Sometimes the wind blew a cooling wave through the room and over her. Always the rain fell. A continual, steady rhythm that both soothed and irritated her. She felt trapped and claustrophobic, confined as she was to the bed. It was humiliating to have a man see to her every need, especially when most of the time she wasn’t certain who he really was. Sometimes she thought she might be insane as the nightmare images of a man shifting into the form of a leopard replayed over and over in her head.
Ther e were moments she knew the man, where she was overwhelmed with love and tenderness, and moments when she stared into a stranger ‘s catlike, frightening gaze and her heart pounded with terror.
Time passage was impossible to know. Sometimes it was daylight, other times, night, but the one thing she counted on was the voice to steer her through nightmares and help her find her way back to reality.
She stared sightlessly at the ceiling, tr ying not to be alarmed at the sounds of wildcats so close to her when she couldn’t see them. A shadow moved again, across the window, outside on the verandah. Her heart accelerated. The floor creaked.
Rio caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned as Rachael attempted to slip over the side of the bed. He leapt for her, his hands stilling her struggles. “What do you think you’re doing?” Fear made his voice harsh.
She looked directly into his eyes, her fingers clutching at his arms. “They’re here. He’s sent them to kill me. I have to get out of here.” She turned her head away from him to stare eerily into the corner.
“They’re over there.”
Whatever she saw was real to her. She was so intent, it sent a chill shivering down his spine. “Look at me, Rachael.” He framed her face with his hands, forced her attention back to him. “I’m not going to let anything hurt you. It’s the fever. You see things because of the fever.”
She blinked rapidly, her bright eyes beginning to focus on him. “I saw them.”
“Saw who? Who wants to kill you?” He’d asked her a dozen times but she never answered him. She tried to turn her head away from him and remain silent. This time he had her face in his hands, holding her still, locking her gaze to his.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Your eyelashes are long. Why do men always get beautiful eyelashes?”
She had a way of throwing him off balance, disturbing his tranquility. He found it so exasperating he wanted to shake her. “Do you know how stupid that sounds?” he demanded. “Look at me, woman. I have scars all over me. My nose has been broken twice. I look like a damned murderer, not some pretty boy.” The minute the words left his mouth, he regretted them.Damned murderer hung in the air between them. His teeth snapped together and he turned his head away from her enormous eyes, swearing silently over and over.
“Rio?” Her voice was soft. “I can see the pain in your eyes. Did I do that? Did I hurt you in some way?
I don’t like hurting anyone, least of all you. What did I say?”
He raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Of course you have to be perfectly lucid right at this moment. Why is that, Rachael? Two seconds ago you were so far out of it you didn’t know your own name.”
He looked so tor tured her heart turned over. “Did someone accuse you of murder?”
Her gaze moved over his face, examining every inch—all-seeing eyes. He was certain she could see into his soul. Fierce anger smoldered, held deep where it couldn’t be seen, burst free, a raging holocaust he couldn’t prevent. She should have been afraid. He was afraid. He knew what he could do with that kind of rage, but her expression was compassionate, almost loving. Her uninjured hand went to his face, fingertips trailing over his lips, sliding around his neck so that she was cradling his head, offering, what? He didn’t know. Sympathy? Love? Her body? Tenderness?
He ignored his first impulse to slap her hand away from him. He couldn’t take her looking at him like that. He caught her fingers instead, pulling her palm to his bare chest, over his wildly beating heart.
“You don’t know the first thing about me, Rachael. You shouldn’t look at me like that.” He didn’t know what he felt, a mixture of anger and pain and ferocious longing. Damn it all, he was over that. Over wanting. Over needing.
“You don’t make sense to me.” His voice deepened, sounded almost ragged. “Nothing about you makes sense. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
She blinked. Those huge chocolate eyes, so dark they were nearly black, eyes a man could get lost in.
“I am afraid of you.”
“Now you’re humoring me.”
“No, really, I’m afraid of you.” Her eyes widened in earnest honesty.
“Well, damn it all, why would you be afraid of me when I’ve taken care of you and given up my bed for you?”
“You didn’t give up your bed. You still sleep in it,” she pointed out.
“There isn’t anywhere else to sleep,” he said.
“There’s the floor.”
“You want me to sleep on the floor? Do you have any idea how uncomfortable the floor would be?”
“What a baby. I thought you were a he-man.” She smirked at him. “Be careful of losing your bad-boy image.”