Free Christmas Angel by Amanda McIntyre Page A

real, something she could physically touch. She pressed her cheek to his chest, telling herself it was only for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, content to be close. “For everything.” It didn’t matter that he stood unresponsive, his arms at his sides, and let her draw what she needed from him. She spotted a dark image on the bulge of his shoulder, peeking from beneath the fabric of his undershirt. Holding his arm, she touched her finger to the intricate scrolling etched into his skin, mesmerized as she traced the unusual design. It was beautiful against his smooth, muscular skin.
    “It’s one of my first tats.” He had turned his head, eying her exploration.
    “Tats?” she asked curiously. “How is it stuck on your skin?”
    His eyes met hers. “The usual way, with ink and needles.”
    “Strange.” she replied not wanting to sound ignorant, but still curious about its artful design “Where does it go?” She moved to his side and with eyes only, followed where it disappeared beneath the fabric.
    “You really want to see it?”
    She swallowed, met his gaze over his shoulder, and nodded. “Do you mind?”
    He shrugged and the corner of his lips tilted with a crooked smile. “They’re not for everyone.” He lifted the thin shirt over his head and her knees grew watery at the sight of his sculpted body. She stared at the corded muscles across his back, how his waist narrowed to the odd trousers he wore.
    “Seen enough?” he asked after a minute or two. “It’s a bit chilly in here.”
    She’d all but forgotten the reason he took off his shirt in the first place. With care, she reached out and followed the dark scroll design, tracing gently over his flesh. She saw him flinch at her touch.
    “Does it hurt?” she asked.
    He blew out a breath, cleared his throat, and tugged his shirt back over his head. “Not anymore. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll bring us that tea.”
    She wasn’t sure if it was the view of his muscled back or the injury making her feel flushed, but she agreed without question. Easing to the chair, she took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head and her heart. This man’s gallantry could weaken a woman’s heart and make her vulnerable to a world of hurt. He’d made it clear she was here only until she healed properly and could be safe on her own—wherever that might take her.
    “I’ll be in the kitchen, right in the next room. You’re sure you’re okay?”
    She nodded. “I think so. You’ve been very kind. Thank you.”
    “Except for the free show there, I’m just doing my job.” He tossed her a dimpled smile.
    “Are you in the habit then of bringing women to your home to protect them?” His gait slowed, and he turned to her. “Uh, no, this is not standard protocol.” “Why me?” she asked, truly curious why he would break rules for her.
    He sighed. “Where else would you have gone?” His meaning was loud and clear. I’m kind, but don’t mistake compassion for more.
    “I suppose you’re right, and I have to thank you. This won’t cause trouble for you, will it—I mean, with your superiors?”
    He hesitated then shrugged. “Gleason will cover for me. The sooner we finger this guy; the sooner you can safely move on with your life.”
    “And you, too, can move on with yours,” she reminded him.
    He pushed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it. I’ll put the water on.” He left the room in haste, not wishing to pursue the conversation, she guessed. It must be odd caring for someone you don’t even know. A distinct image emerged in her brain of her walking up a narrow staircase, carrying two buckets. Her heart faltered as she scrambled to remember the time, what it meant. She drew in a shaky breath, reminding herself to be patient and allow the healing of her memory to take its natural course. No sooner had the image appeared than it dissipated in a vapor. She closed her eyes to regroup. Despite her confusion