Trading Secrets. Christine Flynn

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СКАЧАТЬ said nothing. With his eyes closed, he sat dragging in long drafts of air, looking too weak or too spent to move.

      With as much care as she could manage, she slowly eased the pressure of her grip.

      The lump wasn’t there. Reaching toward him, she placed her palm where the head of the bone had been. The muscles beneath her hand still felt horribly knotted, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he still hurt. Yet, she could tell from the way the tension drained from his face that the worst of the pain was gone.

      Close enough to feel the heat of his thighs once more, she helped him lean from the sink to straighten on the stool. He’d barely reached upright when his whole body sagged, and his dark head fell to her shoulder.

      His relief was so profound that she felt it to the very center of her soul. Her own relief joined it as she cupped her hand to the back of his head. She didn’t question what she did. She didn’t even think about it. She simply held him close and let the sensation of reprieve wash over them both.

      She’d had no idea what she would have done had the second attempt not worked. He could have argued all he wanted, but she doubted she could have watched him go through that agony again. She was not a strong person. She could fake it when she had to, but she’d pretty much used up her supply of sheer nerve for the day. The best she could probably have done was haul him into town and get someone, anyone, else to help them. Or left him while she’d raced off in search of help herself.

      She tightened her hold, stroked her fingers through his wet hair. The man was stoic to a fault, and probably stubborn to the core. He would have fought her every step of the way.

      He was getting her wet. She could feel the dampness of his pants seep into the sides of her jeans. Though she could feel his heat through the arms of her thin pink sweatshirt, she could also feel the gooseflesh on his broad back.

      She’d wrapped both arms around him. Thinking to keep him warm, she drew him closer.

      Realizing what she was doing, she felt herself go still.

      A fine tension entered her body. Greg became aware of it at nearly the same instant the unfamiliar peace that had filled him began to fade. For a few surreal moments he’d had the sensation of being cared for, of being…comforted. He freely offered his support to others, but the quiet reassurance he felt in this woman’s touch, in her arms, was something he’d never before experienced himself. Not as a child. Not as an adult. Not even with the woman he’d been with for the past two years.

      He lifted his head. Now that the pain that had taken precedence had reduced itself to a dull, throbbing ache, he was conscious of his lovely angel of mercy’s clean, powdery scent, the gentleness of her touch, the nearness of her body.

      With his head still inches from hers, he was also aware of the curve of her throat, the feminine line of her jaw and her lush, unadorned mouth.

      Her breath caressed his skin as it slowly shuddered out. Feeling its warmth, the sensations that had touched something starving in his soul gave way to an unmistakable pull low in his groin.

      Caution colored her delicate features as she lifted her hand to the side of his face and brushed off the moisture still dripping from his hair. With a faint smile, she eased her hand away.

      Stepping back, she picked up the towel she’d brought him earlier and draped it over his shoulders. “You’re better.”

      “Much.” He cupped his throbbing shoulder with his hand, felt the alignment of joint and bone. He couldn’t tell if he’d torn anything major, or if his shoulder and arm were just going to be the color of an eggplant for the next few weeks. All he cared about just then was that the searing pain was gone. “Thank you.”

      With another small smile, she picked up the edge of the towel, wiped it over one side of his hair and took another step back. “You could use another one of these.”

      “What I could use is something to make a sling. Or I could use this for one,” he suggested, speaking of the towel she’d draped over him. “Do you have something to fasten it with?”

      He’d seemed big to her before. Now, with his feet planted wide as he sat watching her, his six-pack of abdominal muscle clearly visible between the sides of the towel and with the need for urgency gone, he totally dominated the small, dilapidated space.

      Not sure if she felt susceptible or simply aware, anxious to shake the unnerving feelings, she turned to the box she’d opened earlier.

      “How did you wreck your car?”

      “I was trying to avoid a deer. The road was slick and I lost control.”

      “Did you hit it?”

      “Missed the deer. Hit a tree.”

      She picked up another towel for him to dry off with and held up a safety pin.

      “That’ll work,” he told her.

      Only moments ago she had cradled his head while she’d quietly stroked his hair. Now there was no mistaking the faint wariness in her delicate features as she stepped in front of him once more.

      He’d tucked the middle of the rectangular terry cloth under his arm and pulled one end over his shoulder. Apparently realizing what he had in mind, she caught the other end to draw to the other side and, while he held his arm, pinned the sling into place behind his neck.

      “Thanks,” he said again, conscious of how quickly she stepped away. Glad to have use of his other arm, he took the hand towel she’d dropped on his thigh and wiped it over his face. She was disturbed by him. That was as apparent as the uneasy smile in her eyes.

      They were even, he supposed. He was disturbed by her effect on him, too. He was also more than a little curious about who she was.

      If she knew old Doc Wilson, she had to be a local. Yet, he knew he had never seen her before. He would have remembered her eyes. They were the crystalline blue of a summer sky, clear, vibrant. And troubled.

      He looked from where she now bent to pick up what looked like bits of broken pottery to the cardboard boxes. One sat on the counter. Dishes matching the crimson red of the shards filled part of the cabinet above it. Another box sat empty, presumably relieved of the cleaning supplies and pots and bright-red canisters piled on the old electric range.

      “Moving in?”

      “Trying to.”

      “That’s interesting,” he observed mildly. “I hadn’t heard anything about this place being rented or sold.” He knew he would have, too. Word would have hit the clinic or Dora’s Diner within minutes of papers being signed. “The way people talk around here, something like this doesn’t usually slip by.”

      Without glancing up, she rose with several pieces of bowl in her hand and dumped them into the empty box.

      In the far corner of the room, near the space a table and chairs should have occupied, bedding the color of spring grass and sunshine was laid out by four pieces of luggage.

      “I imagine word would have leaked out by way of the power or phone company, too. My office manager has a cousin who works for one of the utility companies over in St. Johnsbury. I’m pretty sure someone would have mentioned utilities СКАЧАТЬ