Speechless (2 page)

He had known she would have questions, though and as he’d
called on training from one of his past lives to set her leg and doctor her
cuts and scrapes—only one of which had required more than a square of
gauze—he’d planned his answers about who he was and why he was here. He
heard—the wrong word, he realized, but couldn’t find a better one—fear in her
questions, a need to understand and grasp her admittedly precarious position
and he’d tried to address that fear, but he wasn’t sure how effective his
efforts had been. He had more practice with causing fear than relieving it.
Strangely, her fear had relieved him. It meant that she really was a university
professor and not someone masquerading as one to lull him into letting down his
guard. Any operative sent after him would be well enough trained and confident
enough that even an unexpected accident like the landslide would not cause more
than concern and a move to the proverbial Plan B.

Eva’s fear was the perfectly rational one of being injured
and alone with a strange man in a remote location. She was lucky, though, even
if she didn’t know it yet. The break was a clean one and the bones hadn’t
shifted much. He was not a cruel man and took no pleasure in others’ pain and
he hoped he had some few principles left to him. And her fear made him want to
protect her, heal her, take away all her pain and uncertainty.

At the moment, he himself was the biggest danger to her. Not
that he would intentionally hurt her, but her association with him would put
her in danger. He could not risk any lasting connection between them, for
either of their sakes. He blew out a breath, stirred himself from gazing at her
and scrubbed a hand down his face. How long before someone came looking for her
and found him, as well? Her presence was as much a danger to him as he was to
her and there he’d stood for the last half hour obsessing about how she’d feel
if he touched her and how he could relieve her fears and heal her wounds.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself and turned with a curse
to finish cleaning up their supper. He’d finished drying one bowl and was
reaching for the second when something—some sense of wrongness or some
infinitesimal sound—made him turn to see Eva move restlessly beneath the
covers, caught in some dream or worry. He abandoned the bowl and dish towel and
crossed to her. If she moved too much, she might jostle her leg and at the very
least cause herself more pain, if not worsen the injury.

Sitting on the bed next to her, he put a hand to her cheek.
“Eva.”

She quieted—rather, she stopped moving and the unease that
had radiated off her lessened—and leaned into Stone’s touch, though she didn’t
wake. He sat there for a few minutes, until her breathing regulated and seemed
likely to stay that way, then he forced his hand away from her skin and
returned to the corner of the cabin that served as the kitchen. But by the time
he’d finished cleaning up, she’d grown restless again. He felt the frustration
building up inside him. The more he touched her, tended to her, the more
connected he felt to her and he’d worked so hard to sever all connections, to
keep himself and everyone who might come into danger because of him, safe. And
now fate was conspiring to make all that effort pointless. He blew out a
frustrated sigh. It had been a long day, he might as well go to bed and maybe
his nearness would quiet Eva’s dreams.

He shucked his shirt, shoes and socks, extinguished one of
the propane lamps and turned the other down to a soft glow, then stretched out
on the bed next to Eva. She didn’t still until he wrapped his hand around hers
and murmured reassurances in her ear. Then he turned his back to her and fell
asleep.

* * * * *

Eva’s sleep was plagued by dreams of falling off mountains,
of having a crippled leg for the rest of her life, of Stone approaching and
withdrawing, of having to choose between his care and the care she would get in
a fully equipped but impersonal hospital, of his face changing into that of
some monster, and finally of his arm around her, his hands massaging her, his
presence keeping all her swirling fears at bay. That last dream shocked her
into waking.

She heard nothing but the singing of insects and the chug of
what must have been a generator outside. A weight lay across her chest,
anchoring her to the bed. She opened her eyes. In the dimness of the still-lit
lantern Eva saw Stone, naked from the waist up, sleeping face-down next to her.
His head was turned toward her, his mouth open slightly in his sleep. His right
arm was the weight she’d felt, holding her as he might a woman he was used to
sharing his bed with. It was a casual, comfortable intimacy she thought, one
meant only to communicate presence and affection rather than desire or
possession.

Strangely, though the intimacy echoed her last dream, she
felt none of the shock that had woken her. Rather, it relaxed the tension the
dreams had built up inside her, easing most—not all—of her fears. Some fears,
she knew, would never leave her. And that dream of Stone becoming a monster
lingered yet and she wondered at how she’d forgotten all her father’s warnings
about men. She laid her hand on his, but whether to move it off her or simply
to touch, she did not know.

Stone’s eyes flicked open at her touch. As he realized how
he lay, he started to pull away and Eva felt her fingers tighten almost
imperceptibly, almost certainly of their own will, on his hand.

Stay
, she thought.

Stone settled back next to her.

Eva closed her eyes, taking comfort from his warmth and
sureness and the only tendril of the fears of a few minutes before was of her
comfort with this man.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “I want to see what you’re
thinking.”

She obeyed, turning her head to look at him, to wonder again
at her attraction to his rugged features. If just touching him brought her
peace, what would kissing him do?

I was thinking about my fears and how you keep them away.
I think they’d go away all together if you’d just kiss me.

“I can’t. I shouldn’t.” He paused. “You’re right to be
afraid.”

Eva’s heart sped up, but she didn’t know whether it was at
his direct answer to her thought or at the threat implicit in his words and low
voice. She heard the words he did not say echoing in the nighttime silence of
the cabin, “of me”. She was right to be afraid of him. She let go of his hand and
he withdrew his arm. Eva shivered.

Who are you?

He traced a line down her cheek and she suddenly realized
just how dangerous he was. Just how much power he had over her.

“Fear protects you, Eva.” He raised himself onto an elbow
and looked down at her. “I don’t want you to be hurt because of me. The less we
are connected, the less you know about me, the safer you are. I will do
everything in my power to get you home safely. Don’t ask me for more than
that.”

You’re not a consultant
.

This thought, apparently, he could not read in her
expression, for he leaned over and set a kiss in the center of her forehead.
She took it as a rebuff, as his way of saying, “I care about you, but not that
way,” without having to actually acknowledge that he knew what she wanted.

“Do you need another painkiller?”

Eva did, but she didn’t want one or the wooziness it
brought. But then, it might help her other ache—her ache for him to touch her,
her longing for him to change his mind and bring his lips to hers. He read her
like no man had ever been able to read her—like no one at all except perhaps
her mother—and certainly faster than anyone. She felt open and vulnerable and
she could not help imagining how he would read the rest of her body.

Stone moved suddenly, swiftly, rising to sit on the edge of
the bed, his back to her. He ran a hand through his hair, rose and snatched up
a shirt and his shoes.

“I’ll be back.”

He was out the door before he’d pulled the t-shirt
completely on. Eva stared after him, confused, lost, bereft.

* * * * *

Stone paused outside the door just long enough to pull on
his hiking boots and wish he’d taken the time to grab a jacket. Then he started
walking, keeping to the edge of the lake and judging his position by the soft
splashes of the miniature waves that washed the pebble beach. He tried to
identify what had driven him out of the cabin, but he couldn’t follow what had
happened, his tracing of events hitting a brick wall every time he reached the
moment when he realized Eva knew he’d lied about his profession. Even in the
dim light, he’d been able to read every thought on Eva’s face, every
conflicting fear and desire, the accusation that he was not who he said he was.
He’d kissed her—a chaste kiss to be sure, intended to soothe, but a kiss all
the same, moist lips against warm skin. He felt himself harden just thinking
about the merest contact between them. He’d had his arm around her for God’s
sake. And he wanted to lie like that again with her safe inside his embrace,
both of them peaceful, secure with each other. He bent to snatch a rock from
the beach and he hurled it toward the lake with a roar.

She was just another woman! Why did he feel so connected to
her? He felt as if she were wide open to him, like everything she thought or
felt flowed directly from her to him. And he’d suddenly realized that she felt
it too, that she would let him take advantage of that openness if he wanted to,
that she feared and embraced it and would let him read not only her expressive
face but her body as well. Exploring their connection, her every response and
thought guiding his touch.

He flung another stone and another, as far as he could throw
them, then continued his circuit of the lake, trying to put distance between
himself and the woman he’d so foolishly rescued, between his rational needs and
his physical desires. He suddenly wished he hadn’t smashed her cell phone so
some form of rescue could be called, even if it meant questions asked, names
recorded, lies told.

He was a third of the way around the lake when he noticed
the light strengthening. The water glinted with it, glowing rosy and gold as it
reflected the sunrise. How long had he been out here? How long had he left Eva
alone? He turned on his heel and started back at a quick walk, then an easy
jog, alternating the whole trip between cursing himself for leaving her so long
and reassuring himself that nothing had happened to her or he would have felt
it. Panicky. For the first time in his life he actually felt panicky.

He slowed to a walk as he neared the cabin, pausing long
enough to catch his breath before stepping inside. No need to let her know he’d
rushed back to check on her. One quick look at her fast asleep in bed told him
his fears had been for nothing. He felt like punching himself for letting her
get to him. Instead, he ran a hand over his face and sighed in relief.

He fired up the propane stove for breakfast and coffee, but
even without watching her, he knew the moment Eva woke. He turned and regarded
her—her eyes were still closed and he waited for them to open before speaking.

“Coffee?”

She nodded and reached for her tablet. He crossed to her so
he could read it.

“Bathroom.”

“Outhouse. I’ll help you.” He reached for the stick he’d
found the day before when he went looking for something to use as a crutch. It
was strong and straight with a cross piece trimmed to fit under her arm. He
helped her stand, gave her the crutch and supported her other side.

They made their slow, painful way out to the privy and back.
Stone tamped down his reaction to being so near her, his satisfaction with
having her arm across his shoulders and his around her back. He kept his mind
on making a second crutch so he wouldn’t have to help her move around, on what
to fix for breakfast, on whether the food Carter had brought up three days
ago—two-weeks’ worth for one person—would be sufficient for the two of them.
But Eva’s body was warm next to his and he couldn’t ignore it completely,
couldn’t control his own body’s instinctive reaction. He cursed inwardly and
bit back his impatience so he wouldn’t inadvertently hurt her. It was none too
soon when he settled her back on the bed, her bare legs covered again by the
blanket and he could retreat as far as the small cabin would let him.

* * * * *

Eva was certain Stone realized that when he kept himself on
the opposite side of the room, she could not talk to him. She drummed her
fingers on the blanket in frustration. She wanted to apologize for her
early-morning madness, but couldn’t until he was close enough to read her typed
words on the tablet screen. Instead, she could only watch from where she sat
leaning against the wall, her leg straight out on the bed. She was sore this
morning, but most of it was the stiffness brought by the fall and she knew the
more she moved, the less it would trouble her.

Stone busied himself at the sink and propane stove and Eva
relaxed a bit as she watched him, appreciating his fine physique, the easy way
he moved, his long reach and quiet confidence.

Do you have any idea how appealing you are?
Eva
thought.

“You’re one to…” Stone turned to face her, his voice full of
confusion and wonder, “talk.”

Dead silence for a moment. They stared at each other, Eva
stunned at his direct response, Stone clearly suspicious.

“What just happened?” he asked. “You didn’t speak.”

No. Sometimes certain people can hear my thoughts. “
But
never this fast,” Eva didn’t add, “and never men.” Not even her father or
brother, a source of endless frustration for her father especially, since they
were so close. How would he react when he discovered that it had taken less
than a day for this stranger to begin hearing her?

“Not possible.” He braced himself against the edge of the
sink, his certainty of impossibility clear on his face.

It just happened. How do you explain it?
How did she
explain it? She couldn’t.

“I’ve been able to read you from the beginning. You have a
very expressive face.” He shrugged, as if to throw off his growing knowledge of
their connection.

You weren’t looking at me.

“Coincidence. I could tell you were watching me and I know
women find me attractive.”

Elephant
.

“What?” He’d heard her, she knew. The random word made him
give a sharp head shake. He wanted to knock her voice out of his head, deny the
reality of what was happening.

What did I just think?

“Elephant.”

Ornithorhynchus anatinus.

“Ornithorhynchus something.”

Anatinus. It’s the scientific name of the duck-billed
platypus. Still think it was coincidence?

“Then you’re throwing your voice somehow.”

That would require that I both open my mouth and possess
a voice.

“A recording. There’s some rational explanation to this
practical joke.” His voice deepened, became commanding. “End it, Eva. Now.”

Stone.
The single word halted his growing suspicion
of her, that she could somehow fake this, stopped his gaze from darting around
the cabin’s single room. She wished she could slow her heart as easily.
Listen.
Let me explain. I don’t know why it has happened here and now, but with some
people, I can communicate like this. You’re hearing my words, the voice I don’t
have, in your head. My mother was the first. She could hear my thoughts almost
as soon as I had coherent thoughts. I’ve worked with the same assistant for six
years. She started hearing me a year and a half ago. My best friend can hear
me—we’ve been friends since college. With her, it took a year. I don’t know how
my mother reacted, but the others had the same questions and response you’re
having now. I am a scientist. Science tells me that this should be
impossible—thoughts traveling on some type of wave from me to you. But it
happens. Elephants and Ornithorhynchus prove it. The way you’re watching me
now, with that look of listening on your face, the concentration, the interest.
How can you doubt it?

“Why me? And how?” Stone pushed himself away from the sink
and took two steps toward her. “Will I hear everything you’re thinking?”

There’s obviously a connection between us. You felt it
last night. You answered my every thought. Maybe this had already started and
we were both too asleep to notice. Until now, I thought familiarity and
affection were required, but now I don’t know. Maybe it’s just …connection.
Trust. Or the trauma of my fall. The others can only hear what I direct to
them, nothing more. I don’t know if it’s safe to assume that pattern will hold
or not. None of the others have.

“Your mother, your friend, your assistant. Not your father
or lovers?”

Eva shook her head. She knew he’d realized the truth—that he
was the only man who could hear her this way. He just stood there and watched
her. She let him look, let the silence drag out, let him consider and then
discard the thought that one or the other of them had gone insane.

“Last night…“

I’ve been meaning to apologize for that. I don’t know
what happened. I don’t normally…

“You were frightened. Eva, this connection between us— Yes,
I’ve felt it. Almost from the beginning. But it can’t go anywhere. We can’t let
it strengthen.”

What you said last night, that I was right to be afraid
of you, it has something to do with that, doesn’t it?

Stone ran a hand down his face and came over to the bed,
bringing a chair from the table with him. He sat on it backward, his hands on
the uprights of the back, his legs spread around it. Again he allowed a long
minute of silence, as if gathering himself for this conversation. Finally, Eva
gave in and addressed him.

Who
are
you?

Stone sighed. “I can’t tell you. I won’t hurt you. Not
purposefully. I’m not a criminal or a conspiracy theorist or an anti-government
militiaman. I just need to be off the grid for a while. It’s important that
certain people don’t find me.”

So it’s a witness protection program kind of thing?

“You could call it that. When you fly out on that supply
plane in a week and a half, you have to forget you ever met me, my name, what I
look like, that I even exist. You can’t try to find me again or tell anyone
about me. Not your assistant, not your friends, not your family. My life and
possibly yours, depend on it. Do you understand me?”

Not really. Stone. Is that even your real name?
The
name fit him, this man whose expression rarely changed, whose voice never
carried a hint of emotion, except occasional amusement or concern. And it was
doubly hard—the name
Peters
came from the Greek word for “stone”.

Stone didn’t answer, just shrugged and shook his head as if
to say, “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” And that fit, too, the perfect
addition to everything she didn’t know about him.

Eva wrapped her arms across her stomach as it churned with
something she couldn’t quite identify. Not fear—she believed him, perhaps
foolishly, when he said he wouldn’t hurt her—but some combination of
nervousness, attraction and disappointment. Nervousness at what would happen
before the plane arrived, attraction to this serious, handsome man who radiated
mystery and danger and security all at once and disappointment that she would
have only these few days with him and that she was supposed to ignore the very
clear connection between them. His eyes held hers, dark and intent and she
could not claim not to believe his seriousness. Claiming that their lives would
be in danger seemed an extreme way to get out of a relationship.

Just for my reference, do your friends regularly accuse
you of overreacting, exaggerating, or going to extreme lengths to avoid your exes?

Stone’s mouth quirked in the shadow of a smile as he clearly
understood the motivation behind her question. “I wish that were the case.”

I need to explore this, Stone. You’ve already figured out
that this is unusual even for me. For my own information, satisfaction.

“How? Can you explore this and then drop it when you leave?
Can you not want to come back here or track me down or talk to someone about
whatever you discover through this exploration?”

No. But I will want to do all those things anyway—maybe
more, because I’ll have fewer answers. I don’t understand anything about this.
I don’t understand why, when I woke up in the middle of the dark, full of fear
because of this situation I’m in, fear of never walking again, fear of
you
,
why discovering you sleeping next to me, your arm across me, soothed those
fears.

“I can’t answer that, Eva. I’m not sure any exploration can
answer that.” The scent of burning eggs drifted across the room and Stone
cursed. “After breakfast.”

But “after breakfast” led to another trip to the outhouse,
which led to more pain in her leg, which led to drugs. Eva fought the
drowsiness the painkiller brought, but her body insisted that it needed the
sleep and she did not have the strength to resist and even knew that she
shouldn’t try. So she drifted off and if she dreamed, she didn’t notice or
remember.

She woke to find herself alone in the cabin and she tried to
push herself upright—only a day had passed and already she was tired of this
bed. The mattress was too soft—or maybe saggy was a better word—and her back
ached from it. She managed to sit up, but didn’t find the position any more
comfortable. Where was Stone? She knew, deep in her soul, that he hadn’t
abandoned her, that nothing had happened to him—he hadn’t foolishly stepped
onto a loose rock, for example and slid down a cliff. She would have
known
if that had happened, she was certain. But that knowledge didn’t ease her
irritation with him for not being here. She needed to move, but she couldn’t do
it without him.

Stone?

A moment later, the door opened and he came in.

“Are you all right?” he asked and his immediate concern
banished her annoyance. Mostly.

Where were you?

“In the garden.” He held out a bowl of just-harvested green
beans and a small yellow squash. He looked more closely at her. “You’re in
pain.”

This damn bed.

Stone said nothing, just put the bowl of vegetables on the
table and slid onto the bed behind her, the way he had the night before, while
she’d eaten. His hands traveled lightly at first, over her shoulders and back
and the lightness of his touch began the work of relaxing her. Except for those
little electrical charges and circles of warmth wherever he touched. He started
massaging where he’d left off before, the pressure points at the back of her
skull, then moved down to her shoulders, using just the right pressure with his
thumbs and the heels of his hands to ease the knots and kinks. She moaned
mentally at the pleasure, the pain of the massage. Stone found every ache and
pain he could rub away, eased his touch over her bruises. Eva leaned forward to
give him better access to her whole back.

“You make as much noise during a backrub as most women do
during sex,” Stone said softly into her ear and Eva shivered. Did he feel the
same flowing tingle she did, the same physical reaction that had nothing to do
with a backrub and everything to do with the contact between them? He could so
easily discard their connection—she kept coming back to that word, though it
could not capture the sense of whatever had formed between them so quickly—that
she didn’t think he could be having the same reaction to her that she did to
him, to his touch. He was being kind to her. That he could hear her mental
voice was a result of their solitude here, or some infatuation or overblown
gratitude that she felt because he’d most likely saved her life.

“You smell good.”

His deep voice brought her out of her reverie.

Like that’s even possible.

“Woods and wind and woman. I like it.”

Stone, don’t. You’re the one who says we have to keep
distance between us. You’re talking about how good I supposedly smell and
making flippant comments about my sexual noises isn’t going to do anything to
lessen this thing—this connection.

“I’m not talking about a connection. I’m talking about sex.”

Stop it.
Eva wrenched away from him and immediately
regretted it when pain shot down her leg. Still, she turned as well as she
could and looked him full in the face. She understood then.
I know what
you’re doing. You’re trying to undo it. You’re hoping that by being crude and
offensive, it will go away. It will negate your kindness, it will make me close
up and you won’t be able to read my oh-so-expressive face and I’ll revert to
typing everything out on the tablet.

They stared at each other. Stone made no effort to deny the
truth of her accusation, but neither did he continue with the campaign.
Instead, he raised a hand to her cheek, traced the line of her cheekbone with
one finger.

“You’re vulnerable and grateful. I’m a man who has been
alone in this cabin for two months. It’s natural that we would be drawn to each
other, attracted by perceptions that might not be wholly accurate. I have to
believe that.”

If that’s all it is, then why not succumb?

“I won’t take advantage of you. You’re injured, alone, in my
power. And any surrender would be to invite deeper emotions. Eva—” He sighed.
“I know that’s not all it is. I can’t name it, but I know there’s more to it
than that. Do you really want to intensify this just to end it?”

Eva said nothing. She could not counter him. She turned back
around and put a hand on her throbbing leg. Stone’s hand came to rest on her
waist.

“I am not a man used to explaining. I’m not used to feeling
anything for another person. I’ve spent my life cultivating disconnectedness. I
considered leaving you lying at the bottom of that rockslide. If I had known
this would happen, I almost certainly would have. I always know what to do. I
always know my next five steps, but I don’t know what to do about this thing
between us. Can you understand how off balance not knowing makes me feel?”

Eva’s heart had alternately stopped and raced as Stone
spoke. That he would have left her to die stilled her completely, made her
believe him when he’d told her that she should be afraid of him. Until he spoke
those last two sentences. Then she understood.

I frighten you.

“Not you. This.” And he bent to lay a trail of kisses across
the back of her neck. Eva managed a quick gasp before her lungs froze. Stone’s
breath brushed her skin. “My need to please you, to allow you to know me,
frightens me.”

What do you want me to do about it?
This was
happening too fast. She could not keep up with him, with his shifts of
attitude, of wants, of expression.
Stone, stop. It’s too much. I don’t know
what to believe anymore. I don’t know if anything you’re saying is real or
true.

“It’s all real. All true. I don’t know what to believe
either. Shit, Eva. I’m beginning to wonder if
you’re
real.”