Free Raphaela's Gift by Sydney Allan Page B

heat through his body.
    Her gaze lifted to his. "Please don't," she whispered.
    He jerked his hand away and stepped aside. "Sorry."
    She turned from him, faced the river, and wrapped her arms around herself. The muscles of her toned arms tensed, hinting at their latent strength.
    Temptation to ask what she was thinking and feeling drummed him. He wanted to know when people had watched and judged her. What miracle had they expected from her? Yet he knew she would clam up if pushed. "If running bothers you so much, why don't you go back and face whatever it was?" he asked, deciding that was a general enough question to be non-threatening.
    "I can't. It's not that simple. Besides, I'd have to leave my job."
    He stepped from behind her to stand at her side. Her eyes shone as he studied her profile. Straight nose, upturned a bit. High cheekbones now pink from exertion or possibly embarrassment. She chewed on her full bottom lip. He could practically taste its sweetness just watching her.
    "My job means so much to me. It's all I have," she continued.
    Her job is all she has? He'd always had someone or something besides work to fill his life. His marriage, his daughter. A tingle of pity crept over him, quickly replaced by guilt. "And I'm an ass for treating you the way I have."
    "No, you're not an ass."
    "That's a matter of opinion. As I recall, you've called me a 'stubborn ass' at least once."
    She turned to him, a gentle smile on her face. God, was she gorgeous! It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from grabbing her arms and holding her close.
    He turned away as she bent to slip her shoes back on. "We'd better get back. Do you have any appointments this afternoon?" He started walking again, slower so she wouldn't strain her ankle any more than she already had.
    "Three o'clock with Mr. Roberts," she said as he helped her climb over a rock and then motioned for her to walk ahead of him.
    "I don't think you're going to make it."
    "No? Why? What time is it?" she asked over her shoulder.
    He offered his hand to her again when she stepped over a fallen tree. "Three-thirty."
    Her shoulders slumped. "Damn!"
    "Can I help somehow? Is there someone I can talk to? I can let them know it was my fault."
    She shook her head and continued forward in silence. After a moment, she said, "Nope. That's okay. I'll handle it."
    The walk back to the lodge took a lot less time than he'd expected, and he was grateful. Faith had grown silent and brooding, making him feel even worse.
    After they rounded the corner toward her office, he said, "Thank you, again, for your help down by the water. And I'm sorry for--you know, by the river. I wouldn't have touched you--" The words simply felt wrong in his mouth.
    "Please, don't," she said. "I don't want to talk about it. All right?"
    Glancing at his wristwatch, he reluctantly turned from her. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. As he turned, he caught a brief glimpse of her face, and of the regret and embarrassment in her eyes.
    Damn me to hell!
    Feeling like a first class lout, he rounded the second corner and passed a young guy, blond, with flashing highlights in spiked hair and deep brown eyes. The guy was short but solid, with muscled limbs. A gym rat. The Terminator. He nodded a greeting as they passed each other.
    Arnold paused and asked, "Hey, you know where Faith LeFeuvre's office is?"
    Garret studied him, not sure if he should tell him. "Who's asking?"
    Arnold grinned, the expression cocky. "Her fiancé. Who wants to know?"
     
     
     
Chapter Six
     
     
    "I'm glad you decided to stay," Faith said to Mr. Roberts as she stood and led him to the studio's exit. The art therapy session had gone extremely well--a big relief. Mr. Roberts, an interior designer, was artistic and fully in touch with his creative side, but he still locked a wide range of "undesirable" emotions within. Through her limited experience, Faith had learned labeling feelings as either good or bad, then hiding