3

True to his word, he was in the kitchen, stirring something in a wok. Ignoring her flash of awareness at the sight of his muscular back, and the way he turned and looked her over slowly, as if surprised, she cleared her throat. “Mind if I borrow this?” At his slight headshake, she took his bottle of olive oil and spread a drop on her palms, rubbing it on her face and hands. “Dry skin,” she explained at his curious look.

Nodding, he gestured to the kitchen island and a plate of raw fruit and veggies. “Help yourself. This will be done in a minute.”

Fallon was surprised. He’s suspected she’d clean up well, but he hadn’t expected sable hair that gently waved down to a trim little waist. Baggy clothes and sweat-streaked grime had disguised a clear complexion and nice curves. Full lips and smoky blue eyes that occasionally glowed green peeked at him warily from a frame of thick lashes. The girl was hot, and he was interested. Her fear was a hurdle, but time would cure that.

A faint whiff of smoke caught his attention. Saving their dinner before it could burn, he tossed a potholder on the island and drew up a stool. He’d already set out plates and sundries, and Rain was making good use of them.

“Care to pray?”

His request caught her off-guard. Guiltily swallowing the bite in her mouth, Rain looked at him expectantly. With a self-deprecating smile, he moved around the island and reached for her shoulders.

She grabbed a fork and spun around, breathing hard, jabbing the utensil threateningly into this stomach. “What are you doing?”

He looked at her strangely. “I was about to bless the meal.” He looked askance at the fork, then up at her. “Do you always react this strongly to displays of religion?”

“You d-don’t have to touch me to pray,” she said warningly. Touchy-feely men had not been a pleasant part of her last year.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly, confidently. Never taking his eyes from hers, he carefully reached down and closed his hand over hers, directing it away from his belly. Then, as if she weren’t still quivering with adrenaline, he softly intoned a short blessing. Releasing her just as leisurely, he moved away and reclaimed his stool.

When he said nothing and simply served himself, she slowly uncoiled. The pattern of the fork was still imprinted on her hand, but she unclenched it with an act of will and returned to her eating, keeping a wary eye on him.

“Wine?” he poured a glass and offered it to her, then filled his own glass.

Rain knew about wine. It had little effect on her kind and went down like water, so she was surprised at the rich flavor and depth of her first sip. Drawing back, she eyed the golden liquid, then the decanter in front of Fallon. “This can’t be wine.”

“Dark Land wine. Careful, it’s stronger than you’re accustomed to.” His green eyes were amused.

Taking the caution to heart, she sipped curiously at the otherworldly liquid. “What’s it made from?”

“Dream flowers. It’s a very rare and special vintage.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Saving a woman is always an occasion.”

She looked away. “I suppose it was worth it; I might have known some names, caused some needless deaths.”

It disturbed him, the scant belief in her worth. Her expression said death hadn’t been such a fearful thing, and it was very bad when someone looked at death as a release. Maybe he could shake some sense into her. “If we hadn’t come, Rory would have abused you in ways I wouldn’t describe to my least favorite dog. The pheromone would have ensured you got some pleasure out of it…at first. I’ve seen what was left of the women he used. Their minds went long before their bodies go.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. Her voice was hollow. “I know what he was. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“The pheromone really shook you up, didn’t it? That’s normal. Time and a real lover will cure that.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I’m not…” she sputtered, and seemed flail for words. “What is this, Dr. Fallon’s Rx for love?”

“If you like. I’ve had some experience with female charmers. The only real cure was lengthy separation and…” he trailed off, smiling with fond remembrance. The cure had been intensive, the relationship short. She’d sent him away, claiming affectionately that he’d exhausted her, but there’d been a smile on her lips as she wished him well. The smile grew wicked as he remembered what else she’d said. Find a woman who can keep up with you, love. I’ll be content with lesser wine from now on; you’ve proven how exhausting it is to drink from your vintage.

Rain’s presence reminded him that it had been months since he’d last shared pleasure. Interest made his smile grow. “I could help you, if you like.”

“I don’t like,” she snapped, far too quickly. “A cold shower works just as well.”

Judging from the look in her eyes, that wasn’t the whole truth, but some playful flirting might be just what she needed to overcome the fear he read there. The girl needed to lighten up. “What about a massage? I’ve been told I have the magic touch.”

Had she been a porcupine, her quills would have gone up. “Do you understand rejection, or do I need to get you a dictionary? I don’t bedrock with anyone, and definitely not total strangers.”

That made him study her. A virgin? Untouched at twenty-two? Or so battered she refused to acknowledge want and need, possibly even emotion? His mood grew more serious. “Has someone forced you?”

Anguish flashed in her face. Her jaw tightened as she hid her wounded eyes. “Not exactly.”

Protectiveness made his voice darken. “You were attacked.”

“Nobody finished what they started,” she said quickly, staring at her plate. “I’m not that helpless.” She sent him a quick, fierce glance and stabbed a bite of dinner, pushing it around on her plate.