"The weakness is in your head," he retorted, his voice both hard and deep. He forced himself to turn away from the vulnerable spot just behind Eden's ear. "Furry beasts always have sharp teeth to use on tempting little morsels like you."
"Sounds exciting," she said, yawning. Then she made a sound of contentment and let her weight rest fully against Nevada. "Know something? You're much more comfortable than my mattress."
Eden smiled dreamily and curled more deeply into Nevada's lap. As she moved against him, the sleeping bag, extra blankets and coat slid off her shoulders, revealing the firm, curving lines of her breasts against the deep red of her ski underwear. When the chilly air seeped through red cloth, her nipples tightened.
Nevada's heartbeat hesitated for an instant before it resumed at a harder, quicker rate.
"Damn it, Eden, sit up."
"Sheesh… what a grouch."
Eden's attempts to sit up involved bracing herself against Nevada. Fever and sleepiness made her clumsy. Her hands slipped and fumbled down the length of his torso before coming to rest on his hard thighs. Even harder male flesh rose insistently only a fraction of an inch away from her right hand.
Nevada closed his eyes and told himself he was glad that Eden's hand hadn't come to rest a fraction of an inch to the left. He didn't believe that lie, either.
Her slim fingers braced themselves on the clenched power of Nevada's thighs, but he sensed that Eden's balance was still uncertain, that her hands were sliding…
Abruptly Eden felt herself being lifted off Nevada's lap. Strong hands wrapped the shearling coat firmly around her and buttoned it, imprisoning her arms against her body.
"Warm enough?" Nevada asked through his teeth.
She nodded.
"Good." He grabbed the mug of warm soup. "Open your mouth."
She opened her mouth.
"Drink."
She drank, swallowed, licked her lips and said, "Nevada, what's wrong?"
"Drink."
Silently Eden drank from the mug that Nevada was holding against her mouth. When she finished the soup, she tried to lick the creamy mustache from her upper lip, couldn't reach all of it, and tried again.
Nevada closed his eyes and said something harsh beneath his breath.
"So I'm a little messy," Eden muttered. "What do you expect? I'm not used to being fed. If you'll let me out of this straitjacket I'll feed myself."
Nevada came to his feet in a tightly coordinated rush, stalked to the fire, ladled out another mug of soup and went back to Eden. His jacket was so big on her that she had managed to get her arms through the sleeves even though she was buttoned inside.
And now she was watching him with eyes whose color shifted at each leap of flame. She hadn't a third of his strength, she wasn't two-thirds of his weight, yet she was utterly calm. She trusted him with an unshakable certainty that was as arousing as it was infuriating.
"You just don't get it, do you?" Nevada asked tightly.
"Get what?"
"You're so damned vulnerable," he said, "and too damned sexy. I mean it, Eden. Don't trust me."
She started to speak, looked at his bleak eyes, and shivered. But it wasn't fear that made her tremble, nor was it cold. It was the realization that Nevada was watching her the way a wild animal watches a winter campfire, both lured by and deeply wary of the dancing warmth, easing closer and closer only to snarl and spring back and circle once more, watching what it wants but is too wild and wary to take, watching her with eyes as cold as winter itself.
"I can no more help trusting you than you can help wanting me," Eden said finally. "I'm not nearly as fragile as you seem to think. And… and you must know that I want to touch you, too, Nevada. I'm not very good at hiding how I feel."
Eden watched the centers of Nevada's eyes expand, saw the sudden rush of blood in the pulse beating rapidly at his temple, and cleared her throat.
"May I have some more soup, please?" she asked in a trembling voice. "It's… it's very good." With great care Nevada placed the mug in Eden's outstretched hand, stood up and walked out of the cabin.
8
The first red-gold tint of dawn had barely seeped through the cabin window when Baby scratched at the door, looked toward Eden's sleeping bag, then pawed the door again.
"Lord, Baby," Eden muttered, sitting up, yawning. "Don't you ever sleep?"
Baby whined.
"Stay put," said a deep voice. "I'll let him out."
Eden looked over at the mound of sleeping bag and blankets that was Nevada. "I'm already up. Besides, I've done nothing but lie around since you got here three days ago." She rubbed her eyes and stretched again. "I'm like Baby – ready to prowl."
Nevada didn't bother to argue. He came out of the sleeping bag and got to his feet in an uninterrupted motion, took two long strides and opened the cabin door. Baby flowed outside like a shadow left over from the vanishing night. Nevada shut the door and turned back toward his sleeping bag.
Eden's breath came in with an audible rush when she opened her eyes once more. Nevada wore only black jeans, and all but one of the steel buttons were undone. Hints of golden light caressed him like a lover, emphasizing the shift and coil of powerful muscles beneath smooth skin. Black hair glowed and licked over his torso like dark flames. An odd feeling lanced through Eden, a hunger and a yearning that was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
When Nevada reached for his black flannel shirt and began putting it on, Eden wanted to protest. She also wanted to run her hands over Nevada, to test the strength and resilience of his muscles, to savor all the textures of his midnight hair with her palms and fingertips, to taste his lips, his cheeks, his eyelashes, his shoulders, to trace every velvet shadow on his body with the tip of her tongue…
"Eden? Are you all right?" Nevada stared into the shadows, wondering at the cause of Eden's unnatural stillness.
"Yes," she said faintly.
"You don't sound like it," he said as he rolled up his sleeves. "How does your chest feel? Still tight?"
"I'm fine."
"You won't be if you don't stay warm." Nevada crossed the cabin, knelt, and stuffed Eden back under the mound of covers. "You're shivering. Damn it, are you trying to get pneumonia?"
Eden shook her head. "Don't worry. I'm a long way from pneumonia."
"I knew you believed in fairy tales," he muttered, pushing the blankets up to Eden's chin. "Pneumonia is unpredictable. One minute you've got the flu or a cold and the next minute, bang, you're fighting for your life."
Memories sleeted through Eden, ripping away everything but the past. She tried to speak but had no voice. She swallowed and tried again.
"I know about pneumonia." The resonances of certainty, grief and acceptance in Eden's voice made Nevada's hands pause over her blankets. He looked at her intently. In the increasing light of dawn her eyes were wide, shimmering with tears, unblinking, focused on something only she could see.
He caught a tear on his fingertip. It burned against his skin like a molten diamond.
"Eden," he said softly.
She let out her breath in a ragged sigh and blinked away the tears. "It's all right. It's just that sometimes… sometimes the memories… are stronger than other times."
"Yes," he said simply. "Sometimes they are."
Hazel eyes focused on Nevada. Eden smiled despite the traces of tears still shining on her eyelashes.
"The memories aren't sad, not completely," she said. "Just… bittersweet. Aurora was ten months old, and alive the way only a healthy baby can be. Tears and laughter, going full tilt one minute and sound asleep the next. Sweet little tornado. Her laughter made me think of bright orange poppies."
Eden smiled, remembering, and her smile was as real as her tears had been. Nevada's throat tightened around emotions he had not permitted himself to feel for too many years.