Forbidden Touch

She gave a swift gasp, her eyes snapping open to meet Iris’s gaze. The sudden movement caught Maddox by surprise, sending him rocking onto his backside in the soft sand.

A groan rumbled from Iris’s throat and she let go of the woman’s hand. Her face glistened with perspiration and deeper shadows bruised the delicate flesh around her eyes. Trying to rise from her crouch, she ended up on her rear in the sand.

She lifted her eyes to Maddox. “She has a concussion. The back of her head. I don’t think she has any other serious injuries.” Her voice was thin. Breathless.

He forced his attention back to the injured woman, who was trying to sit up. Maddox gently held her still. “The medics’ll be here any minute, darlin’. Hear the sirens? Just lie still.”

Her blue eyes locked with his. “I don’t remember….”

He patted her shoulder. “You may have a bump on your head.” He glanced at Iris. She was staring at the woman.

The sound of sirens died. In seconds, two Sebastian paramedics pushed through the crowd to flank the victim.

Maddox moved out of their way, heading for Iris’s side. She struggled to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered to help her up, and turned her gaze toward the pink facade of Hotel St. George a hundred yards down the beach. Her shoulders slumped.

“Just a few yards,” Maddox coaxed, wrapping his arm around her waist. Her body vibrated like a tuning fork where he touched her. He tightened his hold on her, and half carried her down the beach toward the hotel. As they neared the back entrance, her stumbling gait faltered, her legs giving out.

Maddox lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than she looked, her loose cotton dress hiding the fact that she was almost painfully thin. She made a soft sound of protest that he ignored, then settled her head against his shoulder, her breath shallow and rapid against his throat.

He carried her to one of the cedar benches flanking the walkway. She slumped in the corner of the bench and looked up at him, her gaze unfocused.

He crouched beside her, his heart pounding more from concern than exertion. “Iris? Do you have your room key?”

She struggled to sit up, reaching for her handbag. Suddenly, she pitched forward, her forehead slamming into his mouth. Pain rocketed through his lip, eliciting a soft curse as he caught her to keep her from toppling to the concrete walk.

“Iris?” He eased her head back, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed. Her head was a dead weight in his hand.

She was unconscious.

Chapter Two

“Welcome back.”

Iris blinked, her vision slowly clearing. Over her head, rattan ceiling fan blades slowly circled, stirring the air around her. The light was off, but muted sunlight filtering through the curtains cast a saffron glow over the white walls.

She was in her hotel room. In her bed.

And sitting next to her, his elbows propped on his knees, was the sandy-haired stranger she’d met at the open-air café.

She bolted upright, scooting back toward the wicker headboard of the hotel bed. “What are you doing here?”

He sat back, his expression shuttering. “Just sittin’ here wonderin’ if you were ever going to wake up. I was about to call a doctor.”

Memory seeped into her foggy brain. The woman at the beach. Her missing friend. “Sandrine,” she murmured.

“Sorry, sugar. She’s still not here.”

She leaned back. “How long was I asleep?”

Maddox lifted one dark eyebrow. “You weren’t sleepin’. You were out for the count.”

“How long?” she repeated, fear blooming in her chest. It was getting worse. Discomfort had always been part of her gift, but in recent years, the intensity of pain had increased, her recovery periods extending from minutes to hours to days.

“About ten minutes. I got your room key out of your purse. Hope you don’t mind.” Maddox handed her the slim card key. “You got a first aid kit around here? We should check your temperature, make sure you’re not hyperthermic.”

Hyperthermic? She slanted a look at him, surprised he’d use such a fancy word for sunstroke. He didn’t look the type. “I’m not overheated,” she said.

“You sure?” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, frowning. “You still look awfully pale. Maybe I should call that doctor after all.”

Iris shook her head. “There’s nothing a doctor can do.”

He stared at her, his expression queasy as he apparently jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“No—no. It’s not fatal,” she assured him quickly.

Just crippling, she added silently.

“Glad to hear it.” A smile dimpled his cheeks, but his gaze remained wary, and she could feel him retreating from her.

She quelled a sense of disappointment and tucked the bedcovers more snugly around her. “I’m okay now. Really,” she added, not missing the skepticism in his expression. “I’m going to rest a little and get something to eat.”

“Then what?”

“Then I guess I’ll call the police again and see if I can get them interested in Sandrine’s disappearance.”

He nodded slowly, watching her through narrowed eyes. For the first time, she noticed his lower lip looked red and puffy.

“What happened to your lip?” she asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything else.

“You’re a hardheaded woman.”

That explained the pain in her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged off her apology. “No worries, sugar. The bleeding didn’t even last that long.”

“You don’t have to babysit me. I’m all right now.”

“At the beach—do you remember—?” He paused and started again. “You told me someone was hurt. And then a few seconds later, a woman ran up the beach calling for help because another woman was hurt. How did you know?”

The answer would only lead to more questions she didn’t want to answer. Not now. Not to a stranger. “I guess I heard the woman calling before you did.”

He pressed his lips together but didn’t ask anything else. He stood up, towering over her bedside. The light from outside cast him in shadow, hiding all but outlines of his strong, square features. He touched her shoulder. “It was interesting meetin’ you, Iris. I hope you find your friend.”

Fire licked her skin where his fingers lay, spreading heat over her collarbone and into her chest. Pain, thick and black, trembled under the surface of his touch, a reminder of the sensation she’d felt when Maddox first touched her at the café. He was as much in pain as the woman at the beach, though his pain came from somewhere inside him.

If she were stronger, she might risk what she called a drawing, a deliberate attempt to ease the distress she could feel festering inside him. But whatever was eating at him was big and strong and old. She didn’t know if she could bear it.

“The offer stands. You find your friend, bring her to town and I’ll buy you both a drink.”