The voices were louder now. Damn it. Ready to glare at the people talking when his head pounded like a drum at a rock concert, he was somewhat surprised at the gritty feel behind his lids as he forced them open. He blinked then blinked again, but the blurry images wouldn’t clear. They just moved back and forth in the dimly lit room. The sound of a million cawing birds filled his ears, and the sweet scent of wet grass floated on a cooling breeze across his skin. His bare skin. Did they have bare skin in the hereafter?
He blinked a few more times, wincing as the side of his head exploded with a new round of pain. And who was the bearded old man leaning close to his face? He wanted to lift his hand to smack the man and tell him to back up a bit. The garlic on his breath made Aaron’s stomach lurch but the pounding in his head was so fierce, just the thought of blowing chunks made him grit his teeth to hold back the bile while the vein in his forehead threatened to burst. The old man was speaking. What? Sounded something like mud, or blood, or…he just couldn’t make it out, his thoughts were too scrambled. Oblivion had been pretty sweet compared to this. Perhaps he could slip back into it?
But not before he caught a glimpse of the angel standing just behind the garlicky old man. Now he remembered, sort of. Lightning. His plane had gone down in the jungle after the engine under the left wing caught fire. The image was blurry but he knew an angel when he saw one. Was she here to take him to heaven? He was sure he’d done at least a few good deeds to warrant making it through the pearly gates.
This angel had milk chocolate skin and a set of piercing, almond-shaped, light gray eyes that made his pulse skip a beat or two. And her hair, a shoulder-length mane any woman would kill for. Thick and curly, it hit her shoulders at the perfect length and made his fingers want to reach out and touch the silky black-as-sin tresses before he floated away to the hereafter. The image of his angel wavered.
"Wait! Come back, beautiful! Can’t we spend some time? Maybe talk awhile before I leave this plane?" Could she hear his urgent whispers? Of course she could, all supernatural beings had great hearing. So why didn’t she respond? Instead, she just looked at him with a strange mix of pity and irritation. What the hell kind of angel was she anyway? She was supposed to be smiling at him, preparing him for his journey. Well, she obviously wasn’t interested in doing her job. Maybe if he lodged a formal complaint with God, she’d get fired.
The garlic master was back. His stomach lurched. Damn it, old man, he shouted in his head, and immediately regretted the ferocity of his thoughts. Now his neck, shoulders and ribs joined his head, pounding relentlessly against his skin from the inside out.
The older man stuck him on the top of his hand with something and the beauty faded away fast, but not before he got a good glimpse of the swell of the angel’s breasts and the curve of her shoulders. Since when did cherubs wear tank tops? It sure looked good on her. And how could be he in so much pain and still manage to achieve a hard-on? Damn, she’s sexy, he smirked at himself as his eyelids fluttered closed. Hell, even in his state of impending death, he was thinking with his cock instead of his brain.
I’m no better than the half-assed angel, he thought as sleep claimed him.
* * *
Reya followed Dr. Matons out of her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snap. After brewing herself a cup of tea, she joined her old friend out on the screened veranda and plopped down in her favorite plastic patio chair. The smell of the passing storm was heavy in the air, along with the scent of charred wood and jet fuel. In spite of the evening’s hair-raising events, she was calm and determined.
Vanilla and clove scented smoke floated up from Dr. Matons’ pipe. She should have never asked her Aunt Sulu to send the stuff. Now the old curmudgeon would never again settle for the local tobaccos.
"Well, our little patient was lucky tonight," Dr. Matons drawled around his pipe.
"Little patient?" Reya queried with amusement. She was sure she’d never met a man so long his feet practically hung off the edge of her bed, or a more muscularly perfect specimen as the one lying in her bedroom. She and Dr. Matons had spent the past several hours removing glass and plastic from various patches of skin. They’d stitched the deeper cuts across his back, wrapped his chest tightly and cleaned off all the blood. She’d seen every inch of his magnificent body and there was nothing, and she meant nothing, little about him.
"It’s a good thing you were out on patrol when his plane went down. I don’t know if he would have made it otherwise," the doctor said, blowing out a ring of thick smoke. "He is certainly handsome, as men go." His eyes crinkled at the sides as he watched her. The old matchmaker. Always looking for someone to pair her up with. Even an unconscious man in serious condition.
When she didn’t answer but stared out into the night, he continued. "I gave him a strong painkiller, but he’s not out of the woods. Do you mind if I sleep here so I can check on him during the night?"
"No, I don’t mind at all. Why don’t you take the office? The futon in there is pretty comfy. I’ll take the couch." Her eyes hadn’t strayed from the tangle of ferns and vines leading into the dark canopy of jungle no more than a hundred yards from her back stairs.
"You’re not planning on going back out in this deluge, are you?"
"The storm is almost past. I’ll be fine. Besides, something weird happened out there tonight. If you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll tell you about it."
The moon, pale and obscured by dark thunderheads, was the only light shining onto her second-story veranda. Reya unlaced her boots, toed them off and set them beside the screen door that led down the back stairs. Dr. Matons continued to puff on his pipe while she peeled off her tank top and blood-spattered pants, tossed them in a pile and loosely tied a small bundle around her neck.
"Be careful, my dear. Wake me when you return," Dr. Matons called quietly. Extinguishing his pipe, he rose and slipped through the sliding glass door and into her living room.
Reya watched his retreating back until the subtle snap of the office door told her she was alone. Shirt, pants and shoes in a neat pile on the floor, she dropped to her knees. Muscles rippled and bunched as raw power surged through her limbs—heady, thunderous power as her body shortened then stretched. Her tall frame shuddered as thick fur burst through her pores, replacing smooth skin. The cooling breeze ruffled the sleek fur on the tufts of the ears of a black jaguar as she stalked down the stairs and loped into the surrounding jungle.
Chapter Two
Aaron was immediately aware that he lay on his back at a perfect forty-five-degree angle in a firm but comfortable bed, but the rest of his thoughts were fuzzy, unclear. But not so unclear that he didn’t realize someone was in the room with him.
A breeze wafted over his cheek, drying the light sheen of sweat covering his face. Opening his eyes just a crack revealed a wide, and equally tall, opened window. The shades were pulled up to reveal a cloudy pre-dawn sky. He could smell rain in the air, but whether it was coming or going, he couldn’t tell. Relief coursed over him as he took in his surroundings. Okay, so he wasn’t in heaven, unless the hereafter had IV drips and makeshift hospital accommodations. His too-dry tongue flicked out to lick even drier lips.
"Wh-Where am I?" his voice croaked like a half-dead frog.
"Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary near Maya Center. About two and a half hours from Belize City. I found you just after you crashed in my jungle, and pulled you to safety," said a female voice, just above a whisper. That voice sent a very nice tingle down the inside of his thighs. He pushed the thought away. After all, it was ridiculous at a time like this.
"My plane…" He paused to pull a breath into his achy chest. His lungs burned on a long moan. God that hurt, both the breath and the moan. Wiggling his fingers, he was glad he could feel all of them, including the secure wrapping of bandages along his wrists. Slowly raising his hand, he gently pressed on the area of his chest that pulled and twinged with each breath. Great. Broken ribs.
"Did my plane go
up?"
"In smoke you mean?" the female asked, somewhat brusquely. She didn’t sound upset, but like she’d rather be doing something else. Finally she said, "I’m afraid so. The fire crew was able to get the flames out before too much damage was done to the surrounding fauna."
Was that a bit of snot in her tone? What was her problem? She was obviously more worried about the damned trees and grass while he was the one lying in a strange bed in a strange place, obviously injured. So, she’d rather be doing something else? Well, hell, he could think of a few things he’d rather be doing as well.
His eyes closed, refusing to keep up with the blur of her movements, to the bed, away from the bed, to a door and back. But at least he felt better than he had the last time he’d awakened and thought he was dead. That had been a whole new kind of pain right there.
"You’re Aaron James, right?"
His eyes opened all the way now and would have popped wide in surprise if the headache from hell hadn’t come rushing to the front of his forehead just then. His face felt tight and swollen. He slowly turned his head toward the sound while his mind began a slow whirl. Was he more intrigued with the fact that a female in the middle of nowhere knew who he was or with the sultry quality of the voice of the woman he’d thought was an angel? And she stood not three feet from him.
"Soooo," she drawled, "you’re Aaron James, right?" Her expression somewhat amused at his befuddled state.
"Mm-hmm," he groaned. "How did you know?"
"I managed to salvage some of your belongings. Black duffel’s in the closet. Is there someone I can call for you?"
"No." It came out a bit more forcefully than he’d intended, but he preferred to take care of contacting his family himself. He was the youngest sibling, and his brothers had expressed enough worry over him flying alone from their Miami offices to Belize. The last thing he needed was the deuce of them coming down on his head while he was healing. He was a successful architect, almost thirty-five years old, and held his own in their family business. Yet they still treated him as if he couldn’t tie his shoes without their aid. He was well aware they’d promised their father on his deathbed that they would "take care" of their baby brother. Their need to protect him was understood but no less nauseating.
The woman moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. The scent of apples and cinnamon floated to his sore nostrils as her long fingers held a small glass of clear liquid to his parched lips. Mmm, water had never tasted so good. Though it hurt to swallow, he forced himself to take a few sips, thankful when his throat was lubricated enough to comfortably drink a bit more. The glass was set with a thunk on what he assumed was a nightstand, but he couldn’t turn his neck enough to look without his head doing the thrum-thrum to the beat of his heart.
"You know who I am, but who are you?"
"Reya. Reya Daines. Do you think you can sit up?"
He suddenly remembered the business he was supposed to be taking care of in Belize City before his plane went down. Sit up? A semi-unfuzzy mind yelled yes, sit up and get moving, but his body said forget it. He slowly shook his head and settled down further into the soft sheets.
"How long have I been here, Reya?"
"A few days. Dr. Matons and I have been tending to you. He’s been keeping you sedated so you’re going to feel groggy and a bit nauseous for awhile."
You don’t say, he thought sarcastically. No wonder his brain was a weird mix of stuffed cotton and muted pain.
"With that said, it’s time for your next dose. I’ll be back shortly and we’ll see about getting some food into you," she said quickly, leaning forward to fiddle with something over his head before settling down on the side of the bed again. The back of his eyes started to throb, forcing him to close them again on a ragged moan.
"Don’t worry, Aaron. I’m medically trained," she said quietly, mistaking his discomfort for concern. He was in too much pain to be concerned about much of anything.
"Injuries?" he asked, trying to string as few words together as possible. Her answer was a relief.
"Your ribs are bruised." Oh thank god, bruised, not broken. Other than a concussion and a bruised kidney, the laundry list of injuries she rattled off was mostly cuts and bruises. "You were banged up pretty bad, minor internal injuries. Thankfully, the doc has equipment here to detect that kind of thing. A few of your issues required stitching, so don’t scratch your neck or right above your right eye. The ribs and the knock on your skull are going to bother you for a few days yet."
She raised a needle, walked around to the other side of the bed near the window and inserted the sharp tip into the IV taped to his right forearm.
"What are you giving me?" his words quickly started to slur.
"You’re on a glucose drip with antibiotics and a little something to control the inflammation and swelling. It’s to prevent infection, but more importantly, dehydration, at least until you can eat and drink on your own. Right now I’m giving you some codeine to help control the pain."
"Bud whad-da-bou-da doctor?" Oh yeah, he was fading fast.
"Dr. Matons has hardly left your side so I’m administering this dose so he could get some breakfast downstairs."
What? The doctor was having breakfast downstairs? What the hell kind of backwater place had he crashed where a doctor’s breakfast was more important than his patient? Six seconds later, he didn’t give a rip as a cool feeling traveled from his wrist up to his forearm. He raised his arm enough to see the IV secured to a fat vein with white paper surgical tape. Reya withdrew the needle and moved away. He heard a quiet clink as she disposed of it. His breathing deepened as he drifted away, but not before his keen nose and ears caught the soft thud of her shoes as she made her way across the wood floor. And boy did she smell good.
* * *
Dressed in her ranger’s uniform of dark green camouflage pants with matching bandana, short-sleeved black shirt and hiking boots, she hurried downstairs, her mutinous mind on the man in her bed. She’d taken her time looking him over as she and Dr. Matons changed bandages and checked stitches. The man’s wide, solid chest was sprinkled with dark downy hair as black as the hair on her own head. And even in sleep, his biceps were large and defined, the ridged lines of his stomach easily visible and his thighs large and muscular. His body was that of a bodybuilder crossed with a long-distance runner, built for strength and endurance.
And the long, thick rod nestled between powerful thighs looked built for endurance too. Even in slumber, the thing was formidable. She’d shuddered, but from longing or fear, she wasn’t sure. He had to be a bad boy. Good guys just didn’t come this handsome. A shadow of growth along his jaw line enhanced his high cheekbones. His skin reminded her of French vanilla ice cream, the color of decadence and far from plain. She’d never wondered what a man tasted like. Until now.
Then those deep gray eyes of his drifted lazily open and she’d almost forgotten what she was doing.
She told herself it was the color of those eyes that snared her thoughts, not the beautiful ruggedness of his face or the strong lines of his body, which she’d seen gloriously naked while she and the doctor tended his wounds. Even with loads of bruises and swelling, he was gorgeous. Yep, it was the eyes—that was her story and damn it, she was sticking to it.
Other than her twin sister, Reya had never met another person with eyes exactly like hers. The shape was different but the color was dead on. Not just a similar shade of silver, but so exact someone could have taken his eyeballs, stuck them in her head, and she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
Suddenly remembering the day she found Aaron. A jaguar had challenged her, or at least that’s what she thought had occurred. Her brows snapped together over the unsettling circumstances of Mr. Aaron James landing practically in her backyard. But she didn’t have time to think about that right now. From the hum of voices and clattering of dishes making its way up the staircase, she had a full house waiting for their breakfast.
The dining room w
as packed, her place being the only bed-and-breakfast that catered to the park rangers and the guests who visited the preserve. Other than her guests, most visitors stayed in the rustic cabins or dormitories, but they all seemed to make their way to her establishment for breakfast or to schedule a guided diving trip.
The sun had risen quickly into a clear blue sky, shining through the tall plate-glass windows of the dining hall. She signaled to one of the waitstaff to lower the shades on the eastern side of the large room, then made her way through the throng. Spotting Dr. Matons conversing with her housekeeper Bethsaida, she poured herself a cup of rich coffee and joined them at a table close to the kitchen doors.
The second her butt hit the chair, a bowl of peeled, sliced apples and a small dessert cup full of ground cinnamon was set in front of her. Thanking the young woman who served her, Reya scooped up a good helping of cinnamon with an apple slice and sighed with pleasure as the tart, spicy treat hit her tongue.
"So how’s our patient?" Dr. Matons asked around a bite of fresh melon.
"Seems fine. I gave him a dose of pain meds. I told him I’d be back up to check on him, bring him something to eat, but he’ll probably sleep for at least a few hours."
"So he did wake?"
"Yes, woke up in a bit of pain, but he was coherent enough to ask where he was and what happened to his plane."
The worry lines at the corners of Bethsaida’s mouth deepened before she asked, "Did you tell him what happened? I mean, does he understand how you rescued him? And what you rescued him from?"
Reya’s face remained calm and clear while her mind raced to find a diplomatic and friendly way to say "hell no". Then again, she’d never been good at tact anyway.
"Hell no," she responded quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the patrons or her fellow rangers. Bethsaida’s eyebrows flew upward as a half-grin graced her lovely features. An older woman with a striking head of salt-and-pepper hair that hung clear down to her waist, Bethsaida had given plenty of men a run for their money in her day. At sixty years old, she was stunning. All that hair graced a lovely, sun-browned face, and hard work kept her body strong and shapely.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 26
