Talons of the Falcon Read Online Free PDF Page A

And he might not be in any kind of shape—might never be in any kind of shape—to tell her.
    Long ago she thought she’d come to terms with the knowledge that he didn’t care. Now she couldn’t help torturing herself with what must have been in his mind that last night they’d been together.
    The aching loneliness that pierced through her was suddenly more than she could bear. There hadn’t been many men in her life since Mark, because there’d simply been no substitute for that particular man.
    It had been a long time since she’d permitted herself to consciously think about Mark Bradley—or to hunger for his caress. Instead she’d put her emotional energy into her work. But now that she was so close to him, she was helpless to hold back the flood of memories that seemed to overwhelm her. Closing her eyes, she remembered their last night together. It was all there, every endearment, every touch, every kiss.
    “I need you so badly, Eden,” he had whispered, his breath warm on her lips just before his mouth had captured hers in a kiss of fiery intensity. He had pulled her tightly against his lean, muscular body before his strong hands had begun a journey of exploration across her passion-roused flesh. It was as though he was trying to memorize her body’s every nuance. Perhaps that had really been in his mind. She murmured his name in the darkness, conscious of how close he was. And it was a long time before she finally fell asleep.
    * * *
    E DEN WOKE TO THE SOUND of heavy feet on the stairs. For a moment she was disoriented. Then she remembered that this was Pine Island. With the realization came the knowledge that she was anxious to get on with her assignment.
    The clock on the bedside table told her it was well before seven. Apparently the enlisted men ate before the officers. Perhaps while they were occupied she could do a bit of exploring—and maybe even find Major Downing.
    After dressing in one of the A-line skirts and cotton sweaters from her new wardrobe, she opened the door and stepped out into the empty hall. Her low-heeled sandals made very little noise on the worn carpet of the stairs. There was no one in the foyer when she gained the first floor, although she could hear the sound of clattering silverware and masculine voices drifting from the end of the hall.
    She paused before one of the wide front windows and looked out at the overgrown gardens and the beach beyond, where sea green breakers curled against the white sand. This place could have been a resort gone to seed—except that it wasn’t.
    Turning away, Eden looked down the hall in both directions. One of the wings of the house must contain the office complex. She decided to try the one to the right. But the only evidence of the area’s use was a slight smell of antiseptic in the dim hallway. Perhaps this was the medical facility.
    Eden was about to retrace her steps when a door several yards in front of her swung open.
    She could hear a slightly mocking voice saying, “Time for your yummy oatmeal.”
    At that moment a large man swung into her line of vision. His back was to her and she had time for only a fast impression of sandy brown hair and massive shoulders. Eden straightened her posture as he turned. She could see now that he had been maneuvering a wheelchair out the doorway.
    Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat as her attention focused on the occupant of the chair. He was wearing loose-fitting gray sweatpants and a matching short-sleeved top. A wide canvas shoulder strap bound him firmly to the chair. Nevertheless, he was sagging forward and looking down so that his face was hidden. Only the top of his dark hair was visible. It had a dull, lifeless quality.
    The bulky attendant was the one who spoke. “Dr. Sommers?”
    Eden couldn’t have responded at that moment, even when she heard her name repeated.
    “This area is off-limits until after 0900 hours.”
    She was busy fighting to keep from gasping,