Diamond Bay by Linda Howard

as she lowered him
back onto the pillow. "You have time for a nap." He lay there,
breathing heavily, his brow still furrowed as he stared at her. His gaze didn't
flicker as she retrieved the tray from the floor and placed it on the bedside
table; his attention was locked on her, as if he were trying to make sense of
things, to fight his way out of the mists that clouded his mind. She talked
quietly to him as she propped him up on her extra pillows; she didn't know if
he understood what she was saying, but her voice and touch seemed to calm him.
Sitting on the side of the bed, she began to feed him, talking to him all the
while. He was docile, opening his mouth whenever she put the spoon to his lips,
but soon his eyelids began to droop as he tired. Quickly she gave him aspirin,
elated at how easy it had been to feed him.
    As she supported his head and pulled the extra pillows from behind
him so he could lie flat again, she had an idea. It was worth a try.
"What's your name?"
    He frowned, his head jerking restlessly. "Whose?" he
asked, his deep voice full of confusion.
    Rachel remained bent over him, her hand under his head. Her heart
was beating faster. Maybe she could begin getting some answers! "Yours.
What's your name?"
    "Mine?" The questions were making him fretful, agitated.
He stared hard at her as he tried to concentrate, his gaze slipping over her
face, then moving lower.
    She tried again. "Yes, yours. What's your name?"
    "Mine?" He drew a deep breath, then said it again.
"Mine." The second time it was a statement, not a question. Slowly he
moved, lifting both hands, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He molded his hands over her
breasts, cupping them warmly in his palms and rubbing her nipples with his thumbs. "Mine,"
he said again, stating what he plainly considered to be his ownership.
    For a moment, just for a moment, Rachel was helpless against the
unexpected pleasure burning her flesh at his touch. She was frozen in place,
her nerve endings going wild, her body flooding with warmth as his thumbs
turned her nipples into hardened nubs. Then reality returned with a thud, and
she jerked away from him, bolting off the bed. Exasperation at him – and anger
at herself – filled her. "That's what you think," she snapped at him.
"These are mine, not yours!"
    His eyelids drooped sleepily. She stood there glaring down at him.
Evidently the only things on his mind were partying and sex! "Damn it, you
have a one-track mind!" she angrily accused, half under her breath.
    His eyelashes fluttered open, and he looked at her again. "Yes," he said clearly,
then closed his eyes and went to sleep.
    Rachel stood beside the bed with clenched fists, torn between
laughing and swatting him. It was doubtful that he had understood anything
she'd said; that last provocative word could have been in answer to her
accusation, or to some question that existed only in his own foggy
consciousness. Now he was sleeping heavily again, totally relaxed and oblivious
to the upheaval he had left behind.
    Shaking her head, she picked up the tray and quietly left the
room. Her insides were still quivering with mingled indignation and desire. It
was an uncomfortable combination, uncomfortable because she wasn't one to
delude herself, and she couldn't deny that she was attracted to him more
powerfully than she could ever have imagined. Touching him was a compulsion;
her hands wanted to linger on his warm skin. His voice made her shiver deep inside, and
one look from those black eyes made her feel electrified. And his touch…his touch!
Twice now he had put his hands on her, and each time she had turned molten with
uncontrollable pleasure.
    It was insane to feel so intensely about a man she didn't know,
but no amount of self-lecturing could change her response. Their lives had
become linked from the moment she had dragged him out of the surf; in assuming
responsibility for his safety, she had committed herself to him on a level that
went so deep she was