Page 32 of Cutter’s Lady

She was awakened what seemed like only minutes later by the sound of footsteps and voices calling to each other. She opened her eyes. It was stunningly bright. She as staring at a wooden crate not six inches from her face. One arm, which lay beneath her, was numb. Her head felt swollen and ached ferociously. Twin needles stabbed through her eyes all the way back into her soggy brain. Leslie groaned. For a moment she was completely disoriented, unsure where she was or what time and day it was.

It seemed very puzzling. She was sleeping on something extremely hard, and her whole body was one big ache. Then she remembered the night before. Cutter! She was on a boat with Cutter. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it. Her stomach lurched, her head swam and her muscles cried out in anguish. She sat still for a moment, kneading her numbed arm and waiting for her head and stomach to stop roiling, then pulled up her knees and rested her elbows on them, her head in her hands. Now she remembered far too much of last night. She had had too much to drink and made an utter fool of herself. She had actually kissed Cutter passionately—and that was made all the worse by the fact that he had been putting on a show for the men who had followed them. It was completely humiliating. That loathsome Cutter must have been dying with laughter on the inside. How could she have let herself act that way? How could she have left herself open for such ridicule?

Leslie rubbed the heels of her hands up her forehead. The nausea had eased, though the headache was still poundingly there. Cautiously she stood up and edged around the end of the crates. On the other side lay Cutter, sprawled face-down on the deck, disgustingly sound asleep. Rather uncharitably, Leslie kicked at the sole of his shoe with her foot. Cutter mumbled something and rolled over. Leslie kicked at his foot again, this time with a bit more force, and his eyes opened slowly.

“Huh?”

“I thought guys like you slept with one eye open.”

Cutter yawned. “Pretty uncomfortable, wouldn’t you think?”

“How can you expect to escape danger if you sleep like a log?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I’m a bit more alert.’

“The boat seems to be underway.”

“You woke me up to tell me that?”

Now that she thought about it, Leslie wasn’t quite sure why she had awakened him. She certainly wasn’t eager for his company. She supposed it was simply because her sour mood couldn’t tolerate the idea of Cutter’s happily sleeping.

“I’d like to know where we’re going and what we’re doing.”

“Go back to bed. We’ll talk about it later.” Cutter shut his eyes and was instantly asleep.

Leslie glanced around her. Her stomach wasn’t soothed by the rocking of the boat, and the increasing brightness of the sun made her head throb harder. There were two men working at the opposite end of the boat. She thought that it would help her uncertain stomach if she ate something, but Leslie couldn’t work up the courage to approach the men and fumble through a request. She cursed herself silently for not knowing other languages beside French and Italian. Certainly that would be more useful than many of the things she’d studied so intently in school.

She eased back down onto the deck and leaned her head against a crate. What a miserable, miserable day. She wanted to cry, but she was afraid Cutter might hear her. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction; he’d gloat and remind her that he’d told her the trip was too hard for her. Why? Why had she gone so off the rails like that last night! It must have been sheer nerves from the strain of the past few weeks.

Cutter was sexy; she’d give him that. No doubt there were a lot of women who fell for his macho appeal. But she wasn’t one of those women! She didn’t even like him. How could she possibly have melted in his arms? It was insane. It went against all her principles. She’d never regain any control over him or the operation now. Cutter would no doubt think he could get her to agree to anything he wanted by using his sex appeal. Worst of all, how was she going to be able to trust herself?

Leslie spent most of the morning in the little cave of her crates, feeling awful. Finally Cutter awakened and ambled around the corner. He smiled down at her. “Morning. How’re you feeling?”

Leslie glared at him. Cutter chuckled. “That bad huh? Sorry. Want me to get you something for your headache?” Leslie would have loved an ibuprofen, or four, but she shook her head. She wasn’t about to let Cutter make any friendly overtures. Her guard must but up at all times now.

“Then how about some food?” Cutter went on genially. “It’ll help your hangover some.”

“I don’t have a hangover.”

“Liar.”

“I am simply sleepy and sore from sleeping on that deck.”

“Stiff neck?”

Leslie nodded. Before she knew what he was doing, Cutter had squatted down on the deck, facing her, and wrapped his hands around the back of her neck to massage it firmly. Leslie would have liked to tear out of his grasp, but she didn’t have the strength. It felt too wonderful to have his hands smoothing out the knots of soreness. Her head drooped, and it was all she could do to hold back the primitive, almost sexual moan of satisfaction that rose in her throat.

At last Cutter stopped, and his hands dropped away. “How’s that?”

“Heavenly,” Leslie admitted honestly. She raised her head. He was still squatted down, so that his eyes were almost on a level with hers. She found it hard to look away. “Thank you.”

“No trouble. Sure you don’t want anything for your headache?”

Leslie frowned suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” She found it easier to deal with his usual sarcasm.

He shrugged, grinning. “Can’t help it. It’s just my sweet personality.”

She grimaced and said sourly, “Not that I’ve noticed.”