Men Of Honour. Lori Foster

don’t need you to be formal.” He set the bottle of water on the nightstand by her. “I don’t need you to put on a good front, either. You’re a small woman, probably not weighing more than a buck ten.”

      Molly glanced down at herself. She’d always weighed one twenty-five, but now … she just didn’t know. She had lost weight. But that much?

      “You’re hurt,” Dare continued, “and hungry, tired, dehydrated and pretty damn dirty.”

      Absurdly close to tears again, Molly scowled. “Your point?”

      “If you want to fall apart, feel free. I sure as hell won’t judge you, and it’ll stay between us.”

      How kind that Dare would offer to keep her confidences for her. “No, thank you.” She hadn’t survived that hell just to crumple up now. “I’ll be fine.”

      He folded muscled arms over an equally muscled chest. Beard shadow roughened his jaw. His knuckles looked as if they’d recently struck something—or someone.

      She sincerely hoped it was one of the pigs who’d treated her so badly.

      “Suit yourself,” he said. “But I need you to drink that bottle of water, and then another after that. Slowly.”

      Right. Water would be good—if only her stomach weren’t so jumpy.

      “And the phony, unaffected act has got to go.”

      Fresh anger wrung through her already aching muscles. “Look, buster, I’m not going to lose it now, got that?” She chugged a few sips of water and returned the bottle to the small table between the beds. Then she clutched it for support. Her knees wobbled; her voice went husky. “I’ve held it together this long, and not for you, not for anyone, am I going to let those miserable bastards break me down.”

      One brow lifted in surprise as Dare studied her for long, silent moments, and then he shook his head with annoyance. “Sit down before you fall down.”

      She didn’t take orders well, but this time she gladly sat. It required all her willpower not to sprawl back on the bed and just fade into oblivion. But if she did that, she’d wake just as dirty, and it turned her stomach to even think it.

      Dare stopped in front of her. He examined the bottle of water and must have been satisfied—so far. “What do you want to do first?”

      “Shower.” She needed to be clean again. “Oh, God, I want a shower.”

      “I’ll get it started for you.” He hesitated. “Can you manage on your own?”

      Her heart almost stopped. “Yes, of course.”

      Still he didn’t move away. He crouched down in front of her, and his powerful thighs strained the material of faded denim. Those blue eyes were eerily intense as he studied her face. “You’re safe with me, Molly.”

      “I … I know.” She sensed that much. She just didn’t have the wherewithal to start asking questions yet. Priorities, priorities.

      “If you need help—”

      “I’d stay dirty first.” She was quite certain about that. No way would she invite a man to bathe her. She shuddered at the thought.

      His mouth flattened. “Suit yourself.” He straightened and started toward the tiny bathroom. “While you’re in there, I’m going to run across the street to grab you something to wear. I’m guessing a size six?”

      Something to wear. Like her own personal angel, he would buy her clean clothes to put on after her shower.

      God bless the man.

      Those blasted tears threatened again, clogging Molly’s throat, making her nose feel stuffy. “Yes,” she croaked out around a giant lump of emotion. “Anything simple would be … wonderful. Something for my feet, too, please. Size seven. I’m not picky.”

      She heard the water start, and through the open door she saw Dare set out towels, open the packaged soap, the shampoo and conditioner.

      So remarkably considerate.

      Her empty stomach cramped and recoiled, but she couldn’t think of food just yet. She tried a little more water, knowing he was right, that she had to get some fluids back into her system.

      Moving with a silent grace uncommon to a man so large, he came back into the room. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, too. Anything else?”

      There were so many things she needed that she couldn’t fathom a list just yet. Her dry and cracked lips hurt when she licked them. “Something bland to eat?”

      “Already thought of that.” He paused by the door. “You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?”

      After what she’d survived, no way would she risk herself in any way. “I’ll be very careful. If I get dizzy, I’ll shut off the water and just sit in the tub.”

      Reluctant still, he stood there, and finally agreed with a nod. “Don’t put the chain on the door.”

      As he spoke, he walked over to the desk to retrieve his belongings, including a big black gun and a very lethal-looking knife that folded together. The gun went into a holster at his back, fastened to the waistband of his jeans. He slipped the knife into a pocket, then covered the gun with the hem of his shirt. He treated the weapons as casually as he did his wallet and cell phone, fascinating Molly.

      It would make her nervous just to touch either one.

      He stopped in front of her again. “If you pass out, I want to be able to get in without breaking anything and causing a scene.”

      “Okay.”

      “I won’t be gone long,” he cautioned. “So don’t linger in there.”

      If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be asleep before she could hit the shower. “No, I won’t.”

      Using the edge of a fist, he brought her chin up so that she had to look at him. “You’re weaker than you realize.”

      On the contrary, she was stronger than she’d ever imagined. But his concern was nice, so she only reiterated, “I’ll be fine.”

      Frustration palpable, he ran a hand through short brown hair, nodded once and walked out.

      He’d wanted to say more to her, Molly knew. He didn’t understand her lack of questions, her acceptance of him as her rescuer. But he didn’t push her, and she appreciated his restraint. Right now, all she could manage was the direst of necessities. And thinking that …

      It took a lot of effort to drag herself up to her feet again, but she did it. The ragged, torn and stained shirts came over her head and with sublime satisfaction she stuffed them into the garbage can by the desk. Never again would those disgusting scraps of material touch her body.

      She’d been denied underwear of any kind, so removing the shirts left her naked. One glance down at herself and Molly saw evidence of her ordeal in places she hadn’t considered. She remembered the rough treatment, being jerked, shoved, hit … Her breath caught.

      No, she was away from there now, and she wouldn’t dwell on it.

      Anxious for the long-denied comfort of warm water, she stepped into the shower’s spray.

      Oh, heaven.

      Though her every muscle trembled and the most pervasive weakness dragged at her, never had she appreciated a shower more. Lathering the soap into a washcloth, Molly scrubbed all over, determined to wash away the disgust she still felt.

      She had to hurry to finish before the last of her strength waned. Already she felt faint, sick to her stomach, her knees quaking.

      Lack of sleep provided a perpetual headache that burned behind her eyes and left her hollow.

      With her skin now clean, she opened her mouth, filled it with fresh water,