EMMA DIDN’T try to fight the tears that spilled from her eyes. Sagging against the bars of her cell, she wept silently as she savored the security and reassurance she found in David’s touch.
“Feel better?” he asked several minutes later.
Swallowing her tears, she managed a faint, “Yes.”
He squeezed her hand. “Emma, don’t cry. There’s no need, at least not now.”
“I know.” She drew in a shuddery breath. “I didn’t mean to go all soggy on you, but I’ve been so frightened.”
“With good reason,” he reminded her. “You aren’t alone, babe, so hang on to me for as long as you need.”
“What did I tell you about that ‘babe’ stuff?” she groused.
He chuckled. She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks with her free hand, and then held her breath when he began a slow exploration of each one of her fingers. He paused at the tips to run his thumb along the edge of her trimmed nails before he deliberately trailed his fingertips across the back of her hand.
Emma tumbled into the rainbow of sensations that shimmered just below the surface of her skin. His touch stunned and delighted her, and it created an acute yearning for much more of the same.
She sensed then that, as a lover, David would be exquisitely thorough. The thought brought her up short, and she decided that hunger and fear must be making her light-headed and fanciful. “The woman in your life must adore it when you touch her.”
His fingers stilled while she grappled with her own shock and embarrassment. “There isn’t a woman in my life, unless of course you’re counting yourself, Emma.”
It took her a full minute to wrap her mind around that. “I've always thought that the sensitivity of a man shows in his hands, and that his true nature is revealed through his touch.” She laughed then, the sound pitched high enough to betray her frayed nerves. “I’m saying things right now that I’ve never said to anyone before. I must be going a little crazy.”
“Standing in the dark in a prison cell on the wrong side of the world tends to change the rules, doesn’t it?”
She felt seduced anew by his low voice. “Then I guess that I can admit that I like your voice, too. It’s very sensual.” The darkness had made her braver than usual. Perhaps brazen. And probably quite foolhardy in the bargain.
“You’re easy to touch, Emma. Your skin reminds me of satin … smooth and incredibly soft.”
Stunned by the awe she heard in his voice, she trembled beneath his gentle stroking, but she didn’t pull away. She loved the warmth and substance conveyed by his fingertips. Convinced now that he possessed a deeply sensual nature, she allowed herself to bask in the fantasies he provoked.
“Do you play the piano?” he eventually asked.
She felt as though he’d asked her if she would consider making love with him. He had that kind of a voice, she realized. Seductive to the point of making her witless, and so damn erotic that he also made her acutely aware of her very limited experience with men.
“Emma?”
“Did your cell come equipped with a crystal ball?”
Instead of answering her right away, David slowly trailed a fingertip along the inside curve of her thumb. He lingered at the plump base, his touch light but also provocative. Emma shivered in response.
“You’ve got the finger length and spread of a pianist. My mother and sister both play,” he continued. “They insist that the hands go a long way in determining success or failure at the piano, especially for a woman.”
“I’m not very good at it.”
“I suspect that you're very good at everything you do.”
Shaken by his suggestive tone, she felt her heart lurch in her chest. Her only lover, a man long relegated to her past, had rarely praised her. If anything, he’d found fault with everything she did or dreamed of doing, especially when it concerned Child Feed.
“Hardly, but I try,” she finally murmured.
David slid his fingertips to her wrist. Emma held her breath and waited for his shock when he discovered her madly hammering pulse.
“Since I’ve been here, I’ve wondered over and over again if I’d ever touch a woman again.” He loosely circled her wrist with his fingers. “You’re so delicate and finely-boned, the least amount of pressure could damage you beyond repair.”
She laughed softly, thinking of the heavy luggage she routinely hauled around the world.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m a lot tougher than you can imagine.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you eat nails for breakfast and then lift five-hundred pound weights just for the hell of it?”
“Not exactly, but I’m certainly no cream puff.” She purposely shifted the conversation back to David. How else would she be able to satisfy her growing curiosity about him and retrieve herself from the sensual pool in which she was currently drowning? “You aren’t a small man, are you?”
He chuckled. “Hardly, I was a linebacker in college. My coach claimed I had what it took to turn pro, but it wasn’t what I wanted.”
“I’m a Charger fan.”
“Amazing! A woman who actually likes football.”
She grinned. “Sam calls me a salmon. He thinks it’s unnatural for a woman to appreciate contact sports.”
“I think Sam’s a tad cynical where you’re concerned.”
Emma laughed aloud. “Sam’s plagued with an incredible intellect, but he has to work at not being a sexist twit. He’s not really that bad, just annoyingly overprotective.”
“Maybe he loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
Something about his gentle tone of voice told Emma that David’s thoughts had returned to his family in Montana. “You’re thinking about your sister, aren’t you?”
“Bingo!”
Sensitive to the emotion that she heard in that single word, Emma quickly reverted to their original topic. “From what I know about linebackers, they’re broad across the shoulders, narrow at the hip, and they usually stand well over six feet tall, so how do you manage to fit into the cockpit of one of those little jets?”
“Snugly,” he teased. “Since you're obviously lusting after my bod, are there any other vital statistics you’d like to know about?”
“Your ego’s totally out of control, Major Winslow, but I still like your hands.”
“They’re really pretty beat up, especially after all those years of working on the ranch and then playing ball.”
“They might be beat up, but they’re the hands of a man who would never use his physical superiority against a woman,” she said.
“An observation like that makes me think that you’ve seen far too much of the cruelty in our world.”
“I've seen enough to know that the work I do is valuable, and I’ve experienced enough to know what I want and what I won’t tolerate in my personal life.”
His fingertips came to rest on the underside of her wrist. Her pulse accelerated even more. Emma froze, carnal images suddenly flooding her mind. His fingers on her body, his hands smoothing down her back to her hips, molding their bodies close together before he brought his hands forward and finally filled them with the weight of her aching breasts. A coil of desire tightened deep inside her. Her skin tingled. Although she knew the absurdity of her fantasies, she felt a riot of sensations explode into her bloodstream.
“Emma … ”
She registered his surprise in the stark manner in which he said her name, not just in the hesitation of his callused fingertips the instant he encountered her racing pulse. Embarrassed and certain he considered her response to him pretty much over the top, she waited for him to pull away. He shocked her by grasping her wrist even more securely.
“Babe?”
“Yes?” she whispered. She felt his tender strength glide over her skin like currents of sultry tropical air.
“Do I make you nervous?”
Startled more by the seductive tone of his low voice than by his actual question, she insisted, ??
?Not at all. Being in jail, however, isn’t exactly a tranquil experience.”
“Whatever you say.”
Turning her hand, she laced their fingers together. “Please don’t let go of me, David.”
His grip tightened, warmth flowing from his fingers to hers. “I don’t intend to, but I have to admit that your grip shoots my cream-puff theory all to hell.”
She grinned, some of her tension easing. “I think I like the sound of that.”
“I have a confession to make.”
“Be my guest,” she quipped, anxious to divert his attention away from her racing pulse.
“Touching you is incredibly arousing.”
Emma drew in a stunned breath. “But all we’re doing is holding hands.”
“I know. Shocking, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been alone for a long time, David.”
He exhaled so heavily that he sounded as if he was groaning. “It’s more than that.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Not just any woman would suit me,” he insisted. “I’m more discriminating than you seem to think.”
“I wasn’t trying to insult you, but two months of enforced celibacy can’t be easy on a man, especially a man like you.”
“A man like me?” He sounded both startled and offended.
Emma grappled with her own fluctuating emotions and the desire still flirting with her senses. “David, I’m not numb. Nor am I stupid. You’re obviously a very sensual man.”
“I’m not into sexual conquests.”
“Let’s change the subject. This conversation is academic anyway.”
“Is it?” he asked quietly. “You may not want to believe it, but there’s something happening between us, and it’s nothing so mundane as simple biological urges. I’m drawn to you, babe. I’m not sure why or if I even like the feeling, and I don’t understand it anymore than you do.”
She tried to tug free of his fierce hold, but she quickly discovered that he didn’t intend to relinquish her hand. “We need to concentrate on the basics. You know as well as I do that anything else is impossible.”
“I still want you, Emma. I don’t think that’s going to change.”
She trembled. “Maybe holding hands isn’t such a good idea after all.” She tried again to ease her hand from his grasp, but she failed.
“Please, don’t pull away from me. I need … I need you right now. There’s been precious little goodness in my life in recent years, not to mention the last few months.”
She ached to reassure him when she heard the raw emotion of his strained voice, but she still felt haunted by the accusations of inadequacy she’d endured from her first and only lover. She gathered her courage for an admission that she knew she needed to make. “I’ve never been very good at meeting other people’s expectations.”
“I don’t have any real expectations where you’re concerned, only fantasies,” he said tiredly. “Just be yourself, Emma. Nothing more, nothing less. I already like you too much to try to force you into being someone or something you aren’t.”
“Are you sure you can accept me as I am and not as you’d like me to be?” She waited for his reply, struggling for calm and for an understanding of the chemistry flowing between them.
“Very sure.”
Still uncertain despite his assurance, Emma waffled about how to respond, but her honesty triumphed. “David, I know there’s more between us than our physical proximity to each other. It’s just that a lot’s happened to me in a very short time, and I am nowhere near to coming to terms with it all. Not yet, anyway.”
“Believe it or not, I do understand what you’re going through.”
“I know you do. That’s why I trust you to respect my feelings.”
She felt him shift his upper body. His fingertips slid across her palm, prompting fiery sensations to flit over her nerve endings once again. She fell silent, her thoughts drifting through a bewildering maze of uncertainty and desire.
David asked, “Did they take your jewelry?”
A startled Emma jerked back to reality. “What jewelry?”
“Your watch, rings, necklace, earrings, that kind of thing.”
“Just my watch.”
His soft chuckle reached her. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“Ask what, David?”
“Are you engaged? Or worse, married?”
“Oh, no. Neither. Who in the world would put up with my travel schedule?” She hesitated, stumbling over the fact that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that David might be involved in a relationship. “Are you? Married, I mean.”
“I was until a couple of years ago. She hated the lifestyle.”
“Children?”
“None. You?”
“Not yet, but I want them very much.”
“Me, too, but I haven’t found a woman who’s willing to tolerate the constant transiency of military life. It’s not an easy way to live.”
“I don’t imagine it is for some people,” she mused, “although I’ve always believed that a woman, or a man, could tolerate just about anything under the right circumstances and with the right person.” She privately doubted that a life with a sensual, compassionate, and intelligent man like David would be at all difficult. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five … last week.”
“We’ll have a party when we get out of here,” Emma promised.
More relaxed now, he chuckled softly. She sensed his surprise at her offer. She also appreciated the fact that he didn’t question her motives. Growing inside her, she realized, was a profound need to bring pleasure into the life of David Winslow, but the impulse was too new and far too disconcerting to share.
Other than her family and the children served by Child Feed, Emma rarely invested herself in other people’s lives. She simply didn’t have that kind of free time. A fluke of fate, however, had altered her entire world, shrinking it in some respects, but expanding it in others.
David moved unexpectedly, and Emma felt his secure clasp on her hand loosen. Suddenly panicked, she grabbed for him before they lost contact altogether.
“Sorry. Just trying to get more comfortable.”
She took a breath and willed her heartbeat to slow.
“Emma?”
“I’m alright.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I didn’t mean to pull away or scare you, but I’ve got a cramp in my shoulder.”
“Then maybe we should … ”
“We’ll have to fairly soon,” he cautioned.
“Just warn me before you let go.”
“You’ve got a deal, babe.”
She relaxed when she heard his teasing tone. “You’re hopeless.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I guess I’m stuck with that ‘babe’ stuff, aren’t I?”
“It’ll be our secret.”
She warmed to the intimacy of his low voice. “Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’ll try not to cringe every time you use that abominable word, although it makes me think of Paul Bunyan’s ox.”
“I suspect you’re prettier.”
“I certainly hope so!”
“I've been wondering what you look like,” he confessed.
She shrugged. “I’m presentable.”
“Define presentable.”
“Well, you already know that I’m five-nine and have dark hair.”
“It’s really long, isn’t it?” His question contained a hint of seductive sensuality.
“Down to my waist. For the sake of convenience, I usually keep it braided.”
“And your eyes?” he prompted.
“Blue,” she answered. “I inherited my Mom’s Irish complexion. Dad’s northern Italian, and I share his penchant for good food. As a result, I’m always dieting.”
“I like a woman with meat on her bones.”
She laughe
d. “My hips express their deepest appreciation, Major Winslow.”
“You sound perfect.”
“Far from it, although I suspect that every woman wants to be viewed that way by at least one man.”
“You also sound healthy and just as I imagined you’d look. Most women starve themselves and assume that men like having sex with a stick.”
“Not an issue for me. I have too good of an appetite.”
David suddenly tightened his hold on her hand.
“Your shoulder again?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“The one the guards dislocated?”
“One and the same.”
His voice reminded her of a long stretch of rough gravel road, but she’d also heard the regret in his voice and it soothed her. “Maybe we should both try to get some rest now.”
David squeezed her hand before withdrawing his own. Emma kept her arm extended for a moment, reluctant to be separated from him.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I will be. I guess a dislocated shoulder takes awhile to heal.”
“Next time, tell me.”
“I was fine until a few minutes ago.”
She finally drew back, moved out of the cramped corner, and sagged against the wall. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, sadness and a renewed sense of isolation creeping into her heart as she listened to David pace the adjacent cell.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
Pushing her long hair away from her face, she straightened and returned to the bars at the front of her cell. She wished she could ease his pain, just as much as she wished that she could walk straight into his arms and remain there. Holding hands had reassured her, but it had also aroused more profound needs.
“Don’t apologize, David. It’s really okay. I’m going to get some sleep. You’ve been wonderful and very patient.”
“You make it easy, babe.”
“Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Emma retrieved her wool cape, wrapped it around herself, and sank down onto her pallet. Using her tote bag as a pillow, she curled into herself and closed her eyes. She conjured up the image of a large-boned, ruggedly attractive man – a man who possessed a ready wit, a deep reservoir of compassion, a disturbingly sensual voice, and the ability to make her feel secure in a prison cellblock on the wrong side of the globe.
With David Winslow strolling across the landscape of her thoughts, Emma soon drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 4