Circle of Fire (Damask Circle 1)

“Okay, you’ve got to help me here.” She shuffled around to his feet, then reached forward and took his hands. His fingers were long and strong and very cold. “One, two … three.”

She rose, pulling back as hard as she could. He lurched forward, teeth gritted, eyes slits of pain as he struggled upright. At his nod, she let go of his hands. He caught the edge of the shower door, using it to balance himself.

“Remind me not to do that again,” he muttered. His knuckles were almost white with the force of his grip on the shower.

Even so, he wasn’t too steady. She quickly slipped her shoulder under his. The last thing she wanted was for him to collapse again. She’d never be able to lift him back up.

He stirred at her touch and opened his eyes, but his gaze was unfocused. She had the odd feeling he wasn’t even seeing her, that something else held his attention.

“Don’t let them find me.” Anxiety edged his hoarse voice.

“Who?” Was he delirious?

“Downstairs,” he whispered, then reached up, gently touching her cheek. “They’ll hurt you.”

His touch was cold, yet it sent fire racing across her skin. She licked her lips and wondered again at her sanity. Here she was, helping a man she didn’t know and probably shouldn’t trust. “I can take care of myself.” Only too well …

“Not against them.”

And maybe not against you, she thought, trying to ignore the tingle that raced through her limbs every time she brushed against him. “Let’s worry about the bad guys after you’re out of these wet clothes.”

He muttered something, his breath warm as it brushed over her cheek. Maddie shifted her grip on his arm. “Walk with me, okay?”

She glanced sideways at him. Even as pale as he was, he was handsome. He glanced up, a sudden gleam of amusement momentarily blurring the pain in his eyes. She quickly swallowed the thought. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he had read her thoughts. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? At least, she hoped it was. She didn’t want him to think she was after anything more than finding Evan.

Anything else could be dangerous—for both of them.

“Don’t faint before you can get out of those clothes,” she muttered, pulling her gaze away from his. Instead, she found herself staring at his boots. They were snakeskin, for heaven’s sake! And his jeans were so damn tight they looked painted on. And as wet as they were, taking them off would be more effort than it was worth.

“Let’s go,” she continued, shifting her grip on his arm.

Supporting a good half of his weight, she staggered through the bathroom door and across the room. He dropped down to the bed with a sigh she echoed, and then he fell sideways toward the pillow. There was fresh blood on his arm where she had gripped it. She quickly checked her palm, which was bleeding again. The wound must have opened when she’d hauled him upright.

A sharp knock at the door made her heart leap with fright.

“Miss Smith?”

Maddie jerked around. The voice belonged to the night manager.

“I can’t be found here,” Jon croaked softly.

She glanced back at him and saw concern—not for himself, but for her. Or was she reading more in those bright depths than there really was?

“Why not?”

“After I checked into this inn, someone shot me. I can’t risk being seen here until I’m sure if it’s safe.”

She raised a hand to her throat and looked back to the doorway. What if the night manager had a key? What if he let himself in and discovered Jon lying there? And even if she could hide Jon, there was herself and the bathroom, both covered with blood. She needed to do something … and quickly!

“Miss Smith? Are you okay?” the man asked again, voice louder this time.

“Answer him,” Jon urged softly, even as a hasty plan began to form in her head.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Mostly …”

“I need to check your windows, Miss Smith.”

Damn! She couldn’t very well tell him there was no damage and then report the broken window in the morning. She glanced quickly around the room. “The only place to hide is in the wardrobe,” she whispered, then added, more loudly and for the night manager’s benefit, “Just give me a minute, okay? I, uh … need to get dressed again.”