RAIN SPATTERED against the windshield of Tucker’s truck as he sped along the road to the lake. Anxiety hummed through him as he watched for Claire’s car. What the hell was she doing out here at this time of night?
Finally he saw a white blur on the side of the road in front of him and he rolled to a stop behind the car. Even before he got out of his truck he could see what had happened. The car listed heavily to the right, the tires almost buried in the mud.
Climbing out of the truck, he hunched his shoulders against the rain as he ran to her door. Yanking it open, he said, “Hurry and get into the tru—”
He stopped abruptly when he looked at her.
“My God,” he finally managed to say.
He barely recognized Claire. Her face and hair were smeared with mud, which had begun to dry and harden like a mask. Droplets of brown water dripped on the blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders, and her hands trembled as she held the ends together in front of her.
Smears of blood mixed with the mud coating her hands.
She was hurt.
He reached for her blindly, dragging her into his arms. The chill from her wet clothes seeped through the blanket, dampening his shirt and jeans. Her convulsive shivering tore at his composure and he tightened his hold on her. “I’ll call an ambulance. Where are you hurt?”
“No ambulance,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Just cold and wet. Need to get home.”
“You’re damn well more than cold and wet. Look at your hands.” He peeled one of her hands away from the blanket and stared at the ugly network of scratches. He used the blanket to wipe the mud off her palm, then noticed the scrapes on her arms. “What the hell happened, Claire?”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath. “I fell off the edge of the road, but I’m okay. Really. I couldn’t drive home because my car is stuck.”
He studied her, noting the stubborn set to her jaw. And the way she trembled uncontrollably with the cold.
“All right. No ambulance. Let’s get you warmed up.”
He swept her into his arms and she curled into him, trusting him to help her. He wouldn’t let her down.
She held on to him when he slid her into the passenger seat of the truck, clutched him as he buckled her in right next to him.
He needed her there, needed to feel her pressed against him and know she was safe. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arm around her.
He drove as fast as he dared on the dark, winding road. Her arm felt small and delicate beneath his hand, far too delicate to survive a tumble down that steep embankment. A surge of fierce protectiveness rose up inside him. Glancing down at her, he said, “You want to tell me what the hell happened back there, sweetheart?”
She squeezed his hand. “I wanted to see the place where Janice died,” she said in a low voice. “I was standing there, looking at the lake, when a car veered onto the shoulder of the road. It looked like it was coming right at me. I jumped over the guardrail to get out of the way.”
“Did it hit you?” he asked, swerving the car to the shoulder and slamming on the brakes. He grabbed her upper arms and held on tightly, examining her. “Is that why you’re so beat up?”
“No. I rolled down the hill. The mud was slippery and it took a while to get back up to my car.”
His hands tightened on her arms. “My God, Claire! You could have been killed!” He wrapped his arms around her, and she burrowed into him.
“I know,” she whispered.
He felt her hands grabbing desperately at his T-shirt, as if she needed to hold on to something solid.
“God!” As he closed his eyes, picturing the car coming at her, picturing her diving over the guardrail, a killing rage welled up inside him. He wanted to get his hands on the driver of that car and rip him apart.
When she flinched, he realized he’d been holding her too tightly. Appalled, he eased his grip.
He’d worked so hard to control his temper. The struggle had been the driving force of his life since he’d retired from football. Now Claire had made him forget all the lessons he’d learned so painfully.
He was horrified at how quickly he’d forgotten, terrified at how he’d slipped into the old patterns.
His hand shook when he brushed strands of wet, muddy hair from her face. “Let’s get you someplace warm.”
“Wait,” she said, holding onto his arms. “Nick is at the Johnsons’ with Booger. I need to call Judy and ask her to keep Nick there for a while. I don’t want him to see me like this, so soon after his mother’s accident.”
“I’ll call her.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around Claire. It only took a moment for Judy to answer her phone.
“Judy, this is Tucker. Is Nick still with Booger?”
“They’re up in his room. Do you need to talk to him?”
“No. But could you keep him over there for a while? Maybe two, three hours?” He looked at Claire and she nodded. “Claire had a little accident and she wants to get cleaned up before Nick sees her.”
“Of course Nick can stay. What happened? Is Claire okay?”
“She’s fine. Just cold, wet and a little shaken up. She’ll tell you about it later. Thanks, Judy.”
He snapped the phone closed before Judy could ask anything more, and turned to Claire. “Judy will keep him for a couple of hours. Okay?”
She nodded, shivering violently, and he eased the truck into gear again. When he reached his own house, he made a quick decision and swung into the driveway. Claire needed to be warmed up fast. And her house was still some minutes away.
He pulled her off the seat and into his arms, then carried her up the steps and into the house. Kicking the door closed behind him, he headed for the stairs.
Claire raised her mud-smeared face and looked around. “Why are we at your house? What are you doing?”
“My house was closer than yours. And you need to get warmed up as quickly as possible.”
“I could have waited a few more minutes,” she said, her arms tensing around his neck.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t have. I want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just cold.”
He looked down at her mud-smeared face. “You can’t always be in control, Claire. Sometimes you have to let go. And this is one of those times.”
Her gaze shifted away from him. “I don’t like to feel helpless,” she muttered.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He brushed his lips over the top of her head. “Figure that you’re doing me a favor. You’re giving me a chance to show off my muscles.”
“You’re an idiot, Hall,” she said, but he got a weak smile out of her.
He swung toward the bathroom at the top of the stairs. Maneuvering Claire through the door, he stood in the middle of the room, reluctant to let her go. He glanced at the whirlpool tub, big enough for two, and looked away.
“Shower or bath?” His arms tightened around her.
“Shower.”
He set her down on the floor but held her close to his side. He could hear her teeth rattling together.
“Shower it is.” He turned on the water in the shower stall, then crouched in front of her. “Do you need help?”
She gave him a halfhearted grin. “I think I can manage to undress myself.”
“Darn it,” he said, rubbing her hand between his. “I was hoping this would be one of those lingerie assistance occasions we talked about the other day.”
“Don’t you ever give up, Hall?”
“Nope. I’m relentless. That’s why you might as well give in now.”
“Are you trying to take advantage of my weakened condition?” she asked with a half smile.
“Absolutely. I warned you that I play dirty.”
“I can see that.” She rubbed at a smear of mud on his T-shirt, then pressed her hand against it. “Thank you, Tucker. For rescuing me.” Her smile wobbled. “For making me laugh and forget how dirty and wet and cold I am.”
“You rescued yourself,” he said, using his thumbs to brush dried mud off her face. “I just came in at the end and hogged all the credit.”
Her hand trembled against his chest. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to fall into the lake.”
The blanket fell away as he gathered her in his arms, held her close. “I was terrified when I saw you,” he said, burying his face in her hair. Beneath the stench of mud and fear he could smell the essence of Claire and he focused desperately on that. “But I have you now.”
Her arms tightened around him and she pressed her face into his neck. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered.
“Not a chance of that, sweetheart.”
He held her tightly, feeling her heart beating in rhythm with his, feeling her shivering lessen as she soaked up his warmth. The wet chill of her clothes seeped into him, but he didn’t notice the cold as her heart bumped against his. It began to race, and her hands slid into his hair.
He set her away from him, feeling as if he had ripped off one of his limbs. “Take your shower,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You need to warm up.”
And he needed to leave if he wasn’t going to take advantage of her. He wanted Claire to come to him freely, not because she was shaken and scared.
“Okay.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Can I borrow some clean clothes?”
“I’ll find you something warm,” he said.
“Thank you.” She touched him, pulled her hand back. “I won’t be long.”
“Stay in there until you’re warmed up.”
“I will.”
Just before he closed the door, he stuck his head back in the room. “You sure you don’t need help washing your back? That’s one of my specialties.”
Longing flashed in her eyes, but she shook her head. “You don’t need to be dirty, too.”
“Call if you need me.”
She nodded slowly. “I will.”
His hand shook as he closed the door.
CLAIRE LISTENED to the click of the door closing behind Tucker and shut her eyes. It was only because she was tired, sore and scared that she’d almost asked him to stay. To keep holding her like he’d never let her go.
She adjusted the water with a quick flick of her wrist. She’d be fine once she cleaned up and got warm. She’d regain her balance and her sanity.
She tried not to visualize Tucker standing in the shower with her, holding her close as the warm water sluiced down their joined bodies. When her body softened and heated, she caught herself and yanked her mind back to reality.
Rivulets of brown water swirled down the drain as she stood beneath the shower, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles and sore limbs. By the time she warmed up and washed away all the mud and blood, the water was cool.
Her hands burned as she rubbed at her hair with a towel. Angry scratches crisscrossed her palms and fingers. It was all right, she told herself. They weren’t serious. They’d heal soon.
So would the scratches on her arms and legs and the ugly purple bruise on her side. She touched it and moved experimentally, encouraged when it didn’t hurt too badly. All her injuries were superficial and soon mended.
If only her fears were as easily banished.
When she closed her eyes, she saw the car bearing down on her, accelerating as it got closer. Felt the sweep of air as it rushed past, smelled its exhaust as she tumbled down the embankment.
She wasn’t fanciful, she reminded herself. She was far more grounded than that. She didn’t allow her imagination to run wild.
But her hands shook as she picked up the clothes Tucker had set on the floor just inside the door.
His boxers rode low on her hips and hung almost to her knees. The sweatpants she drew over them bagged just as much, and she rolled up the legs of the pants so they wouldn’t drag on the ground. His sweatshirt drooped off one shoulder and hung halfway down her thighs.
She didn’t care. The clothes were warm, and they covered her. She didn’t bother to look in the mirror before opening the door and rushing downstairs. To Tucker.
He stood staring out the kitchen window into the night, his hands braced against the counter. He turned around when she walked into the kitchen.
“Feeling better?” he asked with a strained smile. But darkness hovered in his eyes and was etched into the grim lines around his mouth.
“Tucker? What’s wrong?” She reached for him, needing to comfort him as he’d comforted her.
He held her at a distance with one hand as he studied her. Finally he folded her into his arms.
“Nothing’s wrong now,” he said. He pressed a kiss into her damp hair, skimmed his mouth down her cheek to her throat.
“Are you sure?” She leaned back to search his face. “You look so grim. So fierce.”
He closed his eyes, then pulled her against him. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what I’d like to do with the idiot driving that car.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m not hurt.”
“Not hurt?” He gave her an incredulous look, pushed up the sleeves of the sweatshirt to reveal her scratched arms. “What do you call this?”
“That’s nothing,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Just scratches.”
“Just scratches.” He stared at her arms for a while, and when he raised his head, something dangerous flared in his eyes. “What other ‘nothings’ do you have?”
“Not much. My hands and arms got the worst of it.”
“Is that so?” He studied her for a moment, warmth gradually returning to his eyes. Finally he gave her a faintly teasing smile. “I’m a teacher, you know. I have a very finely tuned BS meter.”
“Really,” she insisted. “I’m fine. If you’ll make me a cup of tea, I’ll be back to normal.” She nodded at a glass-fronted cabinet. “I’ll get a mug.”
She reached for the cabinet and froze as the bruise on her side screamed in protest.
“What?” Tucker asked, his voice sharp.
“I’m okay,” she told him, lowering her arm carefully. “Just a little more sore than I realized.”
“Like hell you’re okay.” He grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt and yanked it up. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the purple bruising on her side.
She was naked beneath the sweatshirt. Although her breasts were still covered, her nipples tightened in the cool air. Too aware of Tucker’s hand hovering dangerously close, she tried to back away from him. With effortless strength, he caught her hands in one of his and held her steady as he studied the ugly bruise.
His eyes were dark with anger when he looked at her again. “You didn’t tell me about this. You said you were all right.”
“I am. It looks a lot worse than it feels.”
“You should have X rays. You might have a cracked rib.”
“I don’t. I’ve had cracked ribs before and I know how it feels.”
He skimmed his hand lightly over the bruise and her skin tingled. Feeling vulnerable and exposed, she stepped back and tugged the sweatshirt down.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “A cup of tea, a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.”
He reached up for a mug, looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s not a crime to admit you need help, Claire.”
“Fine. I need help getting a mug off the shelf.”
He set it down on the table in front of her. “Was that so tough?”
“Yes,” she said, her mouth curving in a smile as she watched him scowl.
“You are a piece of work,” he said, but his eyes finally thawed and a smile hovered on his mouth. “No wonder I’m crazy about you.”
Her heart pounded in her chest and she busied herself making the tea. A comment like that, she decided, was best ignored.
“I should probably get going once I have my tea,” she said, her voice bright.
He came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms, making her nerves jump. “Sorry, sweetheart,” his voice rumbled in her ear. “Wrong answer. The correct answer is, ‘I’m crazy about you, too, darling.’”
“I’m glad to see you don’t have an ego problem, Hall.”
“I already admitted I have a large ego.” He paused for a beat. “It fits right in with the rest of me.”
She turned around, grinning. “Okay, you win. You managed to make me laugh tonight, and I didn’t think that was possible. I am crazy about you.”
His smile faded as his eyes darkened, heated. “Some things I don’t joke about. I’m not teasing you now, Claire,” he said in a low voice.
“Neither am I,” she whispered. Her heart banged against her chest and desire swelled inside her, sucking all the oxygen out of the bright kitchen. She couldn’t breathe.
If Tucker could make her forget the horrors of her fall down the embankment, if he could tease her into laughter just an hour later, she was in deep trouble.
Their gazes caught, held. Tucker didn’t try to hide the need in his eyes. Raw and urgent, it wrapped around her and brought her up against him.
He closed his eyes, pressing against her from chest to thighs as if he could absorb her into himself. Finally he eased away.
When she reached for him, drew him back, he stiffened. “Don’t, Claire,” he said, his hands tense at his sides, his voice hoarse. Hunger throbbed in the air around them. “Not tonight. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
The horror of her fall, the fear that had consumed her, disappeared in a rush of heat and passion. She was alive. She wanted Tucker. And he wanted her.
She lifted her arms to his neck, wriggled closer against him. “That’s too bad. Because I want to take advantage of you.”
He groaned, but he didn’t pull away from her. “You’re hurt, sweetheart.”
Her mouth curved. “Make me forget that.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “One last chance, Claire. Let me take you home right now.”
“I don’t want to go home.” She reached up, brushed her mouth across his. “Are you going to make me beg?”
“God, no.” He wrapped his arms around her, held her as gently as if she was made of paper-thin glass. “But I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I want to make love with you, Tucker.”
He closed his eyes and she could feel him trembling. Then he swept her up in his arms again, fusing his mouth to hers. She tasted his strength, his hunger, the knife-sharp edge of his control as he ascended the stairs, never lifting his mouth from hers.
In moments he stood in his bedroom and took his mouth from hers as if tearing off a piece of himself. An enormous bed dominated the room, a skylight splashing the silvery light of the moon across it.
Suddenly nervous, overwhelmed by what she’d set in motion, she plucked at the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants she wore. “I’m sorry this won’t be a lingerie moment for you.”
His eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Believe me, I’ll survive.” He swept his hand slowly down her chest, trailed over her belly, stopped just above the junction of her thighs. “You can save the fancy lingerie for another time.”
He gripped her hips, drew her against him and took her mouth again. The hard length of his erection burned into her. Her knees wobbled and she wrapped one leg around his.
He groaned into her mouth and swept the sweatpants down her legs. His eyes darkened even more when he saw the boxers, riding low and clinging to her hips.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can make do without the fancy lingerie.”
He slid the shorts down her legs, pausing to kiss her belly just above the dark swell of hair. Then he drew the sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside, and she stood naked in front of him.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. He drank her in as he pulled off his shirt and began to unbutton his jeans. “I want to memorize the way you look right now.”
Her self-consciousness disappeared as she devoured his body with her eyes. His chest was broad and covered with dark-blond hair, which narrowed down his belly and disappeared into the waistband of his boxers. When he ripped off the boxers, she swallowed at the sight of him.
He scooped her up and laid her down on the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“You won’t.”
He kissed her again and swept his hand down her body. He lingered at her breasts, cupping them gently, brushing his finger across her nipples. When she groaned and arched her back, he lowered his head and drew one nipple into his mouth.
She closed her arms around him, desperate to be joined to him. But instead of pressing her down into the mattress, he reached out, fumbled in the drawer of the night table next to his bed and pulled out a condom. After sliding it in place, he rolled over so she lay on top of him.
He was trying to be careful, trying not to hurt her. A rush of tenderness swept over her, making her forget everything but her need for him. She shifted her hips, slid on top of him.
He groaned and surged into her, his hands bracketing her hips. Passion held in check too long exploded, and she shattered above him. His hands tightened on her hips and he poured himself into her.
She wasn’t sure how long she drifted, her mind empty, her body draped over his. He wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly against him as his heart slowed next to her ear. After a long time, he lifted his head and brushed the hair away from her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m wonderful,” she said.
He brushed his hand over the bruise on her side with a featherlight touch. “Is this okay?”
“It’s fine,” she murmured. “I’m fine. I’m more than fine.”
She felt his mouth curve against her throat. “That’s good,” he said. “Because I’m feeling pretty fine myself.” He shifted his hips against her, making it obvious he was aroused again. He lifted his head, and she saw him examine the clock. “We have another hour,” he said. “I don’t intend to waste a minute of it.”