The Right Touch

Dev shrugged apologetically. “The first twenty-four hours you were sick. You sweated a lot. I had to take off your clothes because they were soaked. The next twelve hours you slept like a baby. No nightmares…”

His mouth tightened at her whispered words. “Nightmares?”

Dev’s expression grew soft. “Yes. You kept reliving the accident, Cal.” She couldn’t meet his narrowed gaze. “I’m sorry about Chief. My God, you almost died, too, trying to save him.” Dev shyly reached out, her hand sliding across his, her voice quavering. “How tragic….”

Cal groaned and pulled his hand away from hers, covering his face. He leaned back against the headboard, bringing up his knees beneath the covers. “Damn it,” he muttered thickly.

Dev rosé, sensing that he didn’t want her near him. That hurt her. In the past day and a half, she had grown close to Cal as he relived the raw grief. He had found release in her arms. “Listen, I’ve got to go jog three miles. Part of my daily exercise routine. I’ll be back in a little while.” Nervously, she slipped into her jogging shoes to complete her outfit—baggy pink sweatpants and shirt. Dev felt his eyes on her as she straightened up, a knot forming in her shrinking stomach. As Dev met his predatorlike gaze, she pulled on a red sweatband. “The hotel supplies razors and that sort of thing if you feel like getting cleaned up.” Grabbing her wristwatch and a key for the room, she quietly left the stilted silence, glad to escape Cal’s wariness.

Cal sat there in bed, feeling utterly embarrassed and angry with himself. Dawn was creeping over the horizon behind the island of Hong Kong, the golden rays reaching and stretching out in brilliant arms. Dawn. The time of their accident. Of Chief’s death. He rubbed his face, aware of the sharp stubble of his beard. Then he became aware that he needed a shower. Badly. His head ached but not so severely as to stop him from getting up. Throwing back the covers, he noted with chagrin that he wore only his briefs. As he slowly got to his feet, he looked around for his uniform. The room was neatly picked up with the exception of Dev’s épée still on the coffee table. Grumbling to himself, Cal stared at the clock on the bed table—5:30 A.M. What day was it? He found his aviator’s watch on the stand next to the clock. Wednesday morning? No. Impossible! He glared at his watch in his open palm. The party had been Monday night. Where—

“Damn it,” Cal muttered, stalking off toward the bathroom, ruthlessly combing his spotty memory for details. The scalding-hot shower washed away the sweat of fear from his body. It improved his mood about one degree. The bathroom was steamy and warm as he wrapped a thick white towel around his waist and then shaved. Borrowing Dev’s tortoiseshell comb, Cal tamed his wet hair into place, looking a hell of a lot better than he felt. His mood deteriorated even more when he couldn’t find his uniform anywhere. He searched each closet and found many white fencing uniforms, a few dresses and slacks but no uniform.

Disgruntled, Cal shrugged into one of the thick terry-cloth robes the hotel provided and padded into the room. He called down for coffee, then went over to the windows and stared stonily out. Several junks floated past the hotel. The cobblestoned shore nearby was lined with many of Hong Kong’s citizens going through their morning t’ai chi ch’uan exercises. Then he spotted Dev off in the distance, jogging back toward the hotel along the wharf. Some of his anger dissipated as Cal watched her stride with long-legged confidence, her auburn hair captured in a ponytail, drifting out behind her with each rhythmic step. As Dev drew closer, he could see the flush to her cheeks, thinking that she looked beautiful. Scowling, Cal turned when the houseboy announced himself. Coffee had arrived. Thank God.

Dev knocked before she opened the door to her room, just to make sure Cal had had time to dress. Her heart was pounding strongly in her breast, and that wasn’t from the workout. She closed the door and walked down the hall. At the end of the hall, Dev halted, her lips parting.

“Oh.” She stared stupidly across the room at Cal, who was sitting on the settee, coffee in hand, observing her. Instantly, she flushed and pulled the damp sweatband off her brow.

“It looked like you were having a good run.”

Dev walked over to the bed and sat down, unlacing her shoes. She was surprised at the quiet quality of Cal’s voice. Was he angry? He was a man of immense pride, she suspected. Yet he had spent the past day and a half in her room, helpless as a baby, having to rely totally on her for care. Dev didn’t imagine Cal leaned on anyone for anything. Especially a stranger who had witnessed him suffering a deep, personal tragedy. She licked her lips, tasting the salt of perspiration on them as she leaned over.

She nudged off her shoes, giving him a shy glance. Cal looked devastatingly handsome, though weary. His face was free of the dark, bristly growth of beard, his gray eyes were probing and the planes of his face were relatively free of tension. He smiled a little, making Dev relax slightly. She prayed that the tenuous middle ground she felt they both wanted would grow between them.

“Got time for a cup of coffee?”

Dev’s heart lurched at the husky quality in his voice, and her spirits rosé. Cal wasn’t angry with her. For all his ego, he wasn’t going to take his embarrassment out on her. She rewarded him with a genuine smile. “Let me take a shower first.”

“Sure.”

Cal watched her walk to the bathroom, impressed, even mesmerized, by her graceful carriage. He sipped the coffee, relishing the taste. He had seen the unsureness in Dev’s eyes as she had come into the room. Suddenly, all the embarrassment and anger he might have aimed at her dissolved. Dev didn’t deserve that from him, no matter how ashamed he felt. Oddly, Cal found himself wanting to reach out, to continue to bask in her company. Whether he liked it or not, Dev had shared one of the most brutal moments in his life with him. And Cal had never shared any of his deep emotional responses with anyone. Except Chief. But not to the degree he had with Dev. Ruminating on that, he contented himself with watching the traffic increase in Victoria Harbor as the sun rosé and the morning stirred to life.

Dev emerged from the bathroom in a pair of white polyester knickers, white socks and a pink T-shirt that lovingly emphasized her breasts and flat stomach. Her hair was piled in a loose knot on top of her head, tendrils curled temptingly around her temples as a result of her shower. Dev smiled and flopped down opposite him, legs crossed beneath the table.

“I think I’m going to live now,” she said, pouring herself some coffee.

“I’m thinking about it, too,” Cal offered wryly, watching her slender hands slide around the china cup.

“You look a hundred percent better.” Her blue eyes sparkled as Dev drew the cup to her lips. “You look handsome again.”

He smiled. “I don’t feel very handsome.” He met and held her gaze. “I’ve been remembering some of what happened, Dev.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “The past day and a half have been a living hell for me and not much more than that for you.”

Dev placed the cup on the table. “I know you’re feeling awfully vulnerable and emotionally raw right now, Cal.”

“I feel brittle. I think if someone yelled at me right now, I’d shatter. I’ve never felt like this before,” he muttered.

“Only when you lose someone who’s very close to you does that happen.”

Cal took a deep breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You know what I find phenomenal?”

“No. What?”

“Us. You and me. I’m a stranger who crashed into your life, made an ass out of myself, embarrassed the hell out of you in front of my friends and yet you stuck it out with me.” He opened his eyes, his turbulent gaze settling on her. “You had every right to kick me out of your room Monday night. Why didn’t you?”

Dev swallowed against a forming lump. “Because you were hurting.”

Cal stared at her. “The women I know would gladly have booted me out and told me to catch a cab and go back to the carrier to get sick.”

“You’d had too much to drink, Cal. I didn’t think you could have even made it downstairs to get a taxi. What I hadn’t counted on was your tragedy.” Dev lowered her lashes. “Now I understand why you wanted to get drunk and why you didn’t want to be at the party on Monday.” She clasped her fingers in her lap. “You were hurting. And—and when you started crying—”

Cal stared disbelievingly at her. “I what?”

“Cried. What’s wrong with that? I was crying right along with you after I pieced together what had happened.”

He stared at her.

“I couldn’t stand by and not help you.” Dev raised her head, drowning in his gray eyes. “You needed help. I couldn’t kick you out.” And then a small smile touched her lips. “Besides, you weren’t a total bastard. You came and apologized to me for your behavior earlier, and you also brought me the heel.”

A vague memory stirred in Cal’s shocked mind. Yes, he remembered being held, rocked to and fro like a child in the arms of its mother, sobbing. And Dev’s softened weeping as she held him tightly to her. Cal swallowed hard. “I’ve never cried.”

Dev frowned, searching his face that was lined with denial. “I see. Is that a maxim of the marine corps or fighter pilots in particular? You’re real men? Real men don’t cry? Don’t show any emotion?” Dev’s voice lowered. “Well, in my book, any man who exhibits that kind of behavior is emotionally constipated. I see nothing wrong with showing and displaying how you feel. As a matter of fact, it’s kind of nice to be able to share someone else’s feelings. Women do it all the time. A man has a heart and can feel just as we do. Why shouldn’t he cry when he’s in pain?”