Free Morgan's Son by Lindsay McKenna

eyes for an answer she knew he didn't have.
    "Look," he said roughly, placing his hands on her shoulders, "you can't flail yourself with that stuff. Just shut it off. We've got work to do." He gave her a small shake. "You can't blame yourself, whatever happens." He stared deep into her moist eyes. "You know that, don't you?"
    Sabra felt the bite of his hands on her shoulders, felt his courage, his steadiness, for the first time. It was shocking, his touch, which communicated strength as well as gentleness. She hadn't thought Talbot possessed those qualities. As she forced herself to look up into the deep blue of his eyes, she recognized in him a unique type of strength that was different from—and complementary to—her own. His hands were warm against her blouse, and she felt their heat radiations through the silk to touch her frightened heart.
    "I—I want you to know," Sabra said brokenly, "that this is the first mission I've been on that I've had a personal stake in. I've never had a connection with the people on a mission like I do with Jason…with Laura. I felt for the families involved, of course, who hoped we could help them. But this is different, Craig."
    "I know," he murmured wearily. Forcing himself to release her, because if he didn't, he was going to do the unthinkable—wrap his arms around her and crush her tightly against him—he allowed his hands to slip away. The need for Sabra, for her raw strength and courage almost overwhelmed him. Craig took a step back. "Look, I'm rummy with exhaustion. I can barely stand, and I sure as hell can't walk straight anymore. I need to get over to my apartment in Fairfax, shower, change clothes and shave."
    Sabra felt bereft when his warm, strong hands lifted. She stood, swaying slightly, the child's blanket pressed tightly to her. The look in Craig's eyes startled her. Heated her. For just a moment, there had been a change from darkness to gold in their depths as he'd looked down at her. Her mouth dry, she stammered, "Why—why don't I drive you? You're too tired to drive yourself. Everything I need is here and I've had two days' rest. Maybe when we get on that flight to Hawaii , you can sleep."
    His mouth twisted, and he rasped, "Planes and I don't get along, remember?" With a shake of his head, he added, "Let's saddle up. You'll drive my car for me?"
    "Sure," Sabra said, gently folding the toy up in the blue blanket.
    Craig was too tired to think or feel anything. "I'll give you directions. Let's go."

    Sabra stood in the living room of Craig's small, one-bedroom apartment and looked around. Yes, he had furniture, but somehow the place felt empty. She spotted a couple of photographs on the television set and went over to look at them. As she leaned down to inspect them, she felt someone else in the room. Turning, she saw Craig watching her darkly. He'd come out of a quick shower, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist.
    Sabra straightened, her pulse bounding. She hadn't been wrong about Craig Talbot looking dangerous. His chest was covered with a mat of dark hair, emphasizing his primal, animal side. His shoulders were thrown back with natural pride and grace. Her mouth went dry as she realized that the stark whiteness of the terry-cloth towel dipped provocatively below his navel, hugging his narrow hips. In a physical sense, he was beautiful, lean and very fit. Her gaze went to his arms. The pink burn scars were not only on the backs of his hands, but claimed at least half the skin up to each elbow. She wondered what terrible fire he'd been in and somehow survived. If he realized she was staring at him, he didn't show it as he rubbed at his dripping hair with another, smaller towel.
    "Those are my brothers," Craig said, walking toward her. He told himself to stop—to turn around and leave. Sabra stood like a tall, graceful willow in his apartment—so wonderfully alive. He couldn't decide whether it was her exotic beauty, the sudden flush on her cheeks or the