Free Hawk's Way by Joan Johnston Page B

the door. It wasn’t locked, so he cautiously opened it. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but what he found was disturbing.
    Water was lapping at the edge of the tub, threatening to overflow. Honey was lying back with her nape against the edge of the tub. Her face was angled away from him. Her hair was wet and slicked back to reveal the plane of her jaw. In the steam-fogged room she provided an almost ethereal vision. He stood transfixed, staring at her.
    â€œHoney?”
    Concerned when there was still no response he stepped forward and knelt beside the tub. He gasped at his first glorious sight of her naked body. Before desire could take hold, he caught sight of her face, frozen in a mask of agony. Certain that something was seriously wrong, he rose to shut off the water and in the same deft move reached for a towel to wrap around her.
    When he lifted her from the water, her eyes remained closed. Her face was frozen in a tragic pose like some marble statue. He picked her up in his arms and, rather than stay in the steamy room, headed for the open door down the hall that led to her bedroom. She offered no resistance, which made him even more concerned. Once inside, he shoved the door closed with his shoulder and carried her over to the canopied bed.
    He wondered if her husband had slept with her in this frilly room, but decided she must have redone it since his death. It was a feminine place now, with the lace canopy overhead and lace curtains at the windows. It smelled of someflower, which he finally identified as the same honeysuckle scent he had breathed so often in the bathroom.
    He tried to lay her on the bed but she grasped him around the neck, refusing to let go. He sat down on the bed and pulled her farther into his arms.
    It was then that he realized she was crying. Sobbing, actually. Only there was no sound, just the heaving of her body and the closed, distorted features on her face.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he crooned. “You’re all right. I’m here now.”
    Her grip tightened around his neck and her nose nuzzled against his throat. She moaned once, and the silent sobbing began again.
    Jesse felt his throat swell with emotion. His arms tightened around her, as though he could protect her from whatever was causing her pain. Only he hadn’t a clue as to why she was so distraught.
    â€œIt’s all right, Honey. Nothing can hurt you. I’m here. You’re fine.”
    He meant what he said. He wouldn’t allowanyone or anything to harm her. Jesse tightened his arms possessively, only to feel her struggle against his hold. Which reminded him he had no right to feel such feelings. They were virtual strangers. He knew little about her; and she knew nothing, really, about him.
    He loosened his hold, caressing her bare shoulders in preparation for moving them apart. As soon as he tried to separate them, she clutched at him and buried her face even deeper against his chest. He was perfectly willing to hold her all day, if that was what she needed. He settled himself more comfortably, putting his stockinged feet on the bedspread, to wait out her tears.
    She cried herself to sleep.
    * * *
    Jesse watched the sun rise with a sleeping woman in his arms. He had always wondered what it would be like to settle down, to have a woman of his own, to wake like this with her softness enfolded in his arms. His life hadn’t allowed such a luxury. Lately he had begun to wonder whether he ought to think more seriously about finding a wife.
    He had bitter experience already with one woman who hadn’t been able to handle the kind of life he led. She had worried and begged and cried for him to change his ways. But he hadn’t been able—or willing—to give up the life he had planned for himself. It had been a bitter separation, and he had learned that he could hurt, and be hurt.
    That had been nearly ten years ago. He hadn’t allowed himself to fall in love again. Or to