“He didn’t know what he was doing. Besides, phobias are irrational. We can’t blame him for that.”
“That’s my point. A man out of control is a man not to be trusted. I have to look out for you, not him. Why do you always defend the ones who don’t deserve it?”
Alana stood and wrapped her arms around him. His muscles were tense, his frame frail.
“Because someone has to. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I won’t let him go until he’s healed. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t?”
Her father’s arms tightened around her. “You have your mother’s tenacity,” he said softly. “She used to win all of our arguments.”
“You two never argued.”
“I learned quickly she wasn’t a woman to cross when she set her mind to something.”
The tenderness in his voice made Alana smile. “You know she’s up there cheering me on.”
Her father sighed. “I fear you’re right. One condition, Alana. I want your promise.”
Alana leaned away and nodded. “Okay.”
Serious now, her father said, “Promise me you’ll let him go if you get in over your head. He’s not like us, Alana, he’s dangerous.”
She kissed his cheek. “You have my word.” Though she didn’t believe she’d ever have to carry through. Regardless of what Cristian did outside the here and now, she was bound to him and she would do what she had to.
With a nod, her father left. Cool night air washed through the small hut as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Alana stared at it for a long moment, her heart aching.
“He worries about you.”
At the sound of Cristian’s raspy voice, Alana turned slowly. Her gaze dropped to the bed. The man puzzled her. He suffered high fever, infection, immense pain, and yet when he spoke she’d swear he knew exactly what he said.
“Isn’t that what fathers do?” She tucked away her feelings, walked to the table and picked up a pill bottle.
“I wouldn’t know.”
She hid her surprise as she popped the top. “Why not? Didn’t your father worry about you?”
“When he wasn’t hitting me.”
One of the pills dropped on the floor. As she bent to pick it up, she stole a glance toward the bed to find he watched her with a closed expression. He told the truth. She wanted to go to him. Soothe away his pain. Hold him so no one could ever hurt him again, even though she knew he’d never allow it.
“That’s a shame.” She rose to her feet.
Cristian shrugged and winced. “No sense crying over it.”
Did he cry over anything? Somehow she doubted it. Not this man. It made her want to cry for him because he never would.
“Will you take these on your own, or do I have to force them down?” She held out the two pills and water.
“I don’t need them. You’ve been giving me pain medicine. I don’t want it.”
“You need it.”
His jaw jutted stubbornly. “No.”
She closed her fingers around the pills and resisted a scowl. “Fine. Antibiotics only, then.”
“They make me dream.”
She put the pain meds back in the bottle and reached for another. “Everyone dreams, the pills don’t cause that.”
“I don’t. Save them for someone who needs them.”
“You don’t dream?”
“No.”
The denial was firm. He honestly believed he could control his dreams? That would be some kind of trick if he could.
“Well, whether you dream or not is inconsequential. Right now you’re the one who needs treatment. So how do you want it? The easy way or the hard?” She turned, eyebrow raised.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?” he grumbled.
“Yep. Well, what’s it going to be?”
He scowled. “Hand them over.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll do it.” She walked over to the bed and helped him lift his head, dropped the pills on his tongue, and pressed a glass to his lips.
He drank every last drop and fell back on the pillow, face white. “Hate feeling like this,” he muttered.
Alana set the glass aside and laid a hand on his forehead. “Your fever is still high. The antibiotics should kick in within the next twelve hours. Sure you don’t want something for the pain?”
“No.”
“Fine, then there’s nothing else I can do for you. The bandages won’t need to be changed again until morning. Get some rest, it’ll help you heal.”
She left his side and began to clean up, tossing out old bandages, dumping warm water out of the basin and taking care of her clothes. She did so as quietly as possible.
“You haven’t slept.”
She started at the sound of his voice. While she folded a shirt, she glanced over to find him watching her. His intense gaze made her uncomfortable. “You should be sleeping.”
“So should you.”
“Doctors don’t need as much sleep as their patients.”
“You have dark circles under your eyes.”
“So do you, now go back to sleep.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
She smiled and put the shirt away. “Yes.”
“You’re not technically a doctor.”
She sighed. “And you remember too much. Want some more water to drink?”
“No.” His eyes glazed for a moment and she walked closer, frowning.
“Are you in pain?”
“I’m not taking your damn pills.”
“And I’m not offering any. I want to know if you’re in pain in case I missed something.” He had to be the most obstinate man she’d ever met.
“You didn’t miss anything.”
Her brow lifted. “Are you a doctor now?”
“No, but I know about injuries.”
“I see. Well, I know about injuries too, and you have many.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head the opposite way. “Happens when you get caught.”
Caught? As in captured, or busted? There were no police on the island and Gavin ruled with an iron fist. It had to be the first, which led her to wonder what he’d been caught doing.
She tucked the covers more firmly around him, steered clear of his bare chest, and issued orders to go back to sleep. With luck, he’d break the fever tonight and let her get on with her life.
With him here, not possible.
And she so desperately needed her life back before she had to give it away.
* * * *
Alana shifted in her chair. Her thoughts drifted from the man in her bed to the tribe’s decision. The clan’s support for her request to keep his presence a secret until he healed humbled her. Keeping him until he reached that point would be difficult; he wouldn’t make it easy.
She got up from her chair and paced the darkened room, fatigued and restless at the same time. It wasn’t that she wanted her bed back, it never helped her sleep anyway. Cristian made her edgy. Ever since his arrival, she had made bad decisions. Climbing in bed was therapeutic and wouldn’t have been inappropriate if she hadn’t responded to his touch like a vixen.
Even now, as she paced across the room she was aware of him. Not as a patient, but as a man. A strong, potent man with hard blue eyes and secrets she didn’t want to know. A mercenary would bring trouble they didn’t need. Her feelings were trouble she didn’t need either. She would never have what she truly desired and this man wouldn’t make her regret her decision. Her father and tribe outweighed her own happiness.
She cast a glance at the bed and saw the sheet had slipped down Cristian’s bare chest, revealing the hard planes she couldn’t help but stare at. A nasty bruise covered his left pec and his ribs were wrapped where they met the bandaged wound. Mercenary or guard, he had been beaten severely and was lucky to be alive. If he hadn’t stumbled on her that night, he would have died.
Unable to stop herself, she stepped closer, her eyes glued to the sweat that glistened on his tanned s
kin. She knew for a fact he had no tan lines, since she’d undressed him when he started tearing at his clothes. He’d settled right down once he was in the nude, though she’d been out of sorts ever since.
But he wasn’t a man. He was her patient and she had no right to look at him as anything else.
She drew herself up short and dropped into the wooden chair again. By the dim light of the lantern, she picked up the novel her father had left open. Maybe it would take her mind off this conundrum. Reading had always calmed her in the past. She hoped it would do the trick now.
* * * *
Slade was burning up. He’d never been so hot in his life. The heat was uncomfortable, almost painful, and wouldn’t go away. No matter what he did, he found no relief. Every time he moved he hurt. His limbs wouldn’t obey his commands.
He couldn’t stay here. He had a job to finish so he could get home to Mariette. She would be worried if he didn’t come home on his scheduled leave. She would be waiting with open arms for his return.
He opened his eyes to look around the room and saw her. And frowned. When had Mariette dyed her hair red? Jesus, how long had he been gone? Her hair brushed her waist where she slept at the table.
What the hell?
Damn, he was fucking hot. He needed this heat to cease. Not wanting to wake her, he swung his legs to the floor and frowned when they only had to go a foot. His bed in his penthouse sat three feet off the ground. Where…
Not his penthouse. Or his cabin in the Rockies. A hut. Small, rustic. Easily escaped. Where the hell was he?
He gritted his teeth and pushed to his feet. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Where were his clothes?
And who was the redhead asleep on the crook of her elbow at the small, shabby table? He recognized her, but couldn’t place her. His brain clouded. And he hurt all over. Where were his guns? His knife?
He had to get out of here. A job to do. He’d figure out the rest later. As soon as he got away from this relentless heat.
He took a step toward the door.
Chapter 5
A loud crash startled Alana awake. She jumped and looked over in time to see her patient trip over the crate beside the bed. Cups and medicine bottles flew everywhere. Pain masked his face, white beneath his tan and set in determined lines.
Her gaze dropped to his naked chest, then lower, and she gasped despite herself. She’d seen naked men before. Why did this man make it so hard to remain objective?
That didn’t stop her from staring at the magnificent specimen.
She rushed to his side and ducked beneath his shoulder so she could slide an arm around his waist. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Too damn hot in here.”
He was burning up, his skin hotter than it had been earlier. The antibiotics weren’t working fast enough. He needed a shot of penicillin.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Now, get back in bed.”
He stubbornly remained still and she couldn’t move him.
Alana bit the inside of her cheek. How could a person be so unreasonable when they were burning up with fever and riddled with infection?
She slid around to face him. “Listen, soldier, I’m ordering you back into bed. If you don’t do as I say you’re going to be buried six feet under by tomorrow. You have an infection and it’s spreading. You need penicillin.”
“No more pills.”
Alana sighed. This was going to be a long night.
“If I promise you no more pills, will you get into bed?”
His knees buckled and his weight pushed her down, but he caught himself before they hit the floor.
“No more pills,” he muttered and dropped down on the bed. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and closed his eyes.
Alana pushed her hair over her shoulder and took a deep breath before walking over to the cupboard. She grabbed the bottle of scotch she kept hidden there and twisted the cap off. She didn’t bother with a glass, and took a drink straight from the bottle. She’d need it for what she had to do next.
She replaced the bottle, wiped her mouth, and turned to find her patient lying still, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell steadily. Carefully, she approached and covered him up with a sheet, more for her peace of mind than his modesty. He only kicked it off anyway.
After she slipped on her boots, she took one last glance at her patient and left the hut, wishing she didn’t have to do this. But he’d left her no choice.
Ten minutes later Alana knelt beside her patient, who slept soundly, a syringe in one hand and his bare thigh in the other. She only had one shot at this.
She took a deep breath and glanced at Cristian. His eyes were closed, his head turned toward her. He’d grumbled when she uncovered his leg and wiped a spot on his hip with alcohol, but he hadn’t woken up. With luck, he was out for the night.
God help her if he woke up.
With a steady hand she plunged the needle into the muscle of his hip and depressed the syringe.
Suddenly she was sprawled on the floor. Surprise didn’t register until she looked up dazedly and saw Cristian charging toward her, head down and nostrils flaring.
The look in his eyes made her scramble backward to get away. Dark with fury, they blazed at her. Her leg bumped against the table, rocked it, but she didn’t stop to steady it, just kept on moving backward.
She looked around for something to defend herself with.
Nothing in the primitive hut would serve as a weapon. The table, chair, and wooden cabinets were it, except for some books and feminine items. She couldn’t very well stop him with a bottle of lotion. Her knife was hidden in the crate beside the bed.
Like a man possessed he stalked her, eyes wild, body glistening with sweat. His face was flushed, teeth bared. Alana kicked the chair at him, but he deflected it and sent it flying across the room.
With a whimper she searched frantically for protection. She scrambled to the corner of the room. Why had she put away her knife?
Blood pounded in her ears. Her breath came in short gasps and hurt her chest. Her back bumped against the wall. She had nowhere else to go.
Cristian bore down on her, his gaze on her hand resting on the floor. Terrified and frozen in place, Alana watched helplessly as he reached for her. She squeezed her eyes closed and turned her head away, not wanting to see the monster coming at her.
His hand clamped down on hers. Something pricked her skin and she cried out.
“I said no needles,” Cristian growled.
She opened her eyes and looked down to see she still had the syringe in her hand. Blood dotted her palm where the needle had pierced her skin. She should have hidden the needle the instant she finished.
“What did you give me?” His hand squeezed hers so that she couldn’t drop the syringe.
“Penicillin. It was just penicillin.”
“Pen--” He started to sway, tilted forward as his knees, weakened. Damn fool. He was in no shape to be out of bed.
Some of her fear evaporated when he dropped to his knees in front of her, head bowed, panting. She tossed the needle behind a cabinet, and rose to her knees so she could slap a hand on his forehead.
“You’re burning up,” she accused. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
It took effort, but she managed to get him to his feet. By now he mumbled incoherently in what sounded like Russian. By the time she got him back in bed she was breathing hard. If she had a pair of handcuffs and a bed frame, she’d cuff him to it. He was wearing her out.
Once she got him settled, she dropped down on the floor and pressed her back to the wall. She had known patients who feared needles, but never to the point of phobia. This man’s fear was real. Dangerous. But, she’d had to do it. His life was at risk and could only be saved by injecting the antibiotics. The pills just weren’t enough to kick the infection.
She stared at his face, pulled taut in sleep. How did a needle terrify a man like this?
“Wh
at happened to you, Cristian?” She doubted she would ever get the answer.
* * * *
Alana woke with Leya at her side, a worried frown on her young face. “Senorita, what happened?”
She glanced at the mess around her, and winced as tight muscles protested. Light shone through the open door and windows. The scent of food wafted past her nose, reminding her she’d skipped two meals.
“Just a little misunderstanding.” She pushed out of her chair and braced her hands on her back to stretch it.
“Misunderstanding?” Leya repeated, looking around the room.
Alana glanced at Cristian, who slept peacefully beneath her sheets. She scowled at him and turned to Leya. “Yeah, I didn’t have any sugar to help the medicine go down.”
Leya’s dark brows drew together.
Alana rubbed her sore neck. “Old movie. Julie Andrews. Never mind. Is my father awake yet?”
“Si, he is checking on Keika like you asked him to. He has the cough again this morning.”
“How bad?”
“Much worse this time. I worry about him. He coughed blood into his napkin.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. She gripped Leya’s arm. “Stay with Cristian. If he wakes up, don’t go near him. Do you hear me, Leya?”
Leya nodded toward the man in bed, eyes wide with fear.
“He won’t hurt you if you don’t have a needle in your hand, but don’t approach him unless absolutely necessary.”
“I will watch over him from there.” Leya pointed to the overturned chair in the corner.
“Yes, good. I won’t be long.”
Alana slipped into her shoes and left the hut in search of her father. She found him walking back from Keika’s hut. His expression darkened when he saw her.
“Is he worth this, daughter?” he asked when she approached, taking in her bruised neck, rumpled clothes, tangled hair and pale face. “You can’t sacrifice yourself for this man.”
Alana ran a hand through her hair. “I’m fine, Dad. Leya told me you were coughing up blood this morning. Is that true?”
He took her arm and pulled her aside where no one could overhear. “It’s a normal part of the cancer, you know that. I’ll be fine.”
Hard Core (Onyx Group) Page 5
