Lost In His Arms

She gasped as her gaze now drifted over his legs. His slacks were torn, exposing his knee. The skin had been slashed open and the deep wound still oozed blood.

“Talbot, your knee is really hurt,” she said. “It’s bleeding.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at his knee. “It’ll be all right. It’s not bleeding that badly.” One eyebrow lifted as he turned his gaze to her. “Of course, if you feel the need to rip off your T-shirt and wrap my wounds, go for it.”

“As if I’d sacrifice a perfectly good T-shirt for you,” she scoffed. “I’ll make you a deal,” she continued. “If you can tear off a bunch of tree limbs and construct us a nice little lean-to to sit in while we wait for help, then I’ll rip up my shirt for your leg.”

He laughed, and the unfamiliar sound of his laughter sent a familiar heat spiraling through her—a heat that was distinctly uncomfortable.

From the moment she’d met Talbot, she’d felt a crazy pull toward him that had been frightening. And for the nine years of her marriage to his brother, she had fought it. She had consciously never spent any time at all alone with Talbot. And now they were stuck alone together in the middle of nowhere. She tried to ignore her disquiet.

“I think we’ve both seen too many movies,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t waste a good lean-to on you.”

Although he was merely returning Elizabeth’s comment in kind, she was grateful for the slight coolness in his voice, a coolness that reminded her she had never been sure she even liked Talbot McCarthy.

A light flashed someplace in the distance. Elizabeth shot to her feet. “Did you see that?” she asked. Excitement and relief ripped through her. “Maybe it was the light from a search helicopter.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, a loud rumble resounded overhead. Not the rumble of a search plane, but rather the result of cold air meeting warm.

“I don’t think it’s a search helicopter,” he said. “I believe we’re in for a storm.”

As the first fat raindrops fell from the sky and splattered on her upturned face, Elizabeth glared at her companion. “I think I hate you, Talbot McCarthy,” she stated emphatically.

“Trust me, Elizabeth, before this is all over with, I believe the feeling just might become mutual.”

Chapter Two

T albot had never felt so out of his element. The rain fell steadily for about an hour, effectively dousing any lingering embers that might have still been burning on the plane and getting them wet enough to be miserable.

Fortunately the storm moved on, leaving behind a profound darkness and a silence broken only by the sounds of their breathing.

“No search party will be coming tonight, will they.” Elizabeth’s soft voice broke the silence.

He considered lying to her to ease her mind, but realized honesty was smarter. “I doubt if anyone will begin a search tonight.” What he didn’t tell her was that he doubted anyone would begin a search tomorrow, either. No, he’d save all the gruesome details for later.

“So we’re stuck out here for the night.” Her voice held a strange tension. It didn’t seem to be anger, but rather something deeper, something darker.

“If a search party doesn’t show up first thing in the morning, we can probably walk someplace for help.” Talbot also didn’t mention the fact that he had no idea if he’d be able to walk by morning. His knee throbbed clear down to the bone, and he knew he’d aggravated the old football injury that had, at one time, given him major problems.

“So, all we can do now is sit here in the dark.” Again that same tone colored her voice.

Talbot wished for just a spark of light, a tiny illumination that would make her features visible. “I know it isn’t going to be the most comfortable night you’ve ever spent, but there don’t seem to be any alternatives.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment, but he felt the pressure of her shoulder against his. “I don’t like the dark,” she murmured.

Fear. That was what he heard in her voice, and it astonished him. The cool, always together, always competent Elizabeth McCarthy was scared of the dark. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said.

He felt her stiffen in protest. “I am not afraid. I just don’t like the dark.” Still, she didn’t inch away from him, but remained with her shoulder firmly touching his.

He didn’t believe her protest. She was afraid of the dark. Amazing. One of the things he’d told himself he disliked about her was that she was always in control, always seemed so incredibly strong and efficient.

Someplace deep inside, Talbot had always believed that maybe if she had been a little less strong, a little more needy, then perhaps Richard would have had to mature and accept more responsibility in their marriage.

He found himself wondering what other weaknesses she might possess, and that he entertained any kind of interest in her at all irritated him.

As far as he was concerned, she was the devil in lipstick, a forbidden temptation sent to test his will-power. And yet he couldn’t help but be a bit curious. “So how long have you had a phobia about the dark?” he asked.

“It isn’t a phobia,” she said, then sighed and raked a hand through her hair, causing it to tumble against his shoulder.

He stiffened, fighting the urge to reach up and touch a strand, to see if it was as soft, as silky as it looked. “I think the best thing we can do is get some sleep. I’m sure things will look brighter in the morning.”

“Somehow I’m not counting on it,” she said softly.

They were the last words they spoke to each other that night.

Talbot tried to make himself comfortable, but the adrenaline that had filled him from the moment he’d realized the plane was going down refused to dissipate enough to allow sleep to overtake him.

He could tell Elizabeth was also having trouble winding down. She squirmed and wriggled next to him, but never allowed her shoulder to stop touching his. As time passed, her wriggling slowed, and he knew she had fallen asleep when her head lolled to his shoulder and she slumped fully against him.

His first instinct was to shove her off him. He didn’t want to feel her provocative body warmth against him, didn’t want to smell the faint scent of sweet ripened strawberries that wafted from her hair. But he had to admit her body warmth felt good as the night grew chillier.

He closed his eyes, willing his body to relax, knowing it was possible he would need all his wits, all his energy to face the morning.

If they were lucky, they would either be found by somebody who’d seen the plane go down or discover some small town nearby.

If they were incredibly unlucky, they would find themselves in the middle of a forest with nobody around for miles. And the way their luck seemed to be running, that was what worried him.

What if he couldn’t walk well enough to find help?

He smiled wryly. Of course, as competent as Elizabeth had always been, she could probably construct a litter from tree branches and pull him out of the forest. This was the last conscious thought he had before sleep finally claimed him.

He awoke with the dawn, for a moment completely disoriented. Before he even opened his eyes, his mind worked to orient him. A warm female form was curled up in his arms, and his nose was filled with the scent of strawberries.

As he drew a deep breath, he remembered. The crash…Elizabeth…the forest. His eyes snapped open and he saw that at some point during the night, their bodies had not only sought the soft, leaf-covered ground, but also each other’s.

Her face was turned toward his, and he took the opportunity to study her with the glow of dawn seeping through the trees.

He easily understood why Richard had been so enthralled with her. She was lovely, with sinfully thick lashes and a full, inviting mouth that urged a man to plunder its depths.

Her skin was the color of a barely browned biscuit, with natural peach in either cheek. As he stared at her, his finger itched to caress the skin on her cheek, lightly touch her slightly plump bottom lip. He wanted her. He’d wanted her for years, and in that desire had been his shame.

Richard’s wife. Richard’s woman.

With these disturbing thoughts in mind, he disentangled himself from her and sat up. In doing so, he woke her. She stirred and groaned, then sat up and shoved her lioness-colored hair away from her face.

“Ohmigosh. I feel like somebody beat me up all night,” she said as she stood and stretched, arms overhead.

Talbot frowned, his gaze drawn to her T-shirt, which had crept up to expose a flat, tanned abdomen. Relief flooded him as she put her hands down and the shirt fell back to where it belonged.