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  “But just the other day I heard him on the phone begging her to come over here.”

  “And bring the kids, no doubt. She’s made his life a living hell, especially in relation to his kids. She uses them to punish him. I’m telling you, she’s dangerous, and one day we are going to prove it. Then Royce, by God, is going to have his kids safe at home again for good. But I’m not sure he believes that anymore. I’m not sure he can, after what he’s been through. He’ll do anything for those kids, even beg Pamela to let him see them. Do you blame him?”

  Merrily bowed her head. If what Dale had said was true, if Pamela really had pushed Royce down those stairs—and Merrily had come to believe that she had, for no other explanation made sense—then it was understandable that Royce would feel helpless in the face of what must be Pamela’s obsession. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be rid of his ex-wife, but that he felt he could not be.

  Suddenly she saw everything in a different light, the inexplicable pull between them, those intensely sweet moments when he yielded to it only to push her away again. He was trying to protect her, just as he was trying, yearning, to protect his children. Silly man. Silly, wonderful man.

  “No,” she whispered, smiling inside, “I don’t blame him.”

  Chapter Nine

  Royce shifted to the left. Restless and edgy, he stared upward into the dark, trying to imagine the stars scattered across the sky like so much flotsam in an ink-black river. He saw instead his daughter’s pale, horrified face and his son’s small, confused one. With the vision came a whole host of worries, none of which he could alleviate. Helplessly he shifted to the right again and tried to blank his mind.

  He had slept more comfortably since the large, hard cast that had encased his shoulder and right arm had been reduced to a smaller, L-shaped one that covered his right arm from palm to mid-biceps. His pain had receded to mere aches and the occasional sharp stab when he did something he shouldn’t. But for the worry that constantly plagued his mind and the unwanted desire that left him languishing between gentle delight and sad regret, he might have found a certain contentment—enough, at least, to sleep. Not, however, this night.

  Tonight he could not shut off his mind. If he turned his thoughts from his children, they invariably landed on Merrily and what he could not have with her. In his desperation, he wished mightily for a cup of her infernal herbal tea, anything to bring respite from the fears and regrets and desires that consumed his peace of mind and destroyed any possibility of rest.

  Merrily would smile with satisfaction if she knew. No doubt she would even rise from her own bed and hurry to the boil the water if he asked her. Then again, perhaps not. In a hopeless effort to maintain some distance between them, he’d been barely civil to the woman, and it was killing him. The way he wanted her shocked him. Not acting on that desire was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He felt her with every breath he took, there, just out of reach, that delicious little bow of her mouth begging for his kisses. With a groan he squeezed his eyes shut and resolutely turned his thoughts away from Merrily Gage.

  The faces of his children once more rose before his mind’s eye. Was Tammy crying again tonight? How confused Cory must be! Dear God, when was he going to see them, talk to them, hold them again? It felt like forever since the last time they’d been together, since that last awful night. The reel of memory started to play again, but rather than relive those memories, he sat up and took stock.

  Okay. Waking Merrily was out. He would not disturb her rest. On the other hand, he was a mature, reasonable adult, and he wasn’t, after all, a complete invalid. Surely he could get himself down to the kitchen and make a simple cup of tea. The wheelchair seemed risky, given the downward slope of his converted hallway, and he wasn’t at all sure he could get himself back up those ramps with only his left arm for leverage. The crutches would require a great deal of effort, but he could rest along the way, enjoy his tea in the kitchen, and hopefully be worn-out enough by the time he got back, to finally sleep. The crutches it was.

  After switching on the lamp, he stood on his one good foot and hopped around the bedside table to the crutches propped against it. He steadied himself by leaning his newly mended shoulder against the wall while he got the crutch under his good arm. The second crutch provided nothing more than balance, really, because he still couldn’t put his weight on that shoulder, but as he attempted to maneuver the thing under his bad arm, he knocked the lampshade over, breaking the bulb to which it was clamped and plunging the room into darkness once more. Cursing under his breath, he attempted to make a ninety-degree turn away from the broken glass, only to stumble against the poorly positioned right crutch, lose his balance and fall heavily onto his bad side.

  Such pain streaked through his shoulder and leg that he cried out. Snapping his mouth shut, he rolled onto his back and tried to catch his breath, but one of the crutches lay beneath him and made a most uncomfortable bed. Angry at himself and in pain, he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. Just before he began the laborious process of getting himself up and back to the bed, the overhead light came on, momentarily blinding him. In a heartbeat Merrily was on her knees beside him, pulling the crutch free of his weight.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” he murmured apologetically.

  Ignoring that, she dropped the crutch on the floor beside him and asked, “Where are you hurt?”

  “I’m all right,” he snapped, thoroughly chagrined by this patent failure, but she began running her hands over his body, anyway. No recriminations, no scolds, just concern.

  “Does this hurt?” she asked, flexing the toes of his right foot with her hand.

  “No.” He sat up, legs splayed straight out and got his first good look at her. Legs and feet bare, long hair flowing down, she crouched beside him in a pale-yellow, oversize T-shirt of some sort. Her position pulled the fabric of the nightshirt tight across her nicely rounded backside. Royce gulped, looked away and managed to mutter, “Watch for glass. I broke the lightbulb.”

  She swept her hair back with one hand, lifting it away from her face. “I noticed. It’s okay. Looks like most of the pieces are on this side of the table. Just let me unplug the lamp, and I’ll help you up so I can vacuum the floor.”

  “I can get up by myself,” he grumbled, grabbing the crutch with his left hand and planting it.

  She just raised a brow and went to unplug the bedside lamp. When she returned, he had managed to pull himself up onto his left knee. With his right leg extended awkwardly, he really had no way to get himself up any higher. Crouching beside him once more, she gently removed the crutch from his grasp and laid it aside before wrapping her arm around his waist and lifting his arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to give you a little lift so you can get your foot beneath you. Then we’ll push up together and pivot toward the bed. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” he conceded with a sigh.

  She lifted with both her legs, and he got his left foot flat onto the floor by performing a kind of squatting hop. “Ready?”

  He nodded, trying not to think how good she felt against him. “Let’s go.”

  She pushed up to her full height, dragging him up with her. He helped as much as he could. Luckily, nothing hurt any more than usual. After steadying himself, he began moving toward the bed, hopping on one foot with her creeping along beside him. The bed seemed farther away than he’d realized, and suddenly feeling none too strong, he made a vain attempt to speed up. The next thing he knew, he was pitching forward and taking her down with him. Thankfully they landed partially on the bed.

  “Damn!”

  “My fault,” she gasped. “I got in your way.”

  He didn’t argue the point as they both struggled to right themselves, managing only to twist their bodies into a tangled heap with him halfway on top of her, his left knee between her thighs. He froze as she wrestled her own arm from beneath her, rolling her breasts against his chest in the process, and just that quickly he
went hard as stone, so hard that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the need standing rigid against his belly and trapped between them. He knew the exact moment she became aware of that need, for her gaze snapped up and locked to his.

  Nose to nose, they stared into each other’s eyes, fighting the one thing that must come next. Finally he gave in to it. Tilting his head, he put his mouth to hers, and she melted. Conversely, the unruly ridge of his desire stiffened and swelled against the jut of her hip bone, and he found that he possessed neither the energy nor the resolve to discipline it. His lips blended with hers so seamlessly that the very rightness of it filled him with equal measures of wonder and dismay; neither compelled him to draw back.

  Moaning softly, she lifted her arms about his neck, and he took advantage of the parting of her mouth to slip his tongue past her teeth. His left hand slid over her right hip and down her thigh, finding smooth flesh almost immediately. The big T-shirt had rucked up nearly to her hips. His fingers found the hem, slipped beneath it and moved upward again, skimming over the scrap of nylon that was her panties. Heart slamming in his chest, tongue exploring the moist, sweet cavern of her mouth, he stroked the silky skin of her abdomen, then pushed higher.

  To his frustration, the same garment which allowed such easy access below now blocked his path upward, having twisted and pulled tight just below her breasts. He thought his heart would break if he could not palm those ripe mounds as he had so often fantasized, but as he began an urgent retreat, she suddenly sat up, breaking the kiss and toppling him over onto his back.

  Thwarted, he made a sound of disappointment and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. The next instant something soft and light plopped onto his chest. Puzzled, he caught it up in his left hand and lifted his head to look at it. In the same moment that he realized he was holding her nightshirt, he swiveled his head sideways. The sight that greeted him nearly knocked out his eyeballs. There on her knees beside him, she sat back on her heels, naked except for tiny, pink bikinis. Her long, golden brown hair flowed down like warm, living silk. Her small, perfect breasts lifted with every breath, rose-tipped and just plump enough to fill his hands. The trim nip of her waist and flat belly, the delicate indentation of her navel, the smooth, slender length of her thighs, yards and yards of pale, creamy skin, all called to him in the most primal of ways.

  He tried to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but the sound gurgled in his throat, lost in the swamp of desire. Slowly, gracefully, she leaned forward, reached across him and laid her body against his. Sensations knifed through him from every direction, jolting his eyes closed, convulsing his hand so that he lost the T-shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, despite the cast on his right, and held on.

  How could he have forgotten what it was like to hold a naked woman against his body? Then again, had anyone else ever felt like this? He tried to think of someone, anyone, with whom to compare her, but they were all gone, those other women he had known. She might as well have been the first.

  For a long moment they merely lay there together, then she rose above him, straddling his hips. He opened his eyes and found her face hovering there just above his. How endearingly beautiful she was, with luminous eyes and a luscious mouth. And, oh, that hair! Gold and bronze, it draped and flowed around them, a silken curtain that puddled against his skin. He lifted his right hand and tangled his fingertips in it, while sliding his left over her body, feeling the subtle dips and curves, the cool smoothness of her skin.

  She parked her hands above his shoulders and rocked forward on her knees, lowering her eager mouth to his. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her down onto him. Emotion assailed him: bone-melting delight, gut-wrenching need, deep-as-the-earth gratitude and more. So much more. When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he went a little crazy, rising up beneath her, cupping her neat rump in his palm as he thrust his pelvis.

  It was not enough. His erection throbbed against her belly, making his head spin. Unbidden, a moan he hardly even realized he’d made rolled up out of his chest, an inarticulate plea for more, and instantly she recoiled, pushing up onto her hands and knees once more, concern clouding her loving eyes.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Hurt him? Hurt him? Hell, yes. “But in the most wonderful way,” he told her huskily. It was the wrong thing to say.

  She scrambled off of him. “Where?”

  For a moment he thought she was joking, but then he realized that she really didn’t have any idea what she was doing. He looked at that lithe, tantalizing body and that sweet, innocent face and knew that he would be her first—and that he could not be her first. Rolling onto his side, away from her, he tried to pummel his emotions into rational thought.

  “Royce? Are you all right?”

  “I’m…yeah, but it’s time for you to go back to your room now.”

  She neither moved nor spoke for several seconds. Then she eased closer to him. “I don’t want to go back to my room.”

  He sat up abruptly. “But I want you to,” he declared harshly, not trusting himself to look at her. He felt the bed move and knew that she was scrambling into the gown.

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  He heard the tears in her voice and fisted his hand in his lap to keep from reaching out to stop her. “I just forgot for a moment why this is such a bad idea. Now, please, just go.”

  She fairly flew off the bed. He heard an all-too-familiar thump accompanied by a sharp crack, but even as he swung around, pivoting on his hip, she was slamming the door behind her. He stared at that second broken lamp. This time the neck of the lightbulb had broken off entirely, leaving the still-whole bulb in the wire bracket of the lampshade, which lay at a tilt on the edge of the bed. He smiled, but it contained no joy, no amusement. Heart-sick, he rolled onto his stomach, pulled himself across the bed and unplugged the lamp’s electrical cord.

  For a very long time he stayed just that way, sprawled on the bed on his stomach, the overhead light showing him clearly what a selfish bastard he was to have ever let himself touch her.

  Perhaps he would send her away, he thought desperately. Surely that would be best. Her brothers would certainly be glad to have her back home, and he might rest easier knowing that she was not right there in the next room. He tried to imagine how he might manage without her and, to his dismay, simply could not, though one day he was bound to lose her. As soon as this stabilizer came off his leg, he would have no reason to keep her. Aw, God. His children. Merrily. How much more could he bear to lose?

  They sat at the breakfast room table, avoiding each other’s eyes over a meal that neither of them wanted, until Royce put aside his fork, lifted his hand to his forehead and said, “I’ll understand if you want to leave.”

  Merrily didn’t have to ask why, where or for how long. Although these were almost the first words he’d spoken to her this morning, she knew that he was speaking obliquely of what had happened between them the night before. All she could think about, on the other hand, was what hadn’t happened. The embarrassment she felt over throwing herself at a man who didn’t want her made every moment in his presence an agony, but she still had a job to do.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said succinctly. “You still need my help.”

  Several heartbeats passed before he said, “It might be best, anyway.”

  Recrimination spilled out of her mouth before she even knew it was there. “Surely you aren’t afraid I’ll try to make love to you again.” He winced, and she immediately regretted the snide remark.

  “No.” The word was spoken so softly that she might have missed it altogether if he hadn’t accompanied it with a negative shake.

  “But you still want me to go,” she whispered.

  He bowed his head, pulled in a deep breath and quickly looked up again. For an instant their gazes touched, then Merrily glanced away. “Please understand that I’m afraid of hurting you,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Y
ou’d have to understand Pamela to understand that,” he answered dismissively.

  “Then you do love her.”

  “Pamela?” Incredulity passed over his face at her timid nod. “Of course I don’t love Pamela! Good grief, I despise Pamela!” His brow furrowed, and he went on almost apologetically. “I know I shouldn’t. I know that she can’t help herself, and if it was just me, I could bear it, I could find a way to cope. But my children…” He shook his head. “Dear God, the hell she’s made of their lives. I can’t cope with that, and I can’t forgive it.”

  “Then why?” Merrily pleaded, more confused than ever.

  He placed his hand flat on the table next to his coffee cup, his face twisted with the sheer weight of his sincerity and concern. “Merrily, sweetheart, don’t you see? I can’t bring anyone else into this tragedy that is my life. You’re not the sort of woman a man can make love to and then let go. It wouldn’t be fair to allow you to become part of the nightmare. You’d turn into another target for her insane animosities. I can’t let that happen, not to anyone, but most especially not to you.”

  She was out of her chair and around the table before he finished, comprehension bringing elation. “Then you do find me attractive?”

  His mouth dropped open, and he lifted both eyebrows. “Attractive,” he echoed. “Attractive? You can’t possibly think… Good grief. Come here.” He slid his arm about her waist and pulled her down, turning her so that she slid back over the side of the wheelchair and into his lap. Cupping her chin in his hand, he tilted her head back and kissed her until they were both breathless. She found the prickle of his morning beard quite erotic. Then again, she found everything about Royce Lawler erotic. Finally lifting his head, he muttered, “Now tell me I don’t find you attractive.”

  The evidence had been growing for some time and now seemed quite strong, rigid, even. She resisted the urge to squirm against it and looped an arm around his neck, lying back against the other arm of the chair.