which was the only reason she didn’t slap him.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she reminded herself as she grabbed his shoulders and pushed up with her knees to flip him onto his back.
His body settled against hers in the V of her legs and she wrapped her hands under his armpits and around his chest, holding him tightly so he didn’t slide beneath the water. She lay back against the edge of the bank, her teeth chattering so hard they clicked against each other. But it didn’t take long for the incredible heat of his body to begin transferring to her.
He was still so alarmingly hot that she was actually sweating where his head rested against her breasts, in spite of the chill bumps on the rest of her skin. She cupped the cold water and dribbled it on his hair and his face, getting as much of him wet as possible. She continued putting cold water on his hair, his forehead, his neck, all while trying to monitor both of their temperatures. If she ended up with hypothermia, they’d both be in trouble.
She clung to him, freely plastering her body against his to warm herself while keeping him covered in the cold water. All the while she continued to rub the water into his scalp and on his skin.
When her hands and feet started going numb and she started feeling drowsy, she knew she had to get out of the spring. But he was still warm. Not as burning hot as before, thank goodness, but far too warm to be out of danger. She edged out of the water, pulling on the belt to tug him with her. She sat cross-legged on the bank, her skin covered with goose bumps. She managed to pull him half out of the water, keeping her hands locked under the belt to keep him from sliding back in. His rear end and legs were still in the water. Hopefully, that would be enough to continue bringing his fever down while she warmed up for a few minutes in the sun.
When the feeling had returned to her extremities and she was no longer shaking, she slid into the water with him, submerging all of him except his head and going through the same routine all over again.
She repeated the process for what had to be over an hour before he finally began to show real signs of improvement. Instead of the ruddy, red complexion that showed he was in the grips of the fever, the color drained away and he became more pale. When his skin pebbled with goose bumps, he moaned and tried to twist away from her.
She ruthlessly held on to him, determined to make sure his fever was gone before she’d let him out of the water. Unable to let him go for fear he’d drown, she pressed her cheek against the side of his face to see how hot he was. Still warmer than he should be, but so much better than before that it barely counted.
He suddenly jerked away from her and rolled over, pressing her down into the water. She just managed to grab a lungful of air before she went under. He followed her down, his body on top of hers, his eyes—a startling green—were open and staring at her in confusion as he held his breath and held her down.
His hands grabbed her waist and he pulled back, suddenly lifting her out of the water against his chest as he smoothly stepped up on the bank. She clung to his shoulders, amazed he was so strong after seeming so weak earlier. Water cascaded off both of them as he dropped to the ground with her still in his arms. Whether by design or accident—she wasn’t sure—he’d managed to position her so that she was straddling him. And from the widening of his eyes and the sudden movement of him beneath her, he wasn’t unaffected by the intimacy of their position.
“Let me go.” She smacked at his hands and shoved his chest.
He blinked, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Canoe Girl. I thought you were a dream.”
“More like a nightmare,” she grumbled. “Let me go.”
“I like you right where you are.”
So did she. And that was the problem. The spring had done a good job of washing away the stench of the bog he’d bathed in earlier. And up close like this, just inches from his face, she couldn’t deny just how devastatingly handsome he was. Add to that how long it had been since she’d even seen a good-looking man, much less done anything else, and it was almost impossible to resist the urge to wiggle against his growing erection beneath her.
Good grief. Maybe she was the one with the fever now. He was a stranger. An incredibly hot one, even when he wasn’t running a temperature, but still a stranger.
He frowned. “Why are you all wet?”
She choked at his unintended double entendre and coughed to cover her embarrassment.
“We’re, ah, both wet. From the spring.” She waved her hand toward the water behind them. “You had a fever and I put you in the cold water to bring it down. Now, if you’ll please—”
“If you insist.” He yanked her against his chest and brought his mouth down on hers.
She was so startled she didn’t immediately pull back. And by the time she thought to do so, he was kissing her senseless and her brain shut down. She slid her hands up his bare chest and around his neck, pressing herself against him as she opened her mouth for his searching tongue. He groaned and fell back against the bank, pulling her with him, deepening the kiss.
A sinfully long time later they broke apart, each of them gasping for breath.
He framed her face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you.”
He laughed and they reached for each other again.
Kissing him was insane. Crazy. Stupid. And wonderful. She’d never, ever been kissed like this before. Every tug of his lips on hers, every swirl of his tongue inside her mouth sent an answering pull straight to her belly.
Stop. This isn’t just crazy, it’s wrong. He’s probably still delirious. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
She whimpered, hating her conscience but knowing it was right. If the roles were reversed, she’d be appalled and feel that he’d taken advantage of her.
Shoving against his chest, she broke the kiss and sat back. “We have to stop. This isn’t—”
His eyes closed and he collapsed onto his back.
“—right,” she finished, then frowned. “Dex?” She shook him. “Dex?” When he didn’t respond, she scrambled off his lap and checked his breathing. He was breathing deeply, evenly. His pulse was strong. But he was definitely unconscious.
Alarmed, she pulled his right pant leg up again and drew a sharp breath. “Oh, no.” The red streaks were worse, much worse. And they extended well past his knee now.
She shook him. “Dex, wake up. Come on. Dex.”
He moaned, as if in pain, but his eyes stayed shut.
Amber sat back, chewing her bottom lip. There was only one thing she knew that might help him, a potion she could make by mixing mud and two specific plants together into a poultice to draw out the poison. But what if she remembered wrong? What if she did more harm than good?
He moaned again, his handsome face scrunching up in a grimace.
If she didn’t help him, he’d die. Of that she was sure. The poultice was his only hope.
Please help me remember how to mix it right.
She
