"Just a tremor. We're all right."
She hated the way the ground moved under their feet, and when it pounded through her legs, the dirt giving a little, she stumbled, and Marc caught her.
Angela sucked in a breath, tight against his bare chest, but instead of immediately pulling away when the ground stilled under them, she was drawn by the devotion in his dark gaze as he looked back at her. His heart was pounding as hard as hers was, body warm under her fingers, and she saw his nostrils flare, like he was scenting her. The image made her flush, and her pulse raced. She wanted him. What a wonderful feeling! Marc let her have the lead, patiently waiting, knowing desire would have its way eventually, and she'd make the first move. Inside he was dying to kiss her, craved it. He swore to himself that before she got back to her man, he'd have at least one taste of her to remember when he was alone again.
Angie felt the wave of sadness fall over him and when she pulled away, he let her go, tried to keep it from his face. Who was he kidding? He would never just take it and she would never just offer.
She pushed a bowl of hot soup into his hands. "Any other cuts?"
He shook his head, stirring the warm noodles. "No. I didn't even tear my jeans. Lots of bruises though."
She handed him a small cluster of pills and a cup of water. When he heard 'painkiller', Marc smiled. His body was sore all over, aching, but it was his shoulder that really hurt. Throbbing sharply, it continued to swell. He was surprised it hadn't been dislocated, but didn't complain or even mention it. There had been little time for anything else.
"We'll stay here tonight."
Marc agreed, watching her set up a lawn chair next to the stove.
She waved a hand, and he moved to where she wanted him, leaning back and closing his eyes with a small smile she had to turn away from. Would his kiss still light her up, or would it repulse her, the way Kenny's did?
Angela dropped a blanket over his legs and held up another. "Lean forward a little bit," she coaxed, laying it over the chair and when he sat back, she pulled it around his wide shoulders, not meeting his eyes when their fingers brushed.
Angela stayed behind him, and Marc couldn't stop a small moan of pain when her hands settled firmly on his shoulder. Then she was rubbing, soothing, pushing, manipulating it back into position, her fingers like fire one minute and ice the next as she healed him.