For an instant, the world stood still. Lucas could hear nothing but its hush and the drumbeat of his heart.
“Alyssa,” he whispered, and she turned in his arms and sobbed his name.
He shut his eyes. Gathered her to him. “Amada,” he said thickly. “Madre de Dios, amada!”
The truck had stopped. The driver ran back and squatted beside them. “Are you okay?”
Lucas nodded. He cupped Alyssa’s head, brought her face to the crook of his neck.
“The lady just stepped out in front of me. I couldn’t—”
“Si. I know. It was not your fault.”
“You want an ambulance? A doctor?”
“No,” Alyssa whispered, her tears hot on Lucas’s throat. “Please. No ambulance. No doctor.”
Lucas nodded again. It seemed all he was capable of doing. “We’re fine,” he said.
Then he rose to his feet with Alyssa
in his arms. A crowd had gathered; he ignored it. The only thing that mattered was his Lyssa. She was safe and he had her back. What could be more important?
The Rolls-Royce came to a stop beside them. Paolo, white-faced, peered out the window.
“Sir. I—I followed you with the car. I don’t know if that was what you wanted but—”
“Paolo,” Lucas said softly, “you just doubled your pay.”
Gently he put Alyssa into the wide back seat, then climbed in after her.
“Take us home, Paolo.”
When he reached for Alyssa, she went straight into his arms.
He carried her into the house, just as he had only a day ago.
Then, she’d been rigid in his embrace. Now, her arms were looped around his neck. Her face was buried against his chest, and Lucas thought of how wonderful it would be to hold her like this forever.
Dolores threw up her hands and let fly a stream of saints’ names when she saw them. Lucas could hardly blame her. His trousers were torn; so were Alyssa’s. He could see the long, bloody scrape on her knee. Her jacket was ripped as was her blouse, and a bruise was already forming on her forehead.
“Señor! Oh, what has happened? The poor lady—”
“Phone for the doctor, please, Dolores.”
“No! Lucas, I don’t need—”
Lucas stopped the whispered protest with a kiss. “For my sake, amada, si? I need to hear the médico say that you are all right.”
While Dolores hurried to make the call, Lucas carried Alyssa up the stairs, to his rooms, and placed her carefully in the center of an enormous canopied bed. He kissed her again before disappearing inside the master bathroom and emerged a moment later carrying a small basin of warm water, a soft cloth and a linen hand towel.
“Can you sit up, amada?”
“Lucas. I can do this for myself.”
“Of course you can. I know that. You are a strong, brave woman. You can do anything you set your mind to.” Gently he lifted her against the pillows. Then he dampened the cloth and cleaned the smudges and dirt from her face with a gentleness belied by his big, powerful hands. “But I want to do this, si?” His tone, still gentle, assumed an edge of authority. “And you will let me. Now, close your eyes. Good. There is a tiny cut right here…”
Alyssa gave herself up to the touch of her Spanish prince. How predictable he was! First he seemed to ask her permission. Then he made it clear he would do exactly as he wanted no matter what she said.