Over his shoulder, Angie saw Darla and Gay exchange stunned, fascinated looks and then slip out with almost comic stealth. That quickly, she put them out of her mind, her full attention on the man holding her so carefully yet so very desperately.
“I’m all right, Rhys,” she whispered, wanting only to ease the suffering in his beautiful gray eyes. Had she once thought his face hard to read? It seemed impossible now that she hadn’t always seen the deep emotion simmering beneath the shuttered mask this extraordinary man had worn for so long.
“Are you in pain?” he demanded, sweeping a glance down the length of her sheet-covered body. And then he made a face and spoke before she had a chance to answer, “Of course you’re in pain. Your poor legs.”
“It’s not too bad, Rhys,” she assured him with shameless disregard for the truth.
His expression told her she couldn’t fool him. “It’s bad,” he disputed flatly. “And your head hurts, doesn’t it?”
She was too busy taking inventory of him to answer the obvious. There was a bandage on the back of his neck, another on his right cheek. Both forearms were bandaged and there were a few minor burns on his hands. If those had once been bandaged, he’d unwrapped them. “Are there any burns I can’t see?” she asked him, trying to keep her voice steady.
“No. I’m okay. Don’t worry about it.”
She locked her eyes with his. “You saved my life, Rhys. I’ve never known anyone who’s ever done anything as brave as what you did for me.”
He flushed endearingly. “Don’t, Angelique. I did what anyone would have done.”
She smiled tremulously at his embarrassment, lifting her hand to his cheek. “Just your average, everyday type of hero, huh?”
He caught her hand in his and held it against his mouth, his eyes closing. His voice was raw when he spoke against her skin. “There was nothing heroic about it. I had to get you out of there. I had to. If you had died, I would have died with you. Don’t you know that?”
Shaken to the core, her fingers trembled in his near-crushing trip. “Rhys—”
His eyes opened, and the sheen of moisture in them brought a wave of hot tears to her own. “I’ve been alone from the time I was three years old—hell, I’ve been alone all my life. I thought there was something wrong with me, some reason I didn’t deserve to be loved or needed. Iris and Graham—well, they taught me a lot about caring, but they had their own lives, their own families. But you—you needed me. I told myself it was only for a little while, that you were young and self-sufficient and could have anyone or anything you wanted.”
“I want you,” she broke in, her voice constricted by the tightness of her throat.
“I know,” he replied. “For some incomprehensible reason, you want me. And I want you. I need you, Angelique. And I will not lose you,” he added fiercely, spacing his words for emphasis.
He kissed her palm. “So you see,” he continued more gently, “what I did wasn’t heroic. It’s probably one of the more selfish things I’ve ever done.”
Heedless of the tears streaming down her bruised cheeks, she stroked his jaw with her fingertips. “I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you, Angelique.” He leaned over to kiss her again, then raised his head a few inches and gave her a slightly unsteady smile. “Saving your cat—now that was heroic,” he mused, obviously feeling a need to lighten the mood.
She scowled at him. “You could have been killed going back into that house! That wasn’t heroic, it was foolish! How could you risk your life for a cat?”
“It was your cat,” he answered simply. “And, anyway, I knew where she was. She wasn’t far inside.”
She couldn’t continue to scold him when she was so very grateful to him. The thought of her beloved pet dying so horribly made her shudder. “Oh, Rhys, thank you. I wouldn’t have risked your life for anything, but I’m so glad she wasn’t hurt.”
He smiled and held up his hand to exhibit a long, angry-looking scratch. “Too bad the cat wasn’t so grateful. She was scared and she was mad and she did not appreciate being pulled out of the hiding place she’d found under a chair. Ever heard a cat cough? She was coughing and cussing a blue streak all the way out of the house.”
Angie cocked an eyebrow at him, then suppressed a grimace, knowing better than to let Rhys see that the slight gest
ure had set her head to throbbing again. “Flower was cursing?” she repeated skeptically, rather surprised at his uncharacteristic whimsy.
He nodded gravely. “Fluently.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t you?”
“I did my share,” he admitted. Finally releasing her hand, he spread the sheet more snugly over her and stood. “You look beat, sweetheart. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Knowing he was probably understating her appearance, she didn’t bother arguing. “I think I will,” she murmured, squirming slightly against the sheets in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
“I’m calling for some pain medication,” he announced flatly when she couldn’t hold back a slight moan. “It’ll help you rest.”
“No, Rhys, I don’t—”