“You arrogant bastard,” Nick growled.
“But it doesn't matter now, I've called Phil, he's changing the course of her medication and by morning she should be clearheaded again.”
“You'd better hope.”
“Or what? Don't threaten me, Nick. I made a mistake. It's over.” He stepped around his brother and approached the truck. “Marla? Look, I'm sorry. I suppose you heard what was just said. I made a mistake.”
“A big one,” she said, fury streaming through her blood. She looked him square in the eye through the half-opened window.
“I said, âI'm sorry,' okay? Phil will be here in a few minutes. He wants to see how you're doing and take you off some of the medications. Just trust me.”
Never,
she thought,
I'll never trust you for as long as I live,
but at the moment a Cadillac purred through the open gates with Phil Robertson at the wheel.
Nick's gaze turned murderous as Robertson slid out of his car. “You let my brother tell you what to prescribe for his wife?”
“What?”
“Some kind of sleeping pills? You let him decide?” Nick accused.
Alex grabbed hold of his brother's sleeve. “Now wait a minute, Nick, don't go jumping down Phil's throat.”
Marla forced her feet into her slippers, opened the door of the truck and slid to the ground. Her legs were unsteady, but propped by the door, she managed to stand. “I want to know why I feel so . . . groggy, so dull . . . why I can't seem to wake up.”
Phil Robertson's lips tightened. “Someone should have called me before today.”
“How long has it been . . . since I saw you in the clinic?” Marla asked.
“Five days.” The doctor turned up his collar.
“Five,” she whispered, unbelieving.
“Let's go into the house, I'll take a look at you and I can give you something for your pain that won't make you so disoriented and sleepy.”
“I don't want anything,” she said firmly. No matter what, she needed her wits about her. She couldn't rely on Nick to bail her out time and time again. “I'll be fine.”
“I think you should listen to Phil. He's the one with MD after his name.” Alex placed an arm over her shoulders.
She shrugged it off. “No, I don't think so. Now, listen,” she said her jaw beginning to ache as the medication wore off, “I'm a grown woman. I'll make all the decisions about what's happening to me, to my body.”
“I was just thinking about your best interests,” Alex explained, but there wasn't any warmth in his eyes and one of his hands curled into a fist before he jammed it into the pocket of his coat.
“Were you? I don't think so. Now stop treating me like some frail hothouse flower.” She was still wearing Nick's coat, her pajamas and her slippers. Despite the chill, she flung Nick's jacket at him and he caught it on the fly, then she turned back to the house, her legs seeming to gain strength with each stride.
Men,
she thought unkindly. Who needed them?
She climbed the steps and though still slightly woozy, yanked hard on the front door. One last glance at the threesome told her all she needed to know. Alex was reaching for his cigarettes, rage simmering in his expression, Phil Robertson looked worried, his brow knit, his lips in a tight little knot, and Nick just stared after her, his blue eyes bright with that same sexy, irreverent challenge that she'd found fascinating from the moment she'd woken from the damned coma.
He alone was the man she could trust.
Never in his life had Nick been involved with a married woman, hadn't ever considered it. He lay on the bed, stared up at the ceiling and tried to force Marla out of his mind. Impossible. She was wedged in tight, a seductive image that brought a sheen of sweat to his brow and caused his damned cock to ache. The house was quiet, everyone presumably asleep. Nick rolled over, tried to conjure up any other vision but Marla's seductive eyes, and couldn't.
And she's just down the hall.
But she's Alex's wife.
Their marriage is already in trouble. You can see it. He never pays her any attention. She doesn't remember him and she wants you as much as you want her. Go on, get out of bed. Just go check on her.
His gut clenched and he threw off the covers. This was nuts. He yanked on a pair of jeans, didn't bother with a shirt or shoes, opened the door and walked into the hallway where security lamps gave off a dim, barely existent glow that pooled on the carpet. He walked directly to the door of the suite, placed his hand on the knob and stopped. What would he say to her? What would he do? Nothing. He couldn't do a damned thing.
Gritting his teeth he went downstairs and poured himself a drink. What would be the price of his lust? A family broken? Two kids who would become the product of divorce? Marla would never want to move to Oregon and he wasn't sure that was what he wanted anyway. He just wanted to kiss her and touch her again, to feel that sizzling connection they'd experienced fifteen years before.
And you'd love to best Alex, get a little back, admit it. You don't like the way he treats her and you've never really gotten over the fact that she threw you over for your brother.
“Son of a bitch.” He tossed back his drink, wiped a hand over his mouth and hiked back up the stairs. God, he was a fool. He'd reached the bedroom landing and had started toward his room when the door to the suite cracked open and Marla stepped into the hallway.
“Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest and her eyes opened wide. “Nick,” she whispered. “You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry. I couldn't sleep.”
“Me, neither. I thought I heard Cissy get up.”
“It was me.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You didn't.” She seemed flustered and looked back through the door. God, she was beautiful in some kind of satin pajamas that were a size too large from the looks of them, her hair rumpled, sleep still heavy in her eyes.
“IâI'd like to talk to you,” she said and he had trouble keeping this eyes off the V of her neckline where her pajama top buttoned. The hollow of her throat was visible, that feminine circle of bones he found so fascinating, as enticing as he remembered.
“I'll buy you a drink. Full bar downstairs.”
“Just what I need with all the drugs in my body,” she teased then flashed him a dazzling grin. “Give me a minute to get my robe.” She was through the door in an instant and in the thirty seconds it took her to retrieve the matching wrap, he kicked himself a dozen times. This was stupid. Treacherous.
But he couldn't stop himself and as she slipped through the door, he caught a waft of her perfume and his gut tightened. She closed the door with a soft click, then cinched the belt of her robe as they walked down a flight to the darkened living room. Rain drizzled down the ancient glass of the windows. Nick struck a match to the logs stacked in the grate, then poured himself a drink. Marla, looking nervous, her fingers playing with the ties of her robe, stood by the crackling flames.
The room, illuminated only by the shifting firelight, seemed to shrink.
“Sure I can't get you anything?” he asked, dropping ice cubes into his short glass.
She hedged, didn't meet his eyes. “Maybe a brandy. A small one.”
He grinned, found a snifter and poured a thin stream of amber liquor into a squatty crystal glass. “That's my girl,” he said before he saw her reaction, the way she bit her lip anxiously. He handed her the drink and touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To better days.”
“And nights,” she said, then took a sip, her eyes regarding him over the rim of the snifter. Wide and green, they stared at him. Her face had healed, the scar in her hairline was barely visible and her hair surrounded her face in short mahogany waves.
“So, what's up, Marla?”
“I . . . I want to know what happened. I was out of my head for five days and all I remember are images, people coming in and out . . . nothing clear. I thought maybe you could catch me up. Has anyone contacted Pam's family?”
“Not that I know of. But then I've spent a lot of time up to my eyeballs in accounting records for the company.”
“And what have you found?”
“Unless Alex does something drastic, Cahill Limited will go bust.”
“But it's a huge corporation,” she protested, and he watched as her lips parted and she took another sip.
“Privately held corporation and not really all that large, not in today's world.”
“Can it be saved?”
“I think so. With the right number of cuts. If Alex is willing.”
“He seems to work all the time,” she said, walking to the window and staring out at the lights winking down the hillside. “He's always gone to one meeting or the other. Either at the office or on the board at the hospital or Cahill House.”
“Do you miss him?” Nick asked. She hesitated, then shook her head.
“Sadly, no. I don't feel any real connection with him.” He watched the back of her neck turn rosy at the admission. “I can't explain it.”
“Alex isn't an easy man.”
“Nor are you,” she observed, sending him a glance over her shoulder. It wasn't meant to be provocative but it was. Her robe slid to one side and his eyes were drawn to the column of her neck and the smooth skin at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. What he would do to kiss her there.
“How would you know? You don't remember.”
“Woman's intuition,” she said. “There's something about you that a woman can sense. A restlessness. You're not satisfied with much in life, I'd guess. And you don't settle. If you want something, you go for it.”
“Not always.”
“Oh, yes, you do.”
“I want you.”
Beneath the layers of satin her backbone hardened and she glanced at the floor, her neck bowing. “But you still don't trust me.”
“Why would I?” he asked and took a step closer, condemning himself as he did. He'd sworn to be immune to her charms, that he'd never allow her close to him again, but as each day had passed he'd felt more drawn to her, more intrigued. He'd warned himself time and time again and yet when he got down to the bones of the truth, he'd like nothing more than to touch her, kiss her, caress her and thrust into the deepest, most feminine part of her.
“Did I hurt you so badly all those years ago?” she asked, studying the drizzle of raindrops on the windowpane.
“It was my fault.” Another step closer.
“But you're punishing me.”
“How?”
“By . . . by trying to keep your distance.” She was still turned away from him, her drink now on the windowsill, her hands on the ledge as she stared through the ancient, watery glass.
“Self-preservation, Marla. It's just a basic animal instinct.”
Like the other ones you arouse in me.
He was so close now he could smell the scent of her skin, see the tiny hairs on her nape, wonder about the secrets that lay beneath the folds of satin that encased her.
“You saved my life,” she said and her voice was breathless as if she, too, could feel how near he was, the barest of inches separated his toes from her heels. Her perfume wafted to his nostrils, smelled faintly of lavender and reminded him how long it had been since he'd been with a woman.
“Saved your life? Maybe, maybe not. I did what I had to do. Don't make it more than it was, okay? Don't try to cast me as some kind of hero. Believe me, I'm not.”
“You spend a lot of time trying to convince everyone that you aren't.”
“It's not hard,” he said, and knowing he was making a deadly mistake he reached forward and curled his fingers over her shoulders, grabbing smooth satin and supple flesh. Beneath his hands he felt her tremble, watched as she took in a swift breath but made no move to pull away.
Firelight played in her hair and gilded her skin, the innocent pink of her robe turned to a soft, warm peach color as his hands opened and closed over her upper arms. With a low moan, she leaned against him and he lowered his head, his lips pressing against the back of her neck. Desire ran hot through him, centered between his legs, caused him to think of nothing but the pure sensual pleasure of this woman. So hot. So wet. So wickedly wanton. So forbidden.
“Nick,” she whispered so softly he wasn't certain she'd said it.
Knowing he was going too far, he let his senses take over, nuzzling her neck, tasting her hot skin, pushing the silky fabric away from her body. He ran his tongue along her shoulder and she quivered. He reached around her waist, found the knot holding her robe together and loosened it.