Diamond Bay by Linda Howard Page A

woman wasn't a dream. She was real, warm
and firm of flesh, and her hands had moved over him with the ease of
familiarity. She didn't act like a guard, but he couldn't afford to take the
chance. If he relinquished the knife he might not be able to get it back.
"I'll keep it," he said.
    Rachel hesitated, wondering if she should press the issue, but
there was something in his quiet, flat tone that made her decide to let it go.
Even though he was weak and barely able to get around on his own, there was
something about him that told her he couldn't be pushed. He was a dangerous
man, this stranger sleeping in her bed. She moved her hand from his.
    "All right. Are you hungry?"
    "No. I ate a banana and an apple."
    "How long have you been awake?"
    He hadn't checked a clock, but he didn't need a clock to give him
a sense of time. "Almost an hour." His gaze hadn't wavered from her.
Rachel felt as if he could see through her, as if he were probing her mind.
    "You woke up a couple of times before, but you were still
feverish and talking nonsense."
    "What kind of nonsense?" he asked sharply.
    Rachel regarded him calmly. "No state secrets or anything
like that. You thought you were going to a party."
    Was there a double meaning to that crack about state secrets? Did
she know anything, or had that just been a coincidence? Sabin wanted to
question her, but he hardly had the upper hand at the moment, and his
exhaustion was changing into acute sleepiness. As if she knew, she touched his
face, her fingers cool and light. "Go to sleep," she said. "I'll
still be here when you wake up."
    It was, ridiculously, the reassurance he needed to let him relax
into sleep.
    Quietly Rachel left the room and went to the kitchen, where she
leaned weakly against the work island. Her legs were shaking, her insides
quivering like gelatin, in reaction to all that had happened to her already… and
it wasn't even noon yet! Nor did she have any of the answers she had promised
herself she would get as soon as he woke up; rather than asking questions, she
had been answering his. She hadn't been prepared for the intensity of his gaze,
so piercing that it was difficult to meet his eyes for any length of time.
Warlock's eyes… She certainly hadn't been prepared for having a knife held to
her throat! And she had been helpless, unable to do anything against a strength
that was far superior to hers, even though he was undoubtedly weak from his
wounds and illness.
    The terror that had held her in its
icy grip for those few moments had been worse than she
had ever imagined. She had been frightened
before, but not to that degree. She was still shaking in reaction, and her eyes
burned with tears that she refused to let fall. Now wasn't the time for tears;
she had to get herself under control. He might sleep for half a day, or he
might wake up in an hour, but she was going to be in complete command of
herself whenever he woke. He would also need feeding, she thought, seizing
gratefully on something practical to do. Banana and apple notwithstanding, his
system would probably demand frequent feedings until he had recovered.
    Her movements jerky, she set beef tips simmering for beef stew and
began dicing potatoes, carrots and celery. Maybe the meal would be ready by the
time he awoke; if not, he could settle for soup and a sandwich. When everything
was in the pot she darted out to the vegetable garden and gathered the ripe
tomatoes, then ignored the heat and began pulling up weeds. It wasn't until she
finally fell to her knees on a wave of dizziness that she realized how
erratically she had been behaving, spurred on by the overdose of adrenaline her
system had absorbed that morning. It was insanity to work out in the broiling
sun, especially without a hat!
    She went inside and washed her face with cold water; she felt
calmer now, though her hands were still trembling slightly. There was nothing
to do but wait: wait until the stew was ready; wait until he woke up; wait
until she got