Like Silk. Mary Baxter Lynn

quietly.

      Cursing, Collier shoved the car into gear and drove off. He was about to make an incredibly stupid and dangerous move. He was taking her with him to the cabin. But what choice did he have?

      Two

      Collier peered at his watch.

      She’d been in the shower far too long to suit him. He hoped she was all right, but he was concerned. She’d seemed so fragile, so breakable, when they had arrived at the retreat that he had again questioned his judgment in not taking her straight to the nearest hospital whether she wanted him to or not.

      She’d seemed so weak that he’d been tempted to offer to help her undress and get into the shower, but the words had stuck in his throat for more reasons than one. Now he was wondering what to do. Check on her? Would that be appropriate? Hell, he didn’t know. He’d never been in a situation like this before. This woman was a total stranger. He didn’t even know her name, yet she had suddenly become his responsibility.

      Not for long, he told himself, a grim expression changing his features. Come morning, they would both be headed back toward civilization, although that would of course put a kink in his plans. Once he left, he doubted seriously if he’d return to the cabin, despite how much was resting on the case. It demanded copious research, meaning he needed time alone without interruption, something he couldn’t get at the office or at home.

      Her timing couldn’t have been worse, dammit.

      How had she gotten herself into such a nightmarish situation, anyway? He was loathe to travel down that mental path on his own or with her, but he knew the journey was inevitable. At some point she had to talk to him. She owed him that. He was curious. And sad. And angry. Not just because of her but for her. No woman deserved to be treated in such a vile manner.

      The bastard who had done this to her should get his just deserts. But that certainly wasn’t his responsibility, and he wasn’t about to assume it. He wanted her out of here ASAP. That was his objective.

      Collier stared at his watch again, then, frowning, looked at the closed door across from his room. Although hers was the smallest of the five bedrooms, he’d chosen it because of its location. He felt compelled to be near her so he could keep an eye on her.

      He’d been afraid to put her upstairs, where most of the guests stayed. Until Jackson’s tragic accident, Mason had often used the cabin for entertaining special clients of the firm. Now, for the most part, it remained empty, except for rare times like this weekend when a member of the family was lucky enough to sneak off and head for these hills.

      For some reason, Collier had never entertained the thought of bringing Lana here. He almost laughed, trying to picture her wandering aimlessly through the large airy rooms looking to find something to occupy her time. She would hate the peace and quiet the hideaway offered. She always had to be busy making a statement, whatever the hell that meant.

      Enough of Lana. His plate was full without bringing her into the equation. Suddenly he felt the urge to do something. His pent-up energy needed another outlet. When they had first arrived, he’d started a fire in the huge rock hearth and left it crackling and spitting, which effectively broke the sharp silence. But now he needed something else, another project.

      The kitchen. Once there, he paused. Coffee or hot chocolate? He opted for both, thinking he’d need the caffeine fix long after she’d settled in for the night. And she just might drink a cup of the chocolate. Maybe that would help calm her fractured nerves. Disposing of that chore in record time, Collier made his way back into the great room, coffee in hand. After taking two sips, he set his cup on the nearest table.

      She still hadn’t made an appearance.

      Deciding that his “guest” had definitely had enough time to take care of her personal needs, he strode to her door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. More silence greeted him. Concern driving him, he knocked again. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m…fine.”

      When her breathy voice reached his ears through the door, he went weak with relief. He’d had visions of all sorts of things having happened to her, all of them bad—and under his roof, too.

      “May I come in?” he asked, feeling like a stranger in his own house and not liking it.

      “All…right.”

      He didn’t know what he’d expected when he saw her again, but it wasn’t what he got. She’d been such a mess when he’d picked her up—wet, bedraggled and hurt, physically and emotionally—that he hadn’t really looked at her. And once they had reached the cabin, he’d shown her straight to her room and left her there. It seemed as though neither of them had been comfortable in each other’s presence.

      Now, though, she was standing directly in his line of vision, and some vision she was, too, despite the nasty bruising on the side of her face, where it looked like someone had slapped her good and proper. For a second he couldn’t get any farther than her delicate but perfectly cut features, especially her white, translucent skin and heart-shaped lips. And her lush black hair. He couldn’t escape that. Even though the tousled curls were still damp, they looked like silk.

      Her figure was perfectly cut, as well. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a terry robe that had been hanging behind the bathroom door, she stood tall and willowy, with a small waist, full breasts and long legs. A man couldn’t ask for a better package. If he were interested, that is. And he wasn’t. He couldn’t believe he was standing there like an idiot and cataloging her assets.

      He coughed. “By the way, I’m Collier Smith.”

      “I’m Brittany Banks.”

      Before he thought, he almost said the trite words “pleased to meet you.” Under the circumstances, they would have sounded absurd. But then, this whole scenario was absurd.

      It was at that moment that her robe gaped open and he saw the nasty cut above her left breast. His throat constricted at the sight. “That needs attention.”

      Brittany pulled the sash a little tighter, closing the gap somewhat. Then, as he watched, blood seeped through the material and stained it a bright red. His stomach revolted. Where else was she damaged? Had her attacker raped her? From the get-go, that thought had teetered on the edge of his mind, but he hadn’t let himself go there.

      “How ’bout you sit on the side of the bed and let me take a look-see?” He had forced himself to speak in a flat, unemotional tone so as not to further spook her. But he was determined to tend to her wounds, whether she liked it or not.

      

      “If you have some salve, I can take care of it.”

      “I don’t think so,” he said stoically. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

      He wasn’t lying. Even though she was rational enough, he knew she was still in shock and could crash at any time, and that time appeared imminent. He saw her hand on the doorjamb, her knuckles white from clinging to it. She was barely able to stand on her own.

      It wasn’t too late to go with his gut instinct and take her to the emergency room, he reminded himself, walking toward her. “I still think you ought to be in the hospital.”

      She gave her head a shake, her silky hair caressing her cheeks.

      “Then you ought to be in bed,” he said in a strained voice, thinking how personal, how intimate, that sounded, as his blood pressure pounded like thunder through his veins.

      “It does look inviting.”

      She almost smiled, which sent another disturbing pang shooting through him. Ignoring it, and without asking permission, he took her lightly by the arm and eased her down onto the side of the bed.

      “Hold on while I grab some medicine and gauze,” he said grimly and left her there.

      Minutes later, he was back. She was still where he had left