Her heart jumped, then settled into a steady pounding. Everything about the way he moved reminded her of an animal. The flames from the fireplace made the blade of the knife glow an eerie red-orange as he held it up.
"Stop looking at me like I have two heads," he snapped, sounding more impatient than ever.
"I'm looking at you like you're waving a big knife around," she said. Her leg was throbbing with pain, forcing her to grit her teeth and try to relax. How was she supposed to keep from moving around when it felt as if someone was using a dull saw on her flesh? "And I didn't exactly try to bash your head in. It wasn't personal."
"The knife is to remove the leech from my back. I can't reach it any other way," he explained, although why he felt compelled to explain what should have been perfectly obvious, he didn't know. "And I always take it personally when someone tries to remove my head from my shoulders."
She made a face. A silly, feminine expression of exasperation. And she did it with little white lines of pain etched around her mouth. It fascinated him, that wholly feminine expression. His stomach did a weird flip.
"You don't hear me complaining that your little pet chewed off my leg. Men are such babies. It isn't even that big of a gash."
He had the urge to laugh. It came out of nowhere, blindsiding him, bursting over him unexpectedly. He didn't laugh, of course; he frowned at her instead. "You put a hole in my head."
"You're going to put a hole in your back with that knife. Stop being macho he-man and let me take that horrible thing off of you."
His eyebrow shot up. "You want me to put a knife in your hands, lady?"
"Stop calling me lady, it's becoming annoying." Pain was beating at her so strongly now that she wanted to throw up again. It was definitely making it hard to think. She kept fear at bay with her usual chatter, but she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer. And she dared not think what might happen then.
"I don't exactly know your name. Where I come from, lady is a compliment."
"Not in that tone of voice," she objected. "Rachael Los..." she trailed off, casting around for a name, any name. She couldn't think clearly; she'd already forgotten her new name, but it was imperative she hide her identity. Pain throbbed in her head, beat at her body. "Smith."
If it were possible, his eyebrow went higher. "Rachael Los Smith?" His mouth softened for the briefest of moments, a rusty attempt at a smile. Or a smirk. She couldn't tell. Her vision was beginning to blur.
Rio moved closer to her, his mouth once more twisting into a frown. "You're sweating." His palm settled on her forehead. "Do not get an infection. We're stuck here without help for the duration of the storm."
"I'll make sure I follow your orders, Rio, because I have the power to determine that, you know." Rachael's gaze followed the path of the knife as it moved close to her. "If you don't let me help you now, I don't think I'm going to be able to at all." Her voice was funny, tinny and far away. "That awful leech is going to just stay there, getting high on your blood. Maybe it's a girl leech and she's going to have babies and they'll all live on your back, sucking your blood. A little leech community. How perfectly lovely."
He muttered something under his breath.
"And don't swear at me or I'm going to cry. I'm doing my best here and you aren't giving me anything to work with."
His fingers were gentle in her hair even though he didn't mean to touch her. "Don't you dare cry." The thought was more alarming than someone coming at him with a gun. Her tears might turn him inside out. "The morphine is wearing off, isn't it? I didn't give you very much because I was afraid you'd go into shock."
A small humorless laugh escaped. She sounded on the verge of hysteria. "I am in shock. I think I lost my mind. I thought you turned into a leopard and tried to rip my throat out."
He slipped the tip of the knife between his back and the leech, flicked it to the floor and hastily disposed of it. "Leopards don't rip throats out. They bite the throat and suffocate their prey." He dipped a cloth into a cool bowl of water and sponged her face. "They're tidy killers."
"Thanks for the information. I wouldn't want to think my death would be a messy one."
Rio was uncomfortably aware of her gaze studying his face. Her eyes were large, too old for the rest of her. There was something sad in the dark depths that tugged at his heart. Her lashes were incredibly long, spiky from her tears. He actually felt as if he were falling forward into the depths of them, a corny and totally ridiculous notion he was impatient with. His heart began to pound in his chest. Anticipating--what, he didn't know. He deliberately wiped the cloth over her eyes, a gentle stroke to save himself from falling under her spell.
"Are you always this sarcastic, or should I put it down to you being in considerable pain?"
Rachael tried to laugh but it came out a gasping sob. "I swear it feels like my leg is on fire."
"It's swelling. I'm going to give you a little more painkiller and splint that wrist for you." Rio's fingers trailed in her hair, a thick mass of silk. There was a strange color surrounding her body, like a shadow that wouldn't go away. No matter how many times he blinked, or swept his hand over his eyes to clear his vision, the strange surrounding color remained.
"I think you need to take care of yourself," Rachael said, her gaze drifting over his face. He had the physical sensation of fingers touching him lightly in a caress. She didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, and he was grateful.
"You look tired. I honestly can't even feel my wrist at the moment, although I think a painkiller is a good idea. Maybe a huge dose of painkiller." Rachael tried to smile at him, tried to make it a joke. If he didn't find something to stop the pain she was going to ask him to knock her out. He had a big enough fist.
She was shaking beneath the blanket, a sure sign of fever. He had packed the wound with antibiotics earlier, but it obviously wasn't going to be enough. Rio shook pills into his hand and helped her lift her head to swallow them. She pressed her teeth together, but a small sound, much like that of a wounded animal, e
scaped. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but you have to get these down." If she had come there to kill him, he was making a hell of a fool of himself, but it didn't matter to him. He had to remove the desperation from her eyes. She looked so helpless it twisted his gut into hard little knots. He gave her another small dose of morphine along with the antibiotics and waited until her eyes clouded over before splinting her wrist. Her skin was hot, but he didn't dare leave his own wounds much longer or they both would be in trouble.
Rachael felt herself drifting away. The pain was there; she didn't want to squirm around and provoke it, but she could handle the intensity floating above it. Rio moved away from her with his curious animal grace. He intrigued her. Everything about him intrigued her. She couldn't keep from staring at him, although she tried to think of other things. The wind. The rain. Leopards leaping at her throat.
Her lashes drifted down. She listened to the rain and shivered. Before she had been burning up; now she felt inexplicably cold. The sound of the rain driving down on the rooftop added to her discomfort. She couldn't hear him moving around the house. It wasn't that the storm drowned out the sounds, he was simply that quiet. Like a great jungle cat.
3
RACHAEL forced her eyes open to keep him in sight. She felt dreamy, disconnected with reality. Rio stood several feet from her, close to the stove. Casually hooking his thumbs in his wet jeans, he eased them from his hips, slowly exposing his firm buttocks and his long, muscular back to her. She tried not to gawk as he washed up, using hot water from the stove. He was thorough about it, his muscles flexing as he worked. He reminded her of the statues she'd seen in Greece, the defined muscles and well-proportioned ultra-masculine body. It occurred to her that he was completely at home without clothes. He seemed to have forgotten she was in the room, displaying no modesty whatsoever.
He lit a match and held it to the needle he'd used to sew her leg before performing the same task on his arm. Rachael heard him swear when he doused his hip with the same evil liquid he had used on her. Evidently he kept large supplies of it to refill his little vial. He turned slightly as he sewed his hip and she got a frontal view. Twin columns for thighs and looking every bit as good or better than the anatomically correct statues.