Heat of the Moment

Pulling out a tiny blue bikini, she frowned and discarded it as too provocative. She knew Shane well enough to know that seeing her in the flimsy scraps of cloth would make him acutely aware of her, but he’d probably glower and tell her to cover up. But she had a modest one-piece suit that nobody could call alluring. Pulling it out, she tossed it onto the bed and was in the process of unfastening the front clasp of her bra when she heard a sound at her bedroom door, something between a groan and a sigh.

Whirling around, she stilled, and every good intention she had went flying out the window. Shane stood frozen in her doorway, leaning heavily on a cane, and the expression in his eyes caused tiny flickers of heat to rise up on her skin. His gaze devoured her, traveling downward to linger on her breasts, where her fingers paused over the clasp of the bra, and then lower, to her hips and thighs. When he met her eyes again, they were hot with hunger.

“Holly,” he finally said in a strangled voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Shane.” Her blood began a slow, languorous churning through her veins. “I—I was just coming downstairs to say hello. I needed to get away, to be alone. That is—not completely alone, just away from my parents. You don’t need to leave—I mean, I don’t mind you staying. You should stay. I want you to stay.”

God, she was babbling like an idiot, but was it any surprise? The way he looked, combined with the expression in his eyes, made it difficult for her to think straight. Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts low on his hips, he was all thrusting shoulders and muscle-banded abdomen. But where Holly remembered acres of smooth, tanned skin, Shane’s torso was now marred with a dozen or more scars, still vivid and raw, and the faded smudging of bruises.

Emotion swelled in her chest. She swallowed hard and schooled her features, unwilling to let him see how his injuries affected her. A strip of pale flesh rode just above his waistband, and her fingers itched to explore the narrow strip of dark hair that began just beneath his navel and disappeared beneath the fabric of his shorts. The room seemed suddenly too small and too warm.

He took a step into the room, his eyes fastened on her. He gave no indication that he’d even heard her. His breathing was uneven, and every muscle in his body seemed tightly coiled. “How are you?” His voice was hoarse. “I mean, are you okay?”

She struggled to think coherently, when all she wanted to do was launch herself into his arms. She swallowed hard. “I’m fine. What about you? I’ve thought about you so much.”

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