The Right Touch. Eileen Nauman
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it about three weeks ago.” She sounded like a stammering eighteen-year-old.
Cal drew up her hand, positioning her wrist in a better light. “Yeah, there’s still some bruising. You can barely see it, though.” He looked up, his face inches from hers. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself fencing?”
His eyes were so wide and inquiring that Dev lost herself in them. Eyes that were at once intelligent, clear and yet filled with genuine concern. He wasn’t a sham, after all; she knew it in her heart. This was another side to the enigmatic Cal Travis. Dev blinked, shaken. She reclaimed her hand and took a step away from him. “No…I got shoved down by a couple of union guys about three weeks ago.”
“What?”
Dev’s lashes flew up at his growl. “I’m a television camera operator. The reporter, Tucker, and I had to go out and cover a strike. He wanted some close-ups of the union people having words with the police, and he ordered me into the confrontation. One of the guys tried to tear the camera off my shoulder and out of my hands.” Dev shrugged. “I held on to it, but me and the camera both went flying.” She glanced down at her wrist. “I took a bad strain, and I’ve been trying to baby my wrist along ever since then so I can fence at my best in this competition.”
Cal’s eyes flashed with anger. “Tucker was a fool to let you that close to something like that,” he snapped. “What’s the idiot got for a brain? A pea?”
Dev gave him a feeble smile. “Don’t be angry at him. He’s always where the action is. I only banged up my wrist a little,” she lied.
Cal threw his hands on his hips, assessing her. “That épée must weigh around a pound and a half. If you can’t even hold a lightweight piece of aluminum with that hand, how are you going to fence?”
Dev raised her eyebrows, pleased by his insight. “Good question. I’ll probably have to wrap it tightly and pray it holds up during the bouts. I’ll be back in a minute. I want to get a warm cloth and wrap my wrist.”
“No, sit down here. Let me do it.”
“But—”
“Sit down.”
Dev sat, rather shocked, watching him stalk to the bathroom. When Cal came back with the washcloth and hunched down in front of her, Dev held out her wrist. “I want you to know, I don’t normally take orders from anyone.”
Cal wrapped the cloth around her wrist, holding it between his hands. He raised his chin, meeting her cool blue eyes. Eyes that were flecked with gold spikes in their depths. “You’re pulling back from me. I guess sometimes retreat is the better part of valor.”
“You’re impossible, Travis.”
A grin lurked around his mouth. “Yeah, I know. And you like me that way.”
A flush invaded her cheeks. “I didn’t say I liked you at all!” she blustered, her flesh tingling madly where his hands rested. His touch was firm without being painful. As a matter of fact, her wrist felt better already.
“You also admitted I was handsome.”
“And a playboy. Don’t forget the last label. It’s the most important one.”
“What do you have against me enjoying the woman I want to give my undivided attention to?” he asked huskily, the vibration of his voice moving through her like a sensual drug.
Dev wanted to run. She was reeling from his decidedly masculine aura. “Nothing. Everything,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.
“If you were my woman, you wouldn’t be saying that,” he told her softly, his voice deep, penetrating.
Her defenses were up; the red light was going off in the back of her head, and she was trembling. Trembling! And it wasn’t from fear. It was from the promise in Cal’s intimate baritone, aimed at her. She swallowed. “My wrist feels better now.”
He shook his head, removing the cloth and then refolding it around her wrist. “Why are you afraid of me, Dev Hunter?”
Cautiously, she met his frank gray eyes. “You make me feel as if I’m being hunted.” She was completely unprepared as his hand left her wrist and framed her face, tilting her head slightly upward. His breath was moist against her flesh as he bent his head.
“You are….” he said thickly, his mouth slanting across her parted lips as he slowly drew her to her feet.
The breath was stolen from her body, replaced by the gentle invasion of his mouth, tasting, testing and teasing her lips. Her world shattered into a million golden fragments as Dev felt his hands frame her face, deepening the exploration, coaxing her to partake of the heat that boiled within them. She had no time to react, her hands automatically lifting to rest against the hardened muscles of his upper arms. The scent of Cal entered her nostrils, and she tasted the maleness of him. A driving hunger flared to life in her lower body, liquid fire racing through her as he continued to gently tease her lips with little nips, his tongue lightly stroking her flesh with unexpected tenderness. Her knees weakened, and Dev trembled outwardly as his onslaught continued. Somewhere in her stunned, incoherent mind, Dev recognized that if Cal had been ruthless or brutal, she would have reacted negatively. Instead, he had surprised her again. He was a man of war. Someone who was used to flexing his muscles and using his strength. But he wasn’t capable of using force on her. Dev found herself capitulating to his coaxing.
Cal slowly broke the kiss, need screaming through his hardened body. “God, you’re so sweet,” he rasped, looking deep into her dazed cobalt eyes. “Sweet and good and all woman.”
Dev blinked, languorously. If it weren’t for Cal’s fingers spanning her jaw, she would have slumped against him, dizzied by his kiss. She had never savored the utter raw sensuality of a kiss before as she had with him. Confusion darkened her eyes as she basked in his warmth. Dev saw a hint of a smile tugging at his wonderfully shaped mouth.
“Come on, I think you’d better sit down before you fall down.” Cal led her over to the settee, briefly keeping his hand on her arm. He picked up the cloth that Dev had allowed to drop to the carpet when he had kissed her. Going to the bathroom, he wet it again. Dev gave him a guarded look as he walked back toward her; he saw her defenses going up. Could he blame her? As he hunched down, Cal felt a wave of dizziness race through him. Not because of her giving, vulnerable kiss, either—because of the damn liquor he had consumed. Wrapping her wrist once more, he cursed himself. Now he wanted to be sober. To be clearheaded. Dev interested him. She was different. Independent. And she didn’t play games. Cal didn’t regret the kiss, but he regretted how he was feeling. It had been a stupid, immature idea to drink. Normally he’d have had a few beers, that was all. No carrier pilot lasted long if he hit the bottle.
“I have a favor to ask,” he began, meeting her grave eyes, “and I know you’ll probably think I’m playing a game when I ask you.”
Dev’s arm tingled where Cal’s hand rested. Her voice was soft when she answered. “Are you feeling bad?”
A mocking smile lingered on Cal’s mouth. “Not from kissing you, believe me. It’s from the scotch.” His brows drew downward. “To make a long story very short, Dev, I’ve had about seven hours’ sleep the past four days. All that liquor and I’m ready to keel over.”
“You’ll never make it back to your ship.”
“No, I won’t.” He glanced toward the beds. “If you could let me just kick off my shoes and sleep for a few hours—”
Her eyes flickered with concern. “Four days? Cal, what happened? I mean—”
His mouth thinned. “I can’t talk about it, Dev. Trust me, all right? Just let me get a few hours and then I’ll leave. I promise I’ll keep my hands off you. No games, my redheaded witch.”
She studied him for a moment. Her instincts always ran true, no matter how the rest of her was feeling. She searched Cal’s face, noticing that the skin was drawn