She felt her seat belt being forced away from her with hands that were lean and brown and shaking. She felt those same hands running over her body, searching for blood or broken bones, exquisitely gentle.
“Are you all right?” Justin asked huskily. “Do you hurt anywhere? For God’s sake, sweetheart, answer me!”
“I…I’m fine,” she whispered numbly. “The door…?”
“It won’t open, the frame’s sprung. Easy does it, now.” He carefully reached down to get her under the armpits and with formidable strength he lifted her clear of the car. When she was on the ground, swaying, he picked her up with exquisite tenderness and carried her up from the ditch. The truck driver had stopped down the road and was coming toward them, but Justin didn’t seem to see him. His expression was rigid with control, but he couldn’t stop his arms from trembling under her slender body.
That fact finally registered in Shelby’s dazed mind. She looked up then and saw his face, and her breath fluttered. He was flour-white, only his eyes alive and glittering blackly in that set, haunted face. He looked down at her, his arms convulsively dragging her against his chest.
“You little fool…!” he choked.
As long as she lived, she knew she’d never forget the horror she saw in his eyes. She reached up to hold him, her only thought to remove that look from his eyes.
“It’s all right, Justin,” she murmured softly. His reaction fascinated her. She’d never seen him shaken before. It made her feel protective, that tiny chink in his cool armor.
“I’m fine, Justin,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his, amazed at the vulnerability there. She touched his mouth, her soft fingers caressing as they slid up into his thick, dark hair. “Darling, I’m all right, really I am!” She pulled his mouth down and put hers softly against it, loving the way he let her kiss him, even if it was only out of shock—which, in fact, it was. For several seconds she savored the newness of it, then something stirred in her slender body, and her mouth pushed upward, hungry for a harder, deeper contact than this. It had been years since they’d kissed, since they’d really kissed. She moaned softly and he seemed to come out of his trance. His arm contracted, and his hard mouth opened hungrily against hers on a wild, shattered groan.
His mouth hurt as it dragged against hers while he muttered something violent and unintelligible against her soft lips. He pulled back with evident reluctance as the truck driver came running down the highway toward them.
“Is she all right?” the man asked, panting from the long run he’d had. “My God, I was sure I’d hit her…!”
“She’s all right,” Justin answered tersely. “But that damned car won’t be when I can lay my hands on my rifle.”
The truck driver sighed with pure relief. “Damn, lady, you can sure handle yourself,” he said with admiration. “If you’d lost your nerve and thrown up your hands, you’d be dead and I’d be a mental patient.”
“I’m sorry.” Shelby wept, her nerve broken from the combination of the near miss and the exquisite ardor of Justin’s hard mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you coming!”
The truck driver, a young man with red hair, just shook his head, barely able to get his breath. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a trembling smile. “Thank you for stopping. It wasn’t your fault.”
“That wouldn’t have made me feel any better,” she was told. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll be on my way.” He looked at Justin, and almost offered to help, but the glitter in those black eyes wasn’t encouraging.
“As my wife said, thanks for stopping,” Justin said.
The younger man nodded, smiled and walked away with patent relief, wondering why a woman that pretty would marry such a desperado. He was glad she wasn’t hurt. He wouldn’t have relished having to face that wild-eyed husband unarmed.
Justin didn’t say another word. He turned, carrying Shelby to the Thunderbird. He balanced her on his knee, opened the passenger door and put her inside very gently.
“What about my car?” she asked.
His black eyes met hers. “Damn your car,” he said huskily. He slammed the door and went around to get in under the wheel. But he didn’t start the car. He sat with his hands, white-knuckled, gripping the steering wheel for a long moment while Shelby waited for the explosion that she knew was about to come. Justin had been badly shaken and somebody was going to pay for it. Now that he was sure she was all right, she could imagine that he was loading both verbal barrels.
“Go ahead, give me hell,” she said tearfully, searching in the glove compartment for a tissue. “I was driving too fast, and I wasn’t watching. I deserve every lecture I get.” She blew her nose. “How did you get here so fast?”
He still didn’t speak. After a minute, he sat back in the bucket seat and fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it with still-trembling hands, staring straight ahead.
“I followed you,” he said curtly. “When I heard you gun the car out of the driveway, I was afraid you might try to take out your temper on the highway, so I tagged along.” His head turned and his black eyes flashed at her. “My God, I paid for sins I haven’t even committed when I saw you spin out.”
She could imagine how it had been for him, having to watch. Even though he didn’t love her, it would have been terrible.
“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately, folding her arms across her breasts shakily.
His chest rose and fell with a huge, angry breath. “Are you, really?” he said. He was back in control now, and the cool smile on his face infuriated her. “Well, you can say goodbye to that damned sports car. Tomorrow, I’ll go downtown with you and steer you toward something safe.”
“What did you have in mind, a Sherman tank?” she asked with ice in her tone.
“A bicycle, if you keep this up,” he corrected angrily. “I told you once before, Shelby, your reckless days are over.”
“You’re not going to order me around!” she shot at him through trembling lips and clenched teeth. “I’m not your ward!”
“No,” he agreed with a mocking smile. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? My saintly, untouched wife who can bear anyone’s hands except mine.”
It was too much. She burst into tears again, turning her face to the window, burying her eyes in the soggy tissue.
“Don’t,” he groaned. “For God’s sake, stop it. I can’t stand tears!”
“Then don’t look, damn you,” she whispered, stomping her foot.
He swore roughly, digging into his pocket for his freshly laundered linen handkerchief. He thrust it into her trembling hands, feeling as if someone had kicked him.
“You’ll make yourself sick. Stop it. You’re all right. A miss is as good as a mile, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice softer now, deeper. He touched her hair hesitantly. It was all coming back into focus, little by little. He frowned, because now he remembered something that panic had knocked out of his mind. She’d touched his face and whispered something, and she’d put her mouth against his to comfort him. What had she said…?
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