To Love a Man Page 2

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  Lisa hurt all over. Pain brought her whimpering back to consciousness. Her skin felt as if it were on fire. Fire. . . . she remembered fire. Was she burning, then? Had she passed out, only imagining that she had managed to escape from the shed? Had . . . Something sharp pricked her skin, and she flinched.

  “Ouch!” she was surprised to hear herself say aloud, and opened her eyes. She was looking into a man’s face, a tanned strong face with irregular features and a scar bisecting one cheek. It wasn’t a handsome face—until one met the blue, blue eyes.

  “So you’re awake at last, sleeping beauty.” The voice matched the face, very hard and male, with the unexpected overlay of a soft southern drawl. Lisa blinked, not taking her eyes from the man. At her bemused expression he smiled. One long-fingered brown hand came up and very gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked. Lisa nodded faintly, still staring. His teeth were slightly uneven, she noted, but they were very, very white in his dark face.

  “Where am I?” she whispered. Her voice frightened her because it was so weak.

  “You’re safe,” he said, not really answering, but it was the answer she wanted.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Sam. Sam Eastman. Who are you?”

  “Lisa Collins.” Her voice sounded as if it were coming from far away. Lisa began to wonder if perhaps she was imagining this whole conversation, if she had imagined the job, the fire, everything that had happened. If perhaps she had lost her mind in her grief over Jennifer’s death . . .

  “Are you real?” The suspicious question made him smile again.

  “More real than you, I imagine, honey. Do you feel up to talking? Can you tell me if you have people somewhere near, somewhere we can take you?” He sounded kind and concerned. At his deliberate gentleness, Lisa felt hot tears begin to well in her eyes.

  “I’m from Maryland,” she whispered forlornly.

  “Okay.” The word was soothing. “Don’t cry about it. You’ve been through a bad time, but you’re going to be just fine. Now what you need is rest. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Lisa echoed with a quavery attempt at a smile. In her present confused state she would have agreed with anything he suggested. It was strange, the effect he had on her. He made her feel safe, safe and protected. . . .

  Sam turned away to pick up something from the overturned box that served as a makeshift bedside table. Lisa’s eyes never left his face as he turned back to her. Once again something pricked her arm. Groggily she realized that what had pulled her from her dreams had been the jab of a hypodermic needle. She continued to stare at him until the drug took effect and her eyes closed. . . .

  When Lisa woke again she became aware of several things at once. One, it was night. Two, she was in a large tent, its green canvas sides illuminated by a battery-powered lamp. Three, she was dressed only in a man’s oversized shirt, and lay on an army-issue cot with a blanket over her protecting her from the night air. And four, she hurt.

  She tried to sit up. Movement brought pain, but so did not moving. So Lisa persisted, struggling upright, holding herself there with her hands braced against the metal poles that formed the cot’s sides. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of her arms, bare where the shirt sleeves were rolled up. Her once-smooth flesh was covered with deep scratches and red, angry-looking welts. With a small, incredulous sound, Lisa lifted one hand to touch the ugly marks on the opposite arm, and promptly lost her balance and fell back in the cot.

  “Damn!” she swore out loud, not moving for a moment because of the pain that seemed to stab her in a hundred places at once. As soon as she said it, she felt better. It was good to know that at least her voice was back to normal.

  “Is that any way for a lady to talk?” a gently mocking voice chided. Lisa looked up quickly as the tent flap parted to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered figure, stooped now as he entered through the opening, which was many inches too short for him. The sight of his khaki uniform made her eyes widen in instinctive fear, and then she looked up to meet the blue eyes and relaxed.

  “Hello,” she said, feeling ridiculously shy. She made no further attempt to sit up, but lay back in the cot, her blond hair fanned out over the utilitarian pillow and trailing over its side and down toward the floor. A faint, tentative smile of welcome curved her lips.

  “Hello,” Sam answered gravely, his eyes glinting as they ran over her. “What was the naughty word in aid of?”

  “Oh.” Lisa remembered the marks on her arms almost as an afterthought. “I fell over. I was looking at my arms. They look awful—like somebody took a whip to them. What happened?”

  “Do you remember running through the jungle?”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Well, it’s my guess that you tore up your arms then. You’ve also got some pretty nasty marks on your back—burns, I think. And bruises everywhere.”

  “The fire—the Blasses—how long ago was that?” she asked, her throat suddenly constricting.

  “Four days.” Sam’s eyes were steady as they met hers. “We found you in the jungle—or, more properly, you found us—and we brought you back to camp with us. We—uh—went by the farm after we found you. If they were your folks, I’m sorry.”

  “They weren’t.” Lisa closed her eyes briefly, swallowing. “I hadn’t known them long—less than two days. But they were so nice. . . .”

  “Tough.” His voice conveyed rough sympathy. Lisa opened her eyes. She didn’t want to think about the Blasses. . . .

  “Are you a doctor?”

  Sam grimaced. “Hardly. I know a little elementary first aid. You pick things like that up, in this line of work.”

  “What line of work is that?” Lisa asked faintly, although she was afraid she already knew.

  “I’m a soldier,” he answered, as she had known he would.

  “For—for which side?” Lisa hated to think that he might be on the same side as the animals who had attacked the farm.

  “At the moment, the government’s. But I’m flexible. My men and I are available to anyone who can meet our price.”

  “Your . . . price?” Lisa repeated blankly, not understanding. Then, not wanting to, she added hastily, “You’re an American, too, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.” His voice was expressionless. Abruptly he hunkered down beside her, his forehead corrugating in a frown as he took one of her arms in his hands.

  “You’ve opened up some of these sores, moving around. Have you done yourself any other damage?”

  He laid her arm carefully down beside her, then reached forward to draw the blanket down to her feet. Lisa shrank back instinctively. His eyes flickered to her face, grew thoughtful.

  “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you,” he said, rocking back a little on his heels. “But I need to check the burns on your back. You don’t want them to get infected, do you?”

  “N-no.” Lisa met his gaze, held it for a moment, and felt like a fool. After all, the man had clearly been tending her injuries the whole time she’d been unconscious. It would be ridiculous to kick up a fuss at this late date. Besides, she instinctively felt that he was someone she could trust. . . .

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured contritely. “I know you won’t hurt me. It’s just . . . just . . .”

  “Just what?” he prompted when he saw she wasn’t going to finish.

  “Your uniform,” Lisa answered in a rush, averting her head. “The soldiers at the farm . . . they wore uniforms like that. I’m sorry, I know you weren’t one of them, but I can’t help it if it makes me feel a little . . . sick.”

  Comprehension dawned in his face. He raised his hand to cup her chin, turning her face toward him, studying it.

  “I didn’t realize . . .” he said reflectively. “That’s why you ran like a scared little animal when you saw us. And you screamed like you’d gone crazy—I had to knock you out to sh
ut you up.”

  “You—you hit me?” Lisa asked faintly, suddenly feeling uneasy. What did she know about this man, after all? He was a soldier, which in her opinion was merely a euphemism for a paid killer, and he hit women. . . .

  “I had to. You were screeching louder than a four-alarm fire. Another few minutes and the whole rebel army would have known our position.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Now would you mind turning over? I do have other things to do besides playing nursemaid to you.”

  Dumbly, Lisa complied, lying on her stomach with her face turned away from him. She felt color burn her cheeks as he slid the shirt up over her buttocks and back, stopping in the vicinity of her neck. She cringed at the realization that the whole rear of her body was left naked to his gaze. . . .

  He began to smooth a cooling cream into the sores on her back, his touch impersonal and yet oddly comforting. Gradually Lisa began to relax. Soldier or no, to her he’d been unfailingly kind. . . .

  “There,” he said at last, pulling down the shirt so that she was decently covered and then drawing the blanket over her. Lisa turned so that she faced him, her cheeks still feeling faintly flushed. He noticed her heightened color and grinned, his eyes teasing.

  “Hungry?”

  Lisa nodded. Come to think of it, she was ravenous. It was possible that the disoriented feeling stealing over her was the result of not having eaten for days.

  “I bet you are,” he answered, his grin widening. He stood up, his head bowed in the too-small space. “We had pork and beans out of a can for supper. Fancy some?”

  “I—I guess.” If her voice was doubtful it was simply because she had never eaten pork and beans out of a can before and had no idea whether her stomach would tolerate it. But she was hungry enough at this point to try anything.

  Sam was already crossing the rubber-sheeted floor to disappear through the tent flap. She heard him call, “Riley,” and then caught just the murmur of his voice as he talked to the other man. In what seemed like seconds he was back, carrying a tin plate piled high with steaming food. Lisa looked at it, smelled the spicy aroma, and was doubtful. Then her stomach rumbled loudly. She flushed with embarrassed surprise, and Sam’s lips quirked with humor. But he refrained from making any comment, for which Lisa was grateful.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said as she struggled into a sitting position. Before she quite realized what he was about, he put down the plate on the overturned box and straddled the end of the cot behind her, pulling her shoulders against him so that his body acted as a back rest. She allowed him to situate her as he wished, leaning back against his chest as trustingly as a child. By the time they were settled, his arms were around her waist and the plate of food rested on her lap.

  “Can you manage?” he asked when she made no immediate move to eat, his breath stirring the soft hairs on the top of her head.

  Lisa slanted a look back at him, was surprised to find his face so near, and hurriedly glanced down at her plate.

  “Yes, thank you,” she murmured, feeling strangely breathless, and without more ado began to eat.

  When the food was all gone she rested back against him contentedly, feeling replete. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to be held in his arms in such a way. Already she was feeling much better, strength flowing back into her limbs, her head clearing. She felt warm and comfortable—and secure. . . .

  Her head was pillowed on the rock hardness of his shoulder, and she swiveled her face around so that she could look up at him.

  “You’re being very kind to me,” she murmured, her eyes wandering curiously over his face. At such close range she could see the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his blue eyes as well as the deep grooves bracketing his mouth. His skin, she saw, was the color and texture of leather, weathered by the sun and wind, with the jagged, whitened scar she had noticed before cutting across his left cheek. His hair was thick and black, with an apparent tendency to curl, and he wore it cut ruthlessly short. His nose had a bump on the bridge as if it had been broken once and improperly set, his mouth was long and hard with a faintly sensuous-looking lower lip, and his jaw was square and thickly covered with black bristles as if he hadn’t shaved in several days. He looked both uncompromisingly masculine and thoroughly disreputable. Lisa was astonished at how totally safe he made her feel.

  “Taking inventory?” he drawled, sounding amused. Lisa merely smiled dreamily in reply, allowing herself the luxury of nestling more fully into his arms. It was wonderful to have someone strong and male to hold her, someone who was more than able to protect and care for her. . . .

  “Sam?” she murmured, suddenly feeling drowsy. After she said it her eyes flew guiltily back to his. She had not meant to say his name aloud, but merely to test it mentally. . . .

  “Lisa,” he responded with a shade of mockery, even as his arms tightened their grip on her.

  “I must look a terrible mess.” The words were said at random. She felt groggy, as if she were floating away on a cloud. Her eyelids were so heavy. . . . They fluttered down, then rose again.

  “You look—fine.” His voice was suddenly husky. “And now I’d better let you get some sleep. You’re dead beat.”

  “Don’t leave me,” she protested, surfacing from the oblivion that threatened to claim her and clutching at the hand that still gripped her waist. But he got inexorably to his feet, lowering her gently back into the cot.

  “I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he said, his voice already sounding far away. Before he turned to leave the tent Lisa had fallen asleep.

  Sometime during the night she began dreaming again, vivid, full-color dreams that seemed realer than life. At first they were pleasant, dreams of things she had seen and done as a child, but gradually they turned into nightmares. Finally she had a particularly horrible one about a fanged monster that was chasing her. She knew if it caught her it would kill and eat her. . . . Then fire started shooting from its mouth—red tongues of fire that reached for her, curling around her body, burning her. . . .

  Lisa screamed. The sound was ear-shattering and dragged her, shaking, from her nightmare. She lay huddled beneath the blanket, trembling, for the moment not quite sure where she was. The thick darkness she was lost in lightened for an instant into charcoal gray, and she could just make out the outline of a man’s broad form silhouetted in the open tent flap. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see it. Maybe it was just another specter from her nightmare. . . .

  “Lisa?” The voice was low and familiar. Lisa opened her eyes to see a dark shape looming over her.

  “Sam?” The identity of the owner of that voice burst on her like a revelation. Blindly she reached for him, feeling as if she would be safe only if he would hold her in his arms. He bent toward her, and her hands touched bare, muscled shoulders, slid around his neck, and clung, pulling him down with a strength she hadn’t realized she possessed.

  “Hold me, please, Sam,” she whispered brokenly.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Strange how that voice had grown so familiar to her in the short time she had known it. It was as if he was her dearest friend, someone known and trusted who could be depended on to keep her safe. . . .

  “Oh, Sam, it was awful.” The words were muttered shudderingly against his throat, her hands clutching him as if she would never let him go. He came down onto the cot with her, pulling aside the blanket to draw her fully against him. His arms came around her, pressing her to the long, hard length of him. Lisa’s own arms stayed locked around his neck.

  “Tell me about it,” he murmured, his hands stroking her tumbled hair soothingly. She poured out the jumbled story of her nightmare while he held her, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her back. When she got to the part about the fire, she trembled and his grip tightened comfortingly. Lisa buried her face in the hollow of his neck when she finished, drawing a deep, shaking breath and closing her eyes. He said nothing, just continued to hold her, his hands never ceasing their gentle
caresses.

  After a few moments Lisa became aware of his chest hair tickling her nose. She moved protestingly, but the sensation didn’t go away. So she put out her tongue to push it aside, only to encounter the warm, salty-resting skin of his neck.

  Unthinking, she followed her instinct, letting her tongue explore the throbbing hollow and find its way up the strong cord of his neck. Beneath her ear she could hear his heart begin to pound in slow, steady strokes. The sound excited her. Lisa opened her lips against his throat, kissing it. She felt his body tense.

  “Lisa . . .” he said hoarsely, warningly. She kissed his throat again, passionately, refusing to think of anything except how right it felt. . . .

  “Love me,” she whispered against his skin. “Please, Sam, love me.”

  Lisa heard the harsh indrawing of his breath with a little glow of satisfaction. It was intoxicating to realize that he wanted her, too. . . .

  “Lisa . . .” He seemed still inclined to argue, so Lisa did what all her senses were clamoring for her to do. She touched him, blind in the pitch darkness, one hand sliding down over his hair-roughened chest, sensuously stroking his flat, hard-muscled belly, coming to rest at the waistband of his pants. There it hesitated for an instant, then slid inside, worming its way across his tightening abdomen to surround the huge, granite monolith that burned and throbbed at her touch.