Without thinking, Ivan ripped off his shirt and jumped into the rushing icy water. Using all his power to struggle against the rapids, he propelled himself through the thundering water that splashed up into his eyes, blinding him. He fought against the tide refusing to let it beat him, slowly making progress – drawing on all his frantic strength.
He caught her up and shouted above the roaring water. “Samira – grab my hand!”
His heart sunk as he saw she’d blacked out, so he reached out to grab her, but she slipped from his fingers as the rapids pulled her away.
He urgently pushed himself after her, and thankfully her unconscious body was swept against a boulder, giving Ivan the time to reach out and pull her into his arms. Treading water like crazy, he hooked one arm around the boulder and paused to catch his breath, panting heavily and holding on tight as the water pounded hard – preventing them both from being dragged under again. He gazed at Samira and realized she was still out cold – her head had dropped back, and she was flopping against him like a ragdoll. Her beautiful face dripped with water, and her eyes – which were usually so full of fiery fight – rolled back lifelessly.
Devastation twisted in his chest. No way was he losing her! He pushed himself off the boulder and positioned her head above the surface as the slipstream carried them further up the creek. Allowing the water to carry them, he paddled his feet toward the bank, where he pulled Samira out of the roaring creek and onto dry land.
Ivan was trained in basic first aid, so he gently laid her on the grass and put her in the recovery position, kneeling beside her – dripping wet. She looked beautiful; peaceful – as if she was sleeping. He lowered his face to her mouth and realized she wasn’t breathing. Oh god…. He forced himself to remain calm as he pinched her nose, then pressed his lips against hers – breathing into her lungs in the way he’d been shown.
Even in this utter panic, Ivan relished the feel of pressing his mouth against those succulent lips. His mind washed with love and affection. He’d missed her so much – and he wasn’t losing her now… He shifted position and pressed his hands on her chest – pumping, one, two, three, four – trying to stir her into consciousness. During those long and lo
nely nights he’d fantasized about touching her; holding her close. Fucking her into a frenzy…
Saving her life hadn’t been part of his plan.
“Come on, Samira. You’re not leaving me now, baby.”
He bent to resume the mouth-to-mouth, but her eyes flew open and she gasped in panic, then she coughed hard. She instinctively rolled onto her front, allowing a puddle of water to flow from her mouth. Then she crashed to the grass and panted with relief.
“Welcome back,” he whispered.
Still staring at the grass she whispered. “Ivan?”
“Samira…”
He pulled her damp body close and kissed her hard. Her lips acquiesced, and she groaned gently, flopping in his arms and giving herself to him entirely. Ivan pulled away and ran his fingers through her damp hair – but he saw she’d slipped off again into a dreamlike stupor. Her eyelids were closed and she looked half-drunk. Ivan kissed on her forehead, satisfied she was okay.
There were no hospitals for miles around this secluded Texas ranch, so there was only one place to take her. Dripping wet himself, he stood and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt then wrapped it around her. He glanced around for his horse and realized it’d wandered off. But Samira’s horse was tethered to a tree, so he picked her up and carefully draped her over the saddle, then climbed up behind her.
As he reached for the reins, he was tempted to ride out of this ranch and into the sunset with her, but she needed somewhere more comfortable than a horse to recover. So, easing the horse into a gentle walk, he steered them to his cottage, feeling as light as the midday sun about having her back in his life.
Now there was just the matter of letting her know.
Chapter Three
The sound of the ceiling fan stirred Samira’s muzzy mind into wakefulness. Hot humidity prickled her skin. Her body felt frazzled. She tried to remember what had happened, but a soothing smell of home-cooking and fresh laundry wafted into her nostrils...
A memory trickled in. There’d been water… and a horse…
She raised her arms above her head to stretch, then she lay there in the heat and tried to get her bearings, opening her eyes slowly. She frowned. Okay… she was currently in a cabin – the walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of wood. It was bright and open, but the room was stuffy and hot. The ceiling fan was blowing warm air around, making Samira feel as if she was in a clothes drier. The window was open wide, but the blind was pulled down, shielding her from the intense sun outside.
Her senses drifted back to reality, and she wondered whose bed she was lying on. It wasn’t her room at the ranch – which she still didn’t think of as her room, even though she’d been here six months. She’d never really put down roots in America and she probably never would now she was an illegal alien. But thank goodness Mr. Langdon was allowing her hide here, and all she had to do was–
Shit! Worry coursed through her body and she sat up on the rickety bed. What time was it? She needed to be at the border by two… she couldn’t miss that appointment – her life here depended on it.
Okay… what was she doing in this cabin? A memory drifted back. She’d fallen into the creek – or someone had set her up to fall – it seemed as if the earth around the bank had been purposely loosened; it’d come away too easy… Was someone trying to kill her? She rubbed her brow – of course not.
So… she’d been drowning and someone had pulled her out… a man. She shivered as she remembered she’d seen Ivan. Kissed his gorgeous lips. But she must’ve been dreaming. Or perhaps the act of drowning had played tricks on her mind. She dreamed about him often – very vividly – so why should today be different?
She glanced at the wooden chair by the window and saw that her dress had been slung over it to dry, then she gazed down at the damp satin slip still covering her body. Whoever had rescued her had taken the liberty of removing her wet clothes – but not her underwear. It must’ve been that man who’d been following her – he’d obviously saved her and brought her back to where he lived. She steeled herself. At least now she might be able to get some information from him – and a good look at his face. She clambered off the bed and padded to the open bedroom door.
The bedroom led directly out to the stuffy living room, which contained sparse furniture, and Samira could see there was a little stone kitchen off to the side. The cabin was rustic, cramped, and dusty, and the logs seemed casually fastened together, which probably made it freezing in the winter. But today this cramped space retained the heat like the furnaces of hell. There was a clock on the wall opposite, informing her it was only eleven-thirty. Good. She still had plenty of time before she needed to be at the rendezvous point.
The man who’d rescued her was sitting in a wooden chair with his back to her, composing a message on his phone. She saw him tense up as she stepped on a creaky floorboard behind him, then he grabbed his cowboy hat and pulled it down over his face. Whoever he was, he really didn’t want her to see him. Suspicion mingled with fear, but she pushed it away. She glanced around for a weapon, just in case she might need to defend herself. An iron candlestick caught her eye – it would be perfect for rendering this guy unconscious if needs be.
“What am I doing here?” she asked. “Who are you?”