Free A Question of Honor by Lindsay McKenna

stepped into the hot, fragrant water that she had been on the receiving end of his hard, efficient side. This new and unexpected aspect involving his love of animals that had suffered beckoned to her. Noah was healing, whether she wanted to admit it or not. But could she keep her personal feelings for him at bay and maintain the decorum demanded of both of them in this unusual circumstance?
    Getting out of the bath, Kit slipped into a silky lavender nightgown. Drowsy and feeling relaxed, she padded to the bed and lay down. As she tucked her hands beneath the pillow and closed her eyes, her last thoughts were of Noah and the miraculous effect he had upon her.
    The sun was hot, making the humidity seem even higher than usual. Noah brushed a light film of sweat off his brow as he eased himself out of the Trans Am. He saw Tripoli at the picture window of his house as he sauntered up the walk. Glancing at his watch, he realized he was half an hour late. Kit was probably furious. Starving women made poor companions. Unlocking the front door, he was greeted by the Doberman. Noah leaned over to pet him, then took off his officer’s cap and dropped it on the small desk.
    “Where’s Kit?” he asked. The dog leaped away, his claws clacking noisily on the wooden floor as he raced to the end of the hall toward the bedrooms. Noah followed him, steeling himself against Kit’s anger at his lateness.
    To his surprise, Kit didn’t come out to meet him. He halted at the entrance to her bedroom, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The venetian blinds behind the green curtains had been pulled shut, and Noah felt his features relax. Kit lay asleep, a light quilt drawn up to her waist. Both cats were napping beside her.
    Quietly entering the room, Noah stood over Kit and watched her sleep. He shouldn’t be standing here; he ought to pretend she wasn’t even in the house. But that was impossible, he admitted harshly to himself. While at dockside with the Osprey crew, he’d thought constantly of Kit being here in his home. Oddly, just getting to see her helped evaporate the confusion of his feelings. He narrowed his eyes with concern. Even in the semidarkness her skin was pale, drawn tightly across her cheekbones. The shadows beneath her eyes were still in evidence, and Noah tried to curb his worry. Her lips were parted, stress no longer drawing in the corners. So, he thought, you really do want to laugh. She looked like a lost, helpless waif on the huge expanse of the bed. Noah leaned over and pulled the quilt up around her shoulders, tucking it in so that she would remain warm despite the coolness of the central air-conditioning.
    Straightening, Noah ordered himself to leave. He had to before he reached out to caress her cheek. Every time he got around Kit, he seemed to go into a tailspin. She must have taken a bath—her hair was slightly curled, easing the angular planes of her face and creating a softer look to her features. The powerful need to will away the pain she still carried caught him off balance.
    He didn’t want to leave Kit’s room, but he made himself move. How Kit, as a woman, had survived five years in the narc trench warfare was beyond him. He kept the door to her bedroom open so that the animals could come and go as they pleased. As he walked down the hall to his own room, Noah admitted that Kit affected him deeply. No woman had ever reached out and unraveled him like this. Somehow, he was going to have to hide all those feelings from her. But how?
    Kit felt the warm roughness of a man’s hand moving across her shoulder. Drowsily she forced open her eyes. Even in the darkness she was aware of the intensity of Noah’s gaze as he leaned over her.
    “I thought I’d better get you up for a bite to eat,” he explained in a low voice. “Then you can go back to bed.”
    She fought the drugged feeling of tiredness, slowly becoming aware of his presence. A fresh ribbon of emotion squeezed from her heart as she