Terms of Surrender (7 page)

She gave a self-depreciative laugh and bent at the waist. “Oh yeah.”

The t-shirt rode up to her hip, revealing another inch of her buttocks, and his body responded in a wave of heat. As she straightened and wrinkled her nose at the dirty scrubs she held out between them, Gage forced air into his lungs.

“Mind if I rummage through your closet for something to wear home. I promise I’ll return them later.”

“Go ahead.”

Silence.

She rolled the scrubs into a ball, tucked them under her arm, turned on her heel, and headed across the room toward his closet, the edges of his t-shirt caressing her back end.

Gage had enough experience in tense situations to know that sometimes it was safer to walk away. He didn’t know who was in more danger. Harley or himself.

CHAPTER SIX

Harley stopped in front of the closet and a shiver of desire coursed through her body.

How long had it been since she’d allowed a man into her life? No complications. No commitments. Just sex for the sake of sex.

She could still feel the imprint of Gage’s body, the warmth of his naked chest against her hands, the tangle of his legs with hers, the undeniably masculine reaction pressed against her lower belly.

And even though he’d had his hands all over her, after the appearance of his mother, he’d withdrawn both physically and emotionally. If the older woman hadn’t shown up when she did, would things have turned out different?

Probably not. Gage had more control than any other man she knew.

“Finding anything?”

With a shrug, she stared at the closet of clothes and thought about how he towered above her and how tiny she felt beside him. “I don’t think you’ll have anything to fit.”

He stepped into the closet behind her, and reached around her to rifle through the contents. The warmth of his body sent another shiver up her spine and goose bumps broke out on her skin.

Even though he didn’t touch her, she felt boxed in between his body and the wall of clothes. Every breath she took, she inhaled the combined scent of his soap and deodorant.

Oh baby.
If she didn’t squeak out a word or two pretty soon, he’d have to pick her up off the floor.

He dragged a t-shirt and sweatpants out of the back of the closet and shoved it into her arms, his voice gruff as he said, “Here, this will have to do.”

Harley closed her arms around the clothes, but he was still behind her so she couldn’t escape. He reached past her again, pulled out a shirt and jeans, and backed away.

She turned around to face him and watched as he dropped the sheet, and pulled on the jeans, leaving the fly and button open.

His chest was all hard muscle and rippling abs, and her palms itched with the desire to touch him again. But she knew that wouldn’t happen.

Once she walked out his door, there was no way he’d let her back in. She’d go back to her life and he’d go back to his. And even though there’d been that moment in bed, by the look on his face now, he had himself back under control.

Why couldn’t he be like every other red-blooded male species on the planet and take advantage of her? Why did he have to play the boy next door, cautious of her reputation, careful to keep his hands above her neckline on the first date?

She wished she could turn off her emotions so easily. God, she wanted him to wrap her in his arms, kiss the breath from her body, and make her forget everything except for him.

Harley mentally recorded the images she saw. His hair tousled from sleep. A shadow of whiskers across his chin and cheeks. His bare chest gleaming in the morning sunlight. As he eased his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, dragging them down so the top edges of his boxers showed, he sidestepped toward the door. His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I was going to suggest that you stay for as long as you want, but we both know it’s a bad idea. There’s no doubt in my mind that as long as you’re here, you’re not safe.”

“Safe?”

When had it turned from sex to concern about her safety? Harley stared up at him and he stared back until finally—
finally
—she detected a glimmer of something in his eyes.

Guilt.

What did he feel guilty about? Maybe he could tell that she was still scared to return home alone.

It was definitely time to hightail it out. Vamoose. Disappear before the guilt overwhelmed him and he changed his mind. In which case, there’d be even more guilt for him to deal with. And she knew how guilt could tear a person apart. She had a boatload of her own. She slung the t-shirt and sweats over her forearm. “Right. I’ll get changed, grab my things, and clear out.”

With one hand, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged and picked at a piece of lint on the sweat pants. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

She felt his steady gaze on her, until finally she heard the rustle of his bare feet against the carpet. She raised her gaze in time to see his tall frame and broad shoulders disappear out the doorway and into the hallway. By the time she changed, slipped on the panties she’d washed last night, and followed him into the kitchen, he’d already escaped to the back yard.

Thank goodness.

Through the window, she watched him lift a flowerpot and move it to a shadier part of the yard, then proceed to shed his shirt and bare his upper body.

Muscles rippled across his chest and abdomen. The sunshine bronzed his skin. A soft sigh escaped her.

What better distraction could a girl hope for?

It would be wrong to pretend she didn’t appreciate all those sculptured muscles. Absolutely idiotic to ignore the tanned smoothness of his skin. Crazy not to enjoy the washboard ripples of his stomach, the strength in his arms and shoulders. No wonder she turned into an idiot whenever he was in her space.

He was right. She couldn’t stay here, not when it was so obvious he didn’t want her in his life. The sooner she got out of Gage’s house, the better off he’d be.

Despite the desire to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for herself, she forced herself to gather up her few belongings. Scrubs, keys…oh yeah, and the remnants of last night’s fear.

He was right. She didn’t want to go home, not yet. The thought of sleeping alone in her house sent a shiver up her spine.

She grabbed her cell phone, thumbed in the number of the Coltrane ranch, and waited for Sara to answer.

The eighteen-year-old daughter of her best friend picked up on the second ring. “This is Sara Coltrane. How may I help you?”

“Sara, it’s Harley.”

“Harley? Are you okay? I saw the news and tried to call you.”

“I’m fine, Sara. I need to get the lock changed on my front door. Other than that there was no damage done.” At least not externally, where anyone could see. “I have a huge favor to ask.”

“Sure, anything. You know you’re my baby’s favorite aunt.”

Harley felt a smile tug at the edges of her mouth. “I need a place to stay for a few nights—”

“Of course you can. I’d love to have the company. With Mom and Dad on the road, it’s lonely here.”

“I won’t take up much space, I promise. Even a couch will do. And it would only be for a couple of nights until I get my head on straight. I know it’s stupid to be afraid to go back to my house—”

Sara interrupted her. “Not stupid at all. If someone broke in here, I’d be freaked out, too.”

“I don’t have much with me. Would you mind if I borrowed some clothes?”

“I’m too tall, but Mom should have some stuff that’ll fit you.”

The front doorbell rang and fear raced up her spine. She glanced outside, saw Gage helping his parents, and shored up her nerve. “I have to go. There’s someone at the door and I’m the only one in the house.”

“I’ll be home all day, so come whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks so much, Sara. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Harley hung up and headed for the front door. On the other side of the screen door stood her brother-in-law, Mike Toryn. An annoyed frown pinched his brows. The moment he saw her, his face turned to thunder.

“Damn it. I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Where the hell have you been?”

“Right here.” Caught off guard by his outburst, she returned his frown through the screen door mesh. “Did you get up on the wrong side of bed?”

“Not funny.” He wiggled the latch, but the door was still locked. “Are you going to open this up or make me stand here all day?”

“Depends.” She smiled sweetly. “Will you calm down and be nice to me?”

He nodded sharply, still clearly agitated, and stepped back from the door, his long fingers tapping against the frayed denim of his jeans. “You okay?”

“A few bruises and scrapes. That’s it, Mike. Honest.” Immediately she recognized his annoyance was a sign of the depth of his concern and she felt contrite. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you. It was late and I didn’t want to bother you and the twins.”

His attention was locked on her face, which surprised her because ever since Hannah’s death, he’d barely been able to look at her. She pushed open the screen door, motioned him in, and the door banged shut behind him. He stopped in front of her, so close she could smell the faint scent of the aftershave that Hannah always said made her knees turn to jelly.

And something else. Something less pleasant and more worrisome. She leaned in closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not the one who nearly got shot.” Mike ran his index finger down the side of her cheek, across her jaw, and tilted her face up. She bit back a groan of pain as he touched the bruise at her temple and tried to think of something to say, but ever since Hannah’s death, things had been difficult between them.

Survivor’s guilt.

What would he say if she told him how she felt, that she would have willingly gone in her sister’s place? Would he finally forgive her for being alive while the wife he had worshipped—the mother of his children—was dead and gone? She took a deep breath and willed the tears away because every time she thought of Mike and his two sweet, motherless girls, she wanted to weep and never stop. “Really, truly, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” His voice was soft, soothing, and she wanted to crawl into his arms and seek comfort. While her sister had been alive, he’d been like a big brother. Now it was like they were strangers again, wary, cautious, nervous around one another. He stepped closer, so close she could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes and smell the faint aroma of alcohol on his breath.

Harley frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” He stepped back quickly, the muscles on his face tight with sudden anger, and Harley knew he was lying. “The girls are in the truck. They wanted to see you.”

A pair of high-pitched squeals erupted from the direction of the street. She forced a smile and tried to ignore the intensity of Mike’s concentration on her. Even though she knew he loved those girls, sometimes she got the feeling they were as much a painful reminder of their mother’s death as she was.

“Come on,” he said, and before she was ready to move, he grabbed her elbow, and dragged her outside and down the steps.

Harley stubbed her toe on the hard cement, skidded down the last couple of steps, and jolted to a stop. “Mike,
slow down
.”

“Damn it. I’m sorry,” he said as he tightened his grip on her arm and jerked her upright. “I barely slept last night, Hannah. You should’ve realized I’d be worried. What were you thinking?”

She froze.

Had he called her Hannah?

No, she had to be mistaken.

There was definitely something different about him today, something off, something that made her uncomfortable. Maybe he was coming down with the flu because he looked peaked, flushed, unwell. She studied his profile as she stepped on her right foot and hobbled after him. “I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, Gage was with me the whole time. He took care of everything.”

“As soon as I saw the morning paper, I called. If you were here, why weren’t either of you answering the phone? What were you doing?” He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and she bumped up against him. Confused, she tried to pull her wrist free of his grip, but he tightened his fingers. “Kripes, Hannah. I thought you were dead.”

Her head snapped up so she could look at his face.

She wasn’t imagining things. He
had
called her Hannah. And suddenly, the fear and confusion were gone, and she felt sorry for him again.

Gently, she touched his arm with her fingertips. “Mike, I’m Harley, not Hannah.”

His stunned gaze refocused on her face and the feverish glint in his eyes cleared. He loosened his fingers from around her wrist, released her arm, and his gaze skittered away.

“Harley. You’re
Harley
. I know that,” he muttered, his voice rough, subdued, the animation in his demeanor gone as he shrugged. “You’re my only connection to Hannah now. I guess that’s why I freaked.”

Beneath her bare feet, the cement sidewalk felt cold, while overhead the sun warmed the top of her head and the back of her neck. She realized that in the two months since her sister’s death, he was getting worse, not better. “Mike, you need to talk to someone. A professional who can help you.”

“You mean a shrink?” He laughed, the sound a strangled version of his former robust self. “Can they take away my memories? Warm my cold bed?”

She knew exactly how Mike felt. Lost and lonely and heartbroken. Only half a person, like she’d been ever since her twin had died.

“
Aunt Harley, Aunt Harley.
”

As her sister’s four-year-old twins screamed her name, their heads popped through the opening of the unrolled window, their sun-lightened hair a rich shade of wheat. Mike backed away from her, no longer able to look at her, and as she forced away all thoughts of his odd behavior, she allowed him to withdraw back into himself.

For now.

With her throat closing from the sadness which had hit them all, Harley started down the sidewalk toward the truck.

Inside, Laura and Lisa, identical twins like Hannah and her had been, pushed and shoved at each other for supremacy over the open window. Before one of them fell, Harley pulled open the truck door, and the girls tumbled out in a tangle of arms and legs and determination to be first on the ground.