Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

wanted to ask more questions, to know the cause of the shattered darkness in Hannah’s eyes, but he knew better than to bring up the subject. She was on the edge of falling apart. He needed her strong.
    “What do you usually drink with lunch?” he asked.
    “Iced tea.”
    He went back to the refrigerator, bypassed the bottles of beer, and grabbed a pitcher of tea. A few minutes of rummaging in the cupboards produced glasses and plates. Silverware was in a nearby drawer. Even the butter knives were lethally sharp. Len’s touch, no doubt. Years ago he had never been happy with less than three weapons strapped to various parts of his body. If that wasn’t enough, he had always had a gift for turning ordinary things into deadly tools.
    Archer wondered if an oyster shell had been one of them. He didn’t ask. A sideways glance told him Hannah was in one of her waking trances again, hanging on to consciousness by sheer force of will. She had had that same will when he met her ten years ago—a beautiful, innocent teenager determined to escape from a stifling existence of living, working, and sharing cooking pots with the monkey-eating Yanomami of Brazil.
    The determination, the smoky-husky voice, and the indigo mystery of her eyes were the only links Archer could see between the teenager of his memories and the shocky, exhausted woman who was sitting at the table, swaying like grass in a long, slow wind.
    Silently Archer sliced fruit, cheese, and beef that looked range fed rather than grain pampered. Without asking her preference in mustard, ketchup, chutney, and the like, he assembled sandwiches. As he put a plate in front of her, a corner of his mouth kicked up. Lately it seemed his mission in life was to feed siblings.
    Not that he felt brotherly about Hannah McGarry. He never had. Not at first glance. Not now. It had been the final wedge driven between himself and the half brother he had admired and befriended before he discovered the deep fracture lines in Len’s soul.
    Archer had been a lot younger then, able to give trust and love without understanding the inevitable consequences if he chose wrong. His half brother had been a big part of the painful, inevitable, and nearly lethal experience called growing up.
    “Start with this,” Archer said, holding out a juicy, deep gold chunk of fresh pineapple to Hannah.
    She jerked as something brushed her mouth. “What?”
    He slid the piece of fruit along her lower lip as though he was feeding his niece. Automatically Hannah opened her mouth to catch a drop of juice. Before she realized what had happened, the fruit was on her tongue. Her salivary glands squeezed painfully in response to the tart-sweet taste.
    “Chew,” he said. “Even as sweet as pineapple is, it won’t melt if all you do is suck on it.”
    She chewed. Gooseflesh rippled over her in pure pleasure at the taste.
    “Cold?” Archer asked, looking at her tank top. Her nipples had risen to press hard and tight against the thin cloth. He jerked his eyes back up to her face. “Hannah, are you cold?”
    “No.”
    “You’re shivering.”
    “It tasted like paradise.”
    Hannah’s simple abandonment to her senses brought Archer’s sexuality to full alert. Irritated at his unruly body, he sat and tucked his chair underneath the table so that he wouldn’t shock her by his outright lust.
    He wasn’t surprised by the urgency of his body; he had always responded to her this way. But he was angry about it. He didn’t want to need her this fast, this hard, this deep. Wanting like that made a man lose control. An out-of-control man was in trouble up to his stiff, stupid cock.
    “Eat,” Archer said. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. We can’t do it in the shape you’re in now.”
    The tone of his voice straightened Hannah’s spine. She reached for her fork, only to send it sliding and clattering across the table when her fingers slipped.
    He grabbed the wayward silverware. He didn’t remember her as being clumsy. He remembered her as having an unconscious, bone-deep grace that made watching her entirely too hot an experience for his comfort.
    “Sorry.” Hannah drew a bracing breath. “I’m not usually so awkward.”
    “Your nerves are shot. Your body isn’t any better off. You need food and sleep.” Archer stabbed a piece of pineapple, slid it over her lower lip, and said, “Try again.”
    This time when Hannah shivered with pleasure, he kept his eyes on the food.
    After a few