odds and ends he'd brought from the car. then grip the sides of the opening and lever himself gracefully through. His eyes found hers immediately, asking if she was okay, telling her everything would be all right. And as he slipped past her and into the shotgun seat beside Elliot, he let his hand lie for one brief moment on the top of her head.
She felt the warmth of it slide all the way down through her pain-wracked body. An ache filled her throat and she closed her eyes…wishing.
'You must have been pretty close by.' Nikolas said to Elliot ashe belted himself in. 'How'd you know where to find us? Didn't we leave you at the airport in Dunford?'
'I've been on your tail pretty much since you left Dunford. Like I said, I had orders from the man himself- s'posed to stick to you guys like glue.' The chopper swooped upward, lifting a swirl of fine sand into the air with it. 'I was hunkered down a couple miles from here-didn't want to get too close, 'fraid I might spook the target.' Elliot jerked his head toward Rhia. 'Looks like I missed some action.'
Nikolas nodded his head. Rhia could see the side of his jaw twitch with his wry smile. 'Little bit.'
'She okay?'
'She will be.'
'The target?'
'Got away.'
'Ah. Figured that when I saw that oil-burner hightailin' it down the road.' Elliot said with a small headshake. 'Maybe I should've gone after 'im. but like I said. I had my orders.'
Rhia didn't hear Nikolas's reply. Exhausted by pain and emotional turmoil, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. Inexplicably, as a new wave of anger rippled through her, the image imprinted on the backs of her eyelids wasn't the murderous Lord Vladimir's. It was her father's.
Later that evening, in Nikolas's seaside apartment in the college town of Dunford. Rhia lay in his bed propped up on a pile of pillows, wearing only a pair of his black silk boxers. As she listened to the sounds coining from the adjoining bathroom- the hum of an electric shaver…the rush of water in the shower… the thump of a dropped bar of soap-she was in serious danger of engaging in what for her was a rare sin: self-pity.
And why not? She was entitled, dammit. She couldn't have a shower…couldn't wash her hair. Her chest and stomach hurt; so did her scalp, in places, so she couldn't even give her hair a decent brushing. And the burns looked awful. Sickening, she thought as she lifted her head to look at the angry blisters one more time. Yes-truly ugly. Blood would have been better.
Scowling, she reached for the tube of antibiotic cream lying on the table beside the bed and unscrewed the cap.
The bathroom door opened. Nikolas emerged, freshly shaved, water-spangled, black hair falling in damp commas across his forehead, a towel loosely knotted around lean hips…and every cranky negative thought flew right out of her head. Something warm and sweet enveloped her. like delicious perfume carried on a soft summer wind. She felt her face being taken over by a smile she knew was besotted, even goofy, and there seemed to be nothing she could do to make it leave. In a daze, she watched him come toward her, and felt herself filling up with a tingly, effervescent joy.
'Hello, you.' he said as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her, smiling with such undisguised tenderness it made her throat quiver. Warmth radiated from his still-damp body, along with the scents of aftershave and soap. He took the tube of cream from her and sniffed it. Lifted one eyebrow. 'This the stuff the doctor gave you?'
She nodded; speech was beyond her just then.
He squeezed a bit of the cream onto his finger and touched it gently to a welt just above her collarbone. 'Shh…' he said when she winced. And then, to distract her, she suspected: 'Did you get all reported in?'
She nodded, then countered in a tightly controlled voice. 'Did you get through to the palace?'
'I did.' He was watching his fingers, intent on his task. Gazing down at him. she forgot about pain…thought how utterly beautiful his lashes were…thick and black and long.
'Do you really think Vladimir's going after the king?' He was so near…she had to clutch the sheet in handfuls to keep from touching him. She wanted so badly to touch him…to smooth away the frown of concern that had gathered between his eyebrows.
But if she touched him, she wouldn't stop there, and that wouldn't be fair to him. She squirmed inwardly, thinking of the way she'd behaved earlier, in the lighthouse cottage. She wouldn't do that do him again.
He flashed her a look and a wiy smile. 'You were a wee bit preoccupied, so you probably didn't hear what Vlad was screaming when he tore out of the cottage. It was all pretty insane, but I did hear some dire threats against the king's person.' The smile faded. 'It wouldn't surprise me, since all his plans have fallen apart anyway, if he's decided to go out with a bang and take the man he blames for his misfortune along with him.'
'I don't see how he could get to him. He'd have to get past the palace security, which I'd think would have a difficulty factor along the lines of…oh. I don't know, breaking into Fort Knox or stealing the British crown jewels.'
'He's done it before.' Nikolas said grimly.
Rhia watched the tiny muscle working in the side of his jaw. and after a moment said softly. 'You're worried about him, aren't you? King Weston, I mean. You really do care about him.'
He lifted a shoulder, watching his fingers tap cream onto a blistered patch of her chest with the delicacy of a watchmaker. 'Of course I care. He's the king. His murder would be a national tragedy.'
'A personal one, too, I think. You haven't even had a chance to get to know him yet-your
'Tomorrow's soon enough.'
'But-'
He leaned over and kissed her, just thoroughly enough to make her tingle all the way down to her toes. Then he pulled back just far enough to murmur. 'Do shut up and relax, won't you? Right now, all I want to do is make you feel better. Let's see…didn't you tell me this is what works best?' His lips, firm and warm, the texture of satin, slid across hers…nibbled at their sensitive insides. He caught the lower one between his teeth when she pouted and sucked it gently, laughing low in his throat.
Her hands fisted in the sheets. Freeing her mouth from that exquisite torment, she whispered. 'You're supposed to kiss the owie. But I don't think I could stand…'
He lowered his head, and his hair, cool and damp from the shower, tickled her throat. 'Hmm…how about if I kiss it close to the owie? Like…here? Would that hurt?' And she felt the warm, liquid laving of his tongue on her neck…then a hot, drawing pressure.
'Oh-' She drew a shuddering gasp. Then, faintly whispered. 'No…' How had her hands escaped from the knotted sheets and found their way to his hair, touching it half fearfully, as if it were soap bubbles, or thistledown?
'Hmm…how about here, then?' And again…the gentle stroking, first, then the heat. She felt it in her breasts, the soles of her feet, and between her thighs. 'And here…' It was all she could do not to moan. 'And…this lovely little nipple seems quite untouched…'
Same thing-tongue caress…gentle sucking-but this time the sensation that arrowed through her to the swelling, heating place between her legs was sharp and raw. and the gasp slipped from her throat before she knew. The muscles in her back and legs contracted. Her chest rose and fell with her quickening breaths, lifting her distended breast to him. pushing her nipple deeper into his mouth. Pain was forgotten completely, she clutched at his shoulders, wanting him…on her… inside her…everywhere. Never mind the blisters. Nothing else mattered.
He lifted his head…his hair in silky feathers on his forehead, eyes full of a shimmering softness… and smiled at her with such-the word that came into her mind, like the lyrics to a well-loved song, was
'Ah, feeling better already, are we?' His voice was a husky growl that only fed the fire inside her.
'You're a very good doctor,' she whispered, threading her fingers through the longish hair on the back of his
