“Trust me, Shiloh. I’ll ease the pain. Lean back?”
His voice soothed and calmed her as nothing else ever would. She barely nodded, weakness stealing even more into her limbs. There were sheriff’s deputies moving past Roan’s pickup and scrambling up the hill where they’d just come from. One deputy remained behind, his rifle drawn, guarding them at the truck. The rain was lightening up, and there was no more wind. Shiloh could barely hear anyone speaking, but the voices were slowly turning up in volume. Had she been hit by lightning? Was that why her hearing was screwed? Shiloh didn’t know and groaned softly as Roan’s warm, long fingers slowly massaged the knot out of her right calf. The pain went away and she breathed raggedly, finally starting to relax a little. Roan rolled up her other pant leg, found the other knot, and did the same thing.
Closing her eyes, all Shiloh wanted was to be warm and safe. Roan was with her. Leath wasn’t going to kill her. Oh, God, she’d come so close to dying! So close.
Warm tears burned in her closed eyes. They trickled down her muddy cheeks. She felt Roan’s roughened thumbs removing them. A sob tore from her. Reaching out, opening her eyes, Shiloh threw herself into his strong arms. Just Roan’s hands drawing her against him, the incredible warmth radiating from his powerful male body, made Shiloh cry even harder. Roan tucked her head against his shoulder and jaw, holding her gently, whispering words she couldn’t hear, his breath moist and warm against her cold, wet flesh.
All Shiloh wanted right now was Roan. To be held. To feel safe. To be flooded with the fierce love he held for her. Never had she felt so protected as right now, in this man’s arms. Roan had come for her. He couldn’t have known she was in danger, yet he had. How? As she nuzzled into the wet nylon of the jacket he wore, Shiloh’s mind began to shut down, the shock taking her, erasing all thoughts, everything. Except Roan’s lean, hard body against hers. Holding her. Just holding her . . .
Chapter Twenty-Three
Moonlight sifted silently through the gossamer curtains into the bedroom. Shiloh was content to lie in Roan’s arms, his body against hers. It was near dawn and she’d awakened, feeling his arms automatically tighten around her as they slept in his cabin. She felt Roan stir, realizing she’d accidentally awakened him. Three weeks had passed since Anton Leath’s body, what was left of it, was carried off Pine Grove and to the medical examiner at the Lincoln County morgue. Shiloh had not watched, burying her head against Roan’s chest, clinging to him, still not believing that it was really over. Finally. Once and for all.
“You okay?” Roan asked thickly, raising his head, his eyes half-open, studying her in the silence.
“Yes . . . Sorry, I just woke up out of the blue. I didn’t mean to wake you up, too.” She heard him grunt and then he propped himself up on one elbow. A few strands of dark brown hair fell over his broad brow. She reached up with her fingers, pushing them back into place, smiling into his drowsy features. “I should get up and let you sleep.” She’d been waking up most nights with nightmares of the chase. With her almost dying.
“No way,” Roan growled. He eased Shiloh on her back, studying her darkened eyes, and realized she’d had another flashback. At least, with time, they were less potent and intense. Sliding his fingers across her jaw, he leaned over, capturing her mouth, feeling her open like a lush, warm blossom beneath him. Her world had been torn apart three weeks ago. Roan knew what it was like to get wounded and almost die. He knew the trek that Shiloh was undertaking to work through her own near-death experience.
Her mouth was sweet, opening eagerly to him. Her breath moist across his cheek and nose as he deepened his exploration of her. The happy sound in her throat told him she enjoyed it, her hands sliding across his shoulders, drawing him closer, her breasts pressing tantalizingly against his chest.
Finally, Roan eased his mouth from hers. Neither of them was breathing evenly at this point. Searching her eyes, he saw remnants of anxiety in them along with building arousal. Skimming his hand from her back down to her hips, he rasped, “Bad dream?”
“Yes, same one. I’m getting tired of them,” she grumped, caressing his jaw.
“It’s just another way to work out the trauma,” Roan assured her, kissing her wrinkled brow. “You’re getting fewer of them as time goes on. That’s how it is.”
Shiloh pouted for a moment. “It seems like a bad dream now, Roan.”