Page 29

Mornings were brighter now he woke to a purpose. The last couple mornings, he’d hummed his way through a shower and making breakfast. He was getting used to the flare of terror in her eyes when he roused her before she recognized him, her smile a sleepy hello. Their one-sided conversations were some of the most meaningful he’d ever had despite her lack of vocal input.

More than once a day, he caught himself standing in the bedroom door, checking on her. Sometimes she was fast asleep, her hand or the stuffed owl under her cheek. Others, her stunning eyes were locked on the TV, swirling with a mixture of fascination, wariness, suspicion. She became so engrossed in what she watched, it was easy to see when she lost all perception of the reality around her and tumbled beyond the screen.

She was adorable when she tried to regain her independence—three times he’d caught her trying to sneak to the bathroom; once she almost made it to the end of the bed before her legs gave out on her. He didn’t doubt her attempts would increase significantly without the IV stand anchoring her down.

She hated needing his assistance for the simple things—toilet duties in particular—although her silent protests faded at bath time. When her bruised body slipped into the water and the pain eased, he felt everything inside her relax.

Friday night, he was scheduled to return to work. Fordham was covering Merrick’s shifts during this unusual absence, but they were both earning their own reputations in the club, and some of the members weren’t satisfied with his temporary replacement.

Tamsyn was a grown woman, he reminded himself. She’d survived out in the Denver wilderness on her own for god knew how long, in freezing temperatures; she’d manage a few hours in a warm bed with the screen for company.

Still, it was a concern.

Amused at himself, Merrick sipped his coffee and wondered when the little owl sank her dainty talons into him without his knowledge. The Master who cared for the subs he played with but encouraged nothing deeper than the intimacy of a scene was suddenly aware of the substantial connection he’d unknowingly forged with a traumatized waif and stray.

Linnie was right, he realized.

He was playing with fire.

The brightest, prettiest, most fascinating little flame was growing, spreading, twining around him and burning him in subtle ways he couldn’t feel, yet he couldn’t stop craving her light. Tamsyn was igniting something in him he hadn’t felt for years, something he missed.

The quandary still remained, however, that she wasn’t his.

Couldn’t be his.

That burn, he did feel. Deeply.

*

Things changed considerably after Linnie’s visit.

Obviously, Tamsyn remembered what had been said and taken it to heart; for two whole days, she couldn’t look at him. The brief glimpses he caught of her eyes showed him the spark was gone, buried beneath a layer of emotion he couldn’t decipher.

She wasn’t angry; Merrick would’ve preferred the snap and sizzle of her temper to the dull, desolate vibes he felt when he stepped into the room. It was an odd feeling, like sinking up to his neck in grief and being suffocated by heavy, immobilizing depression.

When she refused to eat yet again, he decided they needed to talk.

Setting the tray with the untouched chicken breast and vegetables aside, he regarded her carefully. “We hurt you, didn’t we?”

Gaze fixed fully on the screen, she didn’t respond. Still, he didn’t miss the quick quiver of her bottom lip, or the twitch of her eyebrows. Her mouth drooped further, portraying her misery clearly.

“We need to air this, little owl.”

A tiny headshake gave her away.

Sighing heavily, he reached over and snagged the remote, turning the screen off and retracting it into the footboard. “Two days is too long not to eat, Tamsyn. Don’t think I won’t hook you back up to the IV or stick your food in a blender and force feed you. Even if you’re not hungry, you need to keep your system going.”

She tried to snatch the remote back, then gave up when he simply tossed it across the room. Grabbing her owl instead, she hugged it to her chest and closed her eyes.

“All right. I think being here with me is doing more harm than good,” Merrick murmured. “My presence obviously isn’t helping at a time when you need help to get back on your feet. I’ll call Evander and see if the offer of the room in the clubhouse is still available. Maybe distancing myself is the answer.”

Christ, the noise she made was like a wounded animal.

Nowshe met his eyes. Head shooting up like a doe hearing a twig snap in the forest, her eyes were huge and round, brimming with conflicting emotions and glimmering with tears. Those downcast lips were trembling, and that was his undoing.

“Fuck, darlin’, don’t do that. I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”

If her trembling mouth was his undoing, the choked hitch of her breath killed him.