Free Her Kind of Trouble by Evelyn Vaughn Page A

to his blindfold and gag. I felt my way down his legs to untie his ankles.
    "Oh, thank heavens," gasped Rhys on stuttering breaths as I struggled with that knot. "Oh, Maggi."
    "I'm here." I reached my hands in his direction, and they collided with his, and then he was pulling me down on top of him, despite his own gasp of pain.
    His pain was the only thing that could possibly have kept me from throwing myself wholeheartedly into that embrace. Instead I said, "You're hurt!"
    "You aren't." The words squeezed out of him like a prayer of gratitude.
    "flow hurt?"
    "I am not sure… " He had to stop to catch his breath, which was in itself telling. "I doubt I can walk."
    Crap, crap, crap. This could mean trying to find my way out of wherever this was in the pitch dark, alone, to get help. Which would mean leaving him behind. Which I didn't want to do.
    Just because Hani Rachid and his men seemed to have left didn't mean they wouldn't come back at any time.
    "Where are you hurt?" I asked.
    "Ribs." The Welsh rarely speak in fragments, which also worried me. "Mostly."
    "Hold still." And I began to unbutton his shirt. Thank goodness he'd changed for dinner, or I might be trying to pull a T-shirt off over his head without hurting him, which I suspect is almost impossible in these situations.
    Instead, I tried not to think of how intimate an act it was, unbuttoning a man's shirt, my knuckles sliding lightly along the material of it, my fingers fumbling from more than having scraped them in the climb.
    I told myself that Rhys was breathing heavily from pain, nothing else.
    Once I drew his shirt open, by feel alone, I ran my hands over his bare, furry chest. His breathing deepened further. So did mine. It was hard not to remember what an attractive man Rhys is.
    Then my hands felt across a lump that made him gulp. I have no more medical training than standard first-aid courses, but I was pretty certain this was a broken rib…and likely not the only one.
    Crap!
    "What we need is a light," I muttered, tugging my wet sandals out of my fanny pack to hunt for the match-book. It, too, was soaked. "Damn. My matches aren't any good."
    "Try… " Rhys struggled for a deep breath "… my pocket. Right. Rear."
    Well that was closer than we'd meant to get… I'd kind of hoped that if our relationship ever progressed to my groping his butt, it would be for better reasons. But I managed to slide a dry matchbook out of his back pocket, all the same. Then I began to feel across the pebbles around my knees, hunting for the bindings we'd discarded. If only I had something to—
    "Handkerchief," Rhys suggested. "Front left."
    It wouldn't burn for long, but for now it was all we had. By feel, I tied his handkerchief into several knots, to slow down the burning. Then I lit a match, compliments of the "Hotle Athens," and examined his chest and ribs.
    Holy…
    If it weren't for the already darkening bruises, Rhys would have one hell of a fine chest, lean, partially covered with black hair. But it was horribly bruised, and unnaturally lumpy in a couple of places, and I wouldn't have light for long.
    "Maybe we can turn your shirt into bandages," I murmured, sliding my hand back over the bump I'd found before…but to my relief, now that light was on it, the injury didn't seem quite so severe. Perhaps it was just swollen?
    Rhys caught his breath, eyes bright in the light of our makeshift torch—bright, and focused on me. But he said nothing.
    Now, the burning light hanging from my left hand, I ran my right hand over his other ribs, ascertaining that each was where it should be. I slid my palm around behind him; several times fear made me think I'd found something worse, but each time the warmth of my seeking hand reconciled his health with my hopes.
    I drew my hand across his warm, dry skin beneath the ribs now, down over his tight abdomen, down to the waistband of his trousers.
    His breathing deepened.
    I tried to ask a question—but it only croaked out of me. I