Susan Mallery - Tempting Faith

“This may hurt. You want a stick to bite on?”

He looked at her. “A stick?”

“You’re a spy. That’s what they always do in the movies. I thought it might make you feel better.” Her lips remained straight, but humor danced in her eyes.

“You’re not digging out a bullet.”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

She picked up the scissors and cut through the bandage. It fell away revealing his blood-covered leg. Cort told himself it looked worse than it was. Faith didn’t even blink. She picked up the damp cloth and began cleaning his skin.

“Here,” she said, pointing at but not touching the incision.

“You pulled two stitches. I’ve never sewed up a person before. Would you mind if I used a butterfly bandage instead?”

“Not at all.”

She worked quickly. After wiping away the dried blood, she doused the wound with antiseptic and then taped it closed. She wrapped gauze around his calf and secured it firmly.

“That must hurt a lot,” she said sympathetically. “There should be pain medication with the other pills Jeff gave me. I’ll grab them from the truck. Be right back.”

He was too busy staring at her to answer. Faith Newlin knew about guns and big cats and did a great field dressing. None of this made any sense.

She returned with his duffel bag and the containers of medication.

“Just as I thought,” she said, tossing him a bottle.

“Great,” he said, as he caught it. “First thing in the morning, I’ll get on the horn to Jeff and get your security under control.”

He slid to the edge of the examining table and stuffed the medicine in his pocket. She handed him his crutches and led the way into the hall. Two doors down she entered a small room. There were rows of file cabinets, a bare wooden desk and a cot against the far wall.

“It’s not much,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to get a bedroom ready for you up at the Big House. Plus, I want to keep an eye on you tonight.”

He lowered himself onto the cot. The blankets were soft, the pillow down-filled. “I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a bathroom across the hall. It has a shower built in. Do you want to try it or wait?”

He shifted his injured leg, and pain shot up to his thigh. His head still throbbed. “I can wait. Thanks.”

She set his duffel bag on the desk and opened the top side drawer. After clicking on the desk lamp, she pulled out his shaving kit and began putting his clothing in the drawer.

“I can do that,” he said.

“You’re dead on your feet. I don’t mind. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He leaned back and let the exhaustion flow through him.

When she finished unpacking, she folded the duffel bag on top of the desk and left. She was back almost immediately, carrying a glass of water.

“For your pills,” she said.

He raised himself up on one elbow, dug the pills out of his pocket and took one out. As he reached for the glass of water, the light from the lamp caught the side of her face and her neck. Dark bruises stained her honey-tanned skin. He drank from the glass, then set it down on the floor without taking his eyes from those marks. Time and his job had changed him, he knew. But when had he crossed the line and become a brute?

She sat next to him on the cot. “What’s wrong?”

“I hurt you.” He raised his hand and gently touched the side of her throat. She stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. Her warmth contrasted with his cool skin as he brushed one finger down the smooth length.

“I told you I understood what happened,” she said. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“A high price to pay for a mistake.” He dropped his hand back to the cot.

“I’m not afraid. I won’t startle you again, so you won’t have reason to hurt me.”

“A hell of a way to live.”

“For you or for me?” she asked.

Blue eyes searched his, looking for something he knew didn’t exist. Humanity, the connection, the bonding of two souls. It was beyond him, always had been. He held her gaze, let her search, knowing she would seek in vain.

When he didn’t answer the question, she leaned forward. “You don’t believe me. That it doesn’t matter, I mean.”

“No.”

She thought for a moment, as if trying to find a way to change his mind. “We had a mountain lion here once. I was pretty new at the time, still idealistic.” She sat up straighter on the cot. “He’d been a pet, then abused and abandoned when he got bigger. By the time he was brought to the way station, he was skinny, bleeding and mean. We patched him up and fed him. It wasn’t enough. His leg got infected and required surgery. After the operation, he was pretty out of it. I went in the cage to change his bandage and give him water.”

She moved down a little on the cot, so that she was sitting by his thighs instead of by his waist. She began unbuttoning her blouse. He ignored his surprise and forced himself to hold her gaze and not follow the movements of her fingers. But in the periphery of his sight he saw the blouse fall open. She held it together just above her breasts.

“I hadn’t bothered to check to see if he was still sleeping. I crouched down to pick up his water bowl.”

She turned away from him and shrugged out of the shirt. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Her blouse slipped off her left shoulder. Cort stared. From just below the nape of her neck, across the top of her back, along her shoulder blade and ending on the back of her arm, four scars traced the route taken by the lion’s claws. The parallel lines puckered in some places, as if the depth of the slashing hadn’t been uniform.

“He was awake and he attacked me.” She pulled up her blouse and turned to face him. “I was lucky. I got out before he really hurt me.”

Though she held the front together, he could see the paleness of her chest and swelling curve of her breasts. Her choice in lingerie matched the rest of her wardrobe. Sensible cotton trimmed in a thin ribbon of lace. A female who dismissed the need to entice a man with satin, though her choice in perfume was anything but pedestrian.

“Do you see why I’m not afraid of you?” she asked.

No. He and the mountain lion had little in common. The creature of God killed for food or to protect itself. Cort killed because it was asked of him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Sleep now,” she said. “I’ll be right down the hall. If you need anything, call me.” She rose and walked to the door.

She stood there watching him. Although her hands clutched her blouse together, he could still see the top of one breast. The unexpected view of that female curve hit him low in the gut, spreading need throughout his body. All cats are gray in the dark, he reminded himself, then closed his eyes. Maybe. But something told him Faith Newlin was a special brand of cat…and one he should leave alone.

* * *

He could hear the tide lapping against the pilings that supported the dock. And he could smell salt air.

The warehouse.

Cort shook his head to clear it. Was he meeting someone, or picking something up? Why couldn’t he remember?

Something was wrong. Danger! He heard it, felt it. A voice called to him. Dan? He had to get out, to run. The explosion! There wasn’t time. He spun to leave, but something blocked his way. Danger! Run!

“Hush, Cort. You’re safe now.” Gentle hands pressed against his shoulders.

He forced his eyes open. Instead of a damp South American warehouse, or even the fires of hell, he stared into wide blue eyes and inhaled the scent of French perfume.

“Je t’aime.” he murmured.

“A lovely thought,” the woman said, then smiled. “But you’ve just met me.”