"Hold still, this won't hurt," she said, tilting the bottle of medicinal alcohol to dampen the wadded washcloth. She put the cap back on the bottle and set it to one side, looking thoughtfully at Ramon's shoulder. Ramon watched her with a look of trepidation in his eyes, especially as she put on her best "soap opera physician" look and said, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
She wiped his bared shoulder, and the long, shallow cut, with the wet washcloth. It really wasn't a bad cut, but it needed to be tended properly. . . .
"Madre de Dios!" Ramon leaped up, knocking her and the bottle of alcohol onto the floor. "That hurts!"
"Don't do that, you'll just make it worse!" Kayla protested as he grabbed his shirt off the back of the couch and rubbed his shoulder with it.
"But it hurts!"
"Okay, I'll just wash it with soap and water," she said. She walked a little unsteadily to the sink and squeezed some dishwashing soap onto a washcloth, wetting it under the faucet.
"Are you okay, querida?" Ramon asked, a concerned look in his eyes.
"Just a little dizzy." She leaned against the sink for a couple seconds, until her head cleared. "I've only been out of bed for less than ten minutes, so I'm doing okay, I guess."
"You were very sick," Ramon observed, as she walked back with the wet washcloth. "I wanted to take you to the hospital, but Carlos said that we couldn't. I'm glad you're okay now."
She carefully dabbed at the wound with the corner of the soapy towel, then wiped it dry with another cloth. "There. It's clean now. I'll see if I can do anything more for it. . . ."
She had never called the magic to her before—it had always happened on its own, never by her will. She thought about how to do that now, imagining the hot fire running over her hands, the bright blue sparks dancing.
Nothing happened.
She concentrated then, focusing on the cut on Ramon's muscular shoulder, marring his tanned skin. She could feel it, the dull ache of pain, and reached to it. . . .
Everything went white for a long moment, and she felt like she was falling, falling . . .
She blinked, looking up into Ramon's eyes. He was holding her . . . how had she ended up half-sprawled across his lap? She blinked again.
"Are you okay?" Ramon asked, concerned. "I saw the magic fire in your hands, then it faded away and you fainted."
"I feel awful," Kayla said from her awkward position in his lap.
"Maybe it's the magic? Maybe that's what happened, the magic is making you sick?"
"Let me up," Kayla said, trying to sit up and falling back onto his lap. She was acutely aware of his bare arms holding her. All she was wearing was a light cotton blouse and jeans, but it suddenly was too warm in the small living room.
"Rest for a moment, querida, until the sickness passes," he said gently.
"I'm okay, really!" She gave up trying to sit up; he wouldn't let her, so she just let herself lie back against him. "Ramon, I never—" she began awkwardly, then started again. "Listen, you saved my life, back there in the alley. I just wanted to say thank you for that."
"You're welcome," he said gravely, then grinned. "Though I have to admit, I was thinking more of how Carlos was going to kill me when I came home, if anything had happened to you. I'm glad you weren't hurt."
"Yeah, me too." She shifted slightly, so she could look at him better. He was very handsome, she decided, though not as handsome as Carlos. Then again, he wasn't a bastard like Carlos, either. There was a funny little scar on his cheek, an old cut mark. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him there.
Ramon jerked back as if he'd been burned. "Kayla!"
She laughed at the shocked expression on his face. "Ramon, I was just saying thank you," she said. "I mean, if I really wanted to kiss you, I'd do this . . ." She leaned forward again, kissing him on the mouth.
His arms suddenly tightened around her, pulling her closer against him. Then he pushed her away abruptly. "No, it's too soon, we can't . . . Madre de Dios, this isn't fair!" he wailed, looking upward.
Kayla caught his hand with hers, holding it against her cheek. "Why not?" she asked.
"Because . . . because . . ."
The sound of running footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment made them both look up. Carlos burst back into the room, the apartment door banging loudly against the wall.
Carlos asked something in Spanish, and Ramon looked quickly from Kayla to his brother, his eyes wild. He answered in Spanish and pulled his hand free from Kayla's. They spoke in rapid-fire Spanish for another few seconds, then Ramon turned to her and spoke quietly. "Kayla, Carlos wants to know . . . are you a virgin?"