Fortune's Secret Daughter. Barbara McCauley
had fussed over him? he wondered. His mother had run off when he was eleven. Other than his sister, no one had really worried about him since he was a kid. And even she was gone now.
But this was hardly the time to think about Susan. Those thoughts he saved for late at night, when he was alone with a bottle of whiskey and the few photographs of his sister that he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser.
He turned his attention back to Holly, felt a strange ripple of pleasure that the distress in her eyes was genuine. “Well, shoot, Miss Douglas.” He reached for her hand. “I would have waited for you if I’d known you wanted to join me. But I’m sure I missed a spot or two. I wouldn’t mind taking another one if it would make you happy.”
“The only dirty spot you missed was your mind.” She yanked her hand away. “For two days you’ve barely had the strength to get out of bed and make it ten feet to the bathroom. What would I have done if you’d passed out in the shower?”
“Holly, I’m fine.” He took her hand again, even though she resisted. “I appreciate your concern, but really, I’m okay. I’m not going to pass out.”
“See that you don’t,” she said firmly, but her words lacked heat. “I promised Doc I’d make sure you didn’t crack that head of yours open again.”
Her fingers were long and slender, her skin warm and smooth against his palm. “The last thing we want to do is upset Doc.”
“Absolutely,” she murmured. Her gaze dropped to their linked hands. “That’s the last thing we’d want to do.”
“Holly,” he said her name softly, tugged her down to sit on the chair beside him. “I do appreciate all you’ve done for me. Fishing me out of the lake and taking me to the doctor, bringing me home. Letting me sleep in your bed. For all you know, I’m a serial killer or an escapee from a mental ward.”
“How do you know you aren’t the one taking the chance?” she said, and he saw the smile in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to his. “Did you see the movie, Misery? For all you know, my back garden is filled with the bones of all the men I’ve brought home. The calcium is wonderful for roses, you know.”
“Your hands don’t feel like you’ve been digging in dirt.” He traced the ridge of her knuckles with his thumb. “They’re much too soft and delicate.”
She swayed slightly toward him. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
He hesitated at her words, felt the first prick of guilt that he hadn’t been completely honest with her yet. But he hadn’t lied to her exactly, either. He’d simply withheld information.
“Holly,” he said softly. “I want you to know that you can trust me.”
She arched a brow at him, tilted her head. “Trust is something that has to be earned, Guy. I don’t know you that well.”
“Sure you do,” he said evenly. “Maybe not what kind of music I like or my favorite sport or even what model car I drive. But you know me, probably better than most people.”
It was the oddest thing for him to say, Holly thought, and yet she did feel as if she knew him. She didn’t know why she felt that way, but from the moment she’d dragged him out of that plane, there’d been something between them she couldn’t explain. Some strange connection. Two days of watching over him, worrying that he was all right had only intensified that connection.
But trust him? She’d learned at a young age how blind trust could destroy lives and break hearts. Trust was precious to her, sacred, and she wasn’t ready to give it to this man so quickly or so easily.
The texture of his hand was rough against her own, his skin deeply tanned. His wet, black hair was slicked back from his freshly shaved face, a face shaped from rugged angles and sharp lines, a nose bent across the bridge, brows dark and foreboding, a sensuous mouth and square jaw. Intense pale gray eyes, wolf eyes, that made her breath catch every time she looked into them. He smelled like soap and shampoo and man.
She wasn’t certain exactly how or when the air in her kitchen had grown so thick, or why she was having such difficulty remembering the reason she’d come up here in the first place—especially since she had so much work to do downstairs in her general store. And she wasn’t certain at all why she was standing here, letting this man hold her hand and draw her close as if they were lovers instead of just simple acquaintances.
She watched Guy’s thumb draw lazy circles over her knuckles, felt the heat curl up her arm, and knew there was nothing simple at all between them. It was as complex as it was dark and erotic. Seductive.
Confusing.
She didn’t want this. These feelings, this complication. There was chemistry between them, she’d be lying to herself if she denied that. It was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before. But Guy Blackwolf was just passing through. It was fine to flirt a little, but that was all. At a very basic level, she knew that anything more would be very risky. And while she might take risks with her business, her money or even her life, she did not take risks with her heart. The price was too great.
“So.” She pulled her hand away and stood, was annoyed with the fact that her knees were weak. “You ready for some food?”
He grinned at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I have to warn you, though—” she opened the pantry beside her refrigerator and busied herself by moving the six cans in there from one side to the other “—I don’t cook. Chicken Noodle or Beef with Stars?”
“You don’t cook? And here I thought I’d found the perfect woman.” He sighed mournfully. “Ah, well. Beef with Stars is fine.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled a saucepan from a bottom cupboard, then reached for a can opener in the drawer. “Quincy brought over your bag from your plane. Now that you’re on your feet, I’m sure there are some things in there you can use.”
“Thanks.”
“He parked your plane in the lot behind his shop,” she said and hooked the opener onto the can. “In a day or two, when you’re steady on your feet, I can take you over so you can assess the damage. Quincy said the tail section was hit pretty bad, but you can—”
At the touch of his hand on her arm, the opener slipped off the can. She’d been so busy rambling on, she hadn’t even heard him come up behind her.
“I can manage from here.” He took the opener from her. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of other things to do besides taking care of me.”
She did, but with him standing so close in her small kitchen, she couldn’t think of what even one of those things were. She watched him open the can and dump the soup into the pan she’d set on the stove, then turn on the flame underneath.
“Bowls are in the cupboard to your right,” she said. “Silverware in the drawer to your left. There might even be some cookies in the pantry.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work.” She started to back away and stumbled over a chair. He reached out a hand to steady her and once again it was difficult to think clearly.
“Ah, television reception is decent, but I only get a couple of channels. If your head starts to bother you, there’s aspirin in the bathroom cabinet, or if you need a—”
“Holly, I’m fine. Go.”
“Right.” She headed for the door, paused. “Oh, I think there are cookies in the pantry, too.”
He smiled. “You mentioned that. Thanks.”
Darn it. She’d been around plenty of handsome, virile men and they never made her blush or stumble over her own feet or repeat herself. Guy Blackwolf was really starting to annoy her.
“Holly?”
Her hand was on the knob