Shifting, he murmured, "The things I want to do to you..."

She stopped chewing.

He had to get it together. She wasn't up for sex, so there was no point in continually teasing them both. Plus, he had ground rules to set up. When she was well, that needed to be his priority-before he got involved any deeper.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he said, "But shit happens and we'll both deal with it."

"You sound..."

"Turned on? I'll probably stay that way until I can have you again."

She swallowed hard. "I was going to say annoyed."

"No." He cupped his hand around her nape. "It's just now that I've seen you and tasted you, I know what I'm missing and it's making me nuts." True, she looked more with it, as if the nap and fresh air had done her good. But even though her skin wasn't as hot as it had been only hours ago, she was still too warm.

Nowhere near ready for everything he wanted.

Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "If you want to make it up to me later, I won't complain."

Putting the pretzels aside, she whispered, "I do. So much."

Even sick, she sounded almost as turned on as him. "Good."

"I already feel a little better." She laid one small hand on his chest, stroking him and inflaming him. "I think I'll be okay pretty soon."

"Hope so." But he figured it'd be at least two more days. "We'll both be patient and it'll just add to the anticipation."

Her fingers trailed up to his neck, then his jaw. "You're being so nice about all this."

Horny men tended to be real magnanimous. But with Cherry, it was more than that. A lot more.

He leaned across the seat to kiss her forehead, and decided he should get them back on the road before he forgot his better intentions. "Stay put. I'm going to change out of this shirt, find your sandals, and then we can get back on the road."

Now that they had a few minutes, he dug out another of his shirts for her to use if she started shivering again, and made sure everything else she might need was in easy reach.

She twisted around to ogle him as he changed his shirt, then kept watching him as he got back behind the wheel and drove them out of the lot. He could almost read her thoughts and that kept him on the ragged edge.

Knowing he needed a distraction, he waited until she'd eaten half the pretzels and drank most of her cola before he got her talking again. "Tell me about your family."

She froze up, purposely not looking at him. "There's nothing to tell."

"Mom, dad?" He glanced her way. "Siblings?"

"Mom and Dad are gone." She curled up in the corner of her seat.

Away from him.

Seeing her stare out at the passing roadway at nothing in particular told him more than she probably realized.

"Brothers? Sisters?"

As she closed the pretzel bag, apparently done eating, she said, "You didn't get anything to eat?"

He refused to take the hint. Gentling his tone, Denver hoped to coax her into sharing. "By gone, you mean your folks passed away?"

She nodded, and said nothing more.

Feeling his way, he asked, "Will you tell me how?" The silence grew, and so did her tension.

Denver reached for her hand. "If there's a reason you don't want to talk about it-"

"They were murdered." As she blurted that, she squeezed his fingers-still averting her gaze.

"Murdered?" Never in a million years had he expected that. His thoughts scrambled and the protectiveness he already felt for her expanded. "How? When?"

In the barest of whispers, she said, "It's not a good story, Denver."

"I'd still like to know." He needed to know.

Her eyes dark with shame, she hesitated. "I've never told anyone about it. Not even Rissy."

That, too, made him want to shield her from the world. "I don't want there to be secrets between us." Yet he knew there were things he didn't want to share, not with her, not with anyone. Knowing himself to be a hypocrite, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. "You can trust me."

"It's just...it embarrasses me."

"Why?"

"It says a lot about my childhood, and because it's so awful."

"Then I'm doubly impressed with how sweet and caring you are." He continued to hold her hand, to rub his thumb over her knuckles, to wait.

Finally she said, "Dad dealt drugs and Mom helped him."

Drug dealers? He thought of Carver, Mitty and Gene, and new possibilities made his heart pump harder-with suspicion, and with determination.

To shield her.

To insulate her.

Even when younger, he'd never used recreational drugs. He'd always been an athlete, a fitness buff. What he knew of drugs he'd learned from the news, never from firsthand experience or exposure. "A deal gone bad?"

"Something like that." She finished off her cola, then rested back in the seat. "This sucks, but I'm ready for another nap."

Despite how worn she looked, he needed to press her. When they got home, he'd have no excuse for moving in on her, yet until he understood everything, especially the level of threat, he didn't want her alone.

"I'm sorry, honey. I know you're tired." She should be in bed right now, not going through the inquisition. But he pushed her anyway. "Tell me what happened with your folks, then you can nap more if you want."

"I don't know where to start."

"When did they die?"

"When I was fourteen. A little over ten years ago."

If she'd lost both her parents, where had she lived? Who'd raised her? "They were killed together?"

She breathed deeper, distressed at sharing. "Someone knew they were delivering drugs and they got sidelined on the way to the drop. No one knows for sure what happened, but there was a lot of speculation."

So the murderers were never found? He supposed a lot of drug crimes went unsolved. "No arrests? No witnesses?"

She shook her head. "The theory is that Dad fought them and got hurt. Mom was driving the truck. He must have been in the truck bed, because there were bullet holes and his blood and..."

Denver waited as she composed herself.

"At some point, he fell out and they..." She looked at him, then away. "They ran over him."

Jesus.

"The truck was found half a mile away so Mom had probably kept going until they ran her off the road. Her body was several yards from it. No one knows if she was dragged out or tried to run." Cherry freed her hand to close her arms around herself, retreating both physically and emotionally. "She'd been shot three times. Once in each knee, and then in the head."

Emotions bombarded Denver, anger and sympathy the most prevalent. Thinking of what she'd gone through nearly broke his heart. "You're right. That does sound pretty awful."

She curled tighter into the corner, her eyes getting heavy.

And so damned sad.

She let out a slow breath. "Mostly, it just sounds like my life." She turned her face away. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm fading out again."

Denver cupped a hand over her knee. "Go ahead, baby. I'll wake you when we get home."

In a mere whisper of sound, she sighed, "Thanks." Using the extra shirt he'd given her, she cushioned her cheek against the door and within minutes dozed fitfully.

He had a million questions, most of all how a girl with such a terrible background could always be the life of the party.

But he'd literally felt her discomfort, her sorrow over the past, and it devastated him. He appreciated the reprieve, because he needed to regroup as much as she probably did.

Who knew that a woman being sick and vulnerable, sharing a tragic past, would grab his heart quicker than amazing sex?

CHAPTER SEVEN.

STILL BLEARY-EYED, Cherry stood beside the car in the driveway of the house she shared with Merissa Colter. The midday sun baked down on her head, sending waves of heat up from the pavement, adding to the discomfort of her fever. Lethargy pulled at her, but she resolutely stayed on her feet.

In the home's open doorway, Merissa, known as Rissy to her friends and family, waited for them.

As Denver gathered up all their bags, she wanted to help, but of course he'd already refused her. The man was too damn macho for his own good. Then again, she knew just getting herself inside would tax her enough.

Best to get things going. As she stepped away, Denver followed.

Before they'd gotten even halfway up the walkway, both Cannon and Armie came to the door, too.

Stalling, Cherry mumbled, "Oh great."

Denver glanced down at her. "Problem?"

"Why do they have to be here?" She tried to step behind Denver, but he turned with her, keeping her in his sights.

"Cannon and Armie? What does it matter?"

"I look like death on a bad hair day."

Smiling, he bent and kissed the bridge of her nose. "I think you look cute."

Right. "No makeup, hair destroyed, clothes frumpy-"

All too seriously, he said, "Eyes big and dark, cheeks all pink." His gaze dropped to her chest and he frowned. "But I probably should have found your bra for you to put on."

"Denver." Given the gravelly roughness of her voice, her censure sounded like a growl. She crossed her arms around herself and glared at him. "Now I'm going to feel self-conscious about that, too!"

He searched her face. "Other than that, how do you feel?"

His continued concern and understanding humbled her. "Tired, even though I've slept endlessly."

"Come on." He stepped behind her and nudged her forward. She felt both Armie and Cannon looking her over as she went up the walkway. Or more like she dragged herself. She would have loved to pick up the pace, put some spring in her step.

Instead, it seemed putting one foot in front of the other took all her concentration.

Everyone stepped back to let them enter.

"Damn, Cherry," Armie said with sympathy. He put the back of his hand to her forehead. "Feeling worse?"

"Better, actually."

Cannon's hand went to her forehead next. "Sorry, but no one's going to believe that with your red eyes and nose."

Freaking great. She stepped out of reach and clutched the railing of the stairs leading down to her part of the house.

Cannon asked Denver, "She has that bug that's been going around?"

"I think so."

Was Cherry the only one to notice how Rissy stared at Denver's lap? Giving her friend a pointed look, she cleared her throat-loudly.

Which drew Armie's notice to Rissy, and then his scowl.