Her frown deepened and tiny grooves appeared at the corner of her mouth. Her expression spoke of pain. Or the pretence of it.
Maybe she wasn’t injured at all. Maybe she just feigned it and sensed his scepticism.
But why go to all this bother? She couldn’t think he was willing to forget what had passed between them.
Her lashes moved again and she groaned. A soft, heartfelt sound that, despite his suspicion, wrenched at his conscience. Maybe she really was injured.
He watched her swallow, the movement jerky, then her tongue circled her lips.
Angelo moved to sit on the rocks on her other side so he was in full view when she opened her eyes.
Suddenly she did.
He still had a view of only half her face, the other half pressed to the rock, but there was no mistaking what he saw. Only one woman he knew had eyes like that. Eyes the colour of lavender or, she’d told him, the flowers of the jacaranda tree. A stunning colour between blue and purple.
His breath whistled out as his lungs cramped.
She didn’t seem to see him straight away. It was only when he moved that her gaze tracked towards his face. Even then he wasn’t sure she focused on him. There was no recognition in her features. No start of surprise or satisfaction.
‘Hello, Alexa.’ His voice was a gravel rumble, dragged out of him despite his will.
She blinked and then, after a moment’s blank stare, closed her eyes.
Fear shot through him. Angelo didn’t want her here. Wanted never to see her again. But the thought of her dying at his home, on his watch, was another matter.
‘Alexa!’
Her frown turned into a scowl and she flinched.
Because she’d hoped for a warmer welcome? Or because she was really in pain? She might have a head injury. On the other hand she could be shamming. Either was possible.
‘Alexa. Speak to me.’
Despite his doubts, concern filled him. Damn it, he didn’t know whether to leave her as she was for fear of doing some damage or carry her up to the house.
Her lips moved. ‘Not Alexa.’ He had to lean in close, almost touching her, to hear the slow whisper. ‘Ally.’
Angelo stared. She’d changed her name? But Ally would be a short form of Alexa.
Yet the woman he’d known hated being called anything but her full name. It was her brand as well as her personal name and she insisted on promoting it assiduously.
He heard a shout and looked up to the people picking their way down the cliff path. Medical help was on its way.
Relief stirred. The doctor would do what was necessary. Angelo would find out soon enough if her injury was real.
Her mouth was full of cotton wool. Cotton wool that tasted rancid. But the dry, sickening sensation that made her want to gag was nothing compared with the pain. It was so all-encompassing she couldn’t pinpoint its source, though she had the mother of all headaches.
She lay there for a lifetime, knowing she was awake, not dreaming, but unable to summon the effort to open her eyes. Because she just knew that would make the hurt even worse.
The pain grew more defined. Her shoulders and arms ached. Her body and legs felt battered. Her hip was on fire. But it was her head... Even thinking about the pain hammering at her skull made it worse.
Dimly she became aware of noise. A rough, rushing sound. Or was that her pulse? Then, from nearby, the sound of someone moving.
Knowing she’d regret it, she opened her eyes. Instantly light jabbed at her in a blinding flash and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Someone spoke. A man with a warm, gentle voice, but she couldn’t make out the words.
He spoke again and a firm hand took hers, testing her pulse.