Diamond Bay by Linda Howard Page A

respond at all. Late in the afternoon his fever
began to rise again, and Rachel abandoned all attempts to write. Somehow she had to rouse him enough to give him more aspirin.
    The fever seemed worse this time. His skin burned to the touch,
and his face was flushed with hectic color. Rachel talked to him as she lifted his
head, crooning and cajoling. With her free
hand she stroked his chest and arms, trying to rouse him, and her efforts were
rewarded when he suddenly groaned sharply and turned his face against her neck.
    The sound and motion, from someone who had been still and silent,
startled her. Her heart jumped wildly, and she was unable to move for a moment,
simply holding him and feeling the scrape of his growing beard against her
neck. It was an oddly erotic sensation, and her body quickened in remembrance.
A hot flush colored her cheeks; what was she doing, reacting like that to the
unconscious touch of a sick man? Granted, it had been a long time for her, but she'd never considered herself love starved, so hungry for the touch of
a man that the most inadvertent contact could turn her on.
    She reached for the teaspoon with the dissolved aspirin in it and
held it to his mouth, touching his lips with the spoon as she had before.
Restlessly he turned his head away, and Rachel followed the movement with the
spoon. "No you don't," she crooned. "You aren't getting away.
Open your mouth and take this. It'll make you feel better."
    A frown puckered his straight black brows and he fretted, evading
the spoon once more. Persistently Rachel tried again, and this time she got the
bitter aspirin into his mouth. He swallowed, and while he was cooperating she spoonfed him several
ounces of iced tea before he began to sink back into a stupor. Following the routine she had begun that morning, she patiently
sponged him down with cool water until the aspirin began to work and the fever
subsided again, allowing him to rest.
    His response, fretful as it had been, gave her hope that he would soon
be waking up, but that hope died during the long night. His fever soared at
intervals until she could give him more aspirin and bring it under control
again. What rest she got that night came in brief snatches, because she spent
most of the time bending over him, patiently wiping him with a cold wet cloth
to keep him as cool as she could, and doing all of the other things that were
necessary for a bedridden patient.
    Toward dawn he groaned again and tried to turn onto his side.
Guessing that his muscles were aching from lying in one position for so long,
Rachel helped him to roll onto his right side, then took advantage of the new
position and sponged his back with cold water. He quieted almost immediately,
his breathing becoming deep and even. Her eyes burning and her muscles sore, Rachel continued to rub his back until she was convinced that he was at last resting, then crept
into bed herself. She was so tired…. She stared
at his muscled back, wondering if she dared go to sleep and how she could
possibly stay awake a moment longer. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and she
immediately fell asleep, instinct moving her closer to his warm back.
     
    It was still early when she awoke; the clock told her that she had
slept a little over two hours. He was lying on his back again, and had kicked
the cover into a twisted heap around his left leg. Disturbed that his movements
hadn't awakened her, Rachel got out of bed and went around to straighten the
sheet and pull it back over him, trying not to jar his left leg. Her gaze
drifted over his naked body and hastily she jerked her eyes away, flushing
again. What on earth was wrong with her? She knew what naked men looked like,
and it wasn't even as if this were the first time she'd seen him. She had been
nursing him for almost two days now; she'd bathed him and helped sew him up.
Still, she couldn't stop the warm feeling that swelled inside every time she
looked at him. It's just lust, she told herself firmly.