An Unforgettable Lady(49)

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying." He watched as her shoulders set like concrete.

"Tell me what woke you up earlier."

She waved him away. "I'm fine."

Smith took a deep breath. Sniveling women had never had much power over him. Any power, actually. He was attracted to strength, not weakness.

But he couldn't turn away from the sight of her so alone on that big bed, trying so hard to look composed.

"You're not fine."

When she turned to him, her green eyes were hostile.

He almost smiled, thinking he knew all about that kind of reaction. All about pushing people away.

"I thought we weren't supposed to get to know each other," she said hotly.

He shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong."

No, he was right. But, even though his instincts were screaming for him to go back to his bedroom, he was going to stay with her until she calmed down.

She regarded him steadily. "Okay, then you can go first."

With a determined sniffle, she crossed her arms over her chest. When he remained silent, she gave him a sharp look.

"What? There's nothing you want to share? No deep dark secrets you want to talk about?"

"This isn't about me," he said gruffly.

"Do you ever let it be about you? "

Not in a million years, he thought.

"Look," he said reasonably, "you're under incredible stress right now. Letting some of it out might help."

"Screw. You." She flashed him a glittering stare. "How's that?"

He smiled at her, relishing her backbone. "Pretty strong words for a countess."

"Well, I'm not feeling real royal right now. I'm tired of falling apart inside and having to pretend I'm—I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "The stiff upper lip routine can be an exhausting bore when your life is a mess."



He watched as she climbed in between the sheets and pulled the lace coverlet up to her chin. "Now do you mind? I'd like to get some sleep."

Smith approached the bed and watched her eyes widen as he sat down next to her.

"Tell you what," he drawled. "I'll do you an eye for an eye."

"What?"

"I tell you something about me but then you've got to talk. I'll even let you pick. You want to hear about the hell of Ranger school? How about the dry heat of the Gulf War ? You want to know what gives me indigestion? It's not Mexican food."

She looked at his face for the longest time. "You're serious?"

Dammit to hell, it appeared he was.

"Yes, I am."

She pushed herself up so she was sitting against the padded headboard. She was, he thought, temptation personified. Her hair, which was flowing around her shoulders in loose waves, glowed with blond highlights. Her beauty was classic as always, but with her parted lips and her nose a little red from crying, there was an enticing vulnerability to her.

He forced himself not to assess what the bodice of her nightgown might or might not be revealing.

"I want to know about the scars," she said abruptly.

Smith had to physically restrain himself from recoiling.

Shit. That wasn't what he'd had in mind.

He'd been prepared to give her a short take on how to handle a hard-ass battalion commander. Maybe a little wartime story with a happy ending, like when he'd saved that old man and his family. And being lactose intolerant was no big deal.

But the scars? He didn't talk to anyone about them, not even his boys like Tiny and Eddie.

Not all of the wounds had been inflicted on him as an adult.

"You said I could pick," she whispered. "And I have."

Smith cleared his throat, searched his mind for words and came up with a whole lot of nothing.

Her hand landed softly on his shoulder and he flinched. Through the undershirt, he could feel her fingers move slowly down his back as she explored his skin, lingering here and there.

Smith would have run, if he could have. But his body felt like lead.

When she got to a round scar on his side, one of the oldest, she went no farther. "Tell me about this one."

An image cut through his mind with the gruesome precision of a knife and he saw clearly events that were decades old. Feeling nauseous, he told himself to keep quiet.

"Please."

The soft word was a promise of comfort that he'd never had. That he'd never wanted before.