bruised.Very bruised.
Marc leaned back on his heels, frowning. What in the hell was this? His eyes quickly cataloged the dark
splotches on her smooth skin. The marks were purple and ugly. He swore viciously under his breath. The
bruising was not random. It was precise and systematic. And had probably occurred less than a month
ago.
A mugging at the airport? And he’d almost believed that story? Jesus. He reallyhad been away from the
business for too fucking long.
Stripping off the waterlogged sweater, he checked out the rest of her body. Most of the marks were
contained between her shoulders and knees. But there was no doubt that Victoria’s injuries had been
inflicted by a professional. A brutal expert who’d hit all the right places—ribs, kidneys, spleen—little
chance of death, maximum infliction of pain. Spider?
Didn’t make a whole helluva lot of sense. Spider didn’t dick around. If they wanted to hurt her, she’d be
dead. But if not Spider, who? He couldn’t imagine this woman had many enemies.
Unless it was the
fashion police.
He frowned as he used a T-shirt to dry her face. The bruise on her forehead had already started to fade
to a sickly yellow.
The fact that she slept through his touching her indicated just how exhausted she was. If she woke up
now, she would probably bring the roof down. He trailed the warm cloth over her damp skin and
couldn’t tear his eyes away from her small, full, perfect breasts.
Her pale nipples peeked through the soft fabric of her bra, and he immediately decided that she was dry
enough. Marc carried her to the makeshift bed several hundred yards away. She was so deeply asleep
she didn’t stir when he pulled a clean, dry T-shirt over her head. Covering her with another blanket,
Marc first checked that the plastic had kept the cast dry and was relieved to see only a little moisture had
seeped in the top. When he was sure she was as comfortable as he could make her, he grabbed a small
bar of soap from the pack and went to the hot spring, where he sank up to his neck in the steaming
water.
TORY AWOKE FROM A DREAMwith a start, her heart pounding with terror as she sat up. But not
her dream. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.Alex, oh, Alex, where are you? We’re here. We’ll find
you. Just tell me where you are.
The only sound in her head was that of her pounding heart. She tried to open her mind and concentrate,
but thoughts kept crowding in and she was aware of nothing but her own fear.
Frustrated, she opened her eyes to an eerie blue glow, then inhaled the mouthwatering smell of stew.
Her stomach growled. At least there was one body part that was in working order.
She felt a violent surge of panic when she realized she was alone. She glanced at the gently simmering
pot at the entrance to the room. Marc couldn’t have gone far if he’d left something cooking. Scrambling
out of the warm cocoon of blankets, Tory realized she was wearing a knee-length black T-shirt. Her
entire body blushed at the thought of Marc undressing her. Finding his backpack, she took out clean
underwear and dry jeans. Normal activities took twice as long because of her sore ribs and the blasted
cast.
With some contortions, she managed to pull on the jeans under the shirt. More comfortable now that she
was decently covered, Tory prowled around the camp. She saw signs that Marc had dug himself in for
the long haul. A large inflatable water bottle was filled and propped against the back wall next to what
looked like a radio. He’d used a ledge in the rock face as a shelf for other supplies.
Absently, she folded
the wet clothes he’d tossed in the sand, making a mental note to rinse them somehow.
The bed he’d
fashioned was for two. If he’d slept there with her she didn’t remember it. The last rational thought she’d
had was how incredibly lovely the cavern was.
She was dying to venture out and have another good look at the beautiful expanse of
Marc leaned back on his heels, frowning. What in the hell was this? His eyes quickly cataloged the dark
splotches on her smooth skin. The marks were purple and ugly. He swore viciously under his breath. The
bruising was not random. It was precise and systematic. And had probably occurred less than a month
ago.
A mugging at the airport? And he’d almost believed that story? Jesus. He reallyhad been away from the
business for too fucking long.
Stripping off the waterlogged sweater, he checked out the rest of her body. Most of the marks were
contained between her shoulders and knees. But there was no doubt that Victoria’s injuries had been
inflicted by a professional. A brutal expert who’d hit all the right places—ribs, kidneys, spleen—little
chance of death, maximum infliction of pain. Spider?
Didn’t make a whole helluva lot of sense. Spider didn’t dick around. If they wanted to hurt her, she’d be
dead. But if not Spider, who? He couldn’t imagine this woman had many enemies.
Unless it was the
fashion police.
He frowned as he used a T-shirt to dry her face. The bruise on her forehead had already started to fade
to a sickly yellow.
The fact that she slept through his touching her indicated just how exhausted she was. If she woke up
now, she would probably bring the roof down. He trailed the warm cloth over her damp skin and
couldn’t tear his eyes away from her small, full, perfect breasts.
Her pale nipples peeked through the soft fabric of her bra, and he immediately decided that she was dry
enough. Marc carried her to the makeshift bed several hundred yards away. She was so deeply asleep
she didn’t stir when he pulled a clean, dry T-shirt over her head. Covering her with another blanket,
Marc first checked that the plastic had kept the cast dry and was relieved to see only a little moisture had
seeped in the top. When he was sure she was as comfortable as he could make her, he grabbed a small
bar of soap from the pack and went to the hot spring, where he sank up to his neck in the steaming
water.
TORY AWOKE FROM A DREAMwith a start, her heart pounding with terror as she sat up. But not
her dream. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.Alex, oh, Alex, where are you? We’re here. We’ll find
you. Just tell me where you are.
The only sound in her head was that of her pounding heart. She tried to open her mind and concentrate,
but thoughts kept crowding in and she was aware of nothing but her own fear.
Frustrated, she opened her eyes to an eerie blue glow, then inhaled the mouthwatering smell of stew.
Her stomach growled. At least there was one body part that was in working order.
She felt a violent surge of panic when she realized she was alone. She glanced at the gently simmering
pot at the entrance to the room. Marc couldn’t have gone far if he’d left something cooking. Scrambling
out of the warm cocoon of blankets, Tory realized she was wearing a knee-length black T-shirt. Her
entire body blushed at the thought of Marc undressing her. Finding his backpack, she took out clean
underwear and dry jeans. Normal activities took twice as long because of her sore ribs and the blasted
cast.
With some contortions, she managed to pull on the jeans under the shirt. More comfortable now that she
was decently covered, Tory prowled around the camp. She saw signs that Marc had dug himself in for
the long haul. A large inflatable water bottle was filled and propped against the back wall next to what
looked like a radio. He’d used a ledge in the rock face as a shelf for other supplies.
Absently, she folded
the wet clothes he’d tossed in the sand, making a mental note to rinse them somehow.
The bed he’d
fashioned was for two. If he’d slept there with her she didn’t remember it. The last rational thought she’d
had was how incredibly lovely the cavern was.
She was dying to venture out and have another good look at the beautiful expanse of
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