Wind Shadow (7 page)

Pulling a hand through her hair, she murmured, “I—I think I’ll just turn in. Good night, Wade.” Without waiting for a reply, she picked her way through the maze of colorful tents back to hers, and ducked inside.

Lying on her back, she listened to the bustle of departing bikers. Nearly a quarter of an hour later, she was still lying there, wide awake, hearing nothing but the occasional ghostly, nocturnal question of a short-eared owl as he called out in the dusky wilderness night, “Whoooo? Whoooo?”

Who? No. That wasn’t the right question. The question, at least as far as Silky was concerned, was
what?
What was making her feel so guilty? It wasn’t the fact that she was a bike-a-thon failure. Both Annie and Wade had put her at ease there. Neither was it that she had gone to bed and left Wade alone to watch the camp. He’d said it was okay. Well… maybe she did feel a little guilty about that. After all, Wade was hurting too.

She sat bolt upright. That was it! She could have helped him with his leg, and she hadn’t offered to do a single thing! Filled with resolve,
she reached for her bag of toilet articles, grabbing a bottle of aspirin and a squeeze tube of lotion.

Seconds later, she’d scrambled out of her tent. Wincing at the pain involved in straightening up, she looked around. Wade was sitting on his bedroll beside the flickering fire, a pan of steaming water on the ground beside him. With a slight intake of breath, she noticed that he had removed his shirt in the fire’s radiant heat. Wavering firelight reached out and caught in its bright aura the red gold highlights of the curling hair that lay close and protective over the corded muscles of his chest.

Her eyes moved slowly up to note that even his black hair glowed an intriguing, unexplainable golden red where the firelight touched it in the dancing reflection of the low flames. It surprised her to see that a man so dark by day could yield such an enticing variance of color in the deceptive shimmer of a fire.

As she watched his profile, he began to knead his scarred calf. He’d certainly had a rough day making it easier for everyone else in the pack, and he was paying for it now. A pang of sympathy pricked her as she watched him.

She’d thought her approach had been practically soundless, but when she reached him, he glanced over his shoulder, raising sparkling black eyes to hers. “Hi. I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I did.” Holding out the bottle of aspirin, she began, “But it occurred to me you might need
this.” Her brief explanation came out a bit briskly, and she felt strangely timid all of a sudden. She forced a small smile, reminding herself that she was doing the right thing—finally.

“Thanks.” He flashed her a lopsided grin and patted the bedroll. “Join me? A fire’s nicer with company.”

Chapter Five

W
ell…” She hesitated as she watched him work at easing his damaged leg. But it was only a few seconds before she made her decision. “I will, if you let me massage your gastrocnemius.” Making a circling motion with her hand, she directed, “Turn over and I’ll work the stiffness out.”

His smile turned to a devilish grin. “If the gastrocnemius is what I hope it is, I won’t have to turn over for you to work the stiffness out.”

Unable to keep from grinning at his bald-faced innuendo, she shook her head as though he were a hopeless case. “Settle down, big boy. I was talking about your calf muscles. Then I’ll wrap your
leg
in a hot towel. With the aspirin, you should be much better by morning.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up
at her, his expression questioning. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t.”

Dark eyes lingered curiously on her face for a moment before his features relaxed in an easy smile. Without further need for coaxing, he turned to lie prone, resting his chin on his hands. He looked back over his shoulder toward her, his grin lopsided and openly suggestive. “I’m all yours, but I’m at a slight disadvantage on my stomach.”

His highly communicable charm gave her no choice but to laugh. “That’s reassuring.” She knelt down beside him and pushed a wispy strand of hair behind her ear. To get better situated, she straddled his leg with her knees and picked up the tube of lotion.

“What’s reassuring, the fact that I’m all yours?” he probed, humor glistening in his eyes.

“No.” She rubbed lotion on her hands.

Undaunted, he went on conversationally, “You know what it means when a woman straddles a man’s leg, don’t you?”

She shot him a look through narrowed eyes. “It means she’s got no place to sit.”

“Nope. Means she’s interested in him and she wants to be ravished. In Hawaii women tell a man the same thing with a flower behind one ear.” He settled back down. With his cheek on his hands, he focused on the darkened distance. It looked as though he was really planning to have a good time with her about this whole situation.

Pretending total nonchalance, she leaned forward and placed her palms on either side of his granitelike calf. “And just
who
says that?”

“Let’s put it this way. I’ve never heard the hypothesis questioned.”

With the heels of her hands, she pressed upward, moving slowly along the back of his leg. “Well, consider it questioned.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed in exaggerated disbelief. “Do you mean to tell me that you’re going to fly in the face of tradition?”

“And peck out its little eyes.”

“Wild-eyed radical.” He flashed her a highly amused smile before lying back down.

With a playful punch to the back of his leg, she admonished, “Oh, just hush and relax your leg muscles.”

“The woman’s a radical
and
a bully,” he mumbled as though he were talking to himself.

Biting her lips between her teeth, she suppressed a giggle. “Sorry. Let me know if I get too rough for you.”

“You’ll know by the way I flip you to your back and have my way with you.”

“Oh good. I don’t mind corrective criticism as long as it’s subtle.” She was playing along now, remaining conversational as she halted the forward motion just below his knee. Repeating the procedure, she began to move slowly back down over the solid, scarred calf. The light furring tingled against the palms of her hands. His calf was like a rock. It was easy to see—or feel—that
he’d worked very hard to bring his leg back to its fullest potential. But the damage to the tissue had been severe, and it was unlikely that his strength would ever be as it had once been, no matter how he tried.

While she continued to massage, her eyes slid to his naked back. He was lying quite still now. Tanned as he was, in the flutter of firelight, he looked like a bronze statue, some ancient Greek deity at rest after a wearing day of fighting with lance and shield. His back was lean and broad, and her eyes ran with fascination over the contours of muscles and sinew. Though the flesh looked like bronze in the capricious light, she knew it wouldn’t feel cold. Certainly his leg, though hard as metal, was responsive, even yielding.

She wondered idly if his back, powerful-looking even in repose, would feel as supple, yet vital as she imagined it would. She was abruptly drawn out of her unconscious wanderings when she heard Wade clear his throat a bit more loudly than necessary. He shifted slightly before speaking her name in an oddly hoarse question. “Silky?”

She blinked back to reality and lifted her head to his profile. He had raised up on an elbow, and his face was serious as he began in a strained voice, “If the idea of massaging me is to help me forget the pain in my calf, it’s working. If you’ve got something more than a massage in mind, just say so.”

She frowned, confused not only by what he
was saying, but by the husky way he was saying it. Dropping her gaze to the place where her hands rested, she was shocked to see that she had unconsciously massaged her way up his leg until her fingers were barely beneath the edge of his shorts. Without realizing it, she’d come dangerously close to the tight, rounded rise of his buttocks.

“Oh!” She jerked her hands from beneath his biking shorts. “Oh, my goodness, Wade. I’m sorry. My mind must have been wandering.”

His lips parted in a grin ripe with charming menace. “Mine definitely was. Do you want to know where?”

She could tell that he was only half-teasing now. At least she hoped that it was closer to half than to zero. This wasn’t a good place to be alone with a big, strong, amorous bear of a man when he got
that
look in his eyes—no matter how attractive the eyes. Fortunately, she was a big girl. She knew that men were not hard to handle if you refused to take them seriously. “I think I’ll wait for the movie, thanks,” she said, smiling.

“Chicken.” His lips twitched with humor as he turned away and lowered himself back to the bedroll. “Actually, I think you already know. You’re just avoiding the subject.”

She sniffed derisively. “Do
you
know that ever since I met you, you’ve made comments like that. Just what makes you think you know so much about everything?”

He chuckled, and even in her aggravated state, she found the masculine sound of his
laughter unexpectedly pleasant. As she watched, he flexed his back muscles with an easy shrug. “It’s really nothing. I’ve got this psychic thing.”

“Well, don’t show it to me.”

“Not even in the movie?” he interjected with mock concern.

Keeping her lips firm, she vowed to herself that he was absolutely not going to make her laugh. With less-than-gentle pressure, she pressed her thumbs into his calf and moved them in a revolving motion. Through clenched teeth she gritted, “Is this better?”

“Yes”—a deep, vaguely regretful chuckle emphasized the pause—“and no. But, you might do well to remember what I said I’d do with you if you got too rough.”

She squeezed, kneading the leg. Even though she was fairly certain he was kidding, she eased up a bit. Feeling silly, she countered flippantly, “Oh, Wade, I couldn’t hurt you if I tried.”

Lifting his chin a fraction, he watched her silently for a moment out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t bet on it, lady.” The amused sparkle that had seemed so at home there was gone now, but before she could worry over his odd remark, he lowered his head to the bedroll and remarked casually, “You’re good with your hands. Do you do this sort of thing as part of your job?”

“No. My dad was a farmer in Kansas. A tractor accident nearly crippled him when he was a boy. He got the use of his legs back, but sometimes,
after he got older, they pained him. After Mother died, I used to do this for him when he felt really bad.”

“I see.” He turned again, laying his cheek on a fist. Where’s your dad, now?”

She paused, looking up at nothing in particular. “He died a few months after I married Rex.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded as though he really was.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago. I have my memories.” They were quiet for a moment as she stroked his calf, pressing firmly into the scarred flesh. “Wade, how did you hurt your leg?” She hardly realized she had asked the question before she heard herself speak it.

“It’s not a great story.”

She smiled apologetically and began her forward kneading motion again. “That’s okay. If you’d rather not talk about it, just say so. But, it’s really not just idle curiosity. Working in Emergency has cured me of that.”

“I can imagine.” Looking into the darkness beyond the fire, he began, “It was in Detroit; my last undercover job.” He flicked a quick look back. “Remember in the hospital, when you believed I was the bad guy?”

She nodded, not particularly pleased at the reminder.

“Well,” he explained quietly, “some of the less subtly oriented Motor City underworld
didn’t
believe that Joe, my partner, and I were—bad
guys, that is. So they decided to make a serious point with the Detroit Police Department by ramming our car with a stolen garbage truck.”

Silky came to a dead halt as he continued, “They hit us broadside. Joe’s side. I was lucky. I spent six months in the hospital.”

“And Joe?” she asked, barely breathing.

“Never even made it to the hospital.” He stopped talking, and she could see an angry pumping of muscle in his jaw. “That—among other things—helped me decide to come here. Lost my taste for undercover work.”

Totally forgetting her job as a masseuse, Silky slid off of him and came down on her stomach beside him. “Wade, you were working undercover when I met you.”

He grinned as she joined him on the blanket. “Hi, there. What do I owe you?”

When she realized where she was, she laughed aloud. “Oops. I’m not finished, I just—” She started to get back up, but he restrained her with a gentle hand on her wrist.

“The leg is perfect, Silky.” He moved to sit up. “And to answer your question, yes. I was working undercover that night.” He released her wrist as she sat up to face him. “It just happened that the detective I had working on the case called in sick with the mumps—caught them from his four-year-old. I’d just gotten back from a weekend of biking and was still pretty scruffy. Remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “Vaguely.”

“I thought you might.” His glance was mild
and friendly as he drew a knee to his chest and curled an elbow around it. “Since I knew the details of the job, I just took it myself.” Shrugging, he added, “Wasn’t supposed to be much to it.”

Silky pursed her lips, nodding. “Yes. Poor Officer Taylor.” She found herself wishing the detective with the mumps had been more resistant to the disease. At least, if she’d made a fool of herself in front of him, she wouldn’t be spending a month in the woods with him now being reminded of it day after day! “And, I suppose you’ve sworn off undercover work again.”

“Lieutenants rarely do undercover work. But, to be honest, I found that particular case quite rewarding.” He picked up the tube of lotion. “Enough about business. Let me pay you back in kind for your massage; your back for my leg.”

Her head shot up in surprise at his unexpected suggestion. “Oh”—she cleared her throat, which had gone prickly dry—“uh, no—I don’t—that won’t be necessary.”

He interrupted. “Take off the robe, first, though.” He was squeezing lotion into his palms, acting as though she had been thrilled with the idea rather than stuttering out weak, negative responses, as she was.

“But, Wade, I’m just wearing a T-shirt and—uh—”

He looked up as he capped the tube. “Panties?”

She nearly died of embarrassment, or she would have if her body had had any consideration
of her feelings at all. It wasn’t so much because he’d said the word
panties
, or even because she couldn’t say it. It was because he’d said it so matter-of-factly, as if he’d said “roller-skates.”

He was suggesting, casually, “I’ve seen you that way before, if you’ll recall. But, if you’d feel better about it, just pull out of your sleeves and leave the robe tied at the waist. That way I can get to your back and you can still preserve your modesty.”

He was talking as though the idea made perfect sense. So what if he had kissed her that first night? He’d been nothing short of a gentleman since. And, it was certainly true that her back would feel so much better with a little tender loving care—not much, mind you, but maybe just a little. After all, as he’d said, it would be payment in kind.

“Well…” she finally acquiesced, pulling her arms out of her sleeves. Her brows came together in a frown of consternation when she noticed how her breasts swayed liquidly with her movements, their tips pressing defiantly against the pink cotton of her shirt. Casting Wade a furtive glance, she couldn’t tell if he’d been aware of her bouncing sway, or if he was as completely absorbed in rubbing the lotion into his hands as he appeared to be.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he murmured quietly.

She did as she was told, feeling a little self-conscious and tense. As she cupped her chin in
her hands, the thought crossed her mind to say, “I’m all yours,” as he’d done earlier, but it would have been a joke with definite sexual overtones and Wade seemed inclined to take things so literally! Instead, she just said, “Okay, what now?”

“Now
you
relax,” he answered as he moved to straddle her hips with his thighs. She could feel his solid warmth even through the terry of her robe as his knees pressed against the fleshy part of her hips.
And he expected her to relax?
Surely he could move his legs away from her just enough to put some space between them. She decided to suggest the possibility nicely, but directly. “Wade, I think—” She had just begun when his warm, lotion-covered hands slid under her T-shirt, stealing away her words in a surprised intake of breath.

“What do you think?” he asked as his long, powerful fingers spread, curling around her waist and kneading the tensed, aching muscles gently. Without giving her a chance to answer, he spoke again, “You’re not relaxing, Silky. Think about something pleasant.”