Mac's Angels : Sinner and Saint. a Loveswept Classic Romance (9780345541659) (6 page)

She remained motionless.

“I'm not going away. I'm not going to stop badgering you. Dammit, wake up!” He lashed out at her with his words, letting his temper get the better of what little bedside manner he'd acquired.

“Christ, princess! This has gone on long enough. I want you to stop hiding. I need you. I want you to open your eyes and let me know that you're trying to come back.”

Go away!

“You've been lying here for days. Your body functions are slowing down. Your muscles will atrophy. Come on, princess, work with me.”

Nothing. He'd have to push her, reach her by getting personal again. Somewhere behind him he heard water running. A nurse filling the pot to make coffee, or a basin to bathe a patient.

“Listen, babe, can you hear the water running on the balcony? I'm filling the hot tub for the two of us. And I have a bottle of wine, or would you rather have champagne? No, of course not, you don't like champagne. The bubbles make your nose itch.

“I do like that nose. I like the rest of your body too, but I'd rather have it naked against mine instead of prone in this bed. What scent do you want in the water? Strawberries?”

This time she heard him. She was not only listening, she was reacting.

“I think I'll use peach. Tonight it's your turn to nib the bath oil all over my body.” Hell, he didn't know if she used bath oil in a hot tub or not, but the
idea sounded good to him. It sounded more than good. His skin rippled at the thought.

He slipped her hand beneath his shirt, moving it across his chest and then down, one excruciating inch at a time.

“It's been too long since we've made love. Come back to me, princess.” His voice was tight and low and his words more honest than he'd admit. “I'm—I'm hurting, babe.”

Who are you? Do I know you? Why can't I remember?

The line measuring her heart rate was tap-dancing across the green screen now. He could see her pulse throbbing in the veins in her neck.

She liked it when he talked about lust and desire, but she was still sleeping. And time was passing. He had to do something more. Then it came to him. Something had sent her into oblivion. He had her attention, why not use that something to pull her back? Sex, desire, and
danger
.

Danger, the only thing he hadn't tried. The thing that had sent her into the street.

“There's a reporter in town looking for you. He went to the library.”

There was a sudden hesitation on the monitor, then the peaks and valleys went wild.

“Don't worry. Nobody told him where you are. But sooner or later he's going to find out. You've got to wake up and let me get you out of here.”

Get me out of here? You can't do that. I don't want you hurt too. Get on your horse and ride away, just like in the dream. Go quickly!

“We've got to leave before he comes here, Karen. But I can't move you until you wake up. They won't let me. Open your eyes, babe. Open your eyes for your Gypsy.”

“Gypsy?”

It took him a minute to realize that she'd spoken, that she'd opened her eyes and was staring at him. He'd done it; she was awake! Mac would be proud of him.

“Who are you?” she asked groggily.

“I'm supposed to be your guardian angel.” He gathered her up in his arms, where he held her close. “Trust me, darling. We're going to get you out of that bed and back into the world.”

Her eyes drifted closed again. “No. I can't go back.”

He was losing her. If he didn't stop her, she'd go back to where she'd been. “You won't have to worry. I won't let anybody hurt you ever again.”

She slowly lifted her head away from his hard chest as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Finally, taking a deep breath, Karen opened her eyes again.

“You're the Gypsy in my dream.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes struggling to adjust to the light. “But you're much more beautiful.”

Niko laughed. “Beautiful? Me?”

No, not beautiful, but chiseled, hard. Your eyes, they see straight through me
. “Who are you?”

Once she'd opened her eyes, he was lost. Seeing them before, vacant and empty, was like seeing a Monet
painting in black and white. Only when they came to life did the full power of her appeal capture him.

Christ! Was that the way it worked? Did danger enhance the power of desire? Could a man look into the eyes of a woman in trouble and feel pure lust? No way. It had to have been the verbal foreplay. He'd been set up by his own words.

One glance at the tousled silver hair tumbling across her shoulders and blue eyes that flashed both fear and trust, and he knew that it could happen like that. But it wasn't only lust that coiled his gut, it was something more.

Who was he? she'd asked.

“I'm Niko, the man who's going to keep you safe from harm, the man who's waited for you all his life,” he answered, and knew at that moment that what he'd said was true.

She gave a small gasp. For a moment he thought he was losing her again. Then she moaned and collapsed back against him. “Don't—don't,” she whispered in a breathless voice. “It hurts too bad.”

He lowered her to the bed. “Your head? Where does it hurt?”

“No, not my head.”

He had to lean down, put his ear near her lips.

“Not my head. My heart.” She looked at him openly.

His hair was thick and dark, a mane of rich black luster. His face was filled with chiseled hollows that caught the shadows in a surrealistic way. He was powerful, too powerful, and she knew that no matter what
he said, she couldn't remember ever seeing this man before in her life.

He wasn't the man in her dreams. That man was a shadow in comparison.

She shivered, not with cold, but internal heat that seemed to be fueled by his touch. She understood now. Niko was no angel. He really was the Gypsy from her dream, and he'd come to take her away.

The charge nurse poked, her head in the door. “Guess what? Miss Miller is about to have a visitor.” She took one look at Karen and exclaimed in surprise. “She's awake!”

“More or less. Who's coming to see her?”

“I, don't have a name. He's a family member from Minnesota. He just found out she's here. He's on his way over.”

“No!” Her whisper was one of pure panic. She pulled away and tried to swing her feet over the edge of the bed.

“Hey, take it easy,” Niko admonished as the monitor recorded her distress. “You aren't ready to get up and go anywhere by yourself.”

“I have to.”

Family member from Minnesota. Yeah, and his mother was Madonna. It had to be the reporter. She'd run away from him once. Now she was poised on the edge of flight again. Weak or not, Karen wasn't going to stick around for an interview. Just the sound of his voice had sent her into the path of a taxi once. What would a personal visit do?

“I can't believe it, she's awake.” The nurse, forgetting
her message, stared at Karen in amazement. “She's awake.”

“For the moment, but I don't trust her not to disappear. You disconnect her while I get a wheelchair.”

“Doctor, I can't do that without authorization.”

“I'm giving you authorization. Do it!”

The nurse continued to hesitate. “But what about her visitor. Where are you going?”

“For a little walk. Tell her visitor to come back.”

“But this is too soon. She's been unconscious for five days.”

“And that's been our problem,” Niko argued, “hasn't it? Now she wants to go and we want her up. Get a wheelchair!”

“Why not?” the nurse said. “What else should I expect. It's still Friday the thirteenth.”

When the nurse was gone, Karen turned to Niko, a look of panic in her eyes. “I can't be found. You have to get me out of here, whoever you are,” she pleaded. “Quick!”

“But the nurse was right. You can't even walk. You've been comatose for nearly five days. Besides, you're wired from here to next week.”

“Please. Help me. If I don't go, someone will be hurt.”

She was scared to death. Either he helped her, or she was going to do it alone.

In spite of what he'd said to the nurse, Niko had
great reservations about disconnecting Karen from the monitors. This whole thing had gotten out of control. Her heart and pulse rate were soaring off the charts. He had to calm her. “All right. I'll help you.”

The nurse returned with the chair. He'd leave the IVs for the moment, to reassure the staff that this was routine. The IV pole could be rolled along with the chair.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the nurse asked as she watched him disentangle Karen from the machines.

“Very sure. We'll be back soon. I'm just going to continue her physical stimulation with a little ride. Relax, I'll take the responsibility.”

Moments later, wearing his jacket over her hospital gown and a pair of slippers he'd paid a surprised patient fifty dollars for, she was being wheeled out the double doors and down the corridor toward the service elevators.

“Where are we going?” Karen asked, her voice stronger now.

“I haven't decided yet, just away from here for the moment. Then you're going to tell me why you're running.”

Though she couldn't be sure she knew this man, she knew that he was her only hope. And even though she couldn't remember why, she knew she had to get away quickly. Then suddenly her mind reached back into the intimate darkness they'd shared, and the answer came to her. “Slade Island? Can we go to Slade Island?”

“Why the hell not? But not yet, not until we're sure you're okay.”

For now, Niko was operating on pure adrenaline and instinct. A doctor would never remove a patient from intensive care and spirit her out of the hospital without being certain that she was stable. A doctor would know the possible consequences of malpractice. A doctor would cover his ass.

But for now, Nikolai Sandor was simply a man responsible for a woman who was afraid, a woman who was depending on him, a woman named Karen.

They went up to his lab, where he picked up a medical bag kept supplied by his staff on the off chance that one day he might use it. Then he went back to the basement, where his battered black Bronco was parked. After checking to make certain they weren't being followed, he disconnected Karen's IVs, settled her in one of the barrel seats, and covered her with a blanket, then drove to his condo.

Karen didn't speak. Her knuckles were clenched white; her pale skin was even whiter.

“You talked to me,” she finally said. “While I was unconscious. Why?”

Her hold on reality was fragile enough. Did he dare run the risk of overwhelming her with the truth? Truth? He laughed. What was the truth? He'd stolen a patient from the intensive care unit for a reason he couldn't begin to justify.

And she was letting him, for reasons he doubted she could justify. What did another lie matter now?

“Why?” She repeated her question.

“Because you needed me,” he finally said. And that was enough truth for now.

He drove quickly and efficiently, through side streets and in and out of the traffic. He didn't think they'd be followed, but since he didn't know what they were dealing with, he took no chances. As he drove he talked about insignificant things:
The Phantom of the Opera
playing at the theater they passed, potholes in the asphalt, the lousy weather.

He banked on the sound of his voice keeping her from opening the door and throwing herself from the Bronco. She was scared to death and she was still confused.

It was too soon for her to be sure what was real and what wasn't. Maybe that was good. For now, her fear and her trust in him were the only constants in her life. That connection lifted her from chaos and bewilderment. Still, he was asking a lot of a woman who was mixed up.

Karen felt herself begin to warm as the car's heat came to life. Fog was streaking the window. She started as he reached forward to turn on the car's defroster. Then she covered her confusion by tucking the edges of the hospital blanket around her thighs.

“The snow is a mess when it starts to melt,” Niko said as the truck next to them sped by, slinging a whip of slush against their windshield.

“What day is it?” she asked.

Niko gave a dry laugh. “Would you believe it's Friday the thirteenth? How about that as an explanation for your troubles?”

She didn't answer, and for a time he seemed to concentrate on his driving.

Though her rescuer was trying to reassure her, she felt his controlled urgency. Now she looked at him. He was dark like the Gypsy in her dream, but there the resemblance stopped. The T-shirt he was wearing hugged his muscular shoulders and chest, disappearing into the waistband of the faded jeans. No belt, no jacket. And there was not a chill bump on his arms.

This man was hard, like steel. He would be a formidable opponent. And he was protecting her. But even as that thought came to mind, she knew that the rest of her assumptions about her Gypsy were less certain. “I don't know you—do I?”

“You know me, Karen. You may not know my name, but you know me. We're—connected.” He smiled.

The wickedness of that smile made her glad she was sitting down. “Your name?” she asked, focusing her scattered thoughts on a part of him that was safe.

“Nikolai Sandor,” he answered as he pulled into the parking garage beneath a building. “I'm your—a doctor at Mercy General Hospital.”

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Don't worry, princess. This is my place. I just need to make a couple of calls and then we're going to find a place where you'll be safe.”

“But what about your work?”

“It'll wait. Besides, there's a fund-raiser I'd like to avoid. Where do you want to go?”

“Slade Island,” she whispered. “You're taking me to Slade Island.”