Page 4

The description exploded in her consciousness, perfectly describing how she felt: disorientated, dismayed, confused and yet vividly, viciously alive.
‘What is your name?’ he demanded.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the phantoms, the rush of nausea and dizziness… And that desperate scalding heat…
It took every last ounce of effort to whisper the name lodged in her brain as she dropped into oblivion.
‘Álvaro…’
‘She is sleeping now, Your Excellency. Let her rest, but she should be woken every two to three hours for the first twenty-four to check for a concussion.’
Santiago raked his fingers through his hair, while the young medic stuffed the last of his equipment into his bag.
‘Terrific,’ he murmured. The bruise on his brow stung as he cursed his foolish decision to get involved in the first place.
How the hell had his night gone from annoying to catastrophic?
‘Wait!’ he demanded as the young man headed to the door of his apartment. ‘Can you not admit her to hospital?’
He did not need this responsibility. He had to leave tonight, to handle Ana’s latest misadventure. His staff in the city would all be in bed by now so he could hardly wake them to come over and check on his unwanted guest. And something about the girl had a diabolic effect on his usual caution.
Plus, why had she whispered his father’s name before passing out?
The medic smiled. ‘She’s battered and bruised, but there’s no reason to treat this as an emergency, unless you wish to make a private referral.’
No way!
He recoiled at the suggestion. The press already had photographs of him haring off after her. He did not want to feed the story even more—which was why he did not intend to contact the police about the assault and robbery until tomorrow, once he was at thecastillo.
‘Is she okay to travel at least?’ he asked, his frustration mounting. ‘I have to drive to Girona tonight.’
The staff at thecastillowould have to watch her.
The medic nodded. ‘As long as you make sure to wake her up every two to three hours,’ he repeated, as if Santiago were an imbecile. Then the young man’s gaze shifted to the painful area on Santiago’s forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive?’ he asked. ‘You look a bit battered yourself, Your Excellency.’
Santiago frowned, making the skin around the bruise smart. ‘I’ll survive,’ he said flatly.
The thief had landed a few lucky punches, but he’d been hit a lot harder as a boy, when he had made the mistake of questioning his father’s judgement.
The medic nodded. ‘Have a doctor check her over tomorrow. But bed rest is really the only treatment for concussion.’
Santiago saw the young man out. Then swore under his breath. He’d showered and changed, packed a bag and taken it to his car in the garage while the medic had been checking over the girl. But now he had no choice—he would have to bring her with him.
The thought of carrying her again did not appeal to him in the slightest. Although she was not heavy, the feel of her in his arms when he had brought her back here, while she moaned and dropped in and out of consciousness, had disturbed him. Almost as much as the whisper of his father’s name on her lips.
The compelling scent of wild flowers had invaded his senses and he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her face—as he toted her the short distance to the apartment building. She was pretty, nothing more—her full lips somehow a little too large for her gamine face, the bruise on her cheek only increasing the sense of fragile beauty. But it was the memory of her huge blue-green eyes, her gaze burning with intensity, which had disturbed him the most…
Because her forthright inspection had made him feel transparent, in a way he did not appreciate.
She looked impossibly young—maybe even still a teenager—and was stupidly naïve, too. Why else would she have run headlong into trouble? Requiring him to break the habit of a lifetime and rescue her.
He stood in the doorway to his bedroom and watched her, curled on the bed, fast asleep—the medic had given her painkillers at least for the bruising. Tugging his phone out, he texted thecastillo’s housekeeper, María, asking her to prepare a room for the girl, while explaining he would need someone to stay up to watch her. Then he texted his EA in the Barcelona office. Mateo would get the message tomorrow. Someone would have to see if her belongings could be retrieved from that back alley. He’d had to leave the bag and clothes behind—with his arms full of her. But, given Barcelona’s reputation as the Catalan capital of petty crime, he expected her belongings to be gone by morning.
Tough.
The thief had already taken the items of value. Surely she would have travel insurance to cover the losses. And if she were foolish enough not to, that was not his problem.
Steeling himself, he entered the room and scooped her up from the bed. She stirred in his arms, her luminous eyes opened and seemed to stare into his soul, sending a rush of unwanted reaction through him.