The Man Who Would Be King

by Linda Turner

  Eliza had seen tick bites before, but never one that looked like this. Infected and hot, it had angry red streaks that radiated out from the center of the bite. "I bet this is from that spider that was crawling on your shoulder at the Barlow place," she said, suddenly remembering the way he'd slapped at his neck and shoulders to kill it. "Why didn't you say anything?" she scolded. "Spider bites can be nasty."

  "I just thought I scraped against something in the woods," he replied. "It didn't really start bothering me until this morning."

  Hurriedly unzipping her suitcase, she dug through her things for the disinfectant and antibiotic cream that she never went anywhere without. "And you didn't say a word," she said, shaking her head in disgust as she doused a cotton ball with disinfectant. "No wonder you look sick. Sit still. This could hurt."

  Holding her breath, she gently pressed the cotton ball to the wound, barely touching him for fear of hurting him. But even that was too much. Sucking in a sharp breath, he stiffened, then before Eliza could even guess just how much pain he was in, all the air seemed to hiss out of him. Without another sound, he crumpled to the floor.

  "Lorenzo! Oh, God!" Horrified, she dropped to her knees beside him and carefully rolled him to his side. Clammy with sweat and burning up with fever, he was as pale as the snow that had started to fall outside. "I'm sorry," she choked, patting his face to try to bring him around. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Wake up, Lorenzo. You've got to wake up!"

  For a moment, she thought he was dead. Out cold, he didn't move so much as a muscle. Then he groaned low in his throat and slowly opened his eyes, only to frown when he found himself lying on the floor. "What happened?"

  He spoke barely above a whisper, and that scared her even more. He was a strong man. She'd never seen him so helpless. Tears welling in her eyes, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "You passed out," she said huskily. "You're really sick. We've got to get you to a doctor."

  To his credit, he tried to stand when she helped him up. But he was a big man. Lean, but well-muscled and well over six inches taller than her, he outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. When he leaned on her for support, she was barely able to help him the three steps to the bed before he passed out again.

  Her heart thundering in her breast, Eliza couldn't remember the last time she'd been so scared. She tried rousing him, but he just lay there. Alarmed, she quickly called the motel office. "I need an ambulance!" she cried the moment the clerk answered. "Call 9-1-1!"

  "The closest ambulance is twenty miles away in Valley View," the woman replied, "but Doc Stevens is just down the street. His office is right next door to the video store. Do you want the number? I've got it right here."

  Afraid his receptionist would put her off, or worse yet, put her on hold, she said, "No, I'll go myself. Thanks."

  Eliza didn't know if he made house calls, but she didn't care. In this instance, she would refuse to take no for an answer. Grabbing her coat and the keys, she checked only to make sure Lorenzo was still breathing before she ran for the door.

  Dr. Albert Stevens's office was right where the clerk said it was, but it wasn't until Eliza hurried inside and found the waiting room empty that she realized it was already after five o'clock. Horrified that the doctor had already left for the day, she rushed over to the sign-in desk and banged on the frosted glass, praying all the time, "Please, please, let him be in."

  "We're closed," the elderly receptionist said the second she slid open the window. "If you'd like to make an appointment, you can call in the morning."

  "I can't wait until morning," Eliza snapped. "I've got a sick friend down at the motel who's suffering from a spider bite. I need a doctor now!"

  "But Dr. Stevens is a gynecologist!"

  "I don't care if he's a damn dentist," she roared, losing her cool. "My friend is seriously ill. Is Dr. Stevens available or not?"

  "He's available," a middle-aged man said as he stepped into the waiting room. Already wearing a wool coat and hat, he had his medical bag in his hand. "Lead the way, Miss..."

  "Eliza," she replied, not standing on ceremony. "We're at the Silver Moon Motel. Room three."

  She didn't wait to see if he followed, but turned and hurried out to the truck, which she'd left running in the parking lot. Thirty seconds later when she braked to a screeching halt in front of her room, Dr. Stevens was right behind her. "I think the spider bit him a couple of days ago, but neither one of us realized it until this afternoon when his shoulder really started to bother him," she told him quickly as she jerked open the door and the doctor strode over to where Lorenzo lay on his stomach on the bed. "When I tried to clean it with some disinfectant, he passed out."

  "I'm not surprised," the older man said as he examined the wound. "This is quite a nasty bite. I'm going to have to lance it."

  Eliza had been afraid of that. "Don't hurt him."

  "I'll make sure he won't feel a thing," he assured her with a half smile, and pulled a sedative from his bag.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, it was all over. The bite had been thoroughly cleaned and bandaged and Lorenzo was given a shot of antibiotics. He hadn't been unconscious throughout the entire procedure, but the wound was deadened, as the doctor had promised, and he didn't feel a thing. Still, he was exhausted and fell asleep before the doctor finished writing out a prescription for a ten-day supply of antibiotics.

  Handing the prescription to Eliza, he warned, "This isn't something he's going to get over quickly. He's going to need plenty of rest and fluids, and you need to make sure he takes the full course of antibiotics. Aspirin should bring his fever down. If it doesn't, call me." Jotting his home number down on the back of his card, he handed it to her. "I'll drop by in the morning to check on him. If you need me before then, don't hesitate to call."

  Giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he walked out without even asking for payment. Relieved, Eliza would have cried, but she didn't have time. She had to get to the drugstore to fill Lorenzo's prescription before he woke up. Slipping back into her coat, she grabbed the keys to the truck and hurried out.

  * * *

  The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur for Lorenzo. A black cloud of pain weighed heavy on his brain, and even though he slept, he couldn't seem to get comfortable. Fire burned in his shoulder like a hot poker, and when he wasn't dripping in sweat, he was chilled to the bone. One minute he was shivering under the covers and the next, he was kicking them off. The sun went down, then came up again, and it seemed like only minutes had passed.

  And then there were the dreams. He dreamed of spiders and dark forests and Lucas running out of a burning house. But it was Eliza who haunted him. She was there when he finally slept, there when he found the strength to open his eyes, there when the fire in his shoulder raged out of control. She shoved pills down his throat and nearly drowned him with water and juices, and then when his defenses were down and he couldn't seem to control his thoughts, she stepped into his fantasy and made love to him. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

  Hot, frustrated, exhausted, he tossed and turned and hated being out of control of his own body. And when his fever finally broke and he could barely lift his head off the pillow, Eliza was once again there. Even with his eyes closed, he would have known her touch anywhere. She stroked his brow, tucked the covers around him, and sat so close beside him on the bed that he could smell the sweet and spicy scent of her.

  And in his weakened condition, he could no more resist her than the tides could resist the pull of the moon. Reaching for her hand, he enclosed her fingers in his. "How long have I been out of commission?" he asked faintly.

  "A day and a half. The doctor has been here twice."

  He'd thought it had only been hours since he'd passed out. Stunned, he swore weakly. "Damn spider! I should have killed it when I had the chance. Help me up."

  Eliza couldn't believe he was serious. "You've got to be kidding! Where do you think you're going?"

  "Back to work."

&
nbsp; "Don't be ridiculous! You're weak as a kitten—"

  "I don't care," he retorted, struggling to sit up without her help. "Lucas could be in trouble. We've got to get back on the road."

  He had that stubborn set to his jaw, the one she'd come to know only too well since they'd met. He'd made up his mind, and nothing she could say was going to change it. So she didn't even try. Instead, she stepped over to the drapes and pulled them open to reveal the whiteout conditions outside.

  "We're in the middle of the worst blizzard in a century," she told him, "so you can relax. We're not going anywhere and neither is the prince if he's anywhere in the state of Colorado. The governor's shut down every highway in the state."

  Chapter 8

  Trapped, there was nothing Lorenzo could do but accept the fact that for the time being, at least, they weren't going anywhere fast. Outside, a frigid north wind howled like a banshee while the storm raged and the snow piled up in ten-foot drifts. From where he lay on the bed, he could see that the entire world had ground to a halt. Anyone crazy enough to step outside was asking for trouble.

  And he had enough of that, as it was. His trouble, though, had curly red hair and a touch that was guaranteed to drive a man slowly out of his mind. And she didn't even seem to realize what she did to him. She puttered around the room— her room; he'd never made it to his own—picking up towels and glasses, and he realized just what she'd done for him during the past two days. She'd fed him and nursed him and bathed him with cool cloths to bring down his fever, and even though she didn't touch him now, he could still feel her hands on him. And that, more than anything, shook him to the core.

  In the past, he'd never let anyone take care of him. Whenever he'd been sick—and that was rare—he'd turned away the women who wanted to coddle him and play nursemaid, preferring to take care of himself. And now he knew why. It was...unsettling. And far too intimate.

  If he'd had his wits about him, he would have insisted on going back to his own room. It would have been the right thing to do. His fever had broken, and while there was no question that he was still very weak, he didn't need her hovering over him, waiting on him hand and foot. He might be tired, but he could take care of himself.

  He knew that, accepted it, and still stayed right where he was. Later, he knew that would worry him, but right now, he couldn't find the strength to do what was wise. His defenses were down, and he didn't want to be alone. Honesty forced him to admit that he enjoyed her touch and wanted more. Thankfully, he didn't have to be concerned about things getting out of hand. He couldn't even sit up without her assistance. Nothing was likely to happen.

  "I guess we're stuck here then," he said gruffly. "Have you heard how long the storm's expected to last?"

  "It should blow itself out by tonight, but it could be another couple of days before the snowplows are able to clear the roads.. .especially up here in the mountains. The road ' crews will work on the interstate highways and cities first."

  Staring out the window at the blowing snow, he felt the cold all the way to his bones. "I wonder where Lucas is."

  "He's a survivor," she reminded him. "Anyone who can walk away from a plane crash is smart enough to find shelter from a blizzard. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's fine."

  Lorenzo had to agree. In spite of the fact that Lucas was a prince and had grown up behind the protective walls of the palace, he'd already proven that he was no lightweight when it came to surviving in the wilderness. He would have seen the storm building, just as he and Eliza had, and found a safe place to wait it out.

  "The king will have heard about the storm and be worried since I passed out before I could send him a progress report on the search. I need to call him."

  "The local lines are down because of the storm," she informed him with an apologetic smile. "And the cell phones aren't much better. I tried calling Simon while you were sleeping, but all I picked up was static. It probably won't improve until the weather clears."

  And there was no way to know exactly when that was going to happen. "So I guess there's nothing to do but rest."

  "And eat," she said. "I wasn't able to get much down you over the last day and a half. Are you hungry? I could make you some soup. It's nothing fancy—just canned chicken noodle—but you need something mild after being so sick."

  He would have sworn he wasn't hungry, but at the mere mention of food, his stomach rumbled. Grinning sheepishly, he said, "I guess that answers your question."

  Relieved that he was finally willing to eat something, Eliza hurriedly opened a can of soup she'd bought at the small grocery store across the street from the motel, then heated it on the two-burner cooktop in the room's kitchenette. Almost immediately, the scent of the cooking soup filled the room, and her own stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten much herself over the past thirty-six hours.

  Quickly filling a mug for him, she carried it over to the bed. "I thought it would be easier if you sipped it from a mug," she said as she sank down onto the edge of the bed beside him and handed him the thick, old-fashioned coffee mug that she'd found in the cupboard of the kitchenette. "Careful. It's hot."

  Not surprisingly, his hands weren't quite steady. Lightning quick, she reached to help him and covered his fingers with hers. And just that quickly, her pulse was skipping. Startled, she told herself to get a grip. She'd been touching the man for the past day and a half. He was sick— he couldn't even hold a cup for himself. Considering that, the last thing she should have been thinking about was what his closeness did to her.

  But she couldn't draw a breath without taking in the scent of him. And when her eyes met his as she helped him lift the mug to his mouth, something happened to her heart. It seemed to turn right over in her breast. Time slowed, then stopped altogether. And all she could think of was that they were alone, possibly for days, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed with him.

  The strength of the need caught her by surprise, and given the chance, she would have jumped up from the bed and put as much distance as possible between them. But he needed her help to eat, and she was left with no choice but to hold the mug for him while he sipped the soup. Her hands trembled slightly, but if he noticed, he made no comment.

  "Thanks," he said huskily when he finally finished the entire mug of soup. "I hadn't realized I was so shakey."

  "You should regain your strength quickly now that your fever's broken and the antibiotics are starting to work," she said stiffly. "By this time tomorrow, you'll probably feel a hundred percent better."

  "I hope so," he said, then was caught off guard by a yawn. "How can I be sleepy?" he groaned. "I just woke up!"

  "So now you get to sleep again," she retorted, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "The more you rest, the quicker you get back on your feet."

  When he only scowled, she grinned. "Don't look at me like that, Your Grace. You're human, just like the rest of us, so quit your crying. It's time for a nap."

  His royal genes showing, he scowled at her and managed to look just as intimidating as the king did when he wasn't happy, but she was right, and they both knew it. With an irritated sniff, he turned on his side, presenting her his back, and closed his eyes. Within thirty seconds, he was sound asleep.

  Afraid she would give in to the need to lie down with him, Eliza hurried over to where she'd set up her computer on the room's only table. She hadn't been able to write anything while he was so sick, and Simon was probably having a fit wondering what was going on. Now that she no longer had to hover over Lorenzo, maybe she could get some work done.

  But when she sat down to write, she found her gaze continually going to Lorenzo. He'd rolled over onto his stomach in his sleep and turned his face toward her. How many times had she touched him over the past day and a half? Watched him? She'd been so worried about him that she'd done nothing but sit and stare at him when he was sleeping to make sure he was still breathing. And now that the danger was past, she was still watching.

  Did he have any idea just how
easy he was on the eye? she wondered, then had to laugh at herself. Of course, he did! She kept abreast of his activities for her column, just as she did the rest of the royal family, and there was no question that he was a favorite with the ladies. He'd been known to date seven different women in as many days, and then there were the groupies. More than a dozen had tried to break into the royal palace over the years just to be with him, and whether he was interested or not, that had to go to a man's head.

  He could, no doubt, have any woman in the world he wanted—which made him the last man she wanted to have a crush on. But she couldn't take her eyes off him.. .or forget the taste of him, the feel of his arms around her. She tried to tell herself it was just because she'd been so concerned about him that she'd gotten used to touching him, caring for him, and it was only natural that she was attracted to him. But then the irritating voice of reason that resided in her head reminded her that he'd kissed her before he'd become sick, and she'd melted at his touch even then.

  All right, she reasoned. So she'd let her emotions get out of hand. Being snowed in hadn't helped matters. Once the weather cleared and Lorenzo was back on his feet and they picked up the investigation again, she'd be fine. In the meantime, she had to keep her distance or she was going to find herself in over her head.

  To her credit, she tried. Deliberately turning her attention back to her computer, she kept her eyes trained on the screen and didn't once look toward the bed for the next two hours. When he woke up from his nap, she didn't rush over to check to see if his fever had returned, but stayed where she was and tried to make sense of what she'd written. The first paragraph was little more than gibberish, however, and it didn't get much better after that. Groaning, she hit the delete button.

  "Problems?" Lorenzo asked quietly from the bed.

  "Nothing that can't be fixed," she said shortly, scowling at the screen. "Some days, the words come slower than others."

  "You're probably tired after taking care of me," he replied. "Maybe you should take the next couple of days off.