Warrior For One Night
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“You could have told me it would sting a bit,” he chided, then was dismayed when the brightness shimmering in her eyes dissolved in a blink, tracing down her cheeks in quicksilver trails. Her palms pressed flat to his chest, moving up and down in a restless motion before fisting in his soiled shirt. She leaned into him, butting her head against him between those clenched hands. And she began to tremble.
With his hands all gooey and trapped in a swaddling of gauze, he was at a loss to do more than trap her quaking shoulders between the press of his elbows. Resting his cheek against the soft riot of her hair, he closed his eyes and rode out her silent weeping without a word.
“Mel?”
The sound of her uncle’s worried voice had her pulling back, pulling herself together with quick, self-preserving practice. She stood away from Xander Caufield, away from the sudden confusion of feelings that had her lost and seeking comfort from the embrace of this near stranger, who had managed, for a brief moment, to hold her fears at bay.
“I passed an ambulance. What’s going on?” Charley’s gaze cut between the careful opaque of her expression to that of her rumpled and worse-for-wear client. “Everything all right here?”
“A little unscheduled stop to pick up a passenger. I’ll explain it to you later, Charley.”
Sensing there were volumes she wasn’t saying, Charley simply nodded. He was too used to the complexities behind his niece’s brusque manner to push for more than she was ready to give.
“We’re running late for a pickup,” she continued so he wouldn’t have time to press for additional information. She needed time to sort it out, to suppress her reactions, and she didn’t want to risk spilling any more pieces of her soul in front of Xander. He’d seen more than she was comfortable with already.
More than he was comfortable with, if she read his impenetrable facade correctly. He gave nothing away when she glanced at him.
“Are you up for another trip?”
“As long as there are no more unscheduled stops. I want to shower and change first. I’m rather…unpresentable.”
She took in the whole of him, the smudges of ash, the suit that was far beyond the help of any dry cleaner, the stink of smoke and sweat. And nothing had looked more attractive, more appealing, than this rumpled version of Xander Caufield.
“I’ll bring the car around,” she managed in a tight little voice, using that excuse to run from the confusion of her heart.
Xander met Charley Parrish’s curious stare unflinchingly. Finally the other man fidgeted and came out with it.
“Mel told me what you did the other night. I never got the chance to thank you at the hospital.” He held up a hand before Xander could brush off his gratitude. “That girl and my daughter are the only things that mean a damn to me. They’re my life. I just wanted you to know that, so when I say thank-you, you’ll know it’s more than just words.”
Because there was no way to respond to that, Xander simply nodded.
Charley cleared his throat awkwardly. “My daughter Karen wanted a chance to thank you, too. She’s got a private gallery showing over in Tahoe tomorrow night and asked me to extend you an invite. I don’t know if you’re interested in that kind of thing or have the time for it. Mel can bring you.”
“Bring him where?”
“To Karen’s showing tomorrow night.”
Mel’s wary glare bored into her uncle’s, chastening him for his bumbling attempt at matchmaking. “I’m sure Mr. Caufield has better things—”
“No, actually I don’t,” Xander cut in. “It would be a nice distraction from room service and pay-TV.” He paused then added silkily, “If you don’t mind.”
“No trouble at all.” She checked her watch. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes to get in the air.”
Nodding to Charley, Xander followed Mel out to her battered Jeep. After climbing in, in deference to her tense mood, he said, “Don’t feel obligated. If you have other plans—” He let that drift off.
She glanced at him. Other plans? Plans better than spending an off-the-clock evening with him? Let me check my calendar? Her smile was fierce. “If I minded, I would have said so. Buckle up.”
The Jeep jerked forward, giving Xander scant time to grab on. He continued to study the tight set of her jaw and the rigid line of her shoulders. She minded plenty. But she was taking him where he needed to go.
Play the role. Remember the part. And try not to look forward to it quite so much.
Chapter 5
A shower and a change of clothes. Easy to say, harder to execute with the way pain was pulsing up from his fingertips. He glanced at Mel Parrish, who was gazing out the window of his hotel room toward the pool area ten floors below. What would she say if he were to ask if she’d mind helping him undress, suds up and towel dry? If she minded following up on that tease of a kiss that had sucked the oxygen from his lungs as effectively as the fire? Would she give him that cool, assessing stare and say no problem?
Maybe she would.
“I’ll be just a minute.”
He had started for the bathroom when she said his name. She called him Alex. No one had called him that for longer than he could remember. Except his parents, who would always see him as the awkward Alex rather than the coldly confident Xander he’d worked so hard to cultivate. He didn’t correct her. He liked the way she pronounced it, all soft instead of the crisp-cut syllables of his new persona.
“Here. I brought these for you to use.”
He stared at the plastic bags and rubber bands, not understanding.
“Put them over your hands to keep the dressings dry. Unless you want me to reapply the salve.”
The threat made him grimace. “No, thanks. And thanks.”
She released a shaky breath after the bathroom door closed and she heard the shower turn on full blast. She’d been about to say, Let me know if you need any help. Help to do what, exactly? She glanced restlessly at the closed door, angrily denying that what she wanted was to help herself to her quixotic client. She paced, thoughts prowling aggressively, until the water shut off and a long silence followed. Finally, he emerged, dressed in dark slacks with his crisp white shirt unbuttoned, his black hair slicked back and gleaming wetly. He struggled for a moment with a bottle then extended it to her in frustration.
“I can’t get this.”
She took the bottle, popped the plastic childproof top and shook out four of the pain relievers. He reached for them, hand unsteady, and was quick to swallow them. Observing the pinch of pain about his mouth and eyes, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t need a prescription, something with a little more kick?”
“No, this is fine.”
But he was far from fine and not happy that she knew it. Intuiting that he wouldn’t ask for further assistance short of dialing 9-1-1, she relieved him of the embarrassment of asking by stepping up closer and efficiently buttoned his shirt over the temptation of a truly amazing chest while he stood still and silent. Before he could object, she unbuckled his pants and tucked the shirttails in with a brisk efficiency. As he stared down at her, not breathing, she zipped him back up and impersonally patted his taut middle.
“There. The rest shouldn’t be difficult for you.”
What was difficult was expelling his breath in a steady stream.
Their second attempt at a flight to California went smoothly. Xander sat in the back, staring moodily out the window on the way there and slept with what appeared to be a fierce concentration on the way back. She waited in the lobby while he had the contents of his case placed in a hotel safe-deposit box and it was there he said a clipped good-night to her. As he turned away, she snagged him with that quiet call of his name.
“Business casual.”
“What?”
“Dress for tomorrow night. Unless you’d prefer escort service.”
At his slight smile when he caught the reference, she added, “Drive or fly?”
“I’ll meet you there. I’m looking up a friend for drinks afterward.”
Her features remained carefully neutral. “Fine. Seven.” She told him the address. He didn’t write it down. Then, with a nod and the small curve of his smile, he disappeared into the mob on the casino floor.
A collection of Tahoe’s elite gathered in the multilevel gallery in the silent shadow of the off-season ski runs to nibble on canapés, sip fairly decent champagne and stroll amongst Karen Parrish’s paintings, admiring and making small talk. Mel could spend hours gazing at her cousin’s ethereal landscapes, but after the first five minutes, her tolerance for chitchat was expended. The only things that made it bearable were the sounds of her cousin’s laughter and the man she pretended not to be watching for.
“You just missed Quinn. He could only stay for a minute.”
Mel smiled tightly, forgiving her cousin for the softening of her voice and heart. And head. Karen was usually so much smarter. But she’d always had an unrequited yearning where the Texas playboy was concerned. “Probably just as well considering civil conversation is out of the question between us.”
“Then what is between you?”
Mel was busy sifting through the new arrivals and missed the edge to the question. “A good right hook, if I had my way. Naylor’s a pain in the behind. Always was. Always will be.”
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