40
Christine Feehan
“Are you going to stare at me all night?” He growled the words at her. A threat. A promise. Retribution in the lines of his body. He turned his head then faced her down, allowing naked desire to flare just to scare the hell out of her.
She smiled serenely. “I’m sorry. Was I staring? It’s just that you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I thought if I did die, you might not be such a bad thing to take with me as a last image.”
She disarmed him just like that. The power she wielded was frightening. Nothing touched him the way she managed to. With a look, a single word. Just the tone of her voice. He was drowning and it made no sense. And it made him angry. He just wasn’t sure whom he was angry with.
She was still staring, her eyes huge. Rio stalked over to her and pressed his palm against her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I know.” He was standing right up against the bed, his groin level with her eyes. Rachael thought him extraordinary. She floated in a dreamy haze, where nothing seemed very real. Except Rio and his incredible body. She reached out to touch him, not believing he could be anything but a dream.
Her fingertips brushed the head of his penis and nearly sent him through the roof. Her touch was feather-light, barely there, but he felt it vibrating through his entire body.
“You are real.” She sounded awed and her breath was warm along his shaft, tightening every muscle in his body. Her fingers trailed over his heavy erection, slid across his balls and down his thigh and the feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
“It’s a damn good thing you’re hurt,” he snapped, turning away from her, afraid she might go further. Afraid he might let her. And he’d never forgive himself if he stooped that low. He had never wanted a woman so much. It was the way she looked at him. The sound of her voice. The honesty. Intellectually he knew it was the fever talking,
WILD RAIN
41
taking away her natural inhibition, but he couldn’t help reacting. Fever or no, she liked what she saw. Walking was torture, his body so hard he was afraid each step would shatter him, but he moved away.
Rio filled a bowl with cool water and caught up a cloth. When he turned around she was staring at him again. He sighed.
“You swear a lot, don’t you?”
“You have a way of making me feel like I need to,” he said and dragged a chair to the side of the bed. “I have to get your fever down.”
Rachael laughed softly. “You’d better put on clothes then. I don’t think anything else is going to help.” “Do you even know what you’re saying?” She frowned at the tone of his voice. “I don’t know. Should I lie to you?”
“Do you always tell the truth?” It was a challenge. Her eyes met his. “When I can. I prefer the truth. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. You just seemed so at home without clothes. I didn’t think you could be real. I thought I made you up.” Her gaze drifted over his chest, dropped lower to inspect his flat stomach, the dark brush of hair and his thick shaft, moved over the strong columns of his thighs. “I’m not actually certain where I am or how I got here. Isn’t that strange?”
She sounded lost. Vulnerable. His belly did that strange somersault he was beginning to associate with her. “Never mind.” Rio wiped her face with the cool damp cloth. “You’re safe with me and that’s all that matters. I don’t care if you want to stare at me. I suppose it’s flattering to have a woman like you admiring me.” “What kind of woman am I?”
“A sick one.” He peeled back the cover, wishing he hadn’t fed the fire in the fireplace, not even for hot water needed to cleanse her wounds. For both their sakes he needed to cool the room down. “I’m going to open the door for a few minutes. The wind should help. Don’t move.”