Cherry Adair, Lora Leigh, Cindy Gerard Page 2

  “You can.” Thadiwe slowly ran his finger over the creased frown in Beth’s forehead. “And you will. Your husband leaves for work at six-fifteen. He drops your baby off at Apple Tree Day Care. I have your mother’s home address in Hollywood, your brother’s too—congratulations on his wife’s pregnancy. And your grandfather, well, it would be a shame if anything happened to him at the nursing home … In other words, Dr. Randall, if you fail to cooperate fully, I will have your entire family slaughtered by morning. All it will take is one phone call.”

  Sam’s mouth tightened. Even though this wasn’t Beth’s family Thadiwe was threatening, it was Lynne Randall’s—a doctor who was guilty of no more than being the best in her field. Beth’s friend.

  “Leave my family out of this. All right. You give me no choice. Your surgery will take upwards of twenty hours.” She pulled out some of the paperwork, then took a moment to scan the information.

  “You have high blood pressure.” She glanced up at Thadiwe. “I appreciate your state-of-the-art OR, but what happens in the event of an emergency that I can’t handle alone? We’re in the middle of the jungle, hundreds of miles from anywhere.” Her hand was leaving bloodstains on the manila envelope, and it made Sam crazy to see her hurt when he was right there and should have been able to protect her. Even from herself.

  “There are dozens of factors to consider. A reaction to the anesthetic. Clotting issues that could cause excessive blood loss. Underlying, undiagnosed pre-existing conditions. Even though you’ve been treating your high blood pressure, there’s still a possibility that you’d stroke out from the stress such a complex medical procedure will put on your body. Especially since you insist on having several procedures done at once. It’s risky. Very risky.”

  Sam’s estimation of her b.s. ability went up. The type of surgery Thadiwe wanted would take half a dozen procedures over the span of several months, not hours. Beth was playing along, and buying time.

  “How close is the nearest hospital with well-trained emergency room staff and a competent cardiologist?” she asked calmly as she flipped through Thadiwe’s paperwork.

  “An hour by helicopter. You’d better not make any mistakes, Dr. Randall. If anything goes wrong, if I should come to any harm while under your scalpel, my men have instructions to torture you. You will die in agony and very, very slowly.”

  Her head jerked up. “And you think that threatening me will scare me into doing a better job?” she demanded, letting her annoyance leak into her voice. Annoyance. Not fear. “I’m a surgeon and bound by my own ethics to do you no harm. But to do that, I’ll need to rest first. I’ve been kidnapped at gunpoint, and tied hand and foot for six hours. I’ll perform your surgery in the morning if you give me your word that afterward I’ll be returned to Cape Town in good health. Do we have a bargain?”

  Christ, she sounded cool. Everyone in the room knew the second Thadiwe got what he wanted she’d be dead.

  “I’ll need post-operative care.”

  “Kidnap a nurse,” she said dryly.

  “I’ll give you two hours to rest and study my file.”

  “That’s not enough time. My God, you want every bone in your face rearranged. Do you honestly think that studying your X-rays and photographs for two hours will be sufficient time? I would never allow an exhausted, ill-prepared surgeon to do major surgery on my face.”

  “You’re the best in the world.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m not at my best now. And you want the best when it comes to this.” She held up one of the photographs. “Give me ten hours, and I’ll—”

  “Two hours.”

  “No. You might as well save time and kill me now, then go and kidnap another facial reconstruction specialist.” She thrust the envelope at his massive barrel chest. “But you know, and I know, Mr. Thadiwe, that long before you find anyone else of my caliber, I’ll be ready to do your surgery. You kidnapped me because I am the best. Don’t be stubbornly foolish enough to rush me. You’ll have the face you want by this time tomorrow night.”

  Thadiwe glanced at the $200,000 Girard-Perregaux watch on his thick wrist. “I’ll give you six hours.”

  “Eight. I’ll be ready.”

  “Seven.”

  Beth said nothing. Silence throbbed between them. Finally the man caved, and he nodded. “Not one second past seven A.M.”

  Sam eased his finger off the trigger.

  TWO

  A CALLUSED HAND CLAMPED over Elizabeth’s mouth, waking her with a heart-pounding jolt. What the …?

  One of Thadiwe’s guards?

  God forbid, Thadiwe himself? Chills of pure terror chased over her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up.

  She hadn’t meant to fall sleep, but half an hour after she’d come to the room, the lights had suddenly gone out. She’d fought exhaustion and lost.

  The man whispered something, but she couldn’t hear him over the thundering in her ears. Cold sweat replaced the tropical heat of the room as she struggled to break free of the strong gag of his fingers. Whoever he was, his hand covered half her face, making it hard to drag in a breath. What air she could suck in smelled of clean male sweat mixed with the chemical stink of insect repellent. He could be any one of the guards.

  There’d been two stationed right outside her door when she’d tried to leave the room just before the lights went out. But this wasn’t one of them, not unless he’d taken a shower recently. It didn’t matter who he was, she’d been scared long before this guy had shown up. Afraid that the guards would add rape to their list of duties.

  Elizabeth fought harder.

  “Shhh. Promise not to scream, and I’ll take away my hand.” The rough-edged voice, low and elusively familiar, was now only a few inches from her face.

  In your dreams, pal. The second she was free, she was going to scream until the entire household came running. And then what? She didn’t think it likely that Thadiwe would come to her defense—although he might shoot the rapist.

  Elizabeth nodded to indicate compliance, then sucked in a breath in anticipation.

  “Damn, you give stubborn a new meaning, woman.” His whisper was laced with humor as his lips replaced his hand, covering her mouth, which was open, ready to yell. “It’s me, Sam,” he said hoarsely against her parted lips before the warm slickness of his tongue entered her mouth. His lips molded hers. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her still as he kissed her. The kiss wasn’t violent, or aggressive. But it was—hungry in a controlled way that puzzled her.

  He was a good kisser.

  He tasted—Was she out of her mind?! She tried to shut her mouth against the sensual invasion.

  “Ow! Shit, no biting.”

  With a palm to his bristly jaw, she shoved his face away from hers. The only Sam she knew was—“Sam Pelton?” she asked incredulously. Pushing her hair out of her face with her injured hand, she winced as she sat up.

  He—Sam—crouched beside the bed. “Yeah. Don’t scream, for God’s sake.”

  The room was so dark she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. It was weird hearing Sam’s voice here, and she considered the possibility that she was dreaming. She’d had plenty of dreams about Sam in the last few months. Most of them erotic. His presence was so out of context she couldn’t make any sense of it, and sitting in the pitch dark whispering made the disorientation complete.

  She was probably hallucinating. That was the only explanation. Sam had been a constant presence in her life for months. A constant frustration. She’d seen him around town so often that she’d wondered if it was coincidence, fate, or maybe low-level stalking. But not Sam. He was a complete gentleman at all times, even when she’d dropped subtle hints after her divorce was final.

  Either he didn’t get subtle or he didn’t want her. It didn’t matter, the end result was the same; her simmering lust for him went unnoticed and unsatisfied. Which was why, she supposed, images of his tall, muscular body haunted her sleep night a
fter night.

  It also explained why she’d be hallucinating about him now, when she was probably only hours from death. Thadiwe didn’t strike her as a stupid man. He’d eventually figure out she wasn’t Dr. Randall, if he hadn’t done so already.

  She leaned over to turn on the bedside light, hoping the power was back on, but before her fingers reached the lamp, Sam clamped a hard hand on her wrist, startling a small yelp out of her constricted throat. He didn’t feel like too-safe, too-controlled Sam in the dark. He felt dangerous, and edgy, and a little scary.

  “I took out the generator.” His warm breath stirred the hair near her ear, which made her shudder reactively. So he’d been the one to plunge the compound into darkness. No wonder Thadiwe’s soldiers had been freaked out. She’d heard them running in the corridor outside her room as they tried to figure out what was happening.

  Elizabeth rubbed her wrist as she pictured Sam’s face with its bold, blunt features and dark eyes that gave nothing away. He wasn’t handsome, but he was somehow compelling. Maybe because she sensed that what she saw wasn’t who he really was. She’d always been fascinated by the way he moved with a controlled strength and an edgy awareness that was almost predatory. She’d never been quite able to figure out what made him tick. Although she’d spent many nights trying to figure him out.

  Not that she wasn’t grateful to have him here, odd as that was, but he was sure to be even more out of his element in a rain forest than she was.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in his general direction as she got off the bed. This went beyond being neighborly. “Rescuing you.”

  Talk about the blind leading the blind. Her pounding heart sounded like thunder in her ears, and her rapid pulse made her hand ache.

  “Thank God. But how did you know I needed rescuing?” While she clearly needed help, Elizabeth didn’t want Sam involved. She didn’t want his death on her conscience.

  “We’ll talk about it later. First, take this doxycy-cline.” Sam placed the antimalarial capsule in her palm. “Water.” He held a flask to her mouth. Elizabeth took the pill and swallowed.

  The flask was removed. “Strip.” His voice deepened as he wiped a drop of water from her lower lip. Since she was licking it off at the same time, her tongue encountered his finger. A frisson that had nothing to do with fear spiraled deep in the pit of her stomach. They both froze for a heartbeat. His warm breath fanned her temple, and the heat of his body seeped through the thin, damp silk of her blouse.

  While she’d love to have heard those words last month, or even yesterday, Sam’s timing was off. “Strip?” Tempting as the request was, she blinked back her good sense. “Sam, are you insane?”

  “You can’t go out in the jungle dressed as you are. I’ve brought you a change of clothes. Hurry and change. I want to put medication on your cuts, and get you sprayed with DEET before we head outside.”

  With no antibiotics, she’d made do washing the cuts as best she could using the water supplied with her meal tray. An open cut in this climate could spell trouble. That almost made her laugh. How much more trouble could she be in?

  Elizabeth could tell from the location of his voice that Sam was standing very close to her. But she hadn’t heard him move, which was a bit unnerving. He was well over six feet tall, so he’d be towering over her own five foot, five inches. The adrenaline rush hadn’t left yet, and her blood still thumped frantically in her ears. He was still disconcertingly close. She swayed in his direction, and his hands shot out to circle her waist. “Steady.”

  She flushed and locked her knees. “Sorry. It’s really disorientating being in the dark like this.” Her lips tingled from their shared kiss. She never would have guessed at his passion; he kept it well hidden.

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asked.

  “Of the entire situation.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m here to take care of that.”

  The tile floor was warm and slightly sticky under her bare feet, and the overhead fan barely moved the thick air as she stood there, trying to decide what to do next. “My shoes are somewhere. If you can break off the heels, it’ll make running possible. Better than bare feet anyway.”

  “We need to bring them with us, but I brought you a pair of boots.”

  She locked her knees to prevent her body from swaying toward him again. What she wouldn’t do right now for a reassuring hug. But Sam wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. He never wore his emotions on his sleeve. At least not that she’d seen. Which was too bad, because she’d been attracted to him from the moment they’d met. Not that she’d ever given him any indication of it. They were neighbors. Friends in a way. She didn’t want to rock that boat.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said softly, sliding his hands from her waist to the front of her blouse. The backs of his fingers brushed the upper swell of her breasts as he efficiently unbuttoned her blouse before she could protest. His movements were quick, but the feel of his warm fingers stroking all the way down the center of her body made Elizabeth short of breath. Insanely she wanted him to palm the weight of her breasts and relieve the ache in her peaked nipples. She wanted him to kiss her, and touch her, and do all the things she’d dreamed about doing with him.

  “You can keep on your underwear,” he said softly, not sounding as breathless and heated as Elizabeth felt. “Everything else comes off.” His slightly callused fingers cupped her shoulders, then pushed the blouse off. The blouse fell to the floor behind her with a soft whoosh. Her cheeks went hot even though she knew he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him. The temporary spurt of adventure that had brought her to Africa didn’t extend to Sam seeing her half naked. Him Tarzan, her Jane. Not. She enjoyed the armor of clothing.

  “What did you bring for me to wear?” she asked curiously. She couldn’t begin to imagine Sam picking out a woman’s clothes. Unless it was something slinky in red from Victoria’s Secret. “A loincloth?”

  “Better.” His hands went to the button at the waistband of her black silk pants; the graze of his fingers against her skin made her draw in her breath. “Get these off—” As he spoke, he unzipped and tugged, and before she could protest that she was capable of undressing herself, the smooth fabric fell down her legs like water, leaving her in nothing but a thong and a blush.

  “Okay, step into the feet first.”

  She let Sam guide her movements for two reasons: one, she couldn’t see, and he clearly could; and two, she enjoyed the feel of his hands on her. “Are you wearing night-vision goggles?”

  “Yeah, but I can close my eyes if you like.” His voice was tinged with laughter. “Shy, Beth?”

  “Not usually, no. But I’m not an exhibitionist either.” The fabric felt odd, but she obligingly placed her bare feet where he positioned them as he knelt in front of her. His warm, damp breath fanned her bare stomach as he leaned forward to pull the tight fabric slowly up her legs and hips. Elizabeth rested her hand on his shoulder for balance.

  He nuzzled her tummy, by accident, or design, she didn’t know. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her belly and the heavy rush of her blood. Down, girl.

  After her ex, Rob, had told her he was leaving, she’d wanted her world shaken up. She’d wanted adventure. Excitement. She wanted, darn it all, to live life instead of hearing or reading about it. She was sick and tired of safe and predictable. Both in men and in her life. Rob had been safe and predictable. Until he’d turned unpredictable and run off with his Internet honey.

  Well, Elizabeth had wanted a wild fling with someone inappropriate, too. Someone who made her blood race, a man who could make her breath catch. She wanted one of those high-octane, alpha males she loved reading about. She’d thought Sam fit the bill to a tee. Unfortunately, he was clearly not interested in her.

  Which was why, against all sane advice, she’d gone to the medical symposium in Cape Town in the first place. Yeah, she thought dryly. Look how well that turned out.

  He palmed her ass, res
ting his face against her belly as he ran his fingers lightly across her behind. He inhaled deeply. “God, you smell incredible. Lemon and musk. I could eat you right now.”

  The feel of his exploring fingers, and the scalding heat of Sam’s breath against her skin, was making her so hot Elizabeth had to bite her lip to prevent crying out. “Cool your jets, sailor, we’re in deep shit right now. I’m presuming by rescue you mean remove us from this place as fast as possible?” She tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and was appalled at how disappointed she was when he removed his hands from her ass and his mouth from her stomach. She cleared her throat and took a small step away from him. “What’s this? Some kind of bodysuit?”

  “Made out of one of the toughest man-made fibers invented.”

  “Sam, I’m going to die of heat enclosed in this rubbery stuff. Let me put my own clothes back on, and—”

  “LockOut will maintain your body temp at ninety-eight-point-six degrees. It’ll also keep the bugs out. Lift your chin—” He zipped her up all the way. The fabric was lightweight and not that uncomfortable, even if it did cover her from neck to toes.

  “Boots.” He slid each foot into a boot, then laced it. “How’s that feel?”

  She stomped her feet. “Perfect.” How did he know her size?

  “Give me your hand.” Cradling her right hand in his large palm, Sam applied a topical liquid antibiotic, by the smell of it, then, after waiting a few seconds for it to dry, covered the wound with a Band-Aid. “That should do it. Let me know if it bothers you. I can give you a shot.”

  She’d give herself the shot, thank you very much. But it was good to know he had medical supplies should she need them.

  The salve felt cool, and the topical numbing immediately took away some of the pain. “Thanks,” she whispered. “The only thing I had was cold water and the granular sugar they brought me with a meal.”