Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) (5 page)

Yeah. This was a big decision and if Ace were being totally honest, he truly didn’t know what he wanted to do.

“OK,” he said at last. “I’ll let you know in about two weeks.”

King and Jack both nodded and Ace took a deep breath. In his mind, a huge hand turned an hourglass over, the sand started to flow smoothly, continuously.

And time started running down.

Chapter Five

In the kitchen, Warren filled the largest mixing bowl with cool water, fighting hard to calm his nerves. It was easier said than done, though.

Shay was in his bed, burning up with fever. Despite him shooting her up with enough antibiotics and painkillers to take down a horse, her body hadn’t responded yet. He’d watched helplessly as her pale skin had reddened, watched the numbers on the thermometer climb higher. When she’d started to sweat madly and pull at her clothes, he’d taken a deep breath, then done what had to be done.

Gently, he’d tugged off her baggy jeans, her oversized sweater. He’d been momentarily taken aback at the underwear that she had on under her shapeless, dark clothing. Lacy, revealing and dusky purple, the sex-kitten bra and panties were yet one more way that this woman surprised him. Unable to resist, he’d just stood over her for a few seconds, admiring her long, lean body.

And yeah, he
had
noticed that her legs were curvy and full, her small breasts shapely and pert, her stomach smooth and toned. He’d been as worried as hell about her, but he wasn’t blind, after all, and he’d found himself wondering just
why the hell
this woman would cover up this hot little body.

He returned to his bedroom now, grabbed a fresh cloth from the hall closet on the way. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at the way that the flames from the bedroom fireplace danced over her tousled blonde hair, over her sleek curves. That was when she moaned and turned her head away from him.

The small sound jolted him back in to the moment, and he hurried over to sit next to her on the bed. He dipped the cloth in the cool water, touched it to her heated body. Slowly, carefully. Trying so damn hard to help her, any way that he could.

He started at her forehead, ran the rough-soft material over her flushed face. He traced the hollow of her throat, then down. Between her perfect breasts, back up and over her slim shoulders, the length of both arms. When he reached her wrists, he barely touched them – the bruising was an ugly, mottled purple now, and he dreaded the possibility of causing her any more pain.

He wrung out the cloth, refreshed the water, moved on to the curve of her hips, the groove of her stomach. He paused at the waistband of those fucking incredible lace panties, aching to see under them. He saw the outline of her sex through the tight material and to his horror, he hardened.

God
, he was a bastard. The woman was helpless and unconscious, and here he was staring at the place where her pussy lips met. That honeyed line taunted him, tormented him, and he
ached
to slide those sexy-as-hell little panties down her endless legs, bury his tongue in her sweetness.

Yeah, she’d be sweet. He
knew
it.

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he muttered aloud. “Don’t be an asshole here.”

Hearing his own voice steadied him, somehow, and he refreshed the cloth again. Then he moved down her legs, avoiding the wrap bandage around her wound. He stroked the cloth down all the way to her delicate ankles and slim feet, before working his way back up the whole length of her body.

Her astounding, astonishing, amazing body.

“Mind out of the gutter, dickhead,” he said to himself. “Jesus Christ.”

Shay sighed, murmured something. Warren leaned in, hoping that she’d open her eyes.

“Shay?” He touched her cheek, thought that she felt a bit cooler. “You awake, honey?”

She whimpered and twisted, then she surprised him by half-sitting up, and cuddling up to him. Without one second of thought, he tugged her in to his arms, pulled her in tight. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he was totally unable to stop himself from lowering his lips to her hair. He dropped a tiny kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the fragrance of vanilla and something else. Something sweet and strong.

Just like her.

“Shay?” he whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes if you can hear me.”

She made a sound in her throat, something hurt and lost. She was totally limp in his embrace, her whole body heavy on his chest. Slowly, not wanting to jostle her, he lay down, pulling her with him as he went. She stiffened, just for a second, then relaxed.

And suddenly, there they were: Warren holding a half-naked, delirious, smoking-hot woman in his arms. A woman who was burning up with fever, and who was now starting to shiver and shake in reaction to the drugs.

Cursing under his breath, Warren grabbed the blankets, hauled them up and over her trembling body. She fought him at first, pushing the blankets off, but he tucked them around her body firmly, not giving her a choice about any of this. She needed warmth, and softness, and safety, and she needed them badly. Warren couldn’t do much more than he’d already done about the infection raging through her body, but he could give her those things.

Her shaking got worse, and she started to whimper again. Her hands found his t-shirt, curled around it tightly, holding on for dear life. Tears leaked out from behind her closed eyelids, and she gasped with sobs. He held her closer, murmuring to her now as he stroked her hair.

“Shay, you’re alright. I got you. You’re safe and I’m taking care of you, OK? Just sleep. Just let go and rest.”

Proving that she was exactly the kind of exasperating woman who did the
polar
opposite
of what he told her to, she turned her face up to his, and opened her eyes. Glassy, unfocused, those clear, pure depths were heartbreakingly blank. Gently, he took her chin between his strong fingers, tipped her tear-stained face up a bit more. He desperately wanted to see a spark of recognition in those eyes, just a hint of fire. He saw nothing, though, and his stomach clenched.

“Here, baby,” he said. “I’m right here.”

She frowned, her brow furrowed. He saw her trying to focus now, and he moved his face just inches away from hers.

“Shay. Can you hear me? See me?”

Her blank stare sharpened a bit, and he watched as those green eyes focused on him. A look of confusion passed over her face, and Warren smiled at her, a tight, worried smile.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” she responded, her voice weak. His heart leapt to hear it, though, since it meant that she was there with him, even just temporarily.

“How you doing, Shay?”

She contemplated him, semi-lucid now. “You know me?”

“Uh-huh.” He dared to stroke her cheek with the tips of his rough fingers, wiping away her tears, and she blinked at him hazily. “How you feeling?”

“I – I’m –” She swallowed hard. “Thirsty.”

He nodded and reached for the glass of water on the beside table. He held it to her lips, helped her to sit up a bit. She drank, coughed, and drank a bit more. Slowly, he eased her back down to the bed, gathered her close again, and she let him. Shay sighed, rested her forehead against his chest.

“Am I sick?” she asked, her voice stronger now.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are. But I’m taking care of you.”

She leaned back a bit, looked at him some more, and he wasn’t at all sure how much of this she was actually taking in. “You are?”

“I am.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled again, a real smile, one that reached all the way to his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Shay stared at him. “My God. You’re gorgeous.”

Startled, he huffed out a small laugh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Out of the blue, she started to shake. She didn’t even notice, but he quickly wrapped the blanket around her again, pulled her back in to the circle of his arms. She clutched the blanket to her chest, still gazing at his face. “Do I know you?”

“Yeah, baby. Kinda.”

She nodded as if that made perfect sense, then he watched her eyes flutter shut. She sighed heavily, burrowed deep in to his body, and he knew she was going under. Sleep was the best thing for her now, so he lay quiet and still next to her, waited for her to drop off.

When her breathing became slow and steady, he carefully moved away from her. She moaned and rolled away to face the wall. Warren registered his body’s dislike for this, how much it resisted the distance between them.

Without her in his arms, they felt hollow and useless, like he suddenly didn’t know just what the hell to
do
with them. They hung at his sides, limp and empty, itching to wrap around her once more. It seemed that if they weren’t holding Shay, then they served no earthly purpose whatsoever.

He rubbed the back of his neck, stared at her slim back some more. Then he went to the kitchen to clean up the mess on the floor, and to make some nuclear-grade coffee. It was going to be one hell of a long night.

**

Almost forty hours hours later, Warren checked the bite on her leg again, and heaved a sigh of relief. It was still red, but the swelling and inflammation were both way down. He touched her hand, her throat, her face, and knew that her body temperature was settling a bit.

It was going to be OK.
She
was going to be OK.

Exhaustion started to creep over him now, as if by acknowledging that she was alright, he’d given his body permission to start to relax. He fought it, though, since he needed to give her some more antibiotics in less than an hour, and if he fell asleep, he might sleep right on through. No way he was doing that to her. She was depending on him.

She needed him.

He dragged the chair from across the room over next to the bed, plunked down in it. He extended his long legs in front of him, raised his arms overhead, gave a stretch, grimacing at the pull of his overtaxed muscles. He wished hard for a long, hot bath, but he wasn’t about to leave Shay for longer than one minute at a time. Not until he was sure that she was out of the woods. She’d been through enough, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to make it all end for her. He’d made her that promise when he’d seen her slumped and unconscious on the cold stone ground, and he was determined to see it through.

For the rest of his life, Warren was going to remember the nightmare descent from that lonely cave, back to the cabin. What should have been a thirty-minute brisk walk had been a ninety-minute journey from hell.

He’d hauled her up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. It hadn’t been ideal, and he’d known it damn good and well: she was fragile and injured, and banging her around against his hard, broad back wouldn’t have helped her much. In an ideal world, he’d have cradled her in his arms against his chest, so gentle and careful. She’d have been able to feel his heartbeat, and he’d have been able to look down and see her face. He’d have been able to talk to her, to reassure and soothe her.

Instead, he’d dragged an unconscious woman down a frozen mountain in the dark, slipping and sliding the whole way, cursing the lack of paths and snagging branches overhead. Shay was a slim woman, but she was a tall woman, too, and although she couldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, he’d felt every one of them after an hour. He’d lugged fifty-pound bags of grain at the mill for years, done it for eight-hour shifts, six days a week, so he knew he was strong. But carrying a hurt woman down a steep, snowy mountain was a whole different thing.

Warren had gritted his teeth against his screaming, protesting leg muscles, his throbbing abs and lower back, and carried on putting one booted foot in front of the other. He’d taken it steady and calm, watching where he put his foot every single time. The last thing Shay had needed was to be thrown to the ground from his towering height, maybe even getting crushed under his weight as he slipped and fell backwards on top of her.

He’d reached the cabin at last, and as soon as he’d opened the door, he’d rushed her to his bedroom. That had all happened two days ago, but in some ways, it felt like only minutes had passed. Now, he settled his hands on his large thighs, stared at Shay some more as she slept in his bed, all snuggled down in a patch of late-afternoon sun, safe and relaxed.

It was a sight that he could get used to.

She looked so…
right
in his bed. Like she was meant to be all stretched out next to him at every sunset, and sleeping peacefully next to him at every sunrise. Like she was meant to be the last incredible thing that he saw at night, and the first perfect thing that he saw every day.

Like she was meant to be his.

He’d just finished having this totally bizarre and impractical thought, when she started to shake again, worse this time. He shot to his feet, then fell to his knees next to the bed. He reached out to touch her, and she was cold. Like, freezing cold. So cold that he was more worried now than he’d been when she’d been burning up like a furnace.

Quickly, he gave her the shot of antibiotics, wrapped her in the blankets more tightly, then stoked the fire until it was roaring high and hot. He grabbed the extra blankets that he’d taken from the linen closet, piled them on top of her. But it was no good this time, and he knew it. Her shaking was making the whole damn bed rattle, and her teeth were chattering so hard that he worried about her breaking them.

Goddammit.

Nothing beat body heat, and the most effective way to distribute it was skin-to-skin. He hesitated for a few seconds, then peeled off his t-shirt and jeans. He lifted the mound of covers, slid in next to her. She shuddered and rolled away, moved away from him automatically, but he hauled her up against him, his front pressed to her shaking back.

“Shay,” he said roughly as he caged her in his strong arms. “C’mere, honey.”

“Unnnhhhh,” she muttered, twisting in his embrace to face him, her eyes still shut. “What –”

“Shhhhh.” He pushed some blonde tendrils away from her pale cheeks, tucked them behind her ears. “Hush now, baby. I’ve got you, and you’re OK.”

“Cold,” she whispered against his throat. “So
cold
.”

“I know.” His grip tightened. “Just stay here, and you’ll warm up.”

Her hands came up to grasp his large upper arms, held on. Warren closed his eyes, lowered his lips to her forehead, dying to kiss her. He’d kiss her over and over, harder and deeper, until she heated up under his hands and lips. Until she was writhing and begging for more: more naked skin, more pleasure, more passion. More of him.