Why did she associate every single movement, every gesture, with that of a cat? Especially his eyes. They were dilated the way a cat’s eyes would be at night and yet in the daylight, the pupils were nearly invisible.
“Okay, there’s no way you turned into a leopard.” Rachael stared up at the ceiling and tried to work the problem out in her mind. She had to stop fantasizing about him leaping through the treetops with his little cat friends. It was idiotic and just proved she really was pushing the edges of sanity.
“What are you going on about now?” Rio stirred the contents of the glass with a long-handled spoon. “Half the tune you don’t make much sense.”
“I’m not responsible for what I say when I’m running a fever.” Rachael winced a little at her tone. She sounded snippy. She was tired. And tired of being tired. Tired of feeling out of sorts and grumpy and sick of trying to figure out what was real and what had taken place in her fevered imagination.
“You could try not saying anything,” he suggested.
68
Christine Feehan
Rachael winced again. She always talked too much when she was nervous. “I suppose you’re right. I could be a stone-faced mute staring at the walls the way you do. We’d probably get along better.” Most of all she was ashamed for sniping at him, but it was that or start screaming.
His gaze shifted to her face. She was very flushed, her fingers plucking at the thin blanket with restless pinches. Each time he looked at her, he felt that strange shifting deep inside his body where a part of him still felt emotions. “We get along,” he said gruffly. “It isn’t you. I’m not used to having people around.”
Rachael sighed. “I’m sorry.” Why did he have to be so blasted nice when she wanted a rip-roaring fight? It would have been nice to take her frustration out on him and pretend justification. She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’m feeling sorry for myself, that’s all. I honestly don’t know what’s going on half the time. It makes me feel stupid.” And helpless. She felt so helpless she wanted to scream. She did not want to be trapped in a house with a total stranger who looked every bit as dangerous as he obviously was. “You are a stranger to me, aren’t you?” She could feel the heat of his gaze right down to her toes. Why didn’t he feel like a stranger? When he touched her, why was it so familiar to her?
His eyebrow shot up. “You’re in my bed. I’ve been taking care of you night and day for a couple of days. You’d better hope I’m not a stranger.”
Rachael thumped her head against the pillow in sheer frustration, “See what you do? What kind of answer is that? Did you grow up in a monastery where they taught you to speak in riddles? Because if that’s what you’re trying to do, believe me it sounds more annoying and idiotic than mysterious and prophetic.” She blew upward at her bangs. “My hair is driving me crazy, do you have scissors?”
– “Why is it you’re always asking me for sharp instruments?”
She burst out laughing. The sound filled the room and
WILD RAIN
69
startled several birds perched on the railing of the verandah. They took flight with a noisy flutter of wings and a scolding trill. “I feel like I have to apologize to you every other sentence. I broke into your home, used your shower, slept in your bed, bashed you in the head and forced you to take care of me while I’m all out of it and grumpy. Now I’m threatening you with sharp instruments.”
“Threatening to cut your hair might hurt as much.” He moved across the distance separating them and bent down to look into her eyes, his fingers curling in her hair. “No one can force me to do anything I don’t want to do.” The one exception might be the intriguing woman lying in his bed, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her … or to himself. “Your hair is short enough. You don’t need to cut more off.” He rubbed the ragged edges of her hair between the pads of her fingers,