Tarnished Angel (47 page)

    Devina gazed out the open doorway at the man who continued to work in the yard. Stripped to the waist, the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest exposed to the brilliant midday sun, Ross was leaning over a tub washing clothes.

    A heat not related to her wound abruptly colored her face as the tall, broad, half-naked man carefully wrung out her delicate chemise and hung it beside the other clothes on the line he had strung between the shrubs. Devina was abruptly and embarrassingly conscious of the attire she wore under the light blanket. She had awakened in a shirt and nothing else, and she had been unable to force herself to examine the how and the why of it.

    A new wave of heat suffused her cheeks as Ross plunged his hands into the washtub and withdrew her lace-trimmed under-drawers. Devina turned her eyes away from the sight. Was there no end to this humiliation?

    Determined not to torment herself any longer, Devina kept her eyes on the wall, but Ross's image remained bright and clear in her mind. In truth, she had never seen a more beautiful man. With each passing minute, the physical differences between the two brothers were becoming as clear as the vast differences in their personalities.

    She remembered the incredible stretch of Ross's shoulders, bared in the sun as he performed his tasks; the sheen of his skin and the ripple of the tight, well-honed muscles across his back as he hung the wet clothes on the line. She remembered his expression when he turned back, unaware of her scrutiny. Serious, intent on his chore, he had been squinting against the sun's glare, the strong planes of his face free of the anger often visible there. He had raised his hand to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead, and she had remembered the surprising gentleness of those work-roughened hands. She had been intensely stirred in a way that Charles had never stirred her.

    "Devina, are you all right?"

    The unexpected sound of Ross's voice at her side made Devina turn to face him with a speed that set her head to spinning. She raised a shaking hand to her temple as a flush of heat colored her cheeks.

    When she hesitated to respond, Ross's expression tightened into a frown. He laid his palm against her forehead.

    "You're flushed, but you don't seem to have a fever."

    Devina was unwilling to allow Ross to speculate further. "I… I'm all right. I just felt a little strange, that's all."

    The hand resting against her forehead slipped to her cheek. "You're sure?"

    "Yes." Devina reluctantly met the dark eyes scrutinizing her so intently. Oh, damn, she was so confused. She wanted to relieve the concern in this man's eyes, to touch his cheek even as he touched hers and tell him that he need not worry. She would be all right. She wanted to make him smile, to see his mouth slowly curve upward, to see his face reflect the warmth of those lips. She wanted to light the spark that would warm his dark eyes. Most of all, she wanted this man to remain as he was now concerned, tender, almost loving.

    Devina's thoughts jarred to a halt. She was incredulous at the direction her wandering mind was taking. All this she wanted from the man who had threatened her life, who held her captive, who sought to destroy her father and possibly her as well.

    She was so confused.

    Ross was still looking at her intently, and Devina sought to avoid his gaze, only to feel his hand cup her chin and turn her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.

    "What's wrong, Devina?"

    Her eyes traveled the broad planes of his face. His sun-tinted cheeks were smooth, cleanly shaven. It was obvious that he had made a visit to the pool while she was sleeping; he was clean and refreshed despite his recent exertion. Abruptly she was only too conscious of her own disheveled state. She was warm and uncomfortable. Her hair clung damply to her head, and her skin was moist and sticky. She felt weak, unkempt, sick, confused, miserable. Tears filled her eyes, and she closed them in another attempt to avoid Ross's scrutiny.

    The deep voice moved closer, became more concerned. "Devina, are you in pain?"

    She shook her head. What was wrong with her?

    "Devina." The urgent note in Ross's voice made her look up at last. He searched her face, his frown intense. "If you're feeling worse"

    "No, I'm not feeling worse. I… I guess I just feel envious."

    "Envious?"

    Nodding, Devina was further humiliated by the tear that slipped down her cheek. "Yes. You look so clean and comfortable, and I feel so sticky and hot."

    Ross's callused palm smoothed the tear from her cheek. A hint of a smile not untouched with relief played at the corners of his mouth. "Well, that's easy enough to fix."

    Without another word, Ross snatched up the bucket and disappeared into the yard. Ashamed and disgusted with herself, Devina again turned her face to the wall. She suddenly realized that where Ross's anger and threats had failed to break her, his gentleness and concern were succeeding. She was a fool for having succumbed to her own weakness, to her desire to see in this man what she wanted to see. She needed to take herself in hand.

    At the sound of a step, Devina turned back toward the doorway just as Ross walked in. He carefully placed the bucket on the table beside the bunk.

    "Can you bathe yourself, Devina?"

    Devina's mind immediately jumped to the alternative, and her face flamed. Her reply was indignant. "Of course I can bathe myself."

    Ross shook his head. "I don't know…"

    Devina summoned up her pride, and a familiar hauteur returned to her tone. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself if I'm afforded a little privacy."

    Ross's lips tightened at her tone, and Devina immediately regretted her words. She could not stand much more of her vacillating feelings. But she realized it was too late for regrets the moment Ross stood and nodded stiffly.

    "Of course, Miss Dale. You can have all the privacy you want." Ross stalked angrily to the door and out of sight, and Devina immediately began to berate herself. Now she had ruined everything, of that she was certain. Ross was angry again, and she didn't want him to be angry with her. Would she never learn?

    Now that she had provoked him, however, she felt she had to     show him she meant what she'd said. Summoning up her last reservoir of energy, she threw back the blanket and forced herself to sit up in bed, refusing to look at her swollen and bruised ankle. Pain stabbed her leg, almost stealing her breath, and she felt a sheen of perspiration break out on her brow.

    Her expression hardened as she stiffened her resolve. She
could
take care of herself. All she needed was a little privacy.

    Although the effort exhausted her and increased her pain to an almost unbearable degree, she finally managed to ease her legs over the side of the bed. A wave of exhilaration swept through her at the small victory. Now that she was sitting up, the rest would be easy, she told herself. She dipped one hand into the bucket of cool water. Relief was instantaneous. A bath was all she needed to feel good again. Very soon she'd be all right.

    But the soap and cloth were just a little out of her reach. If she could just stand up for a minute and pull the table closer…

    Placing her bare feet on the floor, she slowly began to shift her weight as a prelude to rising. Her trembling legs resisted the movement, and the rest of her body began to quake with the effort, but she disregarded its pitiful response. She
would
get up, she
would
bathe herself, and she
would
show Ross Morrison that she could take care of herself.

    With supreme determination, Devina pulled herself to her feet. She was standing! She gripped the edge of the table and attempted to pull it closer to the bed. The heavy table resisted her weak effort, and Devina felt the heat of exhausted tears burn her eyes. He had done it on purpose! He had put the table just out of her reach to show her that she couldn't manage by herself. The kindness, the gentleness he had shown her had all been an act to break her down. And he had almost succeeded. But she'd show him that he'd never get the best of her!

    Taking a deep breath, Devina pulled with all her might. The rasp of the table against the floor as the table lurched closer was simultaneous with the horrendous jolt of pain that shot up her leg, stealing her breath. Devina clutched the table as the room reeled around her. She held on with all her strength as her knees began to give beneath her, as she began sinking toward the floor. She gasped, calling out as her clutching fingers began to lose their hold on the table edge.

    Ross paused in his rapid angry step as he attempted to put    some distance between himself and the cabin. He ran a hand through his hair in an agitated gesture. Where in hell was he going? And just what was he doing?

    Only this morning he had decided that he would not allow Devina to anger him. Sharp words were her defense against him, and a very effective defense they were! In his mind he went over their angry exchange of a few moments before. He had been doing very well in getting her to trust him. He had read her gradual acceptance of him in her eyes. He had only needed a little more time.

    Then suddenly there was anger between them again. It was all his fault. She was ill. He had handled the situation badly. He had embarrassed her, forced her to refuse his help. Now,
dammit
, he was stuck with the result of his stupidity.

    Ross turned abruptly and walked back to the cabin. Devina was too weak to take care of herself, no matter how stubbornly she had declared she could. He'd go back inside and help her. She needed his help. She needed him.

    Ross was a few feet from the doorway when he heard the scrape of the table against the floor, heard Devina cry out. He was running through the doorway when her slender body began to crumple toward the floor.

    In a moment she was in his arms, and he was clutching her close. She was so very pale. Loathe to release her, he laid her small, limp body on the bunk and pulled the blanket up to her waist. Turning, he reached into the bucket and withdrew the cloth. Squeezing it almost dry, he cautiously, tenderly touched its coolness to her forehead and pale cheeks.

    Her heavy eyelids were fluttering open even as he cursed himself for having allowed his anger to again cause her pain. Her dazed eyes met his, and Ross swallowed tightly at the confusion he saw there. She attempted to speak.

    ''No, Devina. Don't say anything. We both should've known better. You're too weak to help yourself right now. Just lie back and relax."

    Determined to ignore any protests she might voice, Ross moistened the cloth and rubbed it briskly against the soap. Working up a lather, he touched the cloth lightly to her face. She closed her eyes as he gently bathed her forehead and cheeks. He rinsed her clear skin free of soap. Then, smoothing back the damp tendrils at her temples, he patted her skin dry. His eyes    slipped to the pulse in Devina's throat, and he watched it throb with an accelerated beat for the space of a breathless second, even as the dark fans of her eyelashes fluttered and began to rise.

    Ross hesitated, then began to unfasten the buttons on her shirt, his eyes meeting Devina's firmly as hers widened. Her trembling hands moved to his wrists, but he shook his head.

    "No, not this time, Devina."

    Brushing away her hands, Ross continued to unbutton the shirt until it lay loose over her breasts. Devina's murmur of protest was met with his own low words of reassurance as he lifted her gently and slipped one arm free and then the other. He swallowed against the rush of emotion that suffused him as the perfection of her naked, feminine beauty was exposed to his gaze. Her clear, unmarked skin, her full, round breasts, the crests pink and inviting, tempting him.

    With supreme control, Ross smoothed the lathered cloth over the column of her throat, along the slope of her shoulders, and down the length of her graceful, slender arms. His heart thundering in his chest, he bathed her firm, perfectly shaped breasts, circling them gently, lovingly.

    His hands trembling, his chest heaving from the strain of emotions held tightly in check, Ross rubbed Devina's damp flesh dry and then raised her to a sitting position in his arms. Supporting her with his chest, intensely aware of the incredible softness of her cheek as it pressed against his throat, he scooped the long, curling spirals of her hair into his hand and swept them over her shoulder. He heard his own sharp intake of breath as Devina leaned full against him, her breasts warm against his bare chest. The sweet, natural scent of her body rose to his nostrils, taunting him.

    He soaped the cloth once more and moved it in gentle, caressing circles over the smooth contours of her back. All resistance appearing to have slipped away, Devina sighed, settling herself more comfortably against him, and Ross's heart throbbed to a ragged beat. Uncertain how much more he could stand, he dried her back with a trembling hand.

    Devina stirred against him once more. She was beginning to draw back, away from him, and Ross fought the urge to clutch her closer even as she raised heavy-lidded, uncertain eyes to his. Her gaze dropped to his lips as her voice emerged in a low ragged whisper, a single word: "Ross."

    And then his mouth was covering hers, lifting his name from her lips, tasting its echo, taking it deep inside him as he kissed her with growing hunger. He cupped her head with his hand, supporting her as his kiss passed the barrier of her teeth to touch the intimate inner reaches of her mouth. His other hand moved down the slope of her naked back, caressing her skin, pressing the fullness of her naked breasts against his chest. He drew deeply from her mouth, loving, consuming.