Hard Core (Onyx Group) (5 page)

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 skin. 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.

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?

“What 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.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back. He
wasn’t going to be fine and they both knew it. Every time she thought about it,
her chest ached. She had pleaded with Gavin to give her a year. He’d given her
six months. Her father’s decline over the past few months indicated he had less
than that. She was losing him and it tore her heart out.

“You have to take it easy, Dad, don’t overdo. Are you taking
your pills?”

He smiled gently. “I’ve been out of them for a week, but
don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere yet.”

“But--”

“No, Alana. I’ve made peace with it. You must also.”

She didn’t want to hear that. It sounded too much like
giving up. “We could go back to Boston. They could treat you--”

“No.” Her father squeezed her hand. “This is our home. There
is nothing there for us now. It’s God’s will, Alana. You must accept that.”

She pulled herself up tall. “No, Dad. I don’t accept it and
neither should you.” Then she walked away, fighting tears and anger. There was
another way, and she would find it.

* * * *

Slade opened his eyes to darkness and waited for them to
adjust to the soft light that illuminated the small, one-room hut. A bed. Soft
and narrow, with sheets and the spicy scent of a woman. His body hurt, his side
on fire. He didn’t remember anything past taking a bullet.

A sound drew his attention and he stiffened, reached for his
gun only to find he was naked beneath the sheets. Where were his guns? His
knife?

He looked over and went still. Across the room a woman,
turned slightly away from him, naked except for a pair of white panties and
matching bra. They were by no means sexy, but contrasted nicely against silky
smooth skin and a slender body. Long, fiery red hair flowed down her back and
brushed a narrow waist he could span with both hands. In the lantern light it
glowed like silken fire.

Slade watched, mesmerized, as she leaned over and scooped
water with both hands from a bowl atop a high cabinet. She splashed it over her
face and he imagined tiny water droplets sliding down her creamy skin to fall
between her breasts. Her movements were sensual. Unhurried.

Why did she seem familiar to him? He reached, but couldn’t
remember her. He remembered heat so hot he thought he’d burn up, but it wasn’t
uncomfortably warm in here. He could hear the jungle around him, loud and
aggressive. A reminder of how much he hated it. The deafening noise never
rested. Not even his penthouse in the city was this noisy.

Awestruck, he watched her slowly wash her arms, chest, and
navel. She lifted the sponge and squeezed it over her shoulder. Water sluiced
down her back, dampening her skin, making him sweat. She was the most sensual
creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Arousal replaced pain and he swallowed past a
dry mouth as his eyes tracked her movements.

From this distance he could see bruises marring her perfect
skin. One streaked across her lower back, two on her shoulders and on the backs
of her legs. Who had done that to her? Anger pulsed through him and made him
want to shoot the bastard.

When at last she picked up a towel and began to dry herself,
Slade was in a full state of arousal. It had been so long since a woman had
stirred his blood, he almost didn’t recognize the reaction.

He closed his eyes and watched through lowered lashes as she
turned and reached for her clothes. He kept his breathing steady as she
presented perfect, round breasts cupped by lace, a flat stomach and delicate
face. Her high cheekbones and soft lips were as fine as the bone china filling
his hutch in Chicago.

His eyes dropped to her slender neck and the ring of
bruises.

Someone had tried to strangle her. That wasn’t the only
thing they’d done. He followed her arms down to her hands and saw bruises
circling her right wrist. What kind of bastard would do that to a woman?

With graceful movements, she pulled a long sleeved t-shirt
over her head and stepped into a pair of drawstring sleep pants that rode low
on her hips. She left her feet bare, which bothered him. It wasn’t safe to go
without boots in the jungle. God knew what lurked in cracks and crevices.

She yawned and walked toward him with soft steps. Awareness
zinged through him as she placed a palm on his forehead, then touched his cheek
with the back of her hand. Her skin was like silk, and for the first time in
ages he craved that touch. Not since Mariette had he wanted a woman’s hands on
him.

“Fever’s down,” she murmured. “You should rest comfortably
tonight. We both should.”

Then she tucked the covers around him, dropped the mosquito
net and moved to the uncomfortable wooden chair next to the bed. She settled
down and sat there watching him, making him damn uncomfortable, before she
finally leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Ah, hell. He was in her bed. Naked and hurting.

He tried to sit up, the effort cost him, and he fell back
against the pillows. He hated the weakness.

She immediately opened her eyes, leaned over, pushed the net
aside and placed a hand on his shoulder, soft yet firm. “Whoa, there, soldier.
You’re in no shape to go anywhere tonight.”

Soldier? How did she know that? He hadn’t been a soldier in
over four years. Who was this woman?

His head spun as he lay back and cursed his condition. Was
she keeping him sedated and weak? Hell, she could be keeping him here until
Ross arrived.
Son of a bitch.
He should have figured it out sooner.
Instead of being distracted by her soft skin and sensual curves. He never let
anything distract him, especially on a job.

Beautiful and dangerous.