Free Forster, Suzanne by Blush

frustration on her if he was provoked enough.
    By the time he came back inside the shack, Gus had reclaimed some of her legendary cool, along with her bikini bottom from the rocker, but she was far from calm. He barely seemed to notice her as he strode to the table and opened the duffel bag of supplies he'd brought from the truck. A ripped seam in his faded jeans exposed a portion of his inner thigh, and his powerful back muscles glowed with heat.
    Gus counted five wounds. White and spidery, they looked like bullet wounds that had healed years ago. They ranged from his shoulder to his hip on the right side, a fourth had cut through his lower back and emerged from his side, and the fifth looked as if it might have shattered his spine. How could anyone have survived such an attack?
    Her desire to know more about him was sudden and sharp. The wounds told her he wasn't invulnerable, and what she'd seen had confirmed that. He was human, he suffered the same pain and anguish as the rest of the race. And yet he wasn't the same, not at all. Her intuition told her that he was as fundamentally different from anyone she'd ever known as dawn was from dusk.
    Her mother'd had a penchant for unsavory characters in the days before she married her stepfather, and Gus had always wondered what the attraction was. Dark, furtive men, losers and users, they'd lurked in the shadows of Rita Walsh's life. At a very young age Gus had already known she didn't share her mother's proclivities, and that hadn't changed. She still didn't.
    This man was dark, but he wasn't unsavory. He was deadly.
    Gus grew very quiet inside as she watched him sort through the bag, pulling out clothing and foodstuffs. Deadly? She'd used that word before but not with this understanding. Her fingers stilled and her heart slowed. Even her breathing dragged as if the hot desert air had suddenly grown thick and heavy.
    But while her body went silent, her mind didn't. Don't be fooled by what he's doing, it cautioned. Appearances deceive. He might look normal enough, emptying a duffel bag like any other man. He might wear ripped denim and worn leather boots, but it's an illusion. Your instincts about him are right. His heart is as cold as stone, and his mind is a trap that frees no one once it's ensnared them. Despite the pain you saw, despite the wounds that make him look human. He isn't, quite.
    Gus hugged her legs beneath the tented overcoat. Though her face was chapped and burned from the sun, a chill tingled the hairs at the base of her scalp. She refused to give in to the desire to shudder, but a tiny gasp welled in her throat. Something had jabbed her in the ribs! She reared back as the hot sensation intensified, and all thought of dark and deadly men flew right out of her head.
    It was her bikini top, she discovered once she'd opened the coat to investigate. The bone was hopelessly bent, and it was digging sharply into the underside of her breast. She levered the tight elastic band and moved the bra around, searching for a more comfortable fit, but no amount of adjusting brought relief.
    Knowing he could turn at any moment, she pulled the coat over her head for some privacy. The tent she created cut out most of the light, making it difficult to see, but she had to do something. The discomfort had become intolerable.
    She was swearing softly and fumbling with the underwire when she heard him turn.
    "What are you doing in there?" he asked.
    "Nothing, " she snapped, her patience fraying. By now her battle with the bikini had become a mission. It didn't matter that only moments ago a little voice had warned her to beware of him; Gus never listened to little voices anyway. Perhaps because of her childhood, fear had always motivated her differently than most. Instead of backing down when she was threatened, she went forward. Maybe it was a failing, but she couldn't help herself. "I said what are you doing?"
    "And I said nothing. Ever heard of personal privacy?"
    Something hit the