Lost and Found Groom McLinn, Patricia (love books to read .TXT) 📖

“Kendra.”

Paulo had said her name. He was alive. She could feel his heartbeat, pushing his blood through his veins.

He murmured something else, which sounded almost as if he asked if she was okay. But he couldn’t have asked it in words she would understand.

“Paulo.”

He raised his head. She couldn’t see his face; the fire must have been smothered, the lantern destroyed. But now she could hear his voice, and knew he spoke in the island tongue, rising at the end in interrogation.

“I’m okay. Are you hurt?”

He said something else that sounded somehow reassuring.

He carefully raised his upper body, balancing on one arm above her while he started to clear debris with a cautious hand. Their lower bodies were pressed together, their legs entwined.

She should have been embarrassed, uneasy. She wasn’t. She lay there, aware only of a lung-filling gratefulness for the reality of his weight and warmth against her.

They were alive.

When he had cleared enough space to lift off her, she forced herself to sit up, to take in their situation.

She brushed bits of wood, mud, shingles and jagged hunks of wallboard off the cushion while Paulo patiently restarted the fire.

The quiet pressed around them like a heavy blanket, cutting off the world as completely as the noise had. The eye of the storm. With the second half soon to start battering at them as harshly as the first half. And that would bring the storm surge, a hurricane’s deadly swell of water.

But for this moment, they were alive.

“Well, at least we have plenty of kindling,” Kendra muttered, tossing a piece of wood onto the meager flame.

Paulo turned then, his mouth starting to lift in a smile. His expression froze at the same instant she gasped. A jagged fragment of wood, as long as a pen but three times as big around jutted from the skin in front of his ear. Amid all the other stings and blows his body had taken, he must not have felt it until he started to smile, shifting those muscles.

“No.” She grabbed the hand he started toward it. “You might drive it deeper. I’ll do it. Here–”

She knelt in front of him, gesturing for him to turn toward her. He slid one long leg past her and bent the other, bringing his knee by her hip.

“Tip your head so I can see better.”

He stared at her. She put her fingertips to either side of his stubble-bristling jaw to turn and tip his head toward the firelight. As his head moved, his eyes never left her face.

In the flickering light she saw the spine of wood running under the skin for two inches. If she could slide it out, carefully, without leaving fragments . . . But that would mean doing it slowly and that would hurt more.

“This is going to hurt.” Her eyes met his for an instant, then skidded away. She put one hand along his jaw below the wound, thinking to hold him still if he jerked.

“Kendra.”

Her name was followed by a flow of soft words. She met his eyes again and knew he reassured her. Her breath came out in a rush. He touched the back of her bracing hand lightly, and she knew he’d sworn to hold still.

Drawing in a steadier breath, she shifted her hand to feel the point of the shard, just under his skin. Biting her lip hard enough that the moisture in her eyes might have been from pain, she started drawing the wood up and out.

The first inch she feared her hands would shake. The second inch she feared she would pass out.

He never moved, never made a sound.

Her legs trembled as she shifted her hold on the slick, narrowing shaft of the shard, pinching it hard. Her guiding finger felt the tip finally give up its hold on his flesh.

She gasped and dropped back on her heels, throwing the wood fragment out of their circle of light.

“Gracias, Kendra.”

Paler, Paulo still gave her a small smile and reached again toward his wound. His fingers came away red.

“You need a bandage. The blood–”

Even as she came up to her knees to look at the blood-oozing wound, she searched for a makeshift bandage, but saw nothing.

She needed something–anything. She grabbed the tail of the shirt she wore–his shirt–and drew it up to his cheek, pressing it against his wound. That corner soaked through, so she unbuttoned one, then two buttons from the bottom to free more material.

“It won’t stop bleeding. It won’t stop–” Her voice broke, and she realized she was crying.

“Shh, shh. Kendra.” Paulo’s arms were around her, his hands stroking down her back. “There you go . . . Kendra.”

She threw her arms around his neck and held on as tight as she could while his shoulder absorbed her brief, violent tears.

His shoulder felt hard and warm under her face, his breath soft and stirring against her neck, his hands firm and rhythmic stroking her back.

So alive . . .

She shifted, realizing he’d drawn her into his lap. She could smell the damp heat of his skin, a faint whiff of soap mixed with the earthy, watery scent of hurricane. And something deeper.

She’d known his kindness. His gentleness even. Now, all along where her body touched his, she felt his heat. His humanity. His maleness.

They were alive . . . alive.

“Paulo.”

He went still at her whisper against his neck. She tipped her head back to see his eyes. They were on hers. Then they shifted to her mouth. She moved or he moved or they both moved. It didn’t matter. They were kissing. No testing of lips, no teasing of tongues. But hard, hungry kisses that made her gasp. Long, stroking, driving kisses.

She arched against him, he laid her back, following her down, pressing against her.

No subtlety slowed frantic fingers against straining bodies. No thought tempered urgent cries.

They met, hard and fast. He entered her, she took him in. The rhythm already set, already racing. The finish brought her off the cushion, her head flung back. She heard him groan