with. , cactus skin, A man who lashed out just to keep her away. A man who'd told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want her help.
His wounds' were too deep, too dangerous. The darkness inside him was devouring him, maybe already had. she got too close it would snare her, pull her in, destroy her the way it had destroyed him. She knew it would. She felt the warnings prickling upend down her nerve endings dancing over her skin. Stay away, they whispered. Stay away.
If she had any sense at all, she'd heed those warnings. But she never had been as smart as her father, had she? And maybe she just wasn't, bright enough to listen to the voice of conlI~on sense.
She'd- try,P she vowed in silence. She'd try to keep a cool distance.
She'd stop asking about things, she'd stop caring about his pain. He was nothing to her, why should she care? She'd force herself not to reach out to him again. She could do that. It wasn't such an impossible task.
Was it?
They rode in silence through the small town they'd discovered nearby, pulling in at . a used car dealership where Torch went inside. alone.
His jaw had been like granite as he'd left the car, never so much as looking at her.
-The man was as cold as a stone and twice as hard.
The 'man was in pain.
But that was nothing to her, right?
His hardness, the hunk of rock that passed for a heart in that broad chest of his, was a little easier to understand now, though, He must have been a different man, before they'd died. She tried to picture him happy, content, affectionate.
But it was a terrible stretch of the imagination.
"Mrs. Jones?"
There was a tap on her window and Alexandra jumped, then turned to see the smiling face of the salesman staring in at her. She cranked the window down.
"Mrs. Jones, come take a look. Can't have your husband making a purchase this important without your input now, can we?"
Mrs. Jones? Her husband?
Frowning, she opened the door and got out, allowing the man to lead her around the lot to where Torch was just stepping out of a motor home the size of a tank. He met her confused gaze and smiled . actually smiled at her. The perfect image of the devoted husband. He crossed to where she stood, draped an arm around her shoulders.
"Well, honey, what do you think?" He waved his free hand toward the house on wheels.
His arm felt warm and comfortingly heavy on her shoulders. She had to forcibly resist the urge to lean into his embrace, to tilt her head sideways until it r~sted on his shoulder, to slide her own arm around his waist and give it a squeeze and tell him that he was going to be all right.
The man does not want to be comforted, she reminded herself.
"I... uh... I'm not sure what to think."
"It has everything. Perfect for our trip to Yellowstone. Go on inside, take a look."
She blinked at him. He'd converted himself into the image of the American sightseer, evincing images of campgrounds and hot dogs and cold sodas. It was incredible.
Without a word she stepped into the camper, but she wasn't really looking at it. She just sank into a padded seat and tried again to figure him out.
Had he gone camping with his wife and sons? Was this what he'd been like then, before tragedy had turned his heart to stone?
He'd kis~sed her desperately, hungrily, in the ear. Even though he was insisting she keep her distance now, he'd turned to her then.
So maybe the solid stone heart of Torch Palamaro had a small chink in it. And maybe he wasn't quite as uninterested in her as he pretended to be. Maybe he needed her. Maybe he sensed, too, that she was the only one who could help him. And maybe that feeling frightened him and that was why he was being so cold toward her.
And maybe she was allowing her fondest dream--that of someone truly needing her--to interfere with rational thought.
The very idea of being Torch Palamaro's savior was so appealing that it was difficult to dismiss. It was also fidic- ulous. Imagine someone as strong and sure of himself
His wounds' were too deep, too dangerous. The darkness inside him was devouring him, maybe already had. she got too close it would snare her, pull her in, destroy her the way it had destroyed him. She knew it would. She felt the warnings prickling upend down her nerve endings dancing over her skin. Stay away, they whispered. Stay away.
If she had any sense at all, she'd heed those warnings. But she never had been as smart as her father, had she? And maybe she just wasn't, bright enough to listen to the voice of conlI~on sense.
She'd- try,P she vowed in silence. She'd try to keep a cool distance.
She'd stop asking about things, she'd stop caring about his pain. He was nothing to her, why should she care? She'd force herself not to reach out to him again. She could do that. It wasn't such an impossible task.
Was it?
They rode in silence through the small town they'd discovered nearby, pulling in at . a used car dealership where Torch went inside. alone.
His jaw had been like granite as he'd left the car, never so much as looking at her.
-The man was as cold as a stone and twice as hard.
The 'man was in pain.
But that was nothing to her, right?
His hardness, the hunk of rock that passed for a heart in that broad chest of his, was a little easier to understand now, though, He must have been a different man, before they'd died. She tried to picture him happy, content, affectionate.
But it was a terrible stretch of the imagination.
"Mrs. Jones?"
There was a tap on her window and Alexandra jumped, then turned to see the smiling face of the salesman staring in at her. She cranked the window down.
"Mrs. Jones, come take a look. Can't have your husband making a purchase this important without your input now, can we?"
Mrs. Jones? Her husband?
Frowning, she opened the door and got out, allowing the man to lead her around the lot to where Torch was just stepping out of a motor home the size of a tank. He met her confused gaze and smiled . actually smiled at her. The perfect image of the devoted husband. He crossed to where she stood, draped an arm around her shoulders.
"Well, honey, what do you think?" He waved his free hand toward the house on wheels.
His arm felt warm and comfortingly heavy on her shoulders. She had to forcibly resist the urge to lean into his embrace, to tilt her head sideways until it r~sted on his shoulder, to slide her own arm around his waist and give it a squeeze and tell him that he was going to be all right.
The man does not want to be comforted, she reminded herself.
"I... uh... I'm not sure what to think."
"It has everything. Perfect for our trip to Yellowstone. Go on inside, take a look."
She blinked at him. He'd converted himself into the image of the American sightseer, evincing images of campgrounds and hot dogs and cold sodas. It was incredible.
Without a word she stepped into the camper, but she wasn't really looking at it. She just sank into a padded seat and tried again to figure him out.
Had he gone camping with his wife and sons? Was this what he'd been like then, before tragedy had turned his heart to stone?
He'd kis~sed her desperately, hungrily, in the ear. Even though he was insisting she keep her distance now, he'd turned to her then.
So maybe the solid stone heart of Torch Palamaro had a small chink in it. And maybe he wasn't quite as uninterested in her as he pretended to be. Maybe he needed her. Maybe he sensed, too, that she was the only one who could help him. And maybe that feeling frightened him and that was why he was being so cold toward her.
And maybe she was allowing her fondest dream--that of someone truly needing her--to interfere with rational thought.
The very idea of being Torch Palamaro's savior was so appealing that it was difficult to dismiss. It was also fidic- ulous. Imagine someone as strong and sure of himself
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