Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

hope he could drive himself the rest of the way. And that was if she could wake him at all.

He’d needed food and sleep. She’d fed him. And now she could let him sleep.

She retrieved a pillow and blanket from the closet, took his shoes off, then tried to swing him around to stretch out on the length of the couch with his head on the pillow. It wasn’t easy.

His shoulders were too broad for her to get a good grip on from this angle of bending over him across the couch. And tugging on one didn’t work. He was solid–and heavy–muscle. She should have remembered that from the sensation of his weight above her, his strength beneath her when they–

Inhaling sharply, she stood straight, shutting off the memory.

But she couldn’t shut off her senses. Her hands still tingled with the warmth of his shoulders. And she couldn’t shut off her body’s reaction to either the memory or her senses.

Heat pooled deep in her belly, leaving a shiver of awareness along her arms and a tightening in her breasts.

Thank God he’s asleep.

The scrap of grateful prayer reminded her of how exhausted he was. How badly he needed sleep–her reason for leaving him on her couch in the first place.

She tugged again. Nothing.

“Daniel, you are as stubborn asleep as you are awake.”

He stirred and murmured something. It might have been her name.

She couldn’t manhandle him into a comfortable position, but maybe–just maybe–she could talk him into it.

She crouched, partly on the cushion, got as good a grip as she could with one arm on his shoulder and the other partly around his rib cage and put her mouth close to his ear.

“Daniel . . . Daniel, come this way.”

He grunted and turned toward her.

“That’s it. A little more. Lie down, Daniel. Right here. That’s right,” she encouraged, as he started to tip toward her.

Then, before she could react, he had wrapped his arms securely around her and dropped down to the cushions, taking her with him.

“Daniel!”

He didn’t stir and his breathing didn’t change. Twisting her head at an awkward angle to see his face, she realized he was deeply asleep.

To consider the situation, she let her head drop to a more comfortable position, which happened to be where his neck met his shoulder.

She’d landed on her side, her front plastered against his side by his hold.

Even with the couch’s narrowness, she was comfortable. An almost familiar comfort, but a comfort with an underlying zing. His scent surrounded her as thoroughly as his arms did. The imprint of his hard, muscled body made itself felt from her head to her toes. Unpremeditated, her lips opened against the skin of his neck and she tasted the faintly salty musk she’d never forgotten.

How strange. Her breathing came faster, her heartbeat definitely faster, yet a strange lassitude affected her muscles. Even the one between her ears. She should be thinking, not lying in Daniel Delligatti’s arms while he slept. And yet . . . it felt so . . . peaceful? No, there was too much physical awareness to call it peaceful.

Maybe for a little while she could stay like this–

No. No, she couldn’t.

“Daniel. You have to let go,” she said sternly, trying to pull away from him, not caring if she woke him. She had to break his hold on her now.

Using one hand to push against his torso, she picked up his arm from on top of her, then rolled free, ending on her knees on the floor.

She was still breathing heavily as she spread the blanket over him, then sat abruptly in the easy chair across from the couch.

She didn’t know how long she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, with nothing as coherent as a thought emerging from the tumbling chaos in her mind.

Fragments of memories, of conversations, of people came to the surface, then disappeared again. Emotions of fear, sadness, anger, sorrow . . . yes, and desire and the triumph of surviving. They all combined, separated and rejoined.

Three years ago she never would have hesitated over this situation. She’d have closed the door of her life on a man like him without a moment’s hesitation.

But three years ago there hadn’t been Matthew’s future questions to consider. Three years ago she hadn’t had the security of her life in Far Hills or the daily support of Marti and Ellyn. And three years ago she hadn’t gone through a hurricane with the man now lying on her couch.

A man who’d saved her life, probably more than once. A man she’d trusted with her life.

A man in pain.

Maybe Marti was right. Maybe she could help him heal. Help protect him from the storm that pursued him as he’d once protected her from Aretha.

She’d still have to be careful about Matthew, of course. Not let him get too attached to Daniel.

Because the very reason she could consider trying to help Daniel heal was the same reason he could hurt Matthew so desperately–because in the end Daniel Delligatti would leave.

He needed to fly. He’d said that himself.

And flying would always take him away.

Yes, she was attracted to him–deeply attracted to him, as their history, ancient and more recent, proved. But as long as she kept her head on straight and remembered why this man was so impossible for her and dangerous to Matthew, it would be okay.

And she could do that. She would do that.

She’d keep Matthew safe. And she’d be safe.

She’d make sure of it.

*

Daniel was still asleep when Kendra got up the next morning.

It was strange waking up in a house that didn’t have Matthew in it and did have Daniel in it.

She peeked at him from the hallway and saw he’d turned on his side, facing the room. He slept on.

By the time she’d showered and pulled on sweats, he seemed more restless. She left a clean towel and washcloth folded on the coffee table in silent invitation, then headed to the kitchen.

She was sipping from her first cup of coffee when she heard the shower start. She hadn’t heard