Alaskan Nights (5 page)

Isabella turned from the pantry when she heard Brandon’s footsteps on the porch. She rushed to his side when she saw his pasty, pale skin and the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Arm around his waist, she helped him back to the couch. “Pants on or off?”

“On,” he groaned.

She lifted his legs and got him positioned as comfortably as possible, then went to the kitchen and wet a paper towel with the cool water from the jug on the counter. Kneeling on the floor at his side, she gently wiped the towel over his forehead, face, and chest.

Brandon sighed. “Thanks, sweetheart. It’s a long da...rn walk to the outhouse.”

That was the second time he’d edited his speech for her. It might surprise him to know she could probably out-cuss him and everyone he knew. Living with men from all walks of life for the past ten years she’d heard it all. And she tended to use it all when her temper got the best of her.

When she lost her temper and let the venom fly, Cam would lean back, cross his arms over his chest, and scowl at her. When she was done, he’d shake his head and say, “I thought I was raising a lady.” Even though she was over thirty now, he still referred to her as a child.

Or had. He’d never give her that look again.

“I’ll help you out next time,” she said softly as she tenderly raked her fingers through Brandon’s silky, straight hair, loving the feel of it gliding between her fingers. “Or I could get you a pan—”

“No!” He shook his head then groaned. “No. God. If I can’t make it to the outhouse, shoot me now. After a month in the hospital if I ever see another bedpan...”

The color rose in his cheeks. Was he actually embarrassed? That was just too sweet.

She eyed the tattoo on his forearm. How could anyone who’d been in the Special Forces be considered sweet? She’d met these men. They were hard. Cold. The Viper Team was the upper echelon of the elite. Their motto said it all:
Silent and Deadly
.

They’d swarmed into that stinking guerilla camp under the cover of night all in black, their faces covered in grease paint. They’d come, killed the guerillas, and extracted the Americans.

A shiver slithered down her spine.

“You know what that is, don’t you?”

Isabella jerked her gaze from the tattoo to meet Brandon’s. He watched her with narrowed eyes, waiting for an answer. Slowly, she nodded.

“Not many people recognize it.” He raised his arm slightly to examine the ink. “I thought about having it removed, but it’s been a part of me for a long time.”

Trying to act nonchalant, Isabella shrugged. “I don’t see what difference it makes. It’s a work of art. I’ve always thought men with tattoos were sexy.” Her face instantly heated, and she stifled a groan. “I mean...since hardly anyone knows what it stands for...”

His grin was sinfully sexy and a bit crooked, making her stomach do a little dip as if she’d just hit turbulence.

“What do you do for a living, sweetie?”

Stalling, she asked, “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

His grin widened. “Caught me. I know you told me last night, but I was a little out of it.”

“Isabella. Isabella Hammond. You can call me Izzy if you like.” That was what Cam had called her for as long as she could remember.

“I don’t like.” His brow wrinkled into a comical frown. “I bought my partner’s kid a toy named Izzy the Iguana. You, my dear, are no lizard. How about if I call you Bella?”

“That makes me sound like a princess or something,” she scoffed, but then laughed. “You can call me anything you like, as long as it’s not rude.”

Brandon raised his right arm behind his head. “I’d never call you anything rude. As far as I’m concerned, you are a princess. My guardian angel.”

For some reason, seeing the sexy patch of hair under his arm seemed more intimate than having seen his more private parts. She wondered if it was a silky as it looked. Her fingers practically itched to find out.

“I assure you, Brandon, I’m no angel. And if I were a princess, then I’m only lucky enough to become queen of this small castle.” She waved a hand, signifying the cabin.

His soft chuckle sent warm tingles skipping over her flesh. “So, what do you do for a living? Are you a nurse? You have the hands for it.”

She shook her head, realizing she wouldn’t get out of giving him an answer. “I’m...currently between jobs. And I only know first aid.”

Those intense eyes of his were like rich, dark coffee. Nearly black. “Resetting a dislocated shoulder is a bit more than first aid, but all right. What did you do before you were between jobs?”

“Is interrogation your specialty, Mr. Wilks?”

“Unless you’re a hardened criminal—” He quirked a sexy eyebrow at her. “—you have nothing to fear.”

Isabella sighed but couldn’t stop the smile. “Well, I was my uncle’s... secretary?”

“You’re not sure?”

“More like his research assistant, I guess.” She still hadn’t come up with a title to give herself to put on the résumé she’d been struggling to write this past week.

“Was he a professor?” Brandon asked.

“No, a writer.”

“Really? What did he write?”

Isabella frowned. That was a difficult question to answer. How did she explain that he wrote about whatever caught his fancy, whether it was about the diamond mines in Africa, the ecological effects on the Great Barrier Reef, or the state of living conditions in rural America?

“Bella?” Brandon asked quietly.

“Mostly magazine articles. He wrote freelance for a lot of different publications. Everything from
National Geographic
to
Christianity Today
. Whatever he got into his head that he wanted to learn about, we trekked off across the globe to research, and he wrote. And then he found somewhere to sell his articles.”

Brandon nodded, obviously interested. “So, how’d you end up in the wilds of Alaska?”

“Never been here.” She shrugged. “Wanted to be alone for a while. Needed some time to figure out what I’m going to do with my life now that I don’t have my uncle to follow around.” She sighed and rubbed her fingers along the bridge of her nose. “I have no education beyond high school and can’t even come up with an official title to give myself for a résumé.” His gaze was too intense. She focused on his chest. “I never thought there’d be a time that I wasn’t working with Cam.”

Brandon shifted, and his hand settled over hers on the side of the couch. “How’d he die?”

She was not going to cry in front of this man, she thought, even as tears welled in her eyes. Cam’s lifeless body lying on the dirt floor flashed before her eyes. Shaking her head, she pulled her hand from Brandon’s and pushed to her feet. “You should try to get some more rest. A body heals quicker when it’s sleeping.”

“Bella...”

“I’m going to take the fishing pole down to the creek. It’s only a little ways away. If you need me, call, I should be able to hear you.”

“Bella—”

“If you get hungry, there’re some cookies and other assorted junk food in the pantry. There’s juice mix if you don’t like the water. It’s been in the jug a couple of days and gone a bit stale. I’ll refill it before tonight.” She grabbed the small tackle box off a shelf in the pantry.

“Damn it, Bella, I’m sorry!” He groaned and grabbed his head.

Feeling like crying even more for having caused Brandon pain, she went back to his side. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispered. Taking his hand from his head, she lowered it to his stomach, brushed the hair off his forehead, rubbed his temples. He’d done nothing wrong. He was simply asking questions that she needed to learn to answer without getting so emotional. “It’s all right. I just can’t talk about him yet.”

Brandon caught one of her hands in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Her knees went watery, and she had to lean against the edge of the couch to remain upright.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin.

No touch from anyone, even way back when she’d first been married years and years ago, had ever caused such strange, wonderful sensations to rocket through her body. His lips were warm, moist, firm, yet oh, so soft.

“It’s all right, Brandon,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “Get some rest.” She tugged her hand from his. “I’ll shut the door on my way out so the mosquitoes don’t get you.”

His eyes closed. One side of his lips kicked up in the tiniest smile, making her heart skipped a beat. “Thanks, princess.”

“You didn’t forget my name again, did you?” she asked, trying to break the tension that pulled her so tight she thought she might break.

“Never.”

Isabella settled the corner of the sleeping bag over his chest and lightly brushed her fingers through his hair again, idly wondering how horrible her own head looked. Though soft, her hair often took on the appearance of a rusted Brillo pad when she didn’t use anything to tame it. She hadn’t worried about bringing a mirror because there wouldn’t be anyone around to impress. Or at least she’d thought. And she certainly hadn’t packed any styling gel or hair spray. The last thing a person needed in the wilds of Alaska was sweet-scented anything that would have the mosquitoes swarming more than usual.

She reluctantly pulled away, deciding the best thing she could do was to keep her hands off the handsome devil. Picking up the tackle box she’d dropped when he’d shouted, she pulled a baseball cap off a hook near the door and quietly slipped out, silently shutting the door behind her.

~*~*~

Over the next several hours, Brandon dozed. Bella did her best to be silent, but he was aware of the door opening and closing a few times, small rustling sounds then something that sounded suspiciously like Bella munching on potato chips.

He hated that he’d upset her. On more than one occasion women he’d dated had called him downright nosy. Curiosity had always been an integral part of his being. It served him well in his job.

Of course, he and Bella weren’t dating. However, under other circumstances, he would definitely like to give it a shot. She was sweet, so filled with caring. Seeing him as the bad boy with a good heart, most women that came after him wanted an adventure. They were sorely disappointed when they discovered he was just about as typical as the next guy. He had a dangerous job, but when he was off the clock he was about as exciting as...an accountant. For some reason, though he barely knew the woman, he got the feeling Bella wasn’t out for an adventure. She’d had enough of her own.

Bella snuck out again, softly shutting the door behind her. Brandon smiled to himself as he thought about her eyes. Damn, they were sexy. So vibrantly green. As bright as sunshine on a spring meadow. Huge and expressive. He couldn’t ever remember a woman looking at him with such tenderness. Of course, he supposed, his injured state and the fact that she must have dragged him out of the lake like a drowned puppy might have something to do with that.

He’d be laughed right out of employment if any of the guys he worked undercover with could see him now, meekly accepting the petting and pampering. Letting a sweet little woman rush to his side to aid him in everything from taking a couple aspirin to getting dressed.

But her fingers had trembled when he’d kissed her hand. He wanted to know how she’d gotten the calluses. Wanted to know how she knew what his tattoo represented. He wanted to learn everything about her. Not just the cop in him or pure nosiness. She intrigued him. A lone woman in the middle of nowhere. Sad. Hurting inside. Yet strong enough to save his miserable hide.

Besides the women who chased men in law enforcement looking for some excitement, who gave him the physical release he needed on the odd occasion when the urge became unbearable, he hadn’t dated much in the past few years. He was a loner to some extent, enjoying evenings in rather than going out. Preferred a home-cooked meal over expensive restaurants. And he loathed the singles’ clubs and bar scene. Too many marriages broke up over a night out with the boys. Or the wives of the men he worked with, hanging out in search of more attention than they got at home.

Ah, to have someone like Bella to come home to every night. Now
that
would be a treat. Someone to meet him at the door after a hard day. She’d kiss him in greeting, and he’d hold her close, feeling those sweet, soft breasts against his chest. Sharing a quiet meal or watching a movie and splitting a big bowl of popcorn. Sleeping next to her warm little body all night as she curled around him...

Damn it, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was, barely able to drag his ass off this horribly lumpy couch to use the outhouse, and daydreaming about one frizzy-haired, green-eyed angel. And getting a hard-on in the process.

He threw his arm over his eyes, gasping as pain radiated outward into his skull from the lump on his forehead.

Of course she was being sweet. It was obviously a part of her nature. She’d dragged some stranger from the lake, hauled him home and cared for him. Not many women would have done that, especially out in the middle of nowhere.

But she’d known about his Special Forces training. Recognized his tattoo. If she knew anything at all about the Viper Team, she probably would have realized they weren’t into harming helpless little women. How the hell did she know? Even having an uncle who was a writer—there wasn’t one man he knew in the Vipers, past or present, who would grant an interview about his job. It wasn’t done. Ever.