gone, or planning to wait us out and pick us off when we resurface.”
Daring a look his direction, she caught sight of blood seeping from an open wound on his upper arm and soaking into the wet fabric of his white shirt.
“You’ve been shot!” Concern, like a dry towel, soaked up the puddle of trepidation she’d been rolling in.
In one quick motion, she tore the veil from the hat, wrapped it around his arm and tied it to stem the bleeding. “It looks like a graze. We’ll call Doc Morton as soon as we get back to the lodge—”
J.P.’s hand on her arm made her jump. She bit down on her words, trading them for her lower lip. Tears dammed in her ducts. He’d seen her face. He was assessing it now, making a judgment call against her, pulling back, turning away.
Eve swallowed hard, feeling the weight of self-loathing threatening to take her down again into a dark place she’d barely escaped from once. She couldn’t do it again.
“I’ll track down the bastards. And when I find them...” His voice was a low whisper, a threat that pulled her gaze to his in the magnetic connection pulsing between them, alive and heated.
He reached out for her.
She closed her eyes, trying not to flinch as he pressed his open palm against her face.
His touch was tender, therapeutic, bold. She opened the floodgates and released the tears, focusing on the feel of his skin against hers, ignoring the tangle of fear knotting her thoughts.
With painstaking care he smoothed his hand along her cheekbone and down her neck. Everywhere the fiery pipe bomb’s reach had found her once-flawless skin.
A shiver quaked through her. She opened her eyes and trained them on J.P.’s, searching the depths of his blue gaze for any sign of repugnance.
Mesmerized, J.P. let his fingertips glide over the contours of her scars. “Skin grafts?” he asked, marveling at the surgeon’s handiwork.
“From my back and stomach. The skin there is most like the tissues of the face.”
“How many surgeries?”
“Five, and I’ll need another one this fall, but there isn’t any more the doctors can do for me.”
Respect festered inside of him. She’d been to hell and made it out alive, still beautiful and healthy. Part seductress, part girl next door, all woman.
He stared into her eyes, seeing a shadow of doubt emanating from within. She was still gorgeous, and somehow he had to convince her of it.
“I admire your moxie, Eve. Not everyone could have come through a tragedy like that as well as you have.”
She flinched against his palm. A brief involuntary reaction to his summation. In that instant he realized the depth of her trauma, of the annihilation of her identity. Someone had to put Eve Brooks back together again on the inside as well as her surgeons had done on the outside.
“You’re alive, you’re here...and you’re beautiful.” He let his hand fall away from her face but maintained eye contact, hoping she’d accept the truth from him.
Defiance flickered in her eyes for a moment, then vanished. Her sensuous mouth pulled up into a sad smile. “I’ve heard that line before.”
He wanted to shake her. Make her see what he saw, but it was going to take time. “Thomas?”
“Yeah. The day the doctor removed my bandages. It’s a wonder he didn’t run screaming from the room.” Her smile faded, her gaze turning distant. A single tear made it onto her cheek. She brushed it away. “I know he wanted to.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
“He’s a realist, J.P., as am I. Smart enough to know my million-dollar looks disappeared in a matter of seconds next to that California highway. I’m not going to get them back. If I hadn’t bent over to pick up the earring I’d accidentally pulled off with the telephone receiver, I’d be dead. As dead as the Eve Brooks brand will be if anyone ever sees my face again. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to keep it a secret?”
He hadn’t considered the impact this might have on her business.
Daring a look his direction, she caught sight of blood seeping from an open wound on his upper arm and soaking into the wet fabric of his white shirt.
“You’ve been shot!” Concern, like a dry towel, soaked up the puddle of trepidation she’d been rolling in.
In one quick motion, she tore the veil from the hat, wrapped it around his arm and tied it to stem the bleeding. “It looks like a graze. We’ll call Doc Morton as soon as we get back to the lodge—”
J.P.’s hand on her arm made her jump. She bit down on her words, trading them for her lower lip. Tears dammed in her ducts. He’d seen her face. He was assessing it now, making a judgment call against her, pulling back, turning away.
Eve swallowed hard, feeling the weight of self-loathing threatening to take her down again into a dark place she’d barely escaped from once. She couldn’t do it again.
“I’ll track down the bastards. And when I find them...” His voice was a low whisper, a threat that pulled her gaze to his in the magnetic connection pulsing between them, alive and heated.
He reached out for her.
She closed her eyes, trying not to flinch as he pressed his open palm against her face.
His touch was tender, therapeutic, bold. She opened the floodgates and released the tears, focusing on the feel of his skin against hers, ignoring the tangle of fear knotting her thoughts.
With painstaking care he smoothed his hand along her cheekbone and down her neck. Everywhere the fiery pipe bomb’s reach had found her once-flawless skin.
A shiver quaked through her. She opened her eyes and trained them on J.P.’s, searching the depths of his blue gaze for any sign of repugnance.
Mesmerized, J.P. let his fingertips glide over the contours of her scars. “Skin grafts?” he asked, marveling at the surgeon’s handiwork.
“From my back and stomach. The skin there is most like the tissues of the face.”
“How many surgeries?”
“Five, and I’ll need another one this fall, but there isn’t any more the doctors can do for me.”
Respect festered inside of him. She’d been to hell and made it out alive, still beautiful and healthy. Part seductress, part girl next door, all woman.
He stared into her eyes, seeing a shadow of doubt emanating from within. She was still gorgeous, and somehow he had to convince her of it.
“I admire your moxie, Eve. Not everyone could have come through a tragedy like that as well as you have.”
She flinched against his palm. A brief involuntary reaction to his summation. In that instant he realized the depth of her trauma, of the annihilation of her identity. Someone had to put Eve Brooks back together again on the inside as well as her surgeons had done on the outside.
“You’re alive, you’re here...and you’re beautiful.” He let his hand fall away from her face but maintained eye contact, hoping she’d accept the truth from him.
Defiance flickered in her eyes for a moment, then vanished. Her sensuous mouth pulled up into a sad smile. “I’ve heard that line before.”
He wanted to shake her. Make her see what he saw, but it was going to take time. “Thomas?”
“Yeah. The day the doctor removed my bandages. It’s a wonder he didn’t run screaming from the room.” Her smile faded, her gaze turning distant. A single tear made it onto her cheek. She brushed it away. “I know he wanted to.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
“He’s a realist, J.P., as am I. Smart enough to know my million-dollar looks disappeared in a matter of seconds next to that California highway. I’m not going to get them back. If I hadn’t bent over to pick up the earring I’d accidentally pulled off with the telephone receiver, I’d be dead. As dead as the Eve Brooks brand will be if anyone ever sees my face again. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to keep it a secret?”
He hadn’t considered the impact this might have on her business.
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