Genevieve couldn’t lie; she was worried. She’d certainly never tried to fix someone as badly injured as Alex had been, and her powers had been on a three-year leave of absence. What if she had screwed his body up somewhere inside? Alex had barely stirred over the course of an entire day and night. She’d managed to get him awake enough to drink some water periodically, and she’d changed his bandage twice.
The only thing she was hopeful about was the fact his various wounds did seem to be mending. In the meantime, she was going a bit stir-crazy, clutching her gun and refusing to sleep, terrified she would wake up with a criminal choking her.
With a sigh, she left her chair and walked over to her phone, already knowing the line would be silent when she picked it up. Yup, nothing. It had never been out for this long. Then again, she hadn’t tested it through a record snowfall. The lone fuzzy station coming through her battery-operated radio had confirmed that this was no little hiccup. What had been a few flurries the night she found him had turned into a massive dump of the white stuff that showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal, since she kept plenty of food and firewood on hand, and her backup generator would keep the heat on in case her power went down.
Of course, normally she didn’t have an ill man lying on her ground. Even if her ham radio had been functional, calling for help would be futile. The plows were busy shoveling out the more populated areas before hitting the isolated rural region she lived in. Likewise, even if she did still own a car, she couldn’t bundle the guy up and take him down blocked roads.
Genevieve exhaled in a rough sigh. The snow had never bothered her before. She loved tromping around her land in her boots. Unfortunately, her common sense had rejected that idea. She’d gone out once yesterday, rushing to the barn to feed her horse and chickens before sprinting back inside.
Alex probably hadn’t shot himself. So there was at least one other person out there with a gun. Granted, it would be tough to make it up to her place right now, but who knew when and where Alex had gotten hurt? By the extent of his injuries, it was quite possible he had been in the woods for a couple of days, as he said. However, it didn’t take much to get turned around in these trees. He could have been crawling around for a day or so within a one-mile radius.
She walked over to the window and peered outside into the winter wonderland, straining to see any movement in the trees, a knot of tension and resentment in her belly. Damn it, this was her world. Nobody should dare threaten it. Not again.
Her breathing accelerated faster than she could control it and Genevieve inhaled and exhaled, long and slow, until it steadied, despising the fear and helplessness she had not felt in so many years.
Damn the man and damn her conscience for being unable to stay uninvolved.He stirred behind her. Attuned to his movement, she spun around, but he was only settling into the mattress on the floor. Lucky guy. One night dozing in her chair and she’d kill for her plush mattress. Despite her guilt-induced bare trappings, she appreciated her little luxuries.
She couldn’t wait till he woke up so they could really have a chat. So far his only words had been variations of the same as he gazed at her as if she were a work of art:beautiful, prettyand one very mumbledsweet.
She snorted. Yeah, right. Not that she felt bad about her body, but she was realistic. In high school, she realized that she’d had the full three strikes against her: her mother and the fact they lived way out here, rumors of their bizarre powers and her weight. She’d been home-schooled for elementary school and middle school, too, so perhaps that was a fourth strike.
When she’d attended the University of West Virginia, she’d received her first taste of life away from a canopy of suspicion, and her self-confidence had grown a little at least. She’d had a few boyfriends, two who turned into lovers, one worth remembering: a sweet, normal guy named Billy, and they’d continued their relationship after they’d graduated. It had fizzled out and they’d parted amicably. In fact, Genevieve considered Billy one of her best friends. Though he lived two hours away, he’d come down to visit her a few times and called her regularly, though he was obviously puzzled as to why she’d dropped her life and moved back to her rural home three years ago. Particularly since her mother had been dead for two of those years.
Genevieve shook off that thought and concentrated on the man in front of her now. Her first impression had been accurate. He looked like he’d been fashioned to tempt good women into sin. All that tawny skin, the dark coloring, bulging muscles and a full lower lip that just begged to be nibbled…
She inhaled and glanced away.Bad Genevieve.Case in point, a man who tempted her—rational and pragmatic Genevieve—to sink her teeth into his body when he was lying on her bed unconscious, was definitely not a man who would fall in lust with her at first sight. Men who looked like him were invariably attracted to equally muscular and toned blonde bombshells. She was none of the above. Though working the small farm kept her healthy, she loved to eat, and she’d gained more weight since she’d lived here alone in the past couple of years. Sometimes in the winter all she could do was sit around and munch.
Speaking of which, she was starved. She shot her half-naked invalid another look before she carried her gun with her over to the fridge and propped it up against the counter. She was more at ease with the shotgun so she’d stowed the handgun away in her drawer. Did she really think the guy was going to be able to jump out of bed and grab her? No. But it made her feel more in control of the entire situation to have a weapon directly on hand.
Alex awoketo the finest scents in the world: bacon, coffee and woman.
God, he still hurt, the kind of hurt that went down to the bone. Oddly enough, though, he felt light years better than he had the last time he’d tried this. How long had he been drifting in and out of consciousness? Weeks?
As awareness returned to his mind, he nestled into the softness of the mattress beneath him, half afraid to open his eyes. What if his mystery woman had left? Or worse, never existed? What if he turned his head and found out that he was really just lying in some hospital or his old bedroom back at his mother’s Westchester home?
He rejected that idea. The woman was his lifeline. He didn’t remember much of what had happened to him, but seeing her had bolstered his will to live, he was certain.
Having learned his lesson, he opened his eyes in small increments. The curtains on the windows were tied back, flooding the room with sunshine, which didn’t help. The room was empty, and he felt deflated.
With the kind of practice that his job had honed, he took in the entire dwelling with a single glance. It was just one large rectangular room. His sharp eyes sought out the exits and noted with approval the amount of hardware on both the front and back door, which was partially open and looked as though it led to another room rather than the outdoors.
He lay in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace. The furnishings were sparse and utilitarian, with feminine touches here and there—a bright yellow rug on the floor, plaid curtains on the windows, a dented tin can filled with dried fall leaves on the table. A kitchenette with a small table, an old-fashioned refrigerator, stove and sink took up one corner and in the other lay a bedroom area, half hidden by a quilted curtain. No television or radio visible, but the bookshelf against the back wall was crammed with books, next to a comfortable armchair and floor lamp. Everything was neat and tidy, which appealed to him. He’d always been a stickler for clean lines and zero clutter.
A noise and a movement by the back door alerted him, and he lowered his eyelids to watch under his lashes as the woman entered the room. As she stepped into the sunshine, his heart accelerated.
He hadn’t imagined her amazing body. Those full curves were showcased in a pair of jeans and a bright red sweater. Her loose hair reached her ass and curled against the upper curve. The soft waves swung shiny and full as she walked to the stove with a purposeful stride and picked up the spatula.
His cock jerked, as if to remind him it was there.Down, boy. You’re not running the show here.Once again, though, he was gratified by the sign of life. If he was able to get turned on, surely he wasn’t too bad off. He sighed.
At the noise, she jumped and spun around. The pan clattered to the burner, and her exotic violet eyes pinned him.
No, not violet, he realized. Blue. A deep blue, so rich and shifting it gave off the impression of purple fire.
Like a lovesick fool, he was so busy waxing poetic, he didn’t notice her hand shooting to her side until an antique shotgun appeared clenched in her grasp.
So, his angel packed heat? She looked as if she knew what she was doing too, holding the gun like a pro.
Damn. She was hot.
