"I called Connor to let him know we're here. He was relieved to know you're safe."
She started to say a snide remark about Connor, but was too tired to think one up.
"Phineas will come before dawn to bring you a supply of synthetic blood," Phil continued. "So you won't be forced to bite me after all."
She nodded. Relief swept through her, threatening to make her tears overflow. If only Phil would do something awful, then she could scream and throw a fit. She winced inwardly. Was that what she'd been doing all these years? Relying on anger to keep from dealing with her real feelings?
"Vanda." He waited till she cast a furtive glance his way. "Sweetheart, it's going to be all right."
Tears burned her eyes, and she looked quickly away.
"I'm going to wash up."
She heard the bathroom door creak shut. Dammit. She wasn't going to cry. What was the point? She stood and paced to the kitchen table and back. Nothing to keep her mind off her troubles. No television. No computer.
She stopped in front of the bookcase. How to Gut a Fish in Five Easy Steps. Taxidermy for Dummies. A romance novel? She pulled out the paperback and studied the half-naked couple embracing on the front cover. She smiled to herself, wondering who had brought this book to the cabin. Howard, Phil, or Connor? Maybe they read the love scenes to pick up a few pointers. Not that Phil needed any help in that department.
He had been incredible. So intense. So sexy. He had made her melt.
"Are you too hot?"
She jumped, and turned toward his voice. He'd just emerged from the bathroom. Bare-chested. The book tumbled from her hands.
He nodded toward the fireplace. "I wanted to make the place more cozy, but the fire might be too hot for July."
"It—It's fine." She grabbed the paperback off the floor and stashed it on a lower shelf, stealing one last glimpse at the hero's chest on the cover. No comparison. The model looked fake. Posed. Waxed.
Her gaze drifted back to Phil. Now that was a chest. Broad across the shoulders. Brown hair, still glistening from his bath and curling as it dried. A thin line of hair dissecting six-pack abs and disappearing under the plaid flannel pajama bottoms he wore low on his hips.
He walked toward her with something clasped in one hand. "I found something in the bathroom that might make you feel better."
Did it require batteries? "What is it?"
He showed her the clear bottle filled with a greenish liquid. "It's aloe vera. Good for burns."
"Oh." She touched her face. "I'll heal during my death-sleep."
"Which is about seven hours from now." He sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
She perched on the edge and lifted a hand to take the bottle. To her surprise, he didn't pass the lotion to her. He squeezed some onto his palm, then set the bottle on the coffee table next to her whip.
"Hold still." He moved closer, then dabbed some lotion on her chin with his finger.
"I can do it myself."
"You can't see where the bad spots are." He smeared some across her forehead.
It did feel wonderfully cool. "I must look awful."
"You're always beautiful to me." He smoothed some lotion over her cheeks. "You've been crying."
Just the mere mention of tears brought the dreaded things back to her eyes. "I lost everything. My club. My friends."
"Your friends still care about you. You haven't lost them." He dabbed some lotion onto her nose.
She sniffed. "I lost the club. It was everything to me."
He rubbed his hands together to coat them with aloe vera, then smoothed his palms down her throat. "It wasn't everything."
"Yes, it was. I designed it myself. I made all the decisions. It was my creation. It was…perfect." His hands felt perfect, too.
"It gave you a great sense of accomplishment."
"Yes. Exactly." She was so glad he understood. "I was happy there. I felt…safe and secure."
He leaned back against the sofa cushions. "It was brick and mortar. Wood and cement. Nothing more."
She stiffened. He didn't understand at all. "Did you listen to anything I just said?"
"I did. You felt a great sense of accomplishment. You felt happy and secure. And those feelings were all attached to your club."
"Yes." A tear ran down her cheek.
"Vanda, the club didn't hold your feelings. You do that in your heart." He brushed her tear away. "Nothing—not a Malcontent or an explosion or a fire—can take your feelings away from you."