She wanted to crawl into hisskin. Maybe if she was sharing his skin, she’d be warm again. Be strong again. Be able to go five minutes without dissolving into a blubbering mess.
He hesitated. Just for a second. Then both arms came around her and nothing had ever felt so right.
“Tighter,” she whispered, her tears making her throat sound full. “Hold me tighter, Fish. Hold me as tight as you can so I don’t break apart.”
“I got ya.” His lips moved close to her ear. She could feel his warm breath blowing the damp strands of her hair. “And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now. But you’re goin’ to get through this.”
“It’s not fair. Why amIthe one who’s alive? What did I do to deserve to be here when the others aren’t? WhenCharlieisn’t?”
“Survivor’s guilt is a thing. That’s why we have a name for it. But a mind full of guilt is a mind full of spiders. I wouldn’t wish their bite on anyone. So ya got to let ’em go. There’s no shame in bein’ alive. There’sneverany shame in bein’ alive.”
“But Charlie…” Her voice broke on the name. “He was such agoodman. He should be the one here now and?—”
“Nope.” He squeezed her tighter. But not to keep her from breaking apart. He did it to stop her from talking. “I won’t hear another word like that. You’re the kindest, bravest, smartest woman I know. Charlie was lucky to have ya. And that ring on your finger says he knew it as well as I do.”
She screwed tight her eyes, heedless of how it made her bruised cheek hurt. “If you’d known Charlie, you’d know he deserved?—”
She couldn’t say the rest out loud. So she onlythoughtit.
He deserved so much more than me.
“It’s not about who deserves what. There’s no rhyme or reason for who fate chooses to take or spare.”
“He’s dead.” Even though she’d repeated the phrase dozens of times in her own head, it was the first time she’d said the words out loud. “Charlie’s dead.”
“I’m sorry as I can be for your loss.” He ran his hands up and down her back. Up and down in a hypnotic rhythm that turned her bones gelatinous.
Jell-O bones to match my mashed potato muscles,she thought a little deliriously.
His aftershave had worn off since he’d applied it that morning. But she could still detect subtle hints of it. It was masculine and earthy, with smoky notes like a fine Scotch.
Up and down. Up and down. His palms were wide enough to span her waist. His calluses occasionally snag on the terry cloth of her robe and her mind automatically conjured up fantasies of what it would be like to feel those big, worn hands running over her bare skin.
Had he heard the way she suddenly gasped?
Did he feel her heart pick up tempo?
Could he tell she was turning to liquid in his arms?
She used the excuse of having to tighten her belt as a reason to push out of his embrace. She spent longer than necessary getting the job done. Not because her hands were shaking—although they were—but because she needed the extra seconds to school her features. To wipe the hunger from her expression.
If she had thought she felt bad about laughing at a time like this, that was nothing compared to how truly awful she felt for experiencing desire.
She knew she must look a fright, because when she finally worked up the nerve to look at him, Fisher winced. “I should’ve brought up a steak for that bruise.” His finger moved over her injured cheek. His touch was so light she felt no pain.
“Are you saying you want to put your meat on my face, Fish?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
One slashing eyebrow arched over his forehead, and she was suddenly glad for the bruise. It helped hide the blush that crept into her cheeks.
“How much pain medicine did they give ya at the hospital?”
“None.” She grimaced. “I’m raw doggingthis concussion.”
“So then it’s just your scrambled gray matter that’s got ya throwin’ sexual innuendos my way?”
“It was a joke. That’s what we do. We joke.”
“That’s what weusedto do,” he corrected with a raised finger. “Recently we’ve been bickerin’ more than jestin’.”
