Since you asked so nicely, Jeri!! This scene is about half way into the book. Lawton has retired and moved to Arizona where he inherited a small ranch. Melissa, all grwon up, has come from her home in Pennsylvania after a tragedy to visit and friend and sees him in a reenactment show. She is drawn but does not know why since her father had her hypnotized to forget the ordeal once she was safe at home. Threats begin to come to both and Lawton takes her to his ranch for safety as he teaches her to shoot etc. That is when this scene takes place. She does not identify him yet although her subconsicious is working on it!
Excerpt:
As she climbed out of the Jeep and followed Lawton toward the house, Melissa absently rubbed her right hand. Looking down, she saw a blister had formed, running from the base of her thumb down into the palm. Unaccustomed to the pliers and fence tool, she hadn’t held them right, apparently, and the friction had taken its toll.
"What’s wrong with your hand?" Lawton’s voice sharpened with concern.
"Oh, it’s nothing, just a little tender."
She still couldn’t believe how quickly he could move. He turned around, caught her wrist and pried her fingers open before she could react.
"Oh hell! Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve set those wire holders or at least gotten you a pair of gloves."
"I really didn’t notice it until just now." Even as he examined her hand, the blister seemed to grow, filling with fluid until the skin stretched painfully tight. She couldn’t help flinching when he brushed his thumb lightly across it.
"Much as I hate to break it, I think we’d better." He released her hand abruptly and turned toward the house. "Come on."
Once in the kitchen, Melissa sat down in one of the Mexican-made chairs. Lawton disappeared down the hall, returning in a moment with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a needle. He sterilized the needle and turned to her.
"This is probably going to hurt."
"I know, but then it will feel better." Melissa spread her hand out on the counter and tried to relax. He caught her hand gently but firmly in his left hand while he pierced the blister at the lower edge and carefully pressed the fluid out with his thumb until it drained completely.
"Stay right here," he ordered, crossing to step out the back door. Through the screen she saw him take a knife out of his pocket, bend down and cut the tip of a leaf off one of the aloe plants growing along the edge of the patio.
In a moment he was back beside her holding the spear-shaped leaf. A clear, pale green gel oozed from the cut edge. He spread it gently over the blister.
"The Indians and Mexicans use aloe vera for all sorts of wounds. It works wonders, ‘specially on burns, so I figure it should be good for a blister, even if it’s caused by friction rather than heat."
The gel felt so cool and soothing, Melissa gave a small sigh of relief. "Thank you. It feels better already." She lifted her head to look at him, caught her breath when she realized their faces were separated by mere inches. Their shoulders brushed, while his hand cradling hers with possessive tenderness.
Though the sun blazed outside, beneath the protection of the spreading trees the house remained almost dusky. In the shadowed room, Lawton’s eyes glowed with silver fire. His face was so close Melissa could count the individual sooty lashes, each crease of the feathering lines at the outer corners of his eyes. She could see her own pale face reflected in the jet-dark pupils. Time ceased to move. Releasing her hand, he slowly raised his left hand to cup her cheek.
"I tried, Missy," he murmured. "God knows I tried." Transfixed by his gaze, she sat perfectly still as he settled both hands on her shoulders. Abruptly, he drew her up, out of the chair and into his arms. She flowed against him. He was stone and she was molten, fluid, shaping herself to him.
She felt a tremor in his body, in the hard arms that held her, but his embrace remained gentle. He drew a deep, ragged breath and buried his face against her neck, in the tumbling spill of her hair.
Reaching around him with her left arm, she spread her hand across the rigid muscle of his back. He took a step backward to lean against the back of the other chair, still holding her. She moved slightly, edging closer, and felt his lips brush across her forehead.
"Everything I’ve done has been wrong." His voice, husky, rough and low, held the weight of his feelings. "From the first, when I let you get too close. Then I tried to frighten you, drive you away, and ended up abusing you. But you were so loving, so giving, even then. I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. I thought maybe I could handle a friendship, keep it safe and platonic, but I can’t be near you without touching, can’t touch without wanting. For God’s sake, Missy, I’ll destroy you! Just tell me to let you go. Slap me in the face or something."
He drew back enough to look down at her. "I promised I wouldn’t hurt you again and I meant it. All you have to do is say ‘no’ or ‘stop’." He begged her with tormented eyes as well as anguished words.
"No." She shook her head. "I don’t want to. I can’t."
"Nothing has changed," he insisted. "I’m still wrong for you, too old, too cynical, too—I told you I’m not good at relationships. I don’t know how to handle this, Melissa. I’m asking your help!"
Melissa shifted to pull her right arm free from where it had been trapped between their bodies. She raised it and pressed her fingertips against his lips.
"Hush," she said. "I’ve been trying to tell you, to show you. I’m not afraid, Lawton. Nothing you can say or do will scare me away. The minute I saw you, when you picked up that knife and looked at me—right then, I knew I’d been looking for you all my life, before I even knew I was looking. At first, I didn’t understand what drew me so, but then I realized every hero I ever dreamed of has worn your face."
Leave a Comment