That Loving Touch. Ashley Summers

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      Two

      Her impertinent question rattled Sam badly. She’d forgotten his name? Like hell she did! He knew an ego-shot when he heard one. “Holt. Sam Holt,” he replied, smiling. Damned if he’d let her get to him. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. And that you’re not afraid of me...you’re not, are you?”

      “Afraid of you?” she echoed with a beguiling touch of hauteur. She studied him, then sighed. “No, Mr. Holt. I figure if you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it by now,” she said, dry as dust. “I guess I jumped to conclusions. I’m trying not to, but it’s hard not to judge people from past experience.”

      “What past experience?” Sam asked, and immediately regretted it. He was not going to get involved in this woman’s problems. And obviously she had problems—she had that wounded-doe look. Back off, Holt. “I’m intrigued that you know karate,” he hurried on. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who possessed this particular skill.”

      “Surprises me too,” Carrie said wryly. “When I found myself helpless to stop... something I didn’t want, I took a woman’s self-defense class until...” Until I discovered I was pregnant. “Until I’d learned enough to fend for myself. A girl can’t be too careful, you know,” she declared with a wan smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need the bathroom.”

      “I’ll help you.” He stood up.

      “Thanks, but I can do this by myself.” Holding the blanket in place, she rose, then hurriedly caught his arm. “Sorry. Still a bit woozy.”

      “It’ll pass. Just take a second to find your balance.” Sam gripped her shoulders. Her hair spilled over his hands. It had the texture of spring grass. Standing face-to-face, he realized that an overbite shaped her mouth into that delectable pout.

      “I’m okay. A little wobbly, but I can make it.” Her nose wrinkled. “Do I smell rubbing alcohol?”

      “I bathed your face in alcohol and water. At the time it seemed necessary.”

      “At the time it probably was,” she agreed, pushing at her hair. “God, I’d love a shower—I feel so grubby!”

      “A shower,” Sam, afflicted with a swift, arousing, annoyingly juvenile fantasy, repeated dumbly. “Yes, of course. You can use the guest bathroom. Second door on your right. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

      After a lip-nibbling hesitation, she nodded. “Thanks.” Moving with care, she traversed the distance alone.

      Sam trailed behind her to make sure she didn’t fall and break something and blame him.

      “Oh, I forgot,” she said, “my duffle bag’s on the porch. Would you mind getting it?”

      “Of course not.” Sam brought in the bag and left it outside the bathroom door. “If there’s nothing else....”

      “That’s all, thank you.”

      “I’ll go fix something to eat. You hungry?”

      “Please don’t go to any trouble for me,” she said faintly.

      “No trouble at all,” Sam responded. Sheesh! Jamming his hands in his pockets, he went to the kitchen to heat some soup.

      Hearing him leave, Carrie Loving expelled a long breath. She held on to the sink with both hands until she felt strong enough to raise her head. Waking up to such a confusing situation would send any woman’s brain into orbit, she thought. Finding herself on the floor tangled in a blanket, with a tall, dark stranger towering over her like some Greek god? “Small wonder I thought I was hallucinating!” she sighed.

      For a moment she’d been terrified. Then, when he spoke, that deep, husky voice had evoked flashes of recall, not of specific things, just impressions of gentle touches and soothing hands; just enough to impart a sense of safety.

      She СКАЧАТЬ