Even as she wished she could do it, Alana started to gather supplies to give her patient a sponge bath. Later, she would borrow her father’s shave kit and make him look a bit more civil. Right now he looked like a savage. One who tied women to chairs while they slept.
She set the bowl of water and washcloth on the floor by the bed and knelt beside him. His bandages were soaked in blood and needed changed. He’d probably pulled his stitches during his escape. Well, she wasn’t going to put them in again. Not after the miserable time she had the first round.
With slow, gentle passes she cleaned the dirt off his face. Then she moved to his bare chest, focused on the task instead of the lines and contours, the power beneath his tanned skin. Cristian was nothing like her father, a gentle, tender man with an easy smile that put his patients at ease. He had treated her mother like a precious object he coveted. That’s how a man should treat a woman. The only kind of marriage she would settle for, when she found a way to change Gavin’s mind about their arrangement. He had to know she would never love him.
She stared down at Cristian. There was nothing gentle or tender about this man, not even in sleep. His edges were rough.
Alana dipped the cloth in the bowl and wrung it out, then brushed it across his chest, her gaze trapped on the trail left on his skin. Little goosebumps arose on his flesh and her stomach fluttered. Why did she respond so to him? Crave his touch? She’d been attracted to other men, but never like this. Not to the point she ached. Like right now, and he wasn’t even alert to take the blame.
Traitor. Alana ignored the voice in her head and drew the cloth over his muscled shoulder, then down his arm. On impulse she let her fingers brush his heated skin, hot beneath her touch. Taut and smooth over hard muscle. Except for the scars and scrapes from his beating. Which only served as a reminder of who he worked for.
Properly chastised, she dropped the cloth into the bowl and rose to her feet. She would never know this man beyond here. Soon he would be gone.
She turned away and began to clean up the mess inside her hut, Cristian pushed firmly out of her mind along with her hopes and dreams.
* * * *
Slade opened his eyes and looked around. Wood hut. Thatched roof. Bare essentials. Right back where he started. How he’d gotten here, he didn’t know. The last thing he remembered was tying the pretty young doctor to her chair while she cried in her sleep. He didn’t want to remember that.
He didn’t want to care.
Now, how the hell did he get out of here and finish the job he’d been sent to do?
Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the hut, warming it like a sauna. The humidity was unbearable. It dampened the sheets and made breathing hard. God, he wanted off this godforsaken island.
The good news, he felt stronger. Fatigued, sore, but not so weak. He tossed back the sheets and swung his legs to the floor. At least he had his pants this time. And his boots. No shirt. Vaguely, he remembered it being cut off him when he first arrived. By the same red-haired doctor who’d haunted his dreams the past few nights. Real or hallucination, she’d never left his side.
She’d also stuck him with a needle. He couldn’t trust her. And she had probably already sent word to Ross that he was here. He didn’t care if Ross showed up. It only made his job easier, but he wouldn’t involve the doctor in his mission. Not even as collateral damage. He didn’t work that way.
The sooner he got back to the task, the sooner he’d be able to leave this place. First, he needed to get back to his camp and arm himself. His base was well hidden, so he didn’t worry about Ross’s men finding it.
With a grimace he pulled his boots on, did a quick search for the homemade knife he’d found last time, came up empty and moved toward the door. He could hear people moving around outside, children playing, women talking. The wooden walls of the hut were paper thin, full of gaps and easily penetrable.
He wasn’t worried about being seen--he had been trained to move undetected. With little to no sound, he opened the door and stopped short. A slender woman sat on the stoop. Soft green eyes turned up to meet his, her long ponytail swung over her shoulder. His gut tightened.
Dammit, she was one enticing woman. A beautiful threat.
“Caught ya,” she said, fully aware she blocked the doorway. As was her intention, he guessed with a scowl.
She rose to her feet and faced him. Her gaze dropped to his boots. “Decided to wear those this time, huh?”
Laughable, that she thought she could stop him. She had mettle, he’d give her that.
“I haven’t given you a clean bill of health.” She placed a hand on his chest and gave him a nudge. He didn’t move.
Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set in a stubborn line. She was clearly in this for the long haul.
“Look, mister, you aren’t going anywhere until I clear you. What you do after that is your business. Until then, you belong to me.”
Slade’s heart pounded. You belong to me. Why did those words affect him? He belonged to no one. Her hand burned like fire against his skin. He looked down to where it rested over his heart, small and delicate against the muscles of his chest. Her skin was soft, her fingers long, slender, feminine.
An image of her bathing, naked except for bra and panties, threw him where he didn’t want to go. Not many women were naturally sensual like this woman. Watching her bathe by light of a lantern hadn’t been a hallucination. It was too vivid, too clear. He remembered every inch of her silken skin, the way her narrow waist curved into lean hips and long, shapely legs. His palms actually tingled as if they’d touched her soft skin. Ridiculous. If he’d touched her, he’d sure as hell remember it.
He remembered the bruises that marred her flesh. A dark ring remained around her slender neck. He’d never been partial to a woman’s neck, but hers was beautiful.
Slade swallowed hard. Gave himself a mental shake. He’d been here before. It never ended well. He didn’t need any more scars.
Sweat trickled down his back.
His hand slipped to her neck, cupped it, felt the delicate bone structure so utterly feminine he lost his breath. Her smoky green eyes widened, but not in fear. He traced the edge of the bruises. A soft curse escaped his lips.
Another time, under different circumstances, he would have hunted down the man who’d dared do this to her.
Hand still on her neck, he pulled her into the hut and kicked the door closed. Surprise flashed across her face, followed by something he didn’t want to read.
Her eyes lifted to meet his. Desire burned deep, unbanked. In his mind he spoke the words he couldn’t say, but should. She didn’t want to know him. He was a soldier of fortune. He had no heart to give anymore.
“Cristian, I…” Her eyes drifted closed when he stroked lightly over the pulse fluttering wildly in her neck.
His given name on her lips snapped him out of his trance. Rigid, he said, “Don’t call me that,” and stepped away to put distance between them.
She blinked, her hand fisted at her side, confusion written on her face. “But…”
He shook his head, fought dizziness, and held up a hand when she took a step toward him. “No. I don’t know where you heard that name, but that’s not who I am.”
Color suffused her cheeks. Her eyes snapped. “That’s the name you gave me. So don’t bite my head off, pal.”
Slade’s turn to show surprise. He told her? No one except his birth parents knew him as Cristian. Mariette had known him as Cary Sayer, the name under which he’d enlisted in the French Legion under. Neither man existed anymore.
His gut clenched. Nothing short of truth serum would cause him to give up his full identity. Cristian was the part of him he didn’t share, couldn’t share.
“You don’t remember, do you?” she asked in a soft voice. “You don’t remember telling me anything.”
Christ, what else did he tell her?
He didn’t wait long for an answer.
“Then it may not be true.” She
stepped closer to study him.
Slade actually started to take a step back before he realized what he was doing. Damned if she’d intimidate him. She met his eyes with a direct stare. “Are you a mercenary?”
Geezus! What the hell had she given him? She knew his name, now she knew his profession. Good God, what else had she’d gotten out of him? He didn’t advertise what he did for a living and he sure as hell didn’t share his past.
Her eyes widened when he didn’t answer. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “It’s true. You’re a mercenary.”
Slade leveled his hardest stare on her. “Forget what you know and forget you ever met me. For your safety and mine.” He walked away with no intentions of ever seeing her again.
He didn’t even make it to the door.
“Forget it? Are you kidding me? I’d like nothing more than to forget I ever met you, but like it or not, mister, we have a relationship. A doctor-patient relationship. In case you forgot, I’m the doctor, you’re my patient, and I haven’t given you a clean bill of health. Just how far do you think you’re going to get in this environment with an infected wound?” Haughty, angry, and clearly annoyed.
Slade went rigid, freedom only a few steps away. “Then consider me AMA.”
She scoffed. “You’re leaving against medical advice? I don’t think so.”
Slade turned slowly around to look at her. “You don’t think so,” he repeated softly. Had he heard her right?
Her chin lifted stubbornly. “That’s right. You can’t just walk out AMA. We’re in the jungle. On an island. In the middle of the ocean.”
Irritation like he’d never experienced rode up his spine. She truly had no idea who she dealt with. He would never hurt her, but he didn’t take orders from her, doctor or not. And she sure as hell didn’t have to remind him where they were.
“What is it with you?” he demanded. “God complex? Or are you just a pain in the ass?”
Her chin lifted another notch and her eyes flashed. “The latter, I’m told. Look, I don’t care if you go out and get yourself killed by Gavin Ross. I wouldn’t care if you killed each other, but I do care if you die from something I could have prevented.”
His respect for her kicked up another notch. He didn’t believe she had a God complex as most doctors did, but he did believe her dedication ran bone deep.
Her comment about Gavin Ross, on the other hand, surprised him. She was dedicated to her patients, but not her boss? Ross would settle for no less than one hundred percent loyalty.
Clearly, he needed answers.
Intel hadn’t shown evidence of a tribe of Indians living on the island. Only Ross in his tropical paradise. Shit. Ever since he’d taken this assignment, he’d had a knot in his gut. She made it worse. He didn’t need complications.
“Who are you?” he asked, needing to know her role in all of this.
“Your doctor.”
“No. Who are you?”
She frowned slightly. “My name?”
He nodded.
“Why does it matter?”
He waited until she bristled beneath his stare and answered.
“Alana O’Grady. Happy now?”
Not even close. “What are you doing here?” Emphasis on here.
She sighed, dropped into a chair, and rubbed a weary hand over her face. “That’s a long, inconsequential story. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”
Ignoring her question, he asked, “What is your relationship with Gavin Ross?”
“Well, I’m not here to assassinate him,” she said pointedly.
Slade didn’t bristle. “Then why are you here?”
“I’ll make you a deal. You get back into bed and take your antibiotic and I’ll answer that question.”
That question. She was good. She played her cards close to the vest. Smart woman. His head swam. His stomach rolled. He hated weakness.
The last time she’d given him an antibiotic, she’d stuck a needle in his leg.
As if reading his mind she said, “A pill, no needles. Promise.”
He narrowed his eyes on her and measured her for truth. She could try to stick him with a needle again, but wouldn’t succeed. He was strong enough to stop her this time.
His side ached. Getting shot hurt like hell.
“Come on, Superman, back to bed.” She rose to her feet and moved slowly toward him.
Too damn hot in here. He’d never be able to rest in this heat.
A wave of dizziness washed over him and he swayed, blinking rapidly to fight it off. An arm slipped around his waist along with a muttered, “Stubborn man.”
The next thing he knew, he lay with a cool cloth pressed to his forehead and his boots once again beside the bed. No woman had ever gotten him into bed this easily. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea.
“Now,” his persistent doctor said. “You are on bed rest until I tell you otherwise. Your body needs time to heal, and in this environment it’s going to take twice as long. You won’t recover as quickly as normal, so just do as I say. Got it?”
Too dizzy to tell her he didn’t take orders from anyone, Slade closed his eyes and waited for it to pass. The cloth brushed gently over his cheeks, down his neck. Not cool by any means, but it made the heat a little more bearable. Or maybe it was her soft touch.
The cloth left and returned to begin the ministrations all over again. As each minute passed, Slade began to relax. The dizziness faded, but his stomach still roiled. The ache in his side remained, as it would until the infection healed.
Pain, he could control. His response to Alana he couldn’t. Her touch soothed more than his body, but he didn’t let it go any further than a thought. He couldn’t. Never again.
“See?” she asked quietly. “Feeling better already.”
No, not better. His thoughts had turned in the wrong direction. As always when around her. What was this power she had over him?
Behind closed eyelids, he imagined her sponge bathing herself in the soft light of a lantern. Every time she touched him, he remembered that night, her soft skin, the sensual way she moved. The way her hair had glowed like fire in the light and brushed her waist as she washed.
“Cristian?”
The sound of his name brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s your name. Why don’t you like it?”
Because it reminded him of where he came from. But he didn’t say that. The past needed to stay where it belonged. In the past. Why did she consistently kick it to the forefront?
“Ah, again with the silence. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you only answer non-personal questions. I’ll let you off the hook because you’re not a man I want to get to know, so forget I asked.”
They shouldn’t have, but those words rankled. Like a sliver under a thumbnail. He didn’t want her to know him. He didn’t want to know her. He wanted to get the hell out of here and finish the job he’d been hired to do. Then he was getting the hell off this island. And never taking another job in any kind of jungle or rainforest. Ever.
He pretended to fall asleep, let his head loll to the side. After a moment, he heard her move away. The door opened softly and he knew the instant he was alone.
Slade immediately sat up and reached for his boots.
Chapter 7
Gavin leaned over the sink and looked at the mirror, using a washcloth to wipe a splatter of blood off his cheek. Dr. Ilom Kwei was a genius, the best in his field, if a bit demented. Gavin never felt threatened by the man, since Dr. Kwei worked for him, but he did wonder about the surgeon’s state of mind.
Ah, well, what did it matter as long as Ilom continued to do the job he paid him to do? And paid well. Not only did Ilom love his work, it made him rich. Along with Gavin. He had his eye on an island in Fiji. Private, completely unpopulated, with a house already on it.
A big, beautiful home with the luxuries he needed, including a master suite that would suit Alana to a tee. Sleek, gracef
ul, full of angles to complete the image. A beautiful design. He’d already pushed the paperwork through. In three short months it would belong to them.
Gavin straightened and laid the washcloth aside. The end was in sight. Or should he say, the beginning. Everything he’d worked for, established, was coming together nicely. He’d soon achieve immense wealth, a beautiful partner in every sense of the word. Riches came in droves and he lapped them up.
Walking out of the bathroom and across his bedroom, he cast barely a glance at the woman who lounged on the king-size bed, half-naked. She served a purpose, but he didn’t desire her. Any of them. They were simply a means to an end. They’d serve him in a multitude of ways. Sex and then money.
“Leave now.” He strode past her out the door and almost ran over Jose when he turned the corner.
“Sir,” the second-in-command said. “Sorry, excuse me.”
“What’s the rush, Jose?”
“It is Dr. Kwei. He is leaving.”
Gavin frowned. “Leaving? What are you talking about? He just finished working.”
Jose nodded. “Si, but he received a phone call. He must go.”
Gavin cursed and strode down the hall. He didn’t own Ilom, but they had an agreement. His services were still needed. They had another client coming in three days.
He made his way through the house and down to the basement, where he found Ilom in his quarters muttering to himself as he hastily packed a suitcase. The doctor barely spared Gavin a glance when he walked in.
“What are you doing?” Gavin demanded in Ilom’s native tongue.
“Packing.”
“How long do you plan on being away?”
Ilom glanced at him, then continued to pack. “Until I am not needed. My family comes first.”
Yes, they did, but it had never been an issue until now. “You’re going back to Africa?”
Ilom nodded and closed his suitcase.
“What about the client arriving in three days?”
Ilom shrugged. “Reschedule.”
Gavin forced a laugh. “We can’t exactly reschedule something like this.”
Hard Core (Onyx Group) Page 7
