What the Waves Bring Read Free

turned away.
    Tired feet squished their way back to the bedroom, their
noise reminding her of her own sodden state. Within minutes, dry clothes lay across her arms and, with a brief glance at the quiet form on the bed, she hastened to the bathroom to administer to her own chill.
    The sight that met her in the mirror shook her. “Lord help me, if he wakes up now he’ll wish he hadn’t!” Her hair was matted in straggles, her face pale, her eyes hollow pools of chocolate. Within minutes, fresh water warmed her cheeks and a brush worked its way through her tangles. Her damp clothes hit the hamper, replaced by dry jeans and a shirt. A second glance in the mirror was more rewarding. The brush had returned a chestnut gleam to her long tresses, and the warmth of the water and clothes had heightened the color on her cheeks. That the day had strained her, her eyes could not deny. Yet gold sparks flickered once more amid the brown, a sign of marginal refreshment.
    Her satisfaction was short-lived, however, as an agonized groan brought her on the run. Pulling her heavy woolen sweater into place, she returned to the bed. The man within had rolled onto his side; his shivering was evident even through the thick covering layered about him. Sitting quickly, she resumed her rigorous massage, rubbing his back and arms, then moving to will warmth to his legs. His eyes remained shut, his face half-buried in the pillow.
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” she murmured to herself, as much as to him. “It’s warm here now. Please feel it …” The words fell victim to her work as she put all concentration into the rubdown her hands mechanically maintained. When he moaned again, she moved closer. “Can you hear me?” she begged softly, soothing the dark swath of hair from his temple, relieved to see that the gash there had begun to crust. “Are you awake?”
    No answer met her plea. Her hand was warm against his cheek, and she felt his returning warmth with gratitude.
Gently, her fingers slid down the column of his neck to the blanket edge, sliding beneath to rest lightly on the reassuring warmth of his chest. That he was strong of build was no surprise to her, considering the reserve of strength he must have called upon to withstand his ordeal at the hands of a merciless ocean’s fury. That he was also extremely good-looking now became very clear.
    Her soft brown-eyed gaze touched his rugged features, examining them one by one as though to piece together the puzzle of his identity. There were neither scars nor marks, save those from his present trial, and even in his present spent state, the power of the man was evident. His scent, as his skin warmed to a more healthy tone, was clean and male. To her dismay, there was nothing at all offensive at the thought of this total stranger lying in the middle of her own large double bed.
    Raking tapered fingers through the dampness of her chestnut hair, she chided herself at the irrelevancy of her thoughts. No time to get romantic, April Wilde, she told herself sternly, then pivoted toward the kitchen for a pot of steaming soup.
    To her chagrin, however, her patient was unable to take a drop when, a few minutes later, she returned and tried to spoon-feed the hot liquid through his firmly shut lips. Commanding as he may have been in other times, exhaustion was clearly his master now. There seemed nothing for her to do but let him rest.
    Gingerly, she placed his dark head back on the pillow, only then noting that the blankets had fallen to midchest, where a fine coat of salt crusted the light furring of dark hair. The breadth of his shoulders startled her, drawing her fingertips inexorably downward. Palm resting on his heart, she reveled in the strength of its beat, and the muscled wall surrounding it. For a water-logged sea rat, she mused, with her first semblance of a smile since spotting his bobbing head several hours before, he was quite
a figure of a man! If