Last Chance (18 page)

nothing to fear. Yes, everything was all right again. As long as Lucas was

here, everything was all right. Sighing, she drifted into oblivion.

Fastening the last button of the shirt he'd managed to get on her,

Lucas covered her still-shivering body with two blankets and a comforter.

As he had undressed and then dressed her again with his shirt, she had

struggled only a little. Now she was barely conscious.

He ignored his rampaging emotions and focused on his movements,

his purpose. The doctor would be here soon. McKenna's fever felt

dangerously high...probably well over one hundred. The tea she'd drunk had

temporarily stopped the shivering, but it had returned full force within

minutes. He'd stupidly been about to ask her if she wanted another cup when

she dropped the cup and almost crumpled at his feet. He'd been trying to be

careful with her and had learned his lesson. No more.

He heard the door open and Dr. Scott's brisk voice say, "I heard we

have a very sick young woman here."

Without taking his eyes from the sleeping McKenna, Lucas said,

"She's got a high fever, her pupils are dilated, and her breathing is labored. I

think it's either a severe case of flu or pneumonia."

"Hmph. Sounds like you're ready to make a diagnosis, young man.

Mind if I take a look first?"

Normally he would have smiled at the doctor's humor, but at this

moment Lucas didn't know if he'd ever smile again. He needed to get out of

the room for just a moment. The fury was about to explode within him. For a

short while he needed to be by himself. Then he would return and do what

needed to be done.

Turning, he finally moved his gaze from McKenna to Dr. Scott, a man

he'd known all of his life. "Absolute privacy is a must," Lucas said quietly.

Though the doctor's eyes held questions, he simply nodded and said,

"Of course."

Lucas swallowed. The words needed to be said because he couldn't

have the doctor questioning her later. He forced them from his frozen mouth.

"She's had a difficult life. I know you have to examine her, but when she

wakes, I want no questions asked about the markings on her body."

Compassion replaced the normal humor usually lurking in Dr. Scott's

eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it, Lucas."

Nodding his thanks, Lucas took one last look at the small, delicatelooking woman on the bed, then turned and stalked out the door. Closing it

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softly, he leaned against the wall and inhaled ragged breaths. Fury was

bubbling, and he didn't try to hold it in check. Before he went back, he

would be in control again. But for now, he let it boil.

McKenna's health came first. But once she was well, they were going

to talk. She wouldn't like some of the things he planned to discuss with her.

For starters, he was going to ask two direct but very simple questions: Who

the hell had put the scars on her body? And who the bloody fucking hell had

branded her bottom with the letter D?

He already knew the answer to the second question. Damon Hughes,

the sick dead fuck, had done it. But had he put the scars there also? If not, if

whoever it had been wasn't already dead, they would be, and soon. This he

vowed.

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Christy Reece

Eleven

Palm Beach

Damon paced back and forth beside the pool. Tomorrow was their

wedding day. He had yet to tell her. He'd planned to reveal his surprise last

night, but she'd still seemed so stiff and uncomfortable with him. Fear was

healthy, as it would breed respect. But he was damn tired of her looking at

him like he was some kind of monster. After everything he had done for her,

how could she continue to look at him that way?

Perhaps they needed to connect physically after all. He had planned to

wait until after their vows were exchanged. Now he was thinking that was a

mistake. Not only because he wanted to fuck her--he needed it and it was his

right--but because she needed to see who was in charge. He had been too

gentle with her, too loving. It was clear she was taking advantage of him.

This he could not allow.

After they were married, she would have ample time to fall in love

with him again. He had been charming, attentive, and generous, and it had

gotten him nowhere. Tomorrow was their wedding day, but today he would

show her exactly what she had to look forward to.

Maybe they could take a walk on the beach beforehand. By necessity,

a brick wall enclosed his mansion, but only a few yards outside the wall was

a beautiful beach she had yet to see. Yes, they would walk, and when they

returned, he would wine her, dine her, and show her how wonderful their life

would be. And tomorrow they would marry.

Hearing a sound, he looked up to see her walk toward him. She was

still so very beautiful, and she was all his. Though her breasts were larger

than they'd been when she was a teenager, she seemed more slender than she

had years before, but that was because he hadn't been there to take care of

her. He would make sure she stayed healthy.

Beneath her short cover-up, he could see she wore the most modest of

the swimsuits he'd given her. Still, it revealed her luscious body, and that

pleased him, so he refrained from chastising her. He held out his hand for

her to come to him. Her mouth stretched slightly as if it was an effort to

smile; there were still shadows and doubt in her eyes.

His patience holding by a mere thread, he gestured at the sparkling

water. "I had this pool built for you. I remember how you loved to swim."

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For just an instant uncertainty flickered in her eyes. Then she smiled

and said, "It's beautiful, but we just ate breakfast.... I'll just lie in the sun for

a while."

"Come now...that's an old wives' tale." He pulled off his robe,

revealing that he wore his swim briefs. He saw her eyes sweep over his body

and he hardened with arousal. Two hours a day in his gym, honing his body

to peak condition, and it was all for her. Early in his youth, Damon had

realized he was extraordinary-looking; age had only improved him. He was

proud to be able to show his masculinity off to her. "Let's swim, and then I'll

let you rub sunscreen on me."

A visible shudder went through her body. Yes, the waiting had been

worth it. The anticipation had built and now she would welcome him.

She dropped the short robe and his mouth went dry. This was the most

he'd seen of her body. She was so beautiful. The few times he'd burned her

with cigarettes, her fair skin had glowed hotly as if he'd set her on fire. Odd,

he didn't see them anywhere. Her breasts were covered, but he remembered

creating a cluster of burns on her stomach. It had been eight years. They

must have faded with time.

Singeing her lovely skin had been painful for him. She had been so

defiant back then, so resistant to the inevitable. Things were much better

now. All of that was ancient history.

Holding out his hand, he led her to the steps of the pool. It was late

morning, so it should be heated to just the right temperature. Stepping down,

he turned to pull her down to him, then stopped and froze. Once again, he

felt as if something was not right; something was missing.

"The scars...where are they?"

"What?"

"Your scars. They're gone."

Her eyes widened and he saw absolute terror in them. "I..." Her throat

worked convulsively. "Th--they must have faded."

Lies. Her words said one thing, her face something else. A horrible,

incredulous feeling swept through him. He told himself he was crazy. This

had to be his McKenna. Not only did she look just like her, but she had acted

as if she were McKenna. Why would she do this if she wasn't? Why

wouldn't she have told him?

There was only one way to make sure. He had given her his brand.

Why the hell hadn't he checked before?

"Turn around."

"What?"

Fury geysered through him. "I said, turn around."

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She made a little stumbling turn and then gasped when he pulled the

bottoms of her swimsuit down. Her ass was unblemished. There were no

marks; there was no brand.

She's not McKenna
.

He pushed her hard; she fell forward onto the concrete, catching

herself on her hands and knees. Her smooth, bare bottom pointed up at him.

Mocking him. Damon looked around for something, anything to hit her with

but could find nothing. Unable to control the fury long enough to go find a

weapon, he pulled down his briefs. She might not be McKenna, but she was

about to learn a hard, painful lesson.

Pushing her down, Damon fell on top of her. Fury and lust roared in

his head, drowning out the screams of the woman who wasn't McKenna.

London

The hospital had been necessary after all. Fortunately, she'd been so

out of it, she hadn't known she was being taken to a hospital. And with

Lucas's money and contacts, almost no one knew she was there. Another

blessing in knowing Lucas Kane.

"Are you ready to go home?"

McKenna looked up as Lucas stood in the doorway. The first time

she'd seen him, she'd likened him to a golden Adonis. Everything about him

was bright and golden. He was a light...her light.

"More than ready."

"Good. You still need some recuperation time, but you can do that at

home much better than here."

He took her hand and helped her to her feet. She should be thanking

him for his help and explaining that she could recuperate just as well in

Paris. McKenna knew she needed to leave. She should leave. And she

would...soon. But not yet.

Wobbling slightly, she grasped Lucas's arm to steady herself. Odd

how she'd avoided touching people, especially men, for years. Now,

touching this man felt so natural, so right.

"Want me to carry you?"

Her heart said yes; her independent, no-nonsense brain said no. She

shook her head. "I need to build up my strength as much as possible."

"The car is around back. No one will see us, but just in case, I'm going

to put this jacket and hood over your head. Okay?"

She had yet to tell him anything of her past, but somehow Lucas

recognized her need to remain anonymous. Telling him would come soon.

He had done too much for her not to be totally honest with him. And he

needed to understand the reasons she absolutely had to leave once she was

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well.

Holding on to his arm, she walked the short distance to the elevator.

In most hospitals, a wheelchair was usually a cardinal rule. Another perk of

knowing a man like Lucas. Certain rules could be ignored.

By the time she made it out of the elevator and through the door that

led to a back alley, she was so weak she was beginning to wish she'd taken

Lucas up on his offer to carry her or at the very least that she had a

wheelchair. Thankfully, the limousine was only a few steps away. The door

opened, and McKenna practically collapsed into the backseat.

Lucas settled beside her. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he

brought her head to his chest and whispered, "Rest, love. We'll be home

soon."

Home
. McKenna closed her eyes and savored the warmth and comfort

she knew she'd only ever find in this man's arms.

Holding close the treasure in his arms, Lucas let go of the tension that

had strung him tight for days. She was going to be all right. He'd thought he

was going to lose her. Considering McKenna's desire to stay anonymous,

taking her to a hospital had been risky. He'd had no choice. She had needed

the most up-to-date equipment to save her life. He could have gotten the

equipment into his house, but that would have taken time, and time was one

thing they'd almost run out of. The pneumonia had almost taken her from

him.

For a man known to be one of the most unflappable operatives in IDC

history, he'd come close to losing it several times. When she'd been

struggling for every breath that came from her tortured lungs, he'd been

breathing with her, willing her to live.

Now that he knew she was going to be all right, he had another battle

on his hands--one he intended to win also. She would want to leave soon.

He'd seen it in her expression earlier. She had considered telling him she

wouldn't go with him. He was thankful she had changed her mind. Having

an argument with her while she was still so weak wouldn't have been

enjoyable. But he would have had it out with her if she had tried to leave.

Fortunately, that hadn't been necessary, but it would be soon.

Most of the things he knew about her were still the things he'd learned

from the investigators' reports. When she'd been feverish and restless, she'd

mumbled a few things. Not a lot, but enough to confirm his suspicions. She

was hiding from someone. He needed to know who and why.

Though Damon Hughes was dead, perhaps it was someone he had

been associated with. A relative or friend? The police were no longer

looking for her. So why the fear and the secrecy?