Besides, she couldn't climb into bed wearing wet clothes and, although she had more worrisome issues to deal with at the moment, she felt self-conscious about getting naked. She was too attracted to Clay. Had he been a stranger, she could've reacted to the necessity of the situation without feeling so nervous and aroused.
"I will once I clean it," she said.
"Isn't there some antiseptic?"
"No. It's long gone. I need some water."
He scowled. "Morning will be soon enough for that."
Allie was so cold she could scarcely feel her fingers or toes. But she knew it was important to do all she could for Clay's injuries. "Hang on. I'm already wet, so now's the best time."
"Just come here," he said stubbornly, but she got his truck keys out of the pocket of his jeans. She wanted to see if he had anything in his vehicle that might prove useful. Then she grabbed a pan and hurried out.
The wind and the rain lashed at Allie's clothes and hair. She hunched against it, grimacing when she saw Clay's truck sitting at an awkward angle because of the two flat tires. She'd get the son of a bitch who'd shot him, she promised herself. Another foot to the right and Clay might've been dead when she reached him.
Rage roiled inside her, tempting her to dash off to look for tracks--before they were completely obliterated by the storm. But she couldn't. Clay needed her.
Planning to comb every inch of the area come morning, she searched his truck. She could smell Clay's cologne, but he kept his truck as utilitarian and clean as his house. In the glove compartment, she found only a tire gauge, some napkins, his registration, proof of insurance, a seven-inch knife and a box of condoms.
Obviously, he was prepared. He just wasn't prepared for getting shot.
She considered trying to drive them out of there despite the ruined tires, but she couldn't risk getting stuck in the mud in the middle of nowhere. And she couldn't lose valuable time running around, looking for other cabins. She had no idea if she'd even find an occupied one. At least for the moment they had a warm place and a bed.
Worried that she was leaving Clay for too long, she ran down to the river and filled her pan.
When she returned, she found him curled up, shaking, struggling to get warm. The fact that he might be slipping into shock scared her so badly she abandoned the water, stripped off her clothes, and dried herself off as well as she could.
The mattress creaked slightly beneath her weight. Allie knew Clay had to be aware of her.
But he didn't seek her body, as she'd expected. And that scared her even more.
"Clay?"
"Hmm?"
She wanted to pull him to her that very second, to reassure herself that he was as strong as ever. But until she got warmer, she'd only leech what little heat he'd managed to generate away from him. "Are you okay?" she asked, briskly rubbing her arms and legs to hurry the process.
"Umm."
His response sounded like an affirmative answer, but she wasn't about to take any chances.
As soon as she dared touch him, she fixed the dish towel as a field bandage. Then she slid over and wrapped her body around his. She no longer cared about nudity or propriety or anything else. She didn't even care if he figured out how deeply he affected her. She only wanted to make him better.
"Feels good," he mumbled a few minutes later.
"Can you sleep?" she asked.
He didn't answer. She worried that the pain might be too much for him. But after a few minutes, he seemed somewhat improved. She could feel a steady, strong heartbeat, and his chest began to rise and fall in a regular rhythm.
"Thank God," she whispered and prayed he'd remain safe through the night.
The pain in his arm dragged Clay out of a deep sleep while it was still dark. He couldn't immediately remember why he hurt, but he knew he wasn't alone. A woman was hugging him from behind. Her small firm br**sts were pressed against his back, her legs were tucked under his bu**ocks and her warm breath moved his hair, tickling his neck. But it was her hand that distracted him the most. She'd looped her arm around his waist as if she'd been holding him tightly to her. But now that her body had relaxed in sleep, her hand dangled very close to--
He shifted, wondering what the hell was going on.
"You okay?" she muttered sleepily.
Allie McCormick. At the sound of her voice, it all came back to him. The broken window.
Tramping through the woods. Gnawing fear for her safety. The crack of gunfire. But, strangely enough, the fact that she was lying next to him seemed the most pertinent. They were in bed at her father's isolated cabin. Naked and alone. And he wanted to touch her....
"I'm fine." Easing out of her arms, he turned to face her. Embers still glowed in the fireplace, but he could make out only a few rough shapes. His other senses took in more. The warmth emanating from her body. The feel of her soft legs entwined with his. The scent of her on his pillow.
"Clay?" she whispered, reaching for him.
Her hand encountered his stomach. At that point, he thought she might recoil and find some excuse to get out of bed.
But she didn't. Her fingers moved toward his injured arm, but he deflected her questioning touch.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.
"Positive." He was sure about a few other things, as well--like the testosterone suddenly pounding through him.
"I'm glad." The hand that had touched him a moment earlier touched him again, moving slowly over his chest as if she was eager to explore every groove and contour.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he told himself not to react. She was just reassuring herself that he was okay. Or she was half-asleep and didn't know what she was doing. Otherwise, she wouldn't be touching him so...erotically. She had to realize that the closer she got to him, the more she alienated herself from her family and friends.
Her hand traveled up to his neck and eventually cupped his cheek in a movement so tender it made Clay's stomach twist with longing. But he couldn't respond. One eager kiss or receptive moan on her part, and he'd be on fire.
Drawing a deep breath, he fought to hang on to his self-control. But then her thumb brushed his bottom lip and he couldn't help tracing the edges with his tongue.
Her sigh made his muscles bunch with desire, and he took her thumb all the way into his mouth.
The bed moved as she inched closer.
"You really had me worried," she said.
He felt the tips of her br**sts against him and nearly let his good arm encircle her, pull her to him.
No. Think of her father. Think what it would do to her.
But she didn't stop. She was threading her fingers through his hair, and he could feel her breath on his neck.