Authors: Fiona Brand
Cullen's Bride (3 page)
Cullen wondered if Rachel realised just how long she'd been washing his hair, or how sleekly sensual her fingers felt sliding across his wet scalp. He almost sighed with relief when she began rinsing him off, glad for the candy pink plastic cape covering his lap. It had been a mistake succumbing to the temptation to bait her, to have her touch him. He'd never had his hair washed so well or for so long, and he wondered if Rachel Sinclair got this close to all her male customers. If she did, there must be a town full of frustrated men.
She'd implied that Helen was the draw card. And he supposed that if short, tight dresses and a slick line in sexy banter was what you were chasing, then she could be right. But Cullen had had his fill of women who wanted nothing more from him than stud service and the chance to fulfil their bad-boy fantasies.
As if he'd conjured her up, Helen sauntered into view.
“Everything's shipshape ” She fixed Cullen with a considering gaze. “Unless you need a hand with something out here?”
The water went off. Rachel reached for one of a half-dozen bottles on a shelf. “Mr. Logan's only in for a cut.”
“If you say so,” Helen murmured, shooting Cullen another lazily assessing look as she wiggled her fingers at Rachel. “See you in the morning.”
Cullen heard the sound of a bottle being squeezed, caught the scent of something resinous, masculine. He clenched his Jaw against another groan as Rachel began weaving her elegant hands through his hair again. After an eternity the water thumped on, and he would have sold his soul to immerse his body in the lukewarm wetness.
The water went off with a shudder of pipes; then she began to towel his hair dry with firm regular sweeps that shouldn't have been sexy. Aside from the scalp massage, it was about the sexiest thing that had ever been done to him. She hovered over him, her loose dress tightening across breasts and hips that were unexpectedly full for her petite build. And as she worked, her feminine warmth and scent wrapped him, her thigh brushed against his, and more times than he could count, her breast came whisper-close to his taut bicep.
“Short or just a trim?” Rachel asked with a brisk profession-alism that was just a little too bright, too impersonal.
Cullen concluded that either she was physically scared of him, or the raw, sexual awareness that was tying his gut into knots cut both ways. As soon as he'd considered that Rachel could be afraid of him, he discarded the thought. She hadn't shown any fear in the darkness and confusion of the alley last night, and her actions since he'd stepped into the salon had reflected curiosity and challenge, and more than a little irritation.
Which left the second option.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he absorbed the possibility that Rachel Sinclair was just as attracted to him as he was to her. Cursing savagely beneath his breath, Cullen tore open the Velcro fastening at his nape and jettisoned the cape. Having her touch him had been an even bigger mistake than he'd first thought. And judging from the unruly response of his body, it was way past time he left
Rachel stifled the urge to back up a step as Cullen flowed up and out of the chair, his wet hair falling sleekly to his shoulders. For the briefest moment she'd had the clear impression he was going to slide his hands around her waist and bury his mouth against hers. The vision was so graphic that she could almost feel the clasp of his hands, the tingling warmth of his lips pressing hers apart. And then he was walking away as abruptly as he'd done in the alley last night, and leaving her just as disoriented.
Disoriented enough to follow him a few dazed steps, as if caught up in a violent slipstream. “Cullen?”
Even though she was sure her voice had been so low he couldn't possibly have heard, he stopped just short of the door, his back to herâa rip in the sleeveless shirt giving her a glimpse of bronzed, heavily layered muscle. Numbly, Rachel searched for a reason to have stopped him. And it certainly wasn't going to be the truth, that touching Cullen
had
been like touching fire, and that the physicality of her own response shocked her. “Will anything happen to that boy's father?”
had
been like touching fire, and that the physicality of her own response shocked her. “Will anything happen to that boy's father?”
Cullen half turned, as if reluctant to stay in the same room with her any longer than necessary. “Dane would have to complain to get his father charged, and then his mother and his brothers and sisters would be left on welfare.”
“But surelyâ”
“Ever lived on welfare, Miss Sinclair?”
“No.”
Cullen's scuffed riding boots made surprisingly little sound on her polished wood floor as he covered the remaining distance to the door. He paused, one hand on the jamb. “Thanks again, on Dane's behalf.”
Rachel lifted her chin at his determined dismissal of her and her own obscure, untenable hurt at that dismissal. “What's going to happen to him when he gets out of hospital?”
Cullen's jaw tightened at the question, and this time, when he met Rachel's gaze, he reneged on looking away. Her eyes...he hadn't known what colour they were in the alley. He'd guessed blue. He was wrong. They were a soft, dark honeyâunexpectedly fierce and just a little untamed, with the kind of fire a man could sink right into. And her scent .. Her scent was driving him crazy, urging him to step closer and seek out all the shadowed places where her silky, delicate heat flared and burned.
Need shuddered through him again, and he locked his muscles tight against it. She was five foot five at most, small and feminine compared to his build, but he didn't think she would refuse himânot at first, anyway. Rachel Sinclair, like a lot of women, was curious enough about him to at least try a taste. And for the first time in his life, Cullen knew he wouldn't be able to stop at a taste. Something about Rachel shook him to the core. She was finely built, almost fragile, and utterly feminine. He wanted to hold her, to protect and care for her, to see the somber intensity in her eyes dissolve into laughter. He wanted...everything that a past rooted in violence and despair had taught him he could never have.
“Dane's going to stay with me,” Cullen said, just when Rachel was certain he wasn't going to answer her question. “And I'm going to give him exactly what he needsâa job fixing my fences.” His voice dropped, roughened. “Thanks for washing my hair. It'll probably stay clean for at least a month.”
A car barrelled past, breaking the moment. A horn blared, and someone called out, laughing, and with that small interruption, Cullen stepped out into the sweltering stillness of early evening and strode across the road to a dark green four-wheel drive. When the vehicle pulled away, Rachel gave in to the compulsion to step out onto the pavement, under the overhang. The humidity had become unbearable, and it registered somewhere in the recesses of her mind that she needed a long, cool drink. Badly.
A distant rumble sounded. The unmistakeable smell of rain hitting parched, dusty pavement wafted on a hot gust of wind as the truck accelerated down the main street and out of town. Rachel touched her palms to her cheeks and closed her eyes. She was trembling, her hair clinging damply to her brow and nape. I must be coming down with something, she thought dimly. Or maybe it's the time of month
Or maybe it was that she suddenly felt more lonely than she'd ever felt in her life. Lonelier even than when Adam had walked out on her and she'd spent two weeks of the holiday they'd planned to take together staring at a tropical sea, unable to believe her husband didn't love her.
She closed her eyes on a familiar burst of pain. Correction. He
did
love her. That was the supreme irony, and the one fact she still hadn't come to grips with After three years of what Rachel had considered a perfect marriage, he'd suddenly met someone. She still remembered his exact words. They'd burned into her, sinking to the centre of her being. “I love you,” he'd said, “but I can't stay with you. I've met someone, and I can't get her out of my mind. I don't know what it is that I feel, but I can't bear to be in the same room with her and not touch her.”
did
love her. That was the supreme irony, and the one fact she still hadn't come to grips with After three years of what Rachel had considered a perfect marriage, he'd suddenly met someone. She still remembered his exact words. They'd burned into her, sinking to the centre of her being. “I love you,” he'd said, “but I can't stay with you. I've met someone, and I can't get her out of my mind. I don't know what it is that I feel, but I can't bear to be in the same room with her and not touch her.”
Water slammed onto the tin roof of the covered way. Rachel's eyes snapped open at the violence of the sound. After only a few seconds the guttering overflowed, and a shift in the wind drove the rain under the shelter, pelting her with big, stinging drops. She knew she should move away, but the pounding rain after the still heat of the day was somehow cathartic. Stepping closer to the edge of the pavement, she lifted her face, tasting the rain in her mouth, the cleansing coolness of it. The salt.
She wasn't crying. It was the rain wetting her cheeks, and not the weak, useless tears she'd given up long ago.
And the tremors moving through her body were from the shock of dealing with Cullen Logan's uncompromising maleness. SomehowâGod knows how, for he'd gone out of his way to be cool and abrasively dismissiveâhe'd stirred something in her that she'd thought had been burned away for good, a sexual need that was more intense, more overwhelming, than any she could ever remember feeling.
It shook her that she could feel a sexual response to any man other than the man she'd chosen to marry. Maybe she was reacting naively again, but she knew her own nature. She was naturally intense and single-minded, and her feelings had always run deep. She'd learned to guard her emotions over the years and didn't trust easily, which was one of the reasons her failed marriage had hit her so hard. When she'd made her vows, they'd been the old-fashioned 'til-death-us-do-part kind.
Logically, she knew that two years had passed since her marriage had effectively ended, that she was still human, still female. She'd expected to participate in sex in order to satisfy a man she could come to love sometime in the misty, uncertain future. But not now. Not with this burning immediacy. And certainly not with a manâa strangerâwho didn't even like her.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Rachel looked blankly around, finally becoming aware of just where she was and that she was wet through. Thankfully, the street was deserted. Anyone with any sense was inside out of the ram, or at home relaxing after a hard day's work.
She began locking up, grimacing at her sodden shoes, dripping hair and clinging dress. When she'd collected her holdall and the day's takings that hadn't been banked, she finally allowed herself to think about the letter she'd received in with the salon's mail that morning. The letter which was the final culmination of the lengthy legal proceedings that had neatly reduced her lingering hopes and dreams to a tabulated column of figures.
Her jolting awareness of Cullen Logan might have been the catalyst to the draining outburst of emotion, but it was that cold, official sheet of paper which still lay folded in the bottom of her bag that had tipped her so far off balanceâeven though she'd known it was coming, had expected it for days now.
After all, it wasn't every day she got divorced.
Chapter 3
C
ole slotted his BMW into one of Fairley Hospital's narrow car parks. “I still think this is a dumb idea,” he growled.
ole slotted his BMW into one of Fairley Hospital's narrow car parks. “I still think this is a dumb idea,” he growled.
“We've already had this argument,” Rachel retorted, stepping out into the soft evening light.
Cole's door closed with a thunk. “Do you really think you should get mixed up with the guy who tried to attack you last night? You don't know Dane Trask. Hell, you don't know the Trasks! The father, Frank, is a mean drunk who's already done time for assault and battery, and Dane's gearing up to be just like him.”
Rachel hitched the strap of her holdall over one shoulder. “I'm not denying that what Dane Trask did was wrong ”
“Then why waste your time going to see him?”
She suppressed a sigh. There was no way she was going to tell Cole about the lawyer's letter. That she hadn't been able to bear the thought of her own company tonight and would have grasped at any reason at all to go out. If he had the slightest inkling that she was lonely or depressed, his protective instincts would slip into overdrive, and she'd already faced enough opposition from her family about her move back to Riverbend Frustration welled up in her. Her father and brothers loved her, of that she had no doubt, but they loved her on their own terms. Sometimes Rachel felt as if a glass wall separated her from her family. They cared for her, but they pushed her away at the same timeâfor what they considered her own good. Every time she'd tried to change the relationship, to demand unconditional love, she'd run smack into that glass wall...until she'd learned to protect herself.
Of course, her protection hadn't been one-hundred-percent perfect. Rachel's mouth curved bitterly. She hadn't thought she'd needed to guard her emotions with Adam; she hadn't known that particular glass wall existed until it was too late.
“I want to see the boy who attacked me in a lighted room,” she said coolly. “And maybe I want to find out just what kind of town it is that I've moved back to.”
“I'm coming with you.”
“No.”
Cole's attention shifted. Rachel followed the direction of his glare. Cullen's truck was parked nearby.
A shiver of something very like anticipation eased down her spine, and she frowned at her reaction. So what if Cullen was here, too? He wouldn't be pleased to see her, and after the turmoil of this afternoon's meeting, she wasn't exactly jumping out of her skin to see him again, either. “If you're still concerned with warning me off Cullen,” she declared irritably, “you're wasting your time. He's not the slightest bit interested in me, and I don't imagine I'll see him again except in passing.”
But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Cullen was interested in her, even if it was only on the most basic, sexual level, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't dismiss him from her mind.
Cole eyed her from across the bonnet. “You used to look like that when you were too little to reach the toy you wanted but you didn't want any of us to get it for you.”
“Right before I used to throw a screaming fit,” she agreed.
He tossed the keys. “I'll wait here,” he conceded. “In half an hour's time, I'm coming in.”
Rachel was tempted to argue, but Cole had an enduring look to the set of his jaw. It was the same trademark Sinclair stubbornness that had had her brawny father and brothers hustling her out of their “rough country life” when she was barely seven years old, because they were certain she needed her Aunt Rose, a city school and “cultural opportunities” more than she needed their love. Arguing hadn't changed a thing then, and she knew it wouldn't shift Cole now. “Half an hour should be plenty of time.”
The receptionist gave her directions, and after dropping off a magazine for one of her clients, Edna Simms, who'd just had surgery on her hip, Rachel located the men's surgical ward. Most of the patients had visitors. Dane was in an end bed against a wall, and the only person visiting him was a restlessly pacing Cullen, who, even in a white T-shirt and jeans, looked as out of place in the hospital ward as a big predatory cat would have been.
His head swung in her direction the instant she stepped through the doors, and Rachel had to mentally brace herself against the impact of his light metallic gaze.
She came to a stop at the foot of the bed. “How is he?”
If anything, Cullen's grim, implacable expression became even more remote. “As well as can be expected.” He gestured her toward a chair.
Rachel shook her head at his offer of a seat. “I won't be staying long.”
Dane was awake and watchful, if slightly groggy. There was a glimmer of intelligence in the one eye that wasn't swollen closed. His mouth was puffed up and cut, and most of his face was discoloured. His ribs were taped. Even though she'd been prepared for him to look like he'd been run over by a truck, the reality was still shocking. “Hello, Dane.”
“'lo,” he said rustily. He glanced at Cullen. “She the one?”
Cullen inclined his head.
Dane groaned “Don' remember.”
“It doesn't matter,” she said automatically, and suddenly it didn't. The incident in the alley faded when compared with the brutality that had been perpetrated on Dane, and Rachel's throat closed up at the abuse the boy had taken from the one man he should be able to trust. Instead, it appeared the only person who cared enough to look after Dane was the man everybody assumed didn't care for anyone or anything.
There was an awkward silence while Rachel searched for something to say. “I...brought you some fruit.” Setting her holdall down on the bed, she retrieved a bag of grapes she'd bought purely as a reflex. It wasn't until she was walking out of the shop that she'd realised she was buying her attacker a gift. But now she was glad she had. The contrast between Dane's lack of visitors and Edna Simms' overflow was startling. She stepped closer in order to show Dane what she'd brought. In the process, she had to move within inches of Cullen, and while they didn't actually touch, she could feel the animal heat radiating from his body, scent the faint but distinctive male musk of his skin overlaid by the civilised mantle of soap and freshly laundered clothing. That disturbing awareness overwhelmed her again, making her skin tighten and prickle, her senses become almost painfully acute. A shiver raised goose bumps, increasing the sensitivity of her skin until she could actually feel the rough weave of her linen trousers and vest.
Rachel swallowed on a surge of anguish. She'd been so sure her reaction to Cullen this afternoon had stemmed from her own emotional vulnerability, that the soulless lawyer's letter had been the key. When she next saw him, she'd expected to feel embarrassed by her adolescent overreaction. She hadn't expected the attraction to deepen. A tendril of fear curled in her stomach. She'd barely recovered from Adam. The thought of plunging headlong into another relationship, when she knew she wasn't anywhere near ready to try again, turned the fear into a tight, cold knot of panic.
“Hey, Cul,” Dane croaked. “How 'bout that? Grapes.”
Rachel straightened and moved back a step, resisting the urge to put even more space between herself and Cullen. Resisting the urge to snatch up her holdall and flat-out run. “You probably won't be able to eat them yet,” she said in a voice that was too husky, too abrupt.
As if sensing her uncertainty, the raw panic churning in her stomach, Cullen took the bag of grapes from her without so much as brushing her fingers with his and placed it on Dane's bedside cabinet. “He'll appreciate them in a day or two.”
Rachel took another step backward “If there's anything else I can do...?”
Cullen tracked her retreat, and, if anything, his expression became even grimmer. “You've already helped more than most people would ever dream of doing.”
Rachel stiffened Despite her need to escape, the dismissive quality of Cullen's voice rankled. Evidently he'd pigeonholed her as thoroughly as Cole thought he hadâas a soft city creature playing at living in the country. The kind of woman who needed to be protected from anything too rough or earthy. Rachel checked her watch, and relief that she could leave warred with the sudden inexplicable need to prove to Cullen that she wasn't made of spun glass. But the thirty minutes were nearly up, and while she had no qualms about ignoring her brother's dictates, she didn't want a scene in front of a ward full of sick people. “I have to go. Can I come see you again, Dane?”
Dane tried to smile and ended up wincing instead. “You don' have to bring anything nex' time.”
“But I will,” she said firmly, resisting the urge to glance at Cullen, to challenge his assumptions about her. “What do you need? Books? A magazine? Some more fruit?”
“Maybe a magazine. 'Bout horses.”
“Horses?” This time Rachel did glance at Cullen, and even though she was prepared, the cool power of his gaze still sent a minor shockwave rippling through her. “If you don't mind back issues, I can bring you a whole pile. Cole's got an office overflowing with them.”
Dane thanked her, but she hardly heard him, her awareness was so attuned to Cullen. With a blank goodbye and an even blanker smile, she retrieved her holdall and turned, only to be confronted by a beefy, older man who'd just come to a halt at the foot of the bed.
“Trask,” Cullen said in a rumble so low it lifted all the hairs at her nape
“Logan,” the man snarled in return. “What the hell are you doin' here?”
Rachel felt Cullen's heat all down her back. “Making sure your boy's all right.”
“Dane doesn't need your kind of help. He's got his family to look out for him.”
Dane's father switched his attention to her. The cold aggression of his stare had Rachel's hand tightening involuntarily on the strap of her bag. Almost without conscious thought she twisted the strap once around her wrist and firmed her grip again.
“Who's she?” Trask snapped.
He didn't speak to Rachel but directed the question at Cullen, as if he disdained women. As if she belonged to Cullen and he answered for her. Rachel's chin shot up, but Cullen moved before she could, brushing past her and planting himself directly in front of her so his broad back obscured most of Dane's father from her view.
“None of your business, Trask,” Cullen replied. “Just like the boy in that hospital bed is none of your business.”
“She's the one, isn't she? The bitch who's getting my boy into trouble.”
“Get out,” Cullen said softly. “Before I call the police and lay a complaint of harassment.”
“You wouldn't do that,” Trask said with a sneer, but he backed off all the same. Weight for weight, there probably wasn't much to choose between them, but Cullen was a good six inches taller, and his body was tightly, sleekly muscled, while Trask wore his weight mostly around his middle.
“Dane may have let you off the hook,” Cullen warned coldly, “but don't make the mistake of believing I will.”
Trask backed off another step Rachel could see him clearly now. His gaze kept darting from the door to his son's bed. “I'm entitled to see my own son!”
Cullen shifted againâtrying to block her from Trask's view she realised, as if he didn't want the man to see her or to even remember she'd been here. “Not if you've come to threaten him.”
Trask swore loudly enough to alert anyone in the ward who wasn't already aware of the tense situation. “I'll see you when you get home,” he snarled at Dane, stabbing a finger toward his son; then he turned on his heel and swaggered out.
Rachel let out a shaky breath as Cullen's hands curled around her upper arms She knew what he was seeing, the same white-faced bewilderment she'd shown him in the alley.
“You all right?” he asked, a disturbing intimacy in the rasp of his voice, the way he kept holding her.
Just when Rachel wondered if he was going to release her, his hands tightened, then slid away, as if he'd liked the texture of her skin and hadn't wanted to let her go.
“I'm fine.” She forced a smile.
“Were you going to use that?”
She followed Cullen's wry glance. Her holdall strap was still looped taut around her wrist, her fingers clenched on the rough braid, ready to swing the makeshift weapon if she needed to. She eased her grip. “It worked once before.”
The wryness disappeared from Cullen's expression. “It won't work on him, babe. Trust me. Frank Trask brawls just to fill in time. He's as poisonous as they come and knows every dirty trick there is. Promise me you won't ever get yourself in a situation where you're alone with him.”
“I'm not likely toâ”
“Promise me.”
Rachel shivered at the raw demand in Cullen's voice She didn't think he even realised he'd called her “babe.” “I promise.”
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