Death is Forever

his eyes appear like clear crystal touched with tiny shards of blue and green. The intense black of his hair was reflected in the heavy shadow of beard darkening his tan skin.
    “Take a deep breath,” he said.
    She breathed in.
    “Again. Deeper.” Cole watched her face closely but saw no sign of real pain. Her ribs rose reassuringly beneath his hands, telling him she was able to fill her lungs in a normal way. “Does it hurt now?”
    “Some, but not enough to interfere with breathing. Really. I’ve been hurt much worse tripping over camera equipment.”
    He smiled slightly and kept probing. “Ribs?”
    She shook her head.
    “Here?”
    “Ouch!”
    “That’s what I thought. Your ribs are okay but you took a shot to the diaphragm.” His fingertips traced the beginnings of a bruise. “You’re going to be wearing a rainbow for a few days.” He turned her around so that her back was to him. “You hurt anywhere else?” he continued, running his hands over her slowly. “Spine? Kidneys?”
    “No.”
    “Sure?” he asked, kneading Erin’s lower back gently, searching for any signs of soreness, any flinching away from his light, probing touches.
    “I’m sure.”
    “Let me know if that changes.”
    Cole turned Erin around and calmly began buttoning her blouse once more, trying very hard not to notice the taut swell of her breasts beneath her bra and the soft heat of her skin. When his hands were between her breasts, she took a swift, involuntary breath. Unavoidably his hands brushed against her.
    She felt the accidental touch and held her breath, waiting for him to take advantage of the moment. She knew he wanted her. He couldn’t hide his arousal while standing in front of her wearing jockey shorts that were be coming less concealing with every one of his heartbeats.
    Without a pause, he kept buttoning her shirt.
    She closed her eyes and told herself that she was relieved, not disappointed. Cole’s past might have been as shadowed as a midnight jungle, but his deepest instincts were honorable. He would protect rather than brutalize. Yet there was no doubt that he could, and would, fight with disciplined savagery if he had to.
    That’s the key, she realized. Discipline.
    More than any man she’d ever known—even her father—Cole was in control of his mind, of his body, of his instincts, of himself. The certainty of his self-control raced through her, more heady than wine, leaving a curious heat in its wake.
    “Be sure to tell me if you start hurting,” he said again, turning away. “I’m going to wash out my slacks.”
    “Cole?”
    Her voice dried up as she watched him turn toward her once more. He was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger, nearly naked, and his eyes were burning as he watched her.
    “You better lie down, honey. You look a little strung out.”
    For the space of one breath, two, Erin didn’t answer.
    Then she went to the bed and lay down. As she closed her eyes, the sound of running water came from the bathroom.

19
Darwin
    Using the bathtub faucet Cole repeatedly rinsed blood from his slacks. When the water running through the pants came out clear rather than red or pink, he wrung out the slacks, rolled them up in a towel and squeezed, blotting up water. A snap of his wrist shook the cloth out. He tossed the slacks over the shower rack to dry, picked up his shirt, and put it on.
    He took a lot of time, long enough for his fierce arousal to subside.
    When he came out of the bathroom, Erin was lying wide-eyed on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
    “Does your diaphragm hurt?” he asked. “Is it keeping you awake?”
    She wondered how to tell him that she wasn’t closing her eyes because every time she did she saw an image of him, his chest naked except for a black wedge of hair that tapered to a line and vanished behind the white of his underwear.
    “Erin?”
    “Every time I close my eyes I see…” Her voice died.
    “The fight?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “You.”
    The corner of his mouth turned down. “And that scares you.”
    “Not…quite.”
    Cole didn’t miss her exact imitation of his earlier words. He crossed the room and stood by the bed, watching her. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked.
    Her head turned toward him, revealing brilliant green eyes and a smile that hovered on the edge of turning upside down. “I liked you better without the shirt.”
    “Did you? I got the feeling it made you uneasy as hell.”
    “There’s