Free Silk on the Skin: A Loveswept Classic Romance by Linda Cajio Page A

covering his chest, while they had been out on the boat.
    A flush rising to her cheeks, she turned and strode briskly into the kitchen.
    For goodness’ sake, she thought in exasperation, she had been alone with him all afternoon, so why should she be so self-conscious now? Because, she silently answered, the boat had been too small and very much out in the open … and therefore safe.
    But now he was in her bathroom. His clothes were in her washer, and no passers-by would interrupt. If she were to lose her control over her attraction …
    “Remember what he’s really here for,” she whispered, as if that would tighten the slipping reins. She glanced into the pot of cooking crabs and sighed. They were nice and red—and edible.
    Hell, she thought. Dinnertime.
    “Cass!”
    Startled, she jumped back from the stove, then realized it was Dallas calling her. Hoping she hadn’t forgotten to put towels in the bathroom, she turned off the flame under the pot and walked slowly out of the kitchen, through the living room, and to the closed bathroom door.
    “Cass!”
    “Yes?” she replied through the stout barrier.
    “Get in here.”
    She blinked, then narrowed her eyes at the solid wood.
    “Forget it, Dallas!”
    “Cass, please!”
    The desperate note in his voice penetrated her growing fury. She couldn’t help but admit that he sounded as if he were in trouble. Gingerly she opened the door. Steam wafted out. Opening the door a little wider, she cautiously peeked inside.
    The small room was hazy with moisture, although it was rapidly clearing as drafts of cooler air entered from the hallway. The shower curtain was flung back, and Dallas stood in the tub. One hand was braced against the tile wall, and the other held a towel against the front of his pelvis.
    He was an angry red. All over.
    “Omigod!” Cass exclaimed, hurrying to him. She dimly noted the towel wasn’t wrapped around him, and she couldn’t blame him. The sunburn looked so terrible, she knew it must be agony just to stand upright, let alone have a scratchy towel rubbing against his waist and thighs.
    She stretched out her hand to see how hot his skin was.
    “Don’t touch me!” he gasped, his chest heaving for air.
    “I thought you never burned,” she said, staring at his damp, flaming shoulders.
    “Famous last words.”
    “It blossomed in the shower, didn’t it,” she stated, rather than asked.
    He nodded. Goose bumps were already pricklingalong his flesh. It was hard to believe he’d had a healthy tan little more than fifteen minutes ago.
    “You’ve got heat rash, too,” she said. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek in sympathy, then dropped it. “You poor thing.”
    “I hate pity,” he said, closing his eyes.
    “Would you like me to yell at you instead?”
    “No.”
    “Okay.” She surveyed him for a moment. “The first thing we’ve got to do is get you into bed. Then I’ll call the doctor. Let’s just hope you don’t have sun poisoning.”
    “Your bed?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she muttered. Her house only had two bedrooms, and she had converted the second into a home office.
    “I wish I could appreciate that fact,” he commented.
    “If you could, I wouldn’t have made the offer.”
    “Don’t bet on it.”
    She smiled. “You are not in a position to argue the point.”
    “True.” Wry amusement momentarily surfaced through the pain glazing his tawny eyes.
    “It might be best if you tried to make it to the bedroom on your own. That way I wouldn’t have to touch you. I’ll just hover mother-henlike in case of imminent collapse.”
    He nodded, and winced as he slowly stepped out of the tub. Cass found her gaze straying over his lean form. She immediately ordered it to stay on the side of his beet-red face. She could barely discern the lighter strips of skin where his sunglasseshad been. Lordy, she thought, remembering her earlier notion of bringing home a lobster. She was becoming prophetic in her old age.
    Somehow