Best Kept Secrets(143)

right, that she hadn't minded having his hot, eager mouth at

her breasts, his deft tongue stroking her nipples into stiff

rosiness.

Of course she didn't. His dark frown stifled anything she

might have said. "You're gonna have to sit up again," he

told her curtly.

With a hand behind each shoulder, he pulled her into a

sitting position again and propped her against the headboard.

He gathered the T-shirt up and tried to pull it over her head.

Alex winced the instant he set it against her hair.

"This isn't working," he muttered. Then, with a single,

violent motion, he ripped the neck of the shirt wide enough

to slip over her head without causing any pain.

When she lay back down, she touched the long tear in the

fabric. "Thanks. This was one of my favorites."

"Sorry." He pulled the covers up to her chin and stood

up. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes."

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

She nodded weakly. "Do you need anything before I go?

Water?"

"Okay. Put a glass of water on the nightstand, please."

When he returned to the side of the bed, carrying the glass

of water, she had already fallen asleep. Reede stood above

her. Her hair, fanned out over the pillow, had bloodstains in

it. There was an unnatural wanness to her complexion. It

made him sick at his stomach to think how close she'd come

to serious injury or death.

He set the glass of water on the nightstand and gingerly



lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Alex stirred, murmured

unintelligibly, and extended her hand, as though reaching

for something. Responding to that silent, subconscious

appeal, Reede carefully covered her cut hands with his strong,

callused ones.

He wouldn't have been surprised if her eyes had popped

open and she had started rebuking him for taking her virginity.

How the hell could he have known?

And if I had known, he thought to himself, I would have

done it anyway.

She didn't wake up. She only snuffled softly and trustingly

curved her fingers over his knuckles. Good sense and impulse

warred within him, but the fight didn't last long, and the

outcome had been decided before his conscience raised its

head.

He eased himself onto the bed, until he was stretched out

full beside her, facing her, feeling her gentle, drug-induced

breaths against his face.

He marveled over the delicate bone structure of her face,

the shape of her mouth, the way her eyelashes lay upon her

cheeks.

"Alex." He whispered her name, not to awaken her, but

merely for the pleasure of speaking it out loud.

She sighed deeply, drawing his attention down to the torn

T-shirt. Through the tear he could see the smooth slope of

her breasts. Her cleavage was dusky in the faint lamplight,

shadowy and velvety, and he wanted to press his open mouth

there.

He didn't. Nor did he kiss her vulnerable mouth, even

though his mind was wildly occupied with how softly and

deeply and wetly she kissed.

He thought of fondling the tempting mounds of her breasts.

He could see the dark impressions of their centers behind the

soft cloth of the T-shirt, and knew that with the merest touch

of his tongue or fingertips, they would become taut. And that

damned T-shirt was far sexier than any fancy negligee and

garter belt that Nora Gail had ever worn.

It was hell to lie this close to her and not touch, but it was



heaven to have this much access, to stare his fill. When the

pleasure and pain of it got to be too much, he reluctantly

withdrew his hand from hers and left the bed.

After making certain that she had enough blankets, that

the medication had her completely sedated, he slipped quietly

out of the room.



Thirty-nine



"Come in." Junior was sitting up in bed watching TV and

smoking a joint when Reede entered his room. "Hi. What

brings you around?" He offered Reede the marijuana.

"No, thanks." Reede dropped into the easy chair and

propped his boots on the matching ottoman.

The room had undergone very few changes since the first

time Reede had been invited into it, although Junior had

updated the furniture when he elected to move home after

his last divorce. It was a spacious room, designed with comfort

in mind.

"Lord, I'm tired," Reede said, running his fingers through

his hair.

Junior pinched out the smoldering cigarette and put it away.

"You look it."

' "Thanks.'' He grinned ruefully. "How come I always look

like forty miles of bad road and you're always perfectly

groomed?"

"Genes. Look at Mother. I've never seen her mussed."

"I guess so. God knows my father didn't cotton to good