Men of Courage (16 page)

Matt let out a slow breath and told himself he was a professional. He was not, absolutely not, attracted to this woman who was hurt and talking too damn much. He was not aroused, not at all—

She lifted her hips so he could pull the sweats past her thighs.

His knuckles brushed against the heat of her.

Her eyes flew to his and she stopped breathing.

So did he.

Instead of jerking his hand back, he watched his own finger trace a path over her quivering belly.

“Tell me you’re not married,” she whispered. “Pretty please, tell me that you’re single. Available.”

“I’m not married,” he whispered back.

“Okay, good.”

“I’m single.”

“Thank God.”

“But as for available, I’m—”

“Shh.” Then she pulled him down and put her soft, warm mouth to his.

F
OR A HEART-STOPPING
moment her lips clung to Matt’s, and he let them. He let her kiss him until he couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t.

Then finally apparently taking mercy on him, she slowly pulled back. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Molly—”

“You can see why I want to get a cat.” The lips that had so thoroughly kissed him let out a little laugh. “And learn to ski. I want to live, Matt. But mostly I want…”

No. Don’t ask. Don’t even look at her, but damn…Her hair had started to dry, tightening into blond curls, one of which fell over the softest, most amazingly expressive eyes he’d ever seen. She lay there, open and beautiful, wanting him.

How long had it been since he’d allowed a woman to look at him that way? Since he’d reciprocated?

Too long. But this wasn’t the place or the time, it wasn’t—

“Mostly I want a man,” she whispered, still holding his gaze. “Not permanently, nothing like that. Just…just to show me what I’ve been missing, if only for a night.”

Ah, hell. Because he was a man.

And he had a free night. “You need sleep.” He lifted the flexible wrap he wanted to put around her ribs. “After I put this on, you’ll be more comfortable.” And sleepy, he hoped. Very sleepy.

Eyes on his, she reached up and unbuttoned his grandfather’s flannel shirt. “I guess you have patients who throw themselves at you all the time.”

“No.” When he helped her sit up, the shirt fell away from her a little, playing peekaboo with her incredible body.

“No?” She tipped her head, then winced and carefully straightened it. “How can that be?”

“I’m not exactly known for my bedside manner.” He unraveled a long stretch of wrap.

“How come? You don’t like people?”

“Not especially.” He took a deep breath and spread the material of the shirt away from her so he could work.

Beneath was nothing but a creamy expanse of belly and two perfect, full breasts tipped with rose-colored nipples his mouth was suddenly watering for.

And a left side already bruising so badly his stomach dropped. “God. You got it good.” Forcing his gaze to what he was doing, he wrapped her as gently as he could, experiencing the oddest sensation. Compassion and empathy, if he wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his other patients, he did, he most certainly did, but he had been working too hard, had become too jaded.

But damn it, that’s what this house was supposed to do for him, slow him down, give him something to focus on besides work. And yet chances were that the house wasn’t going to make it.

Leaving him back at square one. His fingers brushed Molly’s sides and she sucked in a breath. “Cold fingers,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. He leaned over her, bringing the wrap from her back to her front, his knuckles brushing against the very bottom curve of her left breast.

Her nipples hardened, and so did his body. He’d done this countless times before and had
never, ever, felt aroused. He couldn’t say that right now. Then he realized he wasn’t breathing, and neither was she.

“I’m nearly done,” he said, not wanting to look into her eyes, not wanting to look at her body, and failing at both. When he finished, he slowly reached out and tugged the material of her shirt closed. His fingers were shaking.

She put her hands over his. “It’s okay if you don’t want me. It’s happened before.”

He stared at her in shock. Obviously she’d missed the erection threatening the buttons on his Levi’s.

“They call me the absentminded professor, did you know that?” Her vulnerable smile broke his heart. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached. Men, intelligent men, don’t like that.”

“Molly. I want you.”

“You…do?” Her gaze searched his with a hopeful hunger that made him groan.

“Yes. But—”

“Uh-oh. The but.”

“It’s just that you’re hurt. You’re vulnerable. I can’t, won’t, take advantage of that.”

“I’m not that hurt.”

“Really? Because you’re green, which means
you’re nauseous. Dizzy. You need to rest, Molly.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes closed, her expression too tight with pain for his comfort. “Matt?”

He swept her hair from her face, shocking her with the gentleness of his touch. “Yeah?”

“If you’re not going to kiss away the pain, could you talk to me?”

His fingers went still on her. “What?”

“I rambled on about me, it’s your turn. Talk to me. Tell me about this house, your job. You.”

“I don’t like to talk about myself.”

“Please?” Carefully scooting back, she made room for him, looking up at him with eyes hurting and more than half braced for rejection.

Ah, hell. With great care he lay on his side, facing her, and very gently brought her still shivering body against his. Then he closed his eyes as a wave of unexpected tenderness and need rolled over him.

She’d hit his weak button dead-on. He couldn’t stand to see anything or anyone hurting. It was as if she knew he’d never willingly open up, but because she was in pain and he was programmed to try to alleviate that pain, he’d do as she’d asked.

But to actually do it, talk about himself…“Well…you asked about this house.”

“Yes.” Eyes still closed, she put her cheek to his chest and smiled. “It’s a lovely house.”

“It was my grandfather’s. He—” A vicious wind whistled through the basement, followed by the sounds of wood straining, cracking.

Had he only a few hours ago been whining to himself about the work the house needed? Now, with all his heart, he wanted to be able to do that work. “He left it to me.”

“What about your parents?”

“They died in a plane crash on vacation in the West Indies three years ago.”

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

“No.” He’d expected her hair, with its wild curls, to be rough to the touch, but it was soft and silky. Irresistible. “My parents…they weren’t really meant to have children.” Damn, where the hell had that come from? “We didn’t spend much time with them, my brother and I.”

“But you had your brother.”

“Yeah. Luke.”

“You’re close?”

“As close as we can be living one thousand miles apart. He’s in L.A.”

“And you had your grandfather.” She opened her eyes and studied his face.

He wondered what she saw when she looked at him like that. “So to speak. He was pretty much stuck with us.”

“But he left you the house. What a lovely legacy.”

“I didn’t want it.”

Beneath his touch, she sighed and closed her eyes again. The tension lines around her mouth eased a bit. “Why?”

“It needs what I can’t give. Time. I don’t know why he did it, I don’t need the legacy.”

Her fingers rested over his heart. “Everyone needs something from their past. It’s what you build your future on. I don’t have much because we moved around a lot, but I have pictures and my old Barbie dolls. And postcards from my dad from wherever he was.”

And because she was sentimental—something he was not—these things obviously meant a lot to her. “My parents didn’t save anything.”

“No pictures, nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Surely your grandfather kept something of your childhood?”

“Just the house. Which I don’t need, not when I spend my time in Houston in the E.R.”

“Ah. You work too much.”

He looked down into her face and stroked at the remaining tension in her temples. “Like you, apparently.”

“Like me,” she agreed. “But past tense only.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel the need for a cat and I already know how to ski.”

As he’d hoped, a ghost of a smile touched her lips.

“And this house…” He looked around the damp basement. “It just seemed like too much work. Until…”

Eyes still closed, she squeezed his fingers. “Until what, Matt?”

He’d never heard her say his name before, and on her lips it sounded so…intimate. “Until I got here.” He took a deep breath and tipped his head back to study the ceiling, wondering what was happening above, if there was anything left. “I spent summers here. I didn’t remember until today, when I was walking down the empty hallways, that the time I spent here, with my brother and grandfather…those times were the best times of my life.”

“And now that you remember? Are you okay with taking over the care of the house?”

“There probably won’t be a house left to care for, not after this storm.”

Now she opened her green, green eyes. Brought his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips over his knuckles lightly. “Do you believe in fate, Matt?”

Slowly he shook his head, mesmerized in spite of himself by her lovely eyes, by the feel of her lips on his skin. He should pull away, should take his hands off her, but he couldn’t. “No, I don’t believe in fate. We make our own destiny.”

“If that’s true, then this will work out, because you’ll make it work out. Right?”

An image came to him. It was summer, he was on a ladder painting the house, bringing it back to its former glory.

On a ladder next to him was another painter, back turned. But then she faced him. Molly. Smiling and working with him side by side.

His heart skipped a beat and he surged abruptly to his feet.

“Matt?”

How had he let that happen? How had he managed to spill his guts? Managed to get himself good and attracted to a woman he knew little
about and was never going to see again after this? “I’m…still wet.” He turned and pawed through the box for more clothes.

She let out a sound of regret. “My God, you are, I’m so sorry, I forgot. How could I have? Here, take one of the blankets—”

“No,” he said a little too harshly when she struggled to rise. “There’s more here.” He gentled his voice, hardened his emotions. He was a doctor. He was her doctor. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you soon enough.”

She wasn’t buying his sudden retreat. “Matt? What’s the matter?”

What was the matter? Other than she’d somehow coaxed him to talk about himself when he never did that? “You need rest.”

“And I scared you. Was it because you opened up? Or because you want me as much as I want you?”

“Molly.”

She let out another ghost of a smile. “It’s unnerving, isn’t it? This…this instant connection we have?”

“Go to sleep.” His voice sounded terribly desperate, even to his own ears.

“I will. If you come back.” When he just looked at her, she let out a low laugh. “To keep
me warm.” Her voice had it all—patience, worry, affection. Fear.

It was the last that really got him. Fool that he was, he climbed back onto that cot and wrapped his arms around her small, hurting and, God help him, hot body. And when her breathing was deep and steady, he stared down at her, wondering what it was about her that reached to the very depths of his soul, as no one else ever had.

S
HE DUG HER FINGERS
into the branch and whim pered. She hung over the roaring river, which rose with every second. It hit her toes, her calves…her thighs.

Her life flashed in front of her eyes; her boring, staid, sexless life.

No, she refused to die like this. With all her might she held on to the branch, but the vicious water swirled around her waist now, dragging her down. If she fell, the current would sweep her away.

Then the branch cracked. Terrified, she stared up at it, watching as it fell away from the tree in slow motion.

Screaming, she fell toward the swirling depths of the water—

“It’s just a dream, Molly. Come on now, it’s okay, you’re safe. Molly?”

She jerked awake to find Matt holding her close, his face hovering above hers.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his big hand cupping her jaw. “You’re awake now. You’re fine.”

Frantically, she patted herself, amazed to find her body dry. “I’m…not wet.”

“Do you remember where you are, Molly?”

He seemed worried about her head injury, was looking into her eyes very intently. Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I remember. It just seemed so real.” A shiver racked her, and with a deep sound of regret, he tucked her closer.

Brought her in full contact with his long, deliciously built, warm body. She moaned softly as he skimmed a hand down her spine. When he feathered his lips over her temple, the tip of her nose, she lifted her face, wanting more, wanting him to come down on top of her, nestling his weight between her thighs.

Yearning and burning, she shifted, wrapping a leg around his hip. She felt his erection, felt him sigh into her hair. “Matt…”

A husky groan tore from his lungs and he lifted his head, his eyes hot and heavy. “You need to go back to sleep.” His fingers skimmed
over her cheek. The sensation was so delicious she wanted him to stroke the rest of her, too, and when he would have retreated, she grabbed his hands.

“Stay with me.”

“I am.” He cupped her face, looked down at her, letting out an agonized groan when she arched to him, telling her without words he didn’t intend to stretch out over her, link their fingers and drop a kiss on her waiting mouth.

So when he did just that, her heart nearly overfilled. The tension left her body, and she sank into the kiss.

Oh, yes, this is what she wanted, needed. His kiss, his touch. She wanted more. “Matt.”

His kiss deepened and her bones just melted away. But he wasn’t close enough, not yet…she shifted in fumbling haste…and gasped in pain.

He let out an answering moan and pulled back. “God, I lost my mind for a minute. Molly—”

“I’m fine, I’m hardly hurting anymore at all.”

“No. You need rest.” Gentling his hands on her, he put his forehead to hers. “Not another body touching your hurting one.”

“Yeah.” But that’s exactly what she wanted as she drifted off again, held close to the body that took over her dreams.