Page 126 of Don't Look Back

Past and present merged in her mind. She opened her eyes and met Rand’s concerned gaze as he carried her across the rocky ground. He was so beautiful. And now she remembered her jumbled thoughts from last December. Perhaps it was being jumbled again that unlocked the memories.

She stroked his cheek. “You look like my love,” she whispered. She didn’t mean Apollo this time. No, he looked like Rand. Just Rand. “My one and only love.”

He stopped, the sun kissing his skin and lighting up his gold-blond hair. “Kira.” He closed his eyes. “Oh, thank god. Kira.”

She stroked his cheek again. “I have a question.”

He looked at her, waiting.

She smiled and felt her dry lips split in the heat. “Are you allergic to strawberries?”

ChapterFifty-Seven

Back on the yacht, the four SEALs took up guard positions while Rand took Kira into the main stateroom to clean the cuts on the back of her thighs.

One of the Fire Team had retrieved the little spider drone while Rand carried her to the car. Once they were on the road, Kira had gratefully held the bug, calling it E.T. and saying it was her hero.

Rand gave her ibuprofen tablets, which she eagerly took. During the walk, she’d downed a liter of water and ate two protein bars. By the time they were back at the boat, she was moving under her own steam, and Rand was relieved and grateful.

He closed the stateroom door behind him and leaned against it, watching her as she stood frozen, her back to him, a rigid wall.

She hadn’t said much on the drive. He assumed it was because she didn’t know the SEAL driving the car while Rand sat with her in the backseat. But now they were alone, and her body language was stiff.

She’d said she loved him, sort of. But she’d just been through a nightmare, and the last time she’d seen him, he’d been holding and kissing another woman. “I’m sorry. About Nadia. She had information about Little Creek and demanded a kiss?—”

“It’s okay. I never doubted you.” She still stood with her back to him. Her shoulders rose with a deep breath. “She’s not your type.”

He smiled at that. “No. She’s not. I prefer shy, sexy historians. Brainy art lovers.” He stepped forward, stopping when he stood mere inches behind her.

Her hair was a dirty mass hanging down her back. Reuben must’ve taken the hair clip she’d been wearing yesterday.

She raised her arms and lifted her hair, revealing the zipper of her soiled and stained sundress. “Unzip me?”

His breath left him in a rush. He gently pulled down the tab to the base of her spine. He kissed the exposed skin, being sure to be gentle with the purple bruises that dotted her shoulders and back.

He pushed the wide shoulder straps down, and the dress fell to the floor. He pressed his forehead to the skin at the base of her neck and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

She shifted, and he stood straight. She turned to face him. She wore a white strapless bra and matching panties and a thousand bruises and scrapes. Her ribs were purple with red centers. And now he knew the last blows she’d received, the ones that had her making sharp pained sounds, had probably been kicks to her ribs.

He gently touched the purple skin. “I’m going to kill him.”

She stepped back. Out of his reach. “No. I will not lose you to a Maltese prison.” She nodded toward the head. “Now, I need to clean my wounds. Help me?”

She unhooked the bra on her way across the room. She dropped her panties on the threshold to the head. Rand followed, stripping along the way. He had more layers, so it took longer, especially since he had to sit to remove his boots.

At last, he stepped into the shower, where Kira stood with her face in the hot spray. Rand took a bar of soap and a soft cloth and set to work, gently cleaning her shoulders and back.

Before tackling the cuts coated with dried blood on her thighs, he filled his hands with shampoo and massaged her scalp, then worked the soap into a lather. She moaned softly with pleasure.

The shower head was a wand, and he used it to rinse her hair, then applied conditioner. While it soaked in, he lathered her breasts, belly, and bruised ribs. He had no intention of arousing her; he just wanted to wash away the pain.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear, then reached for the nozzle and rinsed the conditioner from her hair. She made another soft moan. He was getting harder by the moment, but that wasn’t what this was about.

“Ready for me to clean the cuts?” he asked.

She braced her hands against the shower wall and nodded.

He changed the setting on the nozzle to a gentle spray and dropped to his knees. There were at least six cuts that were long and deep, and another dozen that were small. Of the six, three were inflamed. He had oral antibiotics in his kit. He’d give them to her right after he applied ointment to the cleaned cuts.

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