Читать книгу Fit for a Sheikh - KRISTI GOLD - Страница 11

Fiona had finally composed herself enough on the drive to the apartment to stop shaking and help Frank out of the car. Well, she’d wanted some adventure, and she’d definitely gotten it when she’d been rescued from a crazed criminal by a dark stranger with biceps bulging from his iron-man arm now thrown over her shoulder. Thank goodness she lived on the first floor of the complex. No way would she have been able to drag him up the stairs. At least she was still in one piece, thanks to him. If he hadn’t come along, the guy might have killed her. But she sure as heck hadn’t intended to give up without a fight, especially when he’d held her down. Fiona could not tolerate being held down, and that had been more frightening than his knife.

After leaning her savior against the wall outside her apartment, she said, “Hang on a sec,” then turned the lock, pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by Carlotta, her slobbering, over-fed, Shar Pei who possessed enough wrinkles to keep spray starch in business for years. She stopped long enough to pat the dog’s tan head and ask, “Hey, Lottie, what did you destroy today?” The answer to the question came in the form of random scraps that had once been a textbook scattered in the corner on the living room floor.

Fiona pointed a finger at the guilty hound. “Bad, bad girl.” As usual, Lottie responded to the scolding by feigning innocence.

Taking Lottie by the collar, Fiona guided her into the lone bedroom and closed the door on her mournful expression before going back to Frank.

Frank. Ha! That just didn’t fit. In fact, she hadn’t bought that bogus name any more than she was buying his story about being a Texas cop. But she really hoped he was a member of some law enforcement agency and not some drug dealer from the back side of the law. She’d already taken a huge risk by not taking him to the hospital. And she’d be taking a bigger one if she allowed him in the apartment. But she couldn’t in good conscience leave him bleeding on her doorstep. He was hurt and he needed her help. Maybe she might even earn some commendation for valor. Just getting a good look at him in the light would be enough reward.

On that thought she turned around to find he’d already made himself welcome on her green chintz sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the cushions, his dark lashes fanning out below his closed eyes. The man was just too gorgeous for his own good. He also looked a little pasty, and she worried he’d passed out from the loss of blood. If that proved to be the case, she was calling 911 whether he wanted that or not.

Fiona closed the front door and double locked it in case the creepy criminal had followed them. Or had she locked herself in with a criminal?

Fiona, you are a fool. But she had to trust her instincts and her belief that she was safe with her friend, Frank.

She stood over him, her gaze coming to rest on the gash at his thigh where she’d fashioned a tourniquet with two bar towels, there and around his ankle. She took a seat next to him to get a closer look at his injured side, pulling back the jacket a bit to find the bleeding had been minimal. She couldn’t be sure about his thigh unless he took off his pants. Considering they’d only met a few hours ago, disrobing him didn’t seem at all appropriate. But it was pretty darned tempting.

Slowly Fiona lowered her hand toward his fly then drew back. She couldn’t do it, but she could take a peek at the cut by removing the towel, or at least until she had permission to take off his clothes. His pants, she corrected. Only his pants and only to administer some first aid.

As she gingerly gripped the knotted towel with her fingertips, his large hand clamped her wrist with the speed of a cobra, causing her to nearly jump out of her own skin or at the very least, off the sofa.

“What are you doing?” he asked without opening his eyes or releasing her wrist.

At least he wasn’t comatose. “I’m trying to look at your wound. It needs to be cleaned up.”

He raised his head and stared at her with those intense black eyes that made her want to squirm and sweat. “Do you have any antiseptic?”

“You’re in luck. I have that and some bandages.” And limited first aid knowledge thanks to her one-year stint as a volunteer member of Shadowvale, Idaho’s, fire and rescue unit. Of course, she’d probably been on three whole calls during that time, none that had involved knife wounds. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

“I would appreciate any assistance you might give me.” He gave her a look of concern. “Are you certain you’re not injured?”

She was moved by the sincerity in his expression and his worry over her well-being. At least he had that much honor. “I promise, I’m fine. Nothing more than a scratch or two on my back.”

“I’m relieved. I was afraid he might have cut you, as well.”

“He tried, but I managed to keep him from doing it.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for myself.”

“But you saved me. I doubt we’d be here now if you hadn’t come along.”

“Had it not been for me, you would not have been put in that position.”

Fiona didn’t care to debate the workings of fate, so she said, “Uh, you might want to get comfortable. I mean, you might need to take off…” Why couldn’t she just say it?

He lifted a dark brow. “My pants?”

“Yeah. So I can see it better. Your cut. The one on your thigh. And your boots and socks, of course.”

“Should I remove my shirt, as well?” He sounded almost amused, but then she sounded like a blithering idiot.

Her traitorous gaze picked that moment to land on his fly. “Sure. Or I could just lift it up.” She yanked her attention back to his face. “Your shirt, I mean.”

For a minute she thought he might actually smile, but it didn’t happen. “Anything else you require of me?”

“Can I have my hand back now?” she asked.

“Most certainly,” he said as he released his grip, but not before he brushed the inside of her wrist with a fingertip. Or at least that’s what she thought he’d done. Maybe she was just hovering in imagination overdrive.

Attacked by a sudden case of the chills, Fiona came to her feet and pulled the throw her grandmother had knitted from the back of the chair. It was lopsided and an interesting shade of lime green, but it should be big enough to provide some privacy for him should he decide to undress. Of course, there was the matter of all those little holes and loose threads, thanks to Lottie’s incessant chewing. But it was the best she could do at the moment.

She tossed him the throw and told him, “You can cover up with this,” then headed for the bathroom before she did something really stupid—like insist he remove his pants immediately so she could get a good look at all his assets. How desperate she must be to consider seducing an injured stranger. At least she’d be assured he wouldn’t be able to move very fast.

Stop it, Fiona.

Once in the bathroom, she rummaged through the cabinet beneath the sink, knocking over several boxes and bottles before she found what she needed. After retrieving bandages, a damp rag and some antiseptic cream, she made her way back into the living room…and nearly dropped the supplies she clutched tightly to her chest.

Two bare, blatantly masculine legs covered in a fine layer of dark hair extended from their owner who had stretched out on his back lengthwise, his head resting on the sofa’s arm and his eyes once again closed against the light. His bare chest, smooth as a baby’s behind except for a slight shading of hair between his pecs, revealed valleys and planes of tanned muscular terrain. No shoes, no socks, no denying the man was prime perfection without his clothes. But Fiona couldn’t see anything vital due to the throw draped across his manly strategic area.

Manly strategic area? A few hours in his presence and she was thinking in sexual military-speak. She was also thinking that she would bet her dog that he had one notable missile beneath his briefs. Black briefs, she’d guess. Maybe she would have the opportunity to confirm that. And she needed to get her mind out of the sewer and back on the situation at hand—examining his wounds, not his essentials.

Fiona dropped to her knees beside the sofa and considered praying to Planet Mars for strength. Instead, she took the warm cloth and pressed it against his side. His eyes drifted open but she saw no indication she was hurting him.

She focused on the cut, willing her hand to hold steady. “This doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think it even needs a bandage.” She could use one to tape her mouth closed before she moaned with approval.

“Only a scratch,” he said, his voice grainy and seriously sensual. “I’m more concerned with my thigh and ankle.”

Fiona was more concerned with what was above his thigh. Putting away those concerns for the time being, she scooted down and examined the gash. “This looks worse. It could probably use a few stitches.”

“A bandage will suffice.”

“If you say so,” she said as she dabbed at the cut, then applied the ointment. After positioning several adhesive glow-in-the-dark, happy-face bandages lengthwise across his skin, she noticed they did little to close the edges of the wound. But boy, did he have one heck of a solid thigh. Lots of muscle and tone. She wondered if he did squats or if he just came by his physique naturally.

He scrutinized the bandages, looking displeased. “Very festive. And somewhat ridiculous.”

“It’s all I have, so you’ll have to live with it.”

“My ankle now,” he said in a tone that sounded just a little too demanding.

She sent him an acid look. “I’m getting to that. Roll over.”

He did, and Fiona nearly swallowed her razor-sharp tongue. Well, now she knew. He didn’t have on black briefs or white ones. He didn’t have on boxers, either. Nothing covered his sculpted buttocks aside from taut skin a shade paler than his hair-spattered thighs. His lack of underwear somewhat surprised her, not to mention what it did to unseen places on her person. She could analyze his reason for removing his drawers, or she could get back down to business and check out his ankle.

But who in their right mind wanted to look at a foot when faced with a fine, bare bottom? Come to think of it, she had no doubt his feet were probably as sexy as the rest of him.

Fiona tore her gaze away from his fanny and forced her attention on his injured ankle. When she flexed his foot forward, revealing the depth of the gash, she heard his sharp intake of breath, the only indication whatsoever he was in any pain.

This particular wound was much worse than the others. This cut couldn’t be fixed right with a few flimsy bandages and cream. Since he had his face now buried in his folded arms, Fiona stared at his bare back that sported a lengthy horizontal scar. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“It will heal.”

“Dear Frank,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice. “The guy nearly cut your foot off. You’ll be lucky if you’re able to walk on it again. Someone needs to look at this.”

He regarded her over one broad shoulder. “Do you know a doctor? Someone you can trust?”

Fiona didn’t know any doctors aside from the one she’d seen annually since she’d been in Vegas. She doubted he made house calls, and even if he did, this was not a gynecological problem. But she did know Peg, her friend two doors down who worked as a nurse in a medical office. Peg might know what to do. It was worth a shot.

Fiona pushed up from the floor to stand. “I know a woman who can help.”

He frowned. “A female doctor?”

“Do you have something against women, Frankie?”

He looked as if he’d just downed a dill pickle. “No, and I do not answer to Frankie.”

“Your name’s not Frank at all, is it?”

“No.”

“Then do you mind telling me your real name? I mean, you’re naked on my sofa so I think we should be on a first-name basis, don’t you?”

“You may call me Scorpio.”

Drat him. “Okay, you may call me Fiona. And if you call me Fee-Fee or Red, I will pour salt in your wounds, is that understood?”

A smile curved his full lips, bringing the dimple and perfect white teeth into view. “Are you always this aggressive?”

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it.” But he would.

With that, she left behind his sinful grin and beautiful butt to make the call to Peg in the kitchen. But she couldn’t escape the vision of him lying on her couch—or the one of him lying in her bed, naked, taking her on an all-night journey to cloud nine. As if that was going to happen.

Darin had believed knife wounds would serve as a deterrent to a man’s desire. He’d been wrong. When Fiona had touched his side, he’d experienced the first sexual stirrings. When she’d moved to his thigh, he’d grown as hard as his handgun. Of course, when she’d manipulated his injured foot, that had somewhat alleviated any thoughts of sex. But even now, even though his ankle still throbbed, he would gladly relieve his current predicament in her bed, deep inside her body, in order to keep his mind off his injuries, and his errors.

Working his way back into a sitting position, he left the ugly blanket draped across his lap to hide the effect of his questionable cravings, urges most likely resulting from adrenaline and the length of time since he’d been to bed with a woman. He had no cause to consider seduction when his mission was paramount. It would be best to allow Fiona’s medical friend to treat the wounds, then be on his way.

“She’s on her way,” Fiona said as she reentered the room and took the very pink chair across from him.

“Good. And she is a physician?”

“She’s a part-time nurse.”

“This is your idea of medical expertise?”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Yes, he did, but they had nothing to do with tending his injuries and everything to do with learning each curve, each crevice of her enticing body with his hands and mouth. He moved his injured foot, sending a sharp pain up the back of his leg in order to limit his increasing erection, and to remind him of his goals. “I would appreciate any medical attention she can provide. And if you will retrieve my bag from the trunk of the car, I will have clothes available for my departure.”

She brought her legs onto the cushions and crossed them in front of her. “You really don’t think you’re going anywhere tonight, do you?”

“I must if I wish to continue my mission.”

“You’re going to go running through the back alleys of Vegas looking for this Birkenfeld who has—” she checked her watch “—about an hour’s head start? Do you plan to do that on your knees?”

He could certainly think of one thing he would like to do on his knees before her. “I have endured worse injury.” To his body. To his soul.

She sent him a skeptical look. “I’m sure you have. But even if you do manage to walk out of here, and I have my doubts you can tonight, don’t you think he’s probably long gone by now, maybe even left the state?”

“Not likely.”

“How do you know for sure?”

She asked too many questions, required too many answers, knew too much already. But Darin had possibly put her in peril by having her bring him here. The least he could do was reveal a few details. Perhaps then she would understand the consequences if Birkenfeld was not captured immediately. “Can I trust that whatever I tell you will go no further?”

“My lips are sealed and I’m all ears.”

She was all sensual, seductive woman, Darin decided before forcing his thoughts back to the dire situation at hand. “Birkenfeld established a black-market adoption ring he operated using his obstetrics practice as a front. He stole newborns and sold them for large amounts of money. He also murdered a doctor in Texas in order to assume his identity so he could infiltrate a hospital, looking for a woman whose infant he had attempted to kidnap. Fortunately, he was stopped before he could harm her but later escaped authorities.”

“He’s a murderer and a baby thief?” Anger resonated in her tone, the same anger Darin had experienced each time he considered Birkenfeld’s crimes.

“He needs money to pay off East Coast loan sharks and to feed his gambling habit,” he continued. “We have an informant who claims that Birkenfeld has connections here that will enable him to obtain funds. This city also has places where he can easily hide.” But Darin would ferret him out, and soon. Birkenfeld would not escape again.

She remained silent for a few moments as if needing time to analyze the information. “Look, even if that’s true and he’s still in town, you can’t accomplish anything tonight with a bum ankle, especially if you’re not sure where to look.”

She had a valid point, though Darin was reluctant to admit it. “I suppose you’re correct in terms of Birkenfeld going underground.”

“Of course I am. You can stay here tonight then go after him again in the morning, if you’re feeling up to the challenge.”

When she streaked her tongue over her bottom lip, Darin recognized he was definitely up for one challenge unrelated to Birkenfeld.

A strange shuffling sound drew his attention from Fiona’s mouth to the closed door adjacent to the living area. “What is that noise?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just Lottie. She heard I had a naked man on the couch.”

This was all Darin needed, involving another innocent party. “You should have informed me we are not alone.”

“Oh, you can trust her. She won’t say a word. I’d let her out but she’d just jump all over you and lick your face.”

Hearing the word lick did nothing to help Darin’s threatening state of arousal. “Does she always greet your guests in that manner?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s kind of wild.” Fiona nodded toward the shreds of paper strewn across the floor in the corner. “Today she got bored and tore up my textbook.”

“Are you a student?”

“College student. I’m studying hotel management. And in case you haven’t guessed, Lottie is my dog.”

He was relieved over both revelations. Being alone in an apartment with a woman not of legal age would be another mistake in a long line of many. “I had assumed you were older.”

Her smile faded. “Gee, thanks.”

He was failing miserably at all his endeavors tonight, but at least he had kept her alive. “I meant older than your early twenties.”

“I’m twenty-five, almost twenty-six. I started my career late. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Are you from Las Vegas?”

“Actually, I’m from Idaho. I’ve been here for a few years. I work the bar at night to pay for my school and this dump.”

Darin could not fathom being without adequate funds. He admired her conviction as much as he admired her body. However, he did find her stubborn nature somewhat disconcerting on one level. On another, he found it intriguing. That much passion might translate well in bed. He shifted and looked away.

“How about you?” she asked, again drawing his attention. “Have you always lived in Texas?”

“I have lived everywhere. I have no permanent home.”

“Everyone has to start out somewhere, Scorpio,” she said. “My guess is that you’re not originally from the States.”

“Your guess is correct. I was born in a small country near Oman, but I have not been back for some time.”

“No wife or girlfriend waiting for you? Or are you the kind of guy who has a girl at every stop?”

“I have no ties.” He wanted no ties.

“What about your parents?”

“Both dead.”

She looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry. My dad died when I was young, but my mom’s still alive. She taught me everything I know about bartending because that’s how she supported us. She makes the best gin martini in the good old U. S. of A. Probably in the world. She also taught me how to fight when the situation called for it.”

Her ability to fight had been apparent to Darin when she’d taken on Birkenfeld in the alley. At least he was somewhat assured she could handle herself during a dangerous situation—but only to a point. He would make certain she was not faced with that prospect again—all the more reason for him to make a quick exit from the apartment and her life.

A bark and a whine came from the room at the same time the knock sounded, saving Darin from having to answer questions of a personal nature. He had already revealed more to her than he should.

When he started to stand, she pointed a finger at him and said, “Don’t get up. It’s just Peg.”

“Make certain before you open the door,” Darin cautioned. “Birkenfeld could have followed us.”

She frowned. “And I’m so sure he would be polite enough to knock before he kicked down the door.”

When Fiona walked to the entry, Darin withdrew his gun from the discarded holster on the table and laid it on his lap. He, too, greatly doubted that Birkenfeld would knock, but he intended to be prepared for anything, although he had not been prepared for this woman named Fiona.

He questioned his wisdom in spending the night with her—a woman who had sparked his imagination and effectively lowered his guard, something that could prove costly if he did not practice more care. Yet the prospect of giving her one night of pleasure beyond the limits caused his body to stir to life once more. He was in no shape to chase after Birkenfeld tonight, but he wasn’t totally incapacitated. Despite his caution and his wounds, he would most gladly make love to her in ways she would not soon forget.

But only if she agreed to the terms. No ties. No emotional entanglement. No promises. Whatever happened between them during those hours between dark and dawn would be solely up to her.

Tomorrow he would return to his solitary existence where nothing mattered beyond the mission. He had no need for a permanent relationship—even though at times he longed for that very thing.

Fiona peeked through the peephole to see fifty-something Peg standing on the threshold dressed in baggy red-heart-spattered white pajamas, her brown hair shooting from her scalp like frizzy fireworks. “It’s her,” she told Scorpio without turning around.

She opened the door only far enough so she could slip outside to join her neighbor on the porch, closing the door behind her. “That was fast.”

Peg held up a brown bag. “This is what I had on hand. A few butterfly closures, gauze wrap and tape and some antibiotic samples. I wasn’t about to go traipsing down to the clinic this time of night and risk setting off the alarm.”

Fiona took the bag and looked inside. “Thanks, Peg. You’re a jewel, as always.”

“So where is it?” Peg asked.

“Where is what?”

“Your cut?”

“I don’t have a cut.”

She nodded toward the bag clutched in Fiona’s hand. “Then who is that for?”

“A friend.”

Peg frowned. “A friend? Fiona, you better hope your ‘friend’ isn’t allergic to penicillin. I don’t want to be responsible if they go into anaphylactic shock. I could lose my job.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him.”

Peg’s wide smile farther inflated her dumpling cheeks. “Him? You got a man in there?”

Boy, Fiona had really done it now. “Yes, and don’t start making assumptions.”

Before Fiona could issue a protest, Peg stepped to one side on the porch and peered into the picture window through the break in the curtains. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “You have a half-naked man with a gun on your couch!”

“He has his gun out?” Fiona moved behind Peg to confirm that fact.

Peg turned, alarm in her blue eyes. “Is he holding you hostage?”

In a manner of speaking, at least her libido. “Of course not. I would’ve called the police. In fact, he is the police, working undercover.” And she could imagine how well he would work under the covers. “That’s why he has the gun. He got into a fight at the bar and he doesn’t want to blow his cover by going to a hospital.”

Peg turned back to the window. “Impressive gun. Impressive guy. How well does his other pistol work?”

Fiona took Peg’s pudgy arm and pulled her back around and away from the window. “This is not what you think, Peg.” Unfortunately.

Peg smirked. “Are you sure the sex didn’t get a little wild and you clawed him?”

“In my dreams.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d make those dreams a reality. You’re already halfway there. You got him naked.”

“He got himself naked.”

Peg shrugged. “A minor point. Now all you have to do is get yourself naked and climb onboard the temptation train.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Peg. He’s beat-up. He’s not interested in sex.”

Peg released a metal-scraping laugh. “And don’t be stupid, Fiona. I don’t know one man who would let a little cut stop him from having sex.”

“It’s not a little cut, Peg. It’s three cuts, and one’s pretty bad. That’s why I need you to take a look, as long as you promise not to ask any questions.”

“I promise.”

“And no snide remarks.”

“I’ll try,” she said with less conviction.

Fiona opened the door and Peg followed close behind her. Scorpio was still sitting on the couch, the throw now wrapped around his waist. Fortunately, he’d put the gun back in its holster.

Fiona gestured at Peg and said, “Frank, this is my neighbor, Peggy Jones. She’s going to see what she can do about your cuts.”

Scorpio nodded at Peg. “I would be grateful for your aid.”

Peg elbowed Fiona aside and plopped her hefty frame next to Scorpio. “No problem. Now show me where it hurts.”

He lifted the throw, exposing his thigh to Peg’s scrutiny. “This isn’t going to do,” she said, and began ripping away the bandages. Fiona figured the poor guy’s thighs would be stripped of hair before Peg was done with him, yet Scorpio’s expression remained impassive. Obviously, he had a high pain threshold.

After Peg closed the wound with the sturdier strips she’d brought with her, she said, “Okay, that’s one down, two to go. Where are the others?”

“The cut on his side isn’t that bad,” Fiona said. “He has to turn over for you to see the worst one.” She immediately regretted her words when Peg sent her a devilish look. “It’s on his ankle.”

Peg stood. “Okay, Frank. Roll over and let me see.”

After Scorpio complied, again burying his face on his folded arms, Peg sat down on the sofa and rested his foot in her lap. The look she sent Fiona this time was void of humor and full of concern. “This is pretty nasty. I’m not sure the strips are going to hold it all that well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve nicked a tendon.”

Scorpio glanced back at her. “Do what you can. I will manage.”

“You might manage to get one hell of an infection,” Peg said. “But you don’t need to walk on it for at least two days, if you live that long.”

Scorpio’s face showed no sign of fear. “I assure you I will live.”

“He’s had worse injuries,” Fiona added, apparent from the jagged scar on his back.

Peg sealed the slash the same way she had his thigh, then wrapped it tightly in gauze. After she was finished, she patted the back of his calf as if he were a child. “Okay, sugar. We’re all done here. Don’t blame me when you get gangrene.” She stood and stared down on him. “Are you allergic to penicillin?”

Scorpio resumed a sitting position, careful to keep the throw bound around his waist. “I have no allergies.”

“Good.” She dug in the bag and handed Fiona the box of samples. “Give him two of these a day for seven days. If he spikes a temp, get him to the hospital.”

“I’ll try.” Fiona figured she would probably have to call in the cavalry to convince Scorpio to cooperate. Besides, she doubted he’d be around for more than one day, much less seven.

“I am grateful for your assistance, Ms. Jones,” Scorpio said.

Peg sent him a sunny smile. “Oh, you’re welcome. My husband and I would love to have you and Fiona over for dinner.”

“He’s leaving soon,” Fiona added before Peg had the opportunity to suggest she help pick out the wedding cake. “Isn’t Walt waiting for you?”

Peg kept her gaze locked on Scorpio, laid a palm over her liberal chest and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Walt’s my husband.”

Scorpio’s smile seemed strained but sincere. “He is a very lucky man.”

Oh, brother, Fiona thought as she took Peg’s arm, turned her toward the door and guided her outside. She pulled the door closed when Peg kept trying to look inside. “Thanks bunches, neighbor. I owe you a lot for this.”

Peg patted Fiona’s cheek. “Yes, you do, sugar. And you owe yourself to get to know that one a whole lot better. He is one fine specimen.”

Fiona couldn’t agree more. “He’s a friend, Peg. Just a friend.”

“Sure, Fiona. And I’m too old to have sex.” Peg glanced in the direction of her apartment. “Which reminds me. I left Walt in bed and almost in the mood. If I hurry, maybe he won’t be in REM sleep yet. If he gets that far, I can forget about getting some action.”

Wonderful. Peg and Walt, and probably Benny Jack and his date, were all going to have sex, and Fiona was having a hard time getting Scorpio to smile at her. “By all means, go and rouse Walt.”

“Okey-dokey. And you go and rouse the hunk.”

Peg pivoted on her furry pink slippers and headed down the walkway while Fiona pushed back into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind her.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She bypassed Scorpio and went into the kitchen to draw a glass of water so he could wash down the antibiotics. On afterthought, she retrieved a bottle of pills she’d had filled following a little incident in the bar where she’d intervened in a brawl between two regulars. Who would have thought that a seventy-year-old senior would have packed such a powerful right hook? Fiona’s jaw had learned that lesson the hard way.

The bottle was almost full since she’d only taken one of the painkillers that had basically rendered her brainless. Scorpio would need something for pain in order to sleep, whether he cared to admit it or not. She shook one pill from the bottle as directed, then took out one more. Considering his size, he probably needed two to garner any relief.

Fiona strode back into the living room and offered him the glass of water and the pills housed in her open palm. “Here. These will make you feel better.”

He eyed the capsules with disdain. “I do not see the necessity.”

“Well, I do. One will thwart infection, the other two are for pain.”

“I’m experiencing minimal discomfort. At least in the vicinity of my wounds.”

Obviously he considered her a pain in his posterior. Too bad. “These will ensure you won’t have any pain at all, at least tonight. You’ll sleep like a baby.”

He nailed her with his fathomless black eyes. “And if I refuse?”

Of all the obstinate men. Good thing he was cute, otherwise she’d toss him out. “Then I’ll do to you what I do with Lottie. Grab your jaws and shove the pills in the back of your mouth, then rub your throat until you swallow.”

“You are determined to persist in this matter?”

“Yes, I am. So be a good boy and take them.”

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he slid the pills from her palm, put them all in his mouth then swallowed the water. Fiona decided that even the bob of his Adam’s apple was sexy. If only she had the courage to proposition him, as Peg had suggested, but she didn’t. Not tonight. After all, he was wounded, and regardless of Peg’s assertions that injuries wouldn’t stop a man’s ability to perform, Fiona was hard-pressed to believe it. Besides, tomorrow he would probably be gone. She’d never had a one-night stand. No need to start now.

Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

“Open your mouth,” she demanded. “I want to take a look and make sure you swallowed them.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Not exactly, so let me see.”

With lightning speed, he clasped her wrists and pulled her forward between his parted legs. She planted her palms on his shoulders to keep from toppling into his lap, although that didn’t seem like a totally abhorrent prospect. “How will you know for certain by using only your eyes?” he said in a deep, persuasive voice. “I could be hiding them.”

“They would’ve dissolved by now.” Her voice sounded like a rusty wheel.

“Perhaps, or perhaps not.”

“Are you going to force me to pry your jaws open and put my hand in your mouth?”

His near-black eyes looked bedroom drowsy. “I would prefer you not put your hand in my mouth, but I would be open to other suggestions.”

“I’m not quite sure I’m following you here, Scorpio.”

He clasped the back of her head and pulled her closer, his lips only a fraction from hers. “You have other means to conduct a search.”

Was he giving her an open invitation to engage in a little tongue tango? That’s what she thought he was doing, but she’d been wrong before. Better safe than really sorry. “You want me to do a little mouth-to-mouth expedition?”

“If you wish to know for certain, I see no other recourse.”

Whew, boy. Peg had been right on. A near-death experience had done nothing to quell his manly urges. Or maybe it was the drugs. “Those pills are obviously doing their job if you want to kiss me.”

“I have found your mouth quite fascinating from the moment we met. And since we are obviously stranded together for the evening, I propose we enjoy each other’s company.” His eyes closed, then slowly opened. “If you are willing.”

Noting his words were somewhat slurred, she’d be darned if she’d do this with him when he was under the influence of painkillers. “We don’t know each other.”

“I know that you are a beautiful woman.”

Beautiful? Now she knew he was high. “Come on, Scorpio. That’s a stretch.”

He slid his callused palms up and down her arms. “Are you calling me a liar?”

She was calling herself a fool for actually buying into this. “Believe me, I’ve heard many pickup lines from many men, enough to know that telling a woman she’s beautiful is only a means to an end.”

“I am not a man who uses false flattery to seduce a woman. True beauty cannot be hidden.” His gaze tracked to her breasts then back to her eyes. “However, I will not force you into anything you do not wish to do.”

His smile arrived, only halfway, but affected Fiona all the way. “Let’s just say I do agree to do this. What’s in for me?”

“You will have to find out.”

She wanted to find out. Boy, did she want to. A little adventure. Just a little kiss.

Leaving common sense in the dust, she traced her tongue over the seam of his lips and without any coercion his mouth parted, giving her full advantage in this game of chance. Chances were meant to be taken, and she couldn’t help believing that she was destined to kiss this man. And she did, with all the gusto of a woman who had done without this kind of intimacy for far too long.

But she didn’t find any pills lurking on his tongue—a gentle, provocative tongue that stroked against hers until she thought she would collapse from a charisma overdose. She swayed forward and he brought her down on the sofa next to him in his strong arms.

Fiona didn’t care that his evening whiskers abraded her chin. She didn’t care that Lottie was in the next room, pitching a fit while her master was making out with a master kisser. A stranger no less. A stranger with one wicked tongue and one deliberate touch as he made light passes with his thumb over the side of her breast.

But soon he took his hand and his mouth away. Fiona opened her eyes to find him bowed forward, his elbows braced on his knees and his face in his palms.

“What did you give me?” he muttered.

She scooted to the edge of the cushion, her pulse pounding away like a jackhammer, this time from fear over his current condition. “Painkillers. They’re supposed to be mild.”

He fell back against the sofa. “Not mild enough. My head is spinning.”

So was Fiona’s, not only from his kiss but also from the fact that she’d drugged him into a stupor just when things were getting good. Worse, she might have really compromised his well-being.

She bolted from the sofa. “I need to call Peg.”

He stretched out, and within seconds his eyes closed and his breathing grew steady.

Fiona grabbed the cordless phone from the end table and pounded out Peg’s number. Before her neighbor could even say “Hello” she spewed the explanation about what she’d given Scorpio and how much, trying not to sound too panicked. Peg assured her that he wouldn’t croak from taking two of that particular pill, but he would sleep soundly for several hours. In the meantime, she should watch him closely.

After Fiona hung up from Peg, she felt somewhat assured that she hadn’t done Scorpio any real harm, and terribly disappointed that the evening had come to an abrupt halt. Probably just as well. She should have her head examined for actually kissing him, especially since she didn’t even know him. But in some ways, that was the appeal. Doing something kind of risky, even if it was unwise. During her formative years, she’d had to be the logical one because of her mother’s penchant for carefree living and questionable taste in men. Maybe it was more than time to live a little.

Lottie continued to whine and claw at the bedroom door. Worrying the noise might wake Scorpio, she coerced the dog from the bedroom with doggie bacon, intending to shut her in the kitchen with a bowl of water and a warning to use the newspaper. But before Fiona could stop her, Lottie bounded to the sofa and began bathing Scorpio’s elbow with her black tongue, amazing since she wasn’t all that fond of men. But this particular man wasn’t like most men, and Lottie must have recognized that, too. Luckily, Scorpio didn’t go for his gun, or even flinch for that matter. But that in itself concerned Fiona. What if he didn’t wake up? What if she had inadvertently put him in a coma?