Page 63 of Silent Comrade
The floor was solid under her feet. Shestood up straight to ground herself.
What can I see?Love seat.
What can I hear?The low buzz of therefrigerator.
What can I smell?Damn it … pine andAl. She inhaled.
When she opened her eyes again, Al stoodright in front of her. Watching her. Waiting.
The hammering of her heart sped up. Sheneeded concrete activity. Needed to make a decision. Moveforward.
“All right, get in there,” She forcedlightness into her voice and pointed toward the bathroom. “Let’sget that cleaned up.” Playing with the hoop on her ear, she said,“Seems like we’ve done this before.”
His quick smile didn’t make it up to thetight lines around his eyes. Was he running on adrenaline? Heshould sit down and rest. Put pressure on the injury. Somethinglike that, right?
“Better if I take care of this one.” Holdingup a hand, he waved her away. “It’s not too far from a personalspot, so…”
Warmth crawled over her skin. The onlythought she could clearly articulate was the one she couldn’tspeak: boxers or briefs? Inquiring minds wanted to know. “Okay. Youknow where the first aid kit is, from, ah, the other day.”
“Got it.”
Lacking anything else to do, Britt took offthe jacket and laid it and her purse down on the table. Then shemade a few sandwiches. Because, after midnight, why the hellnot?
A few minutes later he exited thebathroom.
Oh, hell, no. Boxer-briefs, then.Great-fitting ones at that were not quite covered by the tanbutton-down shirt. Of course he couldn’t wear the ruined, bloodypants. But, wow. She tried not to stare, but his legs were cordedwith lean muscle and dusted with dark-red hair.
An elastic bandage wound around his upperthigh. No blood visible. That seemed like a good sign. He didn’tseem to be in pain. At all.
Her mouth had gone dry and God bless her,but she couldn’t stop looking.
“Britt?”
“Sandwich?” she blurted out.
In bare feet, he didn’t so much walk asstalk over to where she stood next to the small kitchen table. Theair left the room. She’d seen his ability to reduce armed men tocomatose lumps on the floor, and now with the unmistakable evidenceof his strength in his forearms and legs, Britt had two conflictingthoughts. One: she couldn’t imagine anyone making her feel safer.Two: she had zero chance to take any action if he objected. The guycould stop her easily.
Funny, though, he didn’t intimidate her.Didn’t lord his size over her, like many guys did.
Al intrigued her.
“I’d love a bite,” he said, licking hislips.
Was it possible to faint from sexualcraving, because the hunger in his baritone voice almost pushed herover.
Wait. Was this more of his act, like before?Damn her brain, but she couldn’t tell real sentiment from fake.
She handed him a sandwich and a Coke fromthe fridge. “Couch or kitchen table?”
“Couch.” He groaned as he eased into thecushions and stretched out his long legs.
The shirt rode up.
Oh, God.
Her mouth went dry. Well. Al certainly hadthe whole … package.
They chewed through PB and J in tiredsilence, Al’s jaw working each bite thoroughly, with focusedintensity. He licked his lips with a tiny tired sigh, the only signthat he was mortal. He took another bite.
