Page 12 of Bad Rio
For a moment she fought him, clung to the quilts, but he won and she fell back, weak as a child.
Carefully unwrapping the tape and gauze, he inspected the wound. While it still oozed fluid, it looked clean, without any puckered and red angry edges to indicate infection. Re-wrapping the leg, he knew the gunshot she’d endured wasn’t the problem. While in the captivity of her Mexican kidnappers, she’d contracted some sort of virus, or maybe a bacterial infection.
He let her slide back under the covers.
Well,shit. This sure threw a crowbar into the workings. If in the morning the bad guys hunting them weren’t too close, he was planning to pack her up and escape down a track of off-road mountain paths he knew about. But with Becca sick, she’d be too weak to hang on the scooter.
Briefly, he considered some way of strapping her to him, then discarded the idea as unworkable. The paths would be bumpy, and they’d get knocked around. He couldn’t risk having her fly off the Vespa into rocks and trees.
He let his glance dart around the cabin. In the cooler he had plenty of provisions to last days, no worries there. He always planned ahead for such eventualities. As long as they laid low, he knew the shack was well camouflaged in the forest, and unlikely to be found.
This was a setback, but not a failure. So it took one more day? No big. His employer wouldn’t be happy, but too bad. Harrison might not like the delay, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Rio,” Becca said softly. “Rio.”
He leaned over the bed. “What?”
“I’m so co-cold. I’m dying.”
“No. Your leg isn’t infected. You picked up a nasty bug. In a day or so you’ll be better.”
“Why can’t I get w-warm? I just want to warm up.”
Rubbing his jaw’s day-old growth of beard, Rio blew out a breath. Quickly, he shook out two ibuprofen tablets from the first aid kit and got them down her. Glancing around the spare room, he didn’t see any additional way to change her circumstances.
The warmest thing in the room was him. He’d told her he normally ran hot. He guessed he should utilize himself as a resource.
“Take off your sweatshirt,” he told her.
She frowned at him over her shoulder. “Are you insane? I want to putonanother s-sweatshirt, not take anything off.”
With one knee on the bed, he drew back the quilts and pulled Becca up. She fought like a cat, tried to punch him, scratch his face.
Naturally he prevailed, and pulled the fleece sweatshirt over her head. “For this to work I’ve got to get close to you. You can keep your shirt and the hat on,” he said, and then slid under all the covers with her.
Wracked in head-to-toe shivering, she glowered at him.
As she flopped on her side facing away from him, he spooned up against her, and pressed his chest to her back. His legs tangled in hers, and he fit his crotch snug up against her bottom—her white-cotton, granny-panty covered bottom. Oh, he’d noticed.
“What are you doing?” she screeched.
“Shh,” he said. “I’ll get you warm, that’s all.” He held her in a tight grip until she stopped struggling. All her thrashing caused friction between their bodies and Rio felt himself go on high heat. He had to hold her across her breasts. As she wriggled, her bottom slid back and forth over his pants front.Damn.
With effort, he forced his mind away from thoughts of Becca’s sweet rear end and things he’d like to do to her.
Placing his left arm under a pillow, he kept his free arm closed around her.
Finally, she stopped fighting. In his arms, Becca felt small, vulnerable. She was sick and defenseless. Those jerks who’d stolen her away from her friend’s family home should be shot. As she shook, he held her tighter.
His body heat already enveloping her, he knew it was working when her shivers subsided and she sighed.
“Little warmer now?” he asked.
She nodded, her hair escaping the knit cap on the pillow, tickling his lips.
“I was right,” he said.
“About what?” Her voice was resentful and petulant.
