CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(51)

"No, I don't mind at all. Why don't you take the office? The futon in  there is pretty comfy. I'll take the couch." Her eyes hadn't strayed  from the tangle of ferns and vines leading into the dark canopy of  jungle no more than a hundred yards from her back stairs.

"You're not planning on going back out in this deluge, are you?"

"The storm is almost past. I'll be fine. Besides, something weird  happened out there tonight. If you're still awake when I get back, I'll  tell you about it."

The moon, pale and obscured by dark thunderheads, was the only light  shining onto her second-story veranda. Reya unlaced her boots, toed them  off and set them beside the screen door that led down the back stairs.  Dr. Matons continued to puff on his pipe while she peeled off her tank  top and blood-spattered pants, tossed them in a pile and loosely tied a  small bundle around her neck.

"Be careful, my dear. Wake me when you return," Dr. Matons called  quietly. Extinguishing his pipe, he rose and slipped through the sliding  glass door and into her living room.

Reya watched his retreating back until the subtle snap of the office  door told her she was alone. Shirt, pants and shoes in a neat pile on  the floor, she dropped to her knees. Muscles rippled and bunched as raw  power surged through her limbs-heady, thunderous power as her body  shortened then stretched. Her tall frame shuddered as thick fur burst  through her pores, replacing smooth skin. The cooling breeze ruffled the  sleek fur on the tufts of the ears of a black jaguar as she stalked  down the stairs and loped into the surrounding jungle.





Chapter Two

Aaron was immediately aware that he lay on his back at a perfect  forty-five-degree angle in a firm but comfortable bed, but the rest of  his thoughts were fuzzy, unclear. But not so unclear that he didn't  realize someone was in the room with him.

A breeze wafted over his cheek, drying the light sheen of sweat covering  his face. Opening his eyes just a crack revealed a wide, and equally  tall, opened window. The shades were pulled up to reveal a cloudy  pre-dawn sky. He could smell rain in the air, but whether it was coming  or going, he couldn't tell. Relief coursed over him as he took in his  surroundings. Okay, so he wasn't in heaven, unless the hereafter had IV  drips and makeshift hospital accommodations. His too-dry tongue flicked  out to lick even drier lips.

"Wh-Where am I?" his voice croaked like a half-dead frog.

"Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary near Maya Center. About two and a  half hours from Belize City. I found you just after you crashed in my  jungle, and pulled you to safety," said a female voice, just above a  whisper. That voice sent a very nice tingle down the inside of his  thighs. He pushed the thought away. After all, it was ridiculous at a  time like this.

"My plane … " He paused to pull a breath into his achy chest. His lungs  burned on a long moan. God that hurt, both the breath and the moan.  Wiggling his fingers, he was glad he could feel all of them, including  the secure wrapping of bandages along his wrists. Slowly raising his  hand, he gently pressed on the area of his chest that pulled and twinged  with each breath. Great. Broken ribs.         

     



 

"Did my plane go up?"

"In smoke you mean?" the female asked, somewhat brusquely. She didn't  sound upset, but like she'd rather be doing something else. Finally she  said, "I'm afraid so. The fire crew was able to get the flames out  before too much damage was done to the surrounding fauna."

Was that a bit of snot in her tone? What was her problem? She was  obviously more worried about the damned trees and grass while he was the  one lying in a strange bed in a strange place, obviously injured. So,  she'd rather be doing something else? Well, hell, he could think of a  few things he'd rather be doing as well.

His eyes closed, refusing to keep up with the blur of her movements, to  the bed, away from the bed, to a door and back. But at least he felt  better than he had the last time he'd awakened and thought he was dead.  That had been a whole new kind of pain right there.

"You're Aaron James, right?"

His eyes opened all the way now and would have popped wide in surprise  if the headache from hell hadn't come rushing to the front of his  forehead just then. His face felt tight and swollen. He slowly turned  his head toward the sound while his mind began a slow whirl. Was he more  intrigued with the fact that a female in the middle of nowhere knew who  he was or with the sultry quality of the voice of the woman he'd  thought was an angel? And she stood not three feet from him.

"Soooo," she drawled, "you're Aaron James, right?" Her expression somewhat amused at his befuddled state.

"Mm-hmm," he groaned. "How did you know?"

"I managed to salvage some of your belongings. Black duffel's in the closet. Is there someone I can call for you?"

"No." It came out a bit more forcefully than he'd intended, but he  preferred to take care of contacting his family himself. He was the  youngest sibling, and his brothers had expressed enough worry over him  flying alone from their Miami offices to Belize. The last thing he  needed was the deuce of them coming down on his head while he was  healing. He was a successful architect, almost thirty-five years old,  and held his own in their family business. Yet they still treated him as  if he couldn't tie his shoes without their aid. He was well aware  they'd promised their father on his deathbed that they would "take care"  of their baby brother. Their need to protect him was understood but no  less nauseating.

The woman moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. The scent of  apples and cinnamon floated to his sore nostrils as her long fingers  held a small glass of clear liquid to his parched lips. Mmm, water had  never tasted so good. Though it hurt to swallow, he forced himself to  take a few sips, thankful when his throat was lubricated enough to  comfortably drink a bit more. The glass was set with a thunk on what he  assumed was a nightstand, but he couldn't turn his neck enough to look  without his head doing the thrum-thrum to the beat of his heart.

"You know who I am, but who are you?"

"Reya. Reya Daines. Do you think you can sit up?"

He suddenly remembered the business he was supposed to be taking care of  in Belize City before his plane went down. Sit up? A semi-unfuzzy mind  yelled yes, sit up and get moving, but his body said forget it. He  slowly shook his head and settled down further into the soft sheets.

"How long have I been here, Reya?"

"A few days. Dr. Matons and I have been tending to you. He's been  keeping you sedated so you're going to feel groggy and a bit nauseous  for awhile."

You don't say, he thought sarcastically. No wonder his brain was a weird mix of stuffed cotton and muted pain.

"With that said, it's time for your next dose. I'll be back shortly and  we'll see about getting some food into you," she said quickly, leaning  forward to fiddle with something over his head before settling down on  the side of the bed again. The back of his eyes started to throb,  forcing him to close them again on a ragged moan.

"Don't worry, Aaron. I'm medically trained," she said quietly, mistaking  his discomfort for concern. He was in too much pain to be concerned  about much of anything.

"Injuries?" he asked, trying to string as few words together as possible. Her answer was a relief.

"Your ribs are bruised." Oh thank god, bruised, not broken. Other than a  concussion and a bruised kidney, the laundry list of injuries she  rattled off was mostly cuts and bruises. "You were banged up pretty bad,  minor internal injuries. Thankfully, the doc has equipment here to  detect that kind of thing. A few of your issues required stitching, so  don't scratch your neck or right above your right eye. The ribs and the  knock on your skull are going to bother you for a few days yet."

She raised a needle, walked around to the other side of the bed near the  window and inserted the sharp tip into the IV taped to his right  forearm.

"What are you giving me?" his words quickly started to slur.

"You're on a glucose drip with antibiotics and a little something to  control the inflammation and swelling. It's to prevent infection, but  more importantly, dehydration, at least until you can eat and drink on  your own. Right now I'm giving you some codeine to help control the  pain."

"Bud whad-da-bou-da doctor?" Oh yeah, he was fading fast.

"Dr. Matons has hardly left your side so I'm administering this dose so he could get some breakfast downstairs."

What? The doctor was having breakfast downstairs? What the hell kind of  backwater place had he crashed where a doctor's breakfast was more  important than his patient? Six seconds later, he didn't give a rip as a  cool feeling traveled from his wrist up to his forearm. He raised his  arm enough to see the IV secured to a fat vein with white paper surgical  tape. Reya withdrew the needle and moved away. He heard a quiet clink  as she disposed of it. His breathing deepened as he drifted away, but  not before his keen nose and ears caught the soft thud of her shoes as  she made her way across the wood floor. And boy did she smell good.