade in my razor for you, though.” Sensing that he preferred to get across the room on his own power, she let her arm drop and watched anxiously as he took each painful step. He was a loner; he wasn’t accustomed to aid and didn’t welcome it, though he had to know that he simply wasn’t capable of some things right now. He would let her help him only when it was necessary. Still, she felt compelled to ask, “Shall I shave you, or do you think you’re steady enough to do it yourself?”
He paused at the door to the bathroom and glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ll do it.”
She nodded and started toward him. “I’ll just put the new blade—”
“I’ll find them,” he said quietly, stopping her before she could reach him. Rachel accepted her dismissal, turning instead toward the other door.
It hurt to have him reject her help after the days he had been totally helpless and dependent on her for everything, after the nights she had spent leaning over him, sponging him down to keep him cool, and especially after the mental strain she had endured. As she set the table she tried to deal with that hurt, to push it away. After all, she was even more of a stranger to him than he was to her, and it was only natural that he would try to regain control of himself as soon as possible. To a man like him, control would be vital. She had to stop hovering over him like a mother hen.
It was easy to tell herself that, but when at last she heard the water cut off in the bathroom she hesitated for only a moment before giving in to the compulsion to check on him. He was standing in the middle of the bedroom floor, looking around as if considering his options. A towel was knotted low on his lean hips, and contrary to logic it made him seem even more naked than when he had been completely unclothed. Rachel’s pulse leaped. Even with the stark contrast of the white bandages on his leg and shoulder, he still seemed immensely powerful, and so male that she felt her mouth go dry.
He had shaved, and the clean line of his jaw made her fingers twitch with the urge to stroke it—another gesture he wouldn’t appreciate.
“Is there anything I could wear, or do I just go around naked?” he finally asked, when Rachel made no move either to approach him or to speak.
