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him and to Meg, as the danger was likely still there if the perpetrator ever learned he was still
alive, where he was. Anyone could walk up to the door without his knowledge of their identity.
If he was not alone when that happened, Meg would be in as much danger as he.
 Ah, hell, he said out loud. Meg was not suffering from a knock on the head. Such an
idea had probably already occurred to her. Last night, as a matter of fact.
Ah, hell.
Closing his eyes, Caleb lowered his brow onto his hand, riding out the wave of nausea.
For the sake of Meg s safety, he should leave here, but where would he go? Just since yesterday
this house, Meg s company, had become such a refuge from the uncertainty of his position that
he could barely stand the thought of going away from her into the unknown. Any danger that
might come to him here could conceivably follow him wherever he might wander, stalking him
without identity, endangering anyone else who might endeavor to help him. Meg had suggested
the police when first he had sought her help, and although he possessed only a rough knowledge
of who and what that organization was, he felt an aversion to their interference that even now
would not let him agree.
DARK TIDES Celia Ashley 30
There was so much he didn t know, couldn t understand. He was reacting on a very
basic, instinctual level, and even that could be leading him astray.
The panic he felt was ill-defined and short-lived. Rather quickly, something clicked in
his head, something very fundamental to his personality. Trust yourself, it said.
Rising slowly from his seated position, he returned to the sink and washed his face again,
drying himself on the towel he had used that morning when he showered. Striding to the
window, he pushed the curtain aside. Meg s car was pulling into the driveway. She didn t get
out immediately, but sat behind the wheel studying the facade of the house. When she saw him
in the window she waved. He felt his lips curving into a smile.
Trust yourself.
Running his fingers through his damp hair, he went downstairs to help her with the
grocery bags.
DARK TIDES Celia Ashley 31
Chapter Seven
Meg piled the dishes into the sink, running warm water and a dab of soap into it to let
them soak. Watching the bubbles foam, she floated a moment in the intoxication caused by
Caleb s nearness throughout dinner. She hadn t once given consideration to the concerns that
had plagued her on the ride home. Even now, she dismissed them as soon as they suggested
themselves to her again. She felt warm and disconnected and light-as-air, like a balloon with
only a slim tether of ribbon to gravity.
 Meg, you okay?
Caleb was leaning against the counter beside her. He was heat and energy, hard muscle
and warm blood, tendon and sinew and flesh. He felt solid, grounded.
 Absolutely, she said.
He grunted in response, nodding toward the sink.
 Why don t you show me how you want those done?
Meg s brows arched.  The dishes? They can wait.
 Show me, he repeated.  I ll learn fast.
Shrugging, Meg rolled up her sleeves and reached for the sponge. Caleb pivoted on his
heel so that he was directly behind her. She pressed a little closer to the sink.
 There s enough soap in here, but I like some extra directly on the sponge.
 Uh-huh, he said, an attentive student. Upending the bottle of dish detergent, Meg
squirted lightly-scented liquid onto the center of the sponge, then squeezed the damp cellulose
rapidly a few times to work up a lather. His hand closed around her own, imitating the
movement of her fingers on the sponge, then he eased it out of her grasp.
 Let me.
She started to relinquish her position to him at the sink, but his other arm came down to
her left, hand resting on the counter edge.  Don t go away. Keep teaching.
The whole scene suddenly reminded her of one she had seen in a movie, and she
wondered if the same film was lurking somewhere in his subconscious. Dramatic and romantic,
she remembered the outcome of that scene very well, and her tongue slipped out to moisten her
lips.
Plunging her arm into the water, she brought out a plate, then slid her hand around the
back of his, drawing it near to the dish. Foaming bubbles sluiced between her fingers and down
her wrist.
 You scrub the dish like this, or I do anyway, in circles.
He leaned his arms alongside hers as he followed her instruction.
 The water s very warm, he commented. Suds, nearly amniotic in temperature, ran in
runnels through the dark hair on his forearms and down over the downy blonde hair on hers. His
breath moved across her nape, stirring tendrils loosened from the clasp of her ponytail. She
thought with fleeting intensity of the night before. Well, technically that morning. Her pulse
quickened.
 Can t get them clean without it, she answered his comment about the water s
temperature, sounding remarkably matter-of-fact. Turning the plate over, she had him repeat the
process on the other side.  Set the dishes over there until we re ready to rinse them all.
DARK TIDES Celia Ashley 32
He did as he was told, reaching into the water for the next item, performing the
mechanics of the task with silent, superficial concentration. She suspected that his mind wasn t
totally on the job. Hers certainly wasn t. She turned her head to glance at him. He did likewise,
smiling down at her with a closed curve of his mouth. She threw her thoughts at him in a fervent
desire for him to kiss her, but it had never worked that way before. She couldn t make anyone
do a thing by thought process alone. However, she knew he d gotten the signal, perhaps by some
subtle or not so subtle body language more than any telepathic communiqué, when he smiled
again, bending closer.
 This is enjoyable, he whispered near her mouth, then straightened and resumed his
undertaking.
Her right knee jerked and struck the cabinet door.
She could sense the firmness of his chest close to her spine, the thudding of his heart
beneath the surface of his flesh. She watched the newly familiar shape of his arms from beneath
her lashes as he squeezed excess soap from the sponge, the tendons in his wrist standing up, the
muscles of his forearm tightening before release. Foam splattered onto her face and the neckline
of her tank top beneath her open collar, water running down over the swell of her breast and into
her bra in a warm, slow trail.
 Sorry, he apologized softly.
 Not a problem, she assured him.
He continued to wash and she continued to watch, fascinated by the confident action of
his hands, the knowledge of his body close to hers, the humming vibration of his energy in the
narrow space between them. He confined his activity to dishwashing, but there was a sultry
promise in every move he made. It seemed to her that he wasn t just laving a dish, the interior of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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