Page 37 of Hotter than Wildfire

Ellen glanced down at the floor, so shiny and stable and safe. That safety was deceptive, just as everything else was. She couldn’t even stand on her own two feet on that floor.

“I know how you feel.” It was so odd, having this conversation while being held in his arms in his study that had been turned into a hospital room. Somewhere there was a light pinging sound, exactly the sound a toaster would make when the bread was ready.

“Hmm?” He’d said something while she was completely distracted by—well, by the most incredible male body she’d ever touched.

Gerald’s company had been full of buff men, often with that body-builder’s waddle that was so unattractive and ridiculous. They all cultivated a real tough don’t-mess-with-me air, but it turned out it was all a bluff, because Harry Bolt had beat three of them, hands down.

She could feel why he had prevailed. Instinctively, one arm had gone around his shoulders, her other hand braced on his chest. She’d never felt flesh like this before, like skin over warm steel. He was built like a racing engine, muscles long and lean, wrapped around big bones.

“I said, I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to feel weak, barely able to stand. It’s horrible. I hated every second of it, and I didn’t have someone after me. I can imagine how you feel.”

Ellen’s eyes met his in surprise. He was perfectly serious, sober even. Long grooves in his cheeks, full mouth closed to a thin line, eyes grave. It seemed impossible to her that the man holding her in his arms as easily as if she were a child had been⁠—

“What do you mean? You were weak? Weak how??”

Even saying it sounded outlandish. The parts of him she could see and feel—strong neck, the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, huge sinewy hands—could never have been called weak. He was simply too large a man.

His mouth turned down and he shrugged one massive shoulder. Ellen dipped and rose with the movement.

“Got shot up in—in where I was deployed, about a year ago. Had four operations in as many weeks. Lost 60 lbs. Couldn’t walk for months. Yeah, I was pretty banged up there for a while.”

Ellen covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. It must have been really serious. How did you get back in shape?”

One side of his mouth turned up. “I can’t take any credit at all. It was my brothers who forced me to get back in shape. Sam and Mike. You’ve met Sam, and his wife Nicole. You haven’t met Mike, though he’s been here quite a few times to check up on you while you were out of it. I wasn’t just banged up. I was depressed too. Probably would have sunk into a sea of self pity if they hadn’t hired The Nazi to whip me back in shape.”

“The Nazi?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t actually German, he was Norwegian. Bjorg. Man, he was pitiless. Two hundred fifty pounds of pure mean. He came every day for six months and he reported back to Sam and Mike. When I resisted he said he was more scared of them than he was of me. They would have whupped his ass. Me? At the beginning I was lucky if I could stagger a couple of feet before falling straight on my a…er…face.”

Ellen soaked up the tones of affection when he spoke of his brothers. She hadn’t realized that Sam and Harry were brothers. They didn’t look anything alike, except for both being tall and exceptionally well-built. But wait. Sam was named Reston. And Harry’s last name was Bolt.

“How are you brothers? Same mothers, different fathers?”

“Blood brothers, not real brothers. Long story. Tell you some other time. But they weren’t the only ones who helped me. You were responsible, too. I’m here because of you.”

She simply looked at him, too astounded for words. “Me? I never met you before. How could I have had a hand in your healing?”

“Your voice. I listened to your music endlessly in the night. I think in a very real way, your music saved my life, Eve.” His deep voice had turned low, his gaze so intense it was like being touched by hands. “I wanted to stay in this world, in this life, to hear you sing. Hell of a thing to say, but it’s God’s truth.”

“Ellen,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Eve is my stage name. My agent chose it. Eve, first woman, woman of mystery maybe, I don’t know what his reasoning was. But my real name is just plain Ellen. Ellen—" At the last second, bells sounded in her head. She’d been about to tell him her last name, plunge off the precipice of trust, but she windmilled her arms in her head and stepped back. She trusted Harry, but right now telling him her last name made her feel…almost naked.

And she was, almost naked.

Lying in his arms, she was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that underneath a thin silk sheath, she was naked.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be fully aware of it. He wasn’t fondling her, but he wasn’t pretending she wasn’t in his arms, either. His left hand—his very big and very warm left hand—enveloped her left breast, his right hand curved around her thigh.

It was the closest she’d ever been to a man in…in years. And to tell the truth, she’d never been this close to such a strong man, such a…a male man.

There’d been Ben, studying for his accountancy degree like her. Nice guy, beanpole thin, much more interested in derivatives than sex.

And Joe, who had a Toyota dealership and was thirty pounds overweight and kept trying to stick what felt like a marshmallow in her.

Harry felt like another species. Bigger and stronger and tougher and faster.