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  “Turn him loose and back away,” Sabin instructed.

  “Why don’t you just go back in the house while I hold him?”

  “Because I’m a prisoner as long as he doesn’t accept me. I may need to leave in a hurry, and I don’t want to have to worry about the dog.”

  Rachel crouched by Joe, her fingers buried in his fur and gently rubbing. Already Sabin was planning to leave, but, then, she had known how it would be. Slowly she released the dog and stepped back.

  “Joe, heel,” Sabin said again.

  Rachel held her breath, waiting for another violent reaction. She could see Joe shake, and his ears went back. Sabin repeated the command. For a moment the dog quivered on the verge of attack, then, abruptly, he went to Sabin’s side and took up the heeling position.

  “Sit,” Sabin said, and Joe sat.

  “Good boy, good boy.” Stiffly he moved his left arm to pat the dog’s head. For a moment Joe’s ears went back and he snarled softly, but he made no move to bite. Rachel slowly released her pent-up breath, relief making her legs wobble.

  Sabin slanted her a quick glance from his midnight eyes. “Now you come sit beside me.”

  “Just like the dog?” she quipped, sinking gratefully onto the step beside him. At her action Joe sprang up and moved to stand in front of them, his ears going back again.

  Sabin put his right arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his bare chest, carefully watching the dog. Joe didn’t like it at all; a growl began rumbling in his chest.

  “He’s jealous,” Sabin observed.

  “Or he thinks you might hurt me.” His arm around her was interfering with her breathing, and to take her mind off it she held her hand out to Joe. “It’s all right. Come here, boy. Come on.”

  Warily Joe came closer. He sniffed at Rachel’s outstretched hand, then Sabin’s knee. After a moment he dropped to the ground at their feet and put his head on his paws.

  “It’s a shame someone abused him. He’s an intelligent, expensive animal, and he isn’t old. He’s about five.”

  “That’s what Honey thinks.”

  “Have you always had a penchant for taking in strays?” he asked, and she knew he wasn’t just talking about Joe.

  “Only the interesting ones.” She could hear the tightness creeping into her voice and wondered if he could hear it, too, if he could guess what caused it. His right hand was lightly rubbing her bare arm, an innocent touch if it hadn’t been for the warm pleasure it gave her. A flash of lightning in the darkening sky made her look up, glad for an interruption.

  “It looks like there’s a chance of rain. A thunderhead passed right over us this morning and didn’t leave a drop.” Right on cue, thunder rumbled and a few fat drops of rain splashed down on them. “We’d better go in the house.”

  Sabin let her help him to his feet, but he negotiated the steps on his own. Joe got up and took shelter under the car. Just as Rachel latched the screen door thunder cracked deafeningly directly overhead, and the heavens opened to release a deluge of rain. The temperature plummeted while they stood there, the rain fresh and cool, and the wind blew a fine mist through the screen door. Laughing, Rachel shut the wooden door and locked it, then turned to find herself in Sabin’s arms.

  He didn’t say anything. He simply closed his fist in her hair and held her head back, and his mouth came down on hers. Her world shuddered, then tilted off-balance. She stood there, her hands on his bare chest, and let him have her mouth as he pleased, unable to do anything except give him what he wanted. His mouth was hard, as she had known it would be. Hungry, as she had known it would be. He kissed her with the slow, hot skill of experience, his tongue on hers, the roughness of his faint beard scraping her softer skin.

  The exquisite pleasure stunned her, and she jerked her mouth from his, her eyes wide as she stared up at him.

  His fist tightened in her hair. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked roughly.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Then why did you pull away?”

  She couldn’t do anything but give him the truth, staring up at him in the growing darkness while the storm raged over their heads. “Because it was too much.”

  There was a storm in his black eyes, glittering and snapping with hot fire. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t enough.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TENSION WAS COILING tightly inside Rachel; it had been increasing as the night wore on. He hadn’t kissed her again, hadn’t touched her again, but he had watched her, and in some ways that was worse. The power of his gaze was like a physical touch, stroking and burning. She couldn’t make small talk to lessen the tension, because every time she looked up at him, he was watching her. They ate; then she turned on the television for diversion. Unfortunately the programs weren’t very diverting, and he watched her, instead, so she turned the set off again. “Do you want something to read?” she finally asked in desperation.

  He shook his head. “I’m too tired, and this damned headache is worse. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

  He did look tired, but that wasn’t surprising. He had been on his feet a lot, considering that he had just recovered full consciousness that morning. She was tired, too, the events of the day having sapped her energy. “Let me take a shower first. Then I’ll help you get settled,” she said, and he nodded in agreement.

  She hurried through her shower and pulled on her most modest nightgown, then belted a light robe around her. He was waiting in the bedroom when she left the bath, and the rest of the house was dark. “That was fast,” he said, smiling faintly. “I didn’t know a woman could get out of a bathroom in less than half an hour.”

  “Chauvinist,” she said mildly in reply, wondering if his smiles ever reached his eyes.

  He unfastened the cutoffs and let them drop, then stepped out of them and limped into the bathroom. “I’ll wash what I can reach, then call you to do the rest, all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, her throat tightening at the thought of feeling his body under her hands again. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t washed him before, but he was awake now, and he had kissed her. It was her own response to him that was making her nervous, not worrying over anything he might do. He was still too much of an invalid to make any serious advances.

  There was no need for her to sleep with him now; it would be easier on both of them if she didn’t make a big deal out of it and simply made a pallet before he came out of the bathroom. Thinking that, she took a couple of quilts from the top of the closet and unfolded them on the floor, then dragged a pillow from the bed and tossed it down. She wouldn’t need a cover; her robe would be enough.

  After twenty minutes he opened the door. “I’m ready for the reinforcements.”

  He wore only a towel knotted around his lean waist, and he was literally weaving on his feet. Rachel looked at him closely, concern driving away her nervousness. He was pale, the skin stretched tautly over his high cheekbones, but his lips were very red. “I think you’re feverish again,” she said, laying her hand against his cheek. He was too warm, but the fever wasn’t nearly as high as it had been before. Quickly she lowered the lid on the toilet and helped him to sit down, then gave him two aspirin and a glass of water before she finished washing his torso, working as fast as she could. The sooner he was in bed, the better. She should have been looking for the fever to flare again after the way he’d pushed himself that day.

  “Sorry about this,” he muttered as she dried him. “I didn’t intend to give out on you this way.”

  “You’re not Superman,” Rachel told him briskly. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

  She helped him to stand, and he said, “Wait.” Removing his right arm from around her shoulders, he tugged the towel loose from his waist and draped it over one of the towel racks. Totally and unconcernedly nude, he put his arm back around her shoulders and leaned on her heavily as she hel