Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Sheikh's Desert Duty\Nine Months to Redeem Him\Fonseca's Fury\The Russian's Ultimatum (41 page)

She got out a strangled, ‘What are you doing?'

Luca was curt. ‘I'm trained as a medic—relax.'

Serena shut her mouth. She felt churlish; was there no end to his talents? She watched as he opened up a complicated-looking medical kit and couldn't help asking, ‘Why did you train as a medic?'

He glanced at her swiftly before looking down again. ‘I was on a visit to a village near a mine with my father when I was younger and a small boy started choking. No one knew what to do. He died right in front of us.'

Serena let out a breath. ‘That's awful.'

A familiar but painful memory intruded before she could block it out. She'd seen someone die right in front of her too—it was seared onto her brain like a tattoo. Her defences didn't seem to be so robust here, in such close proximity to this man. She could empathise with Luca's helplessness and that shocked her...to feel an affinity.

Luca was oblivious to the turmoil being stirred up inside Serena with that horrific memory of her own. He continued. ‘Not as awful as the fact that my father didn't let it stop him from moving the tribe on to another location, barely allowing the parents time to gather up their son's body. They were nothing to him—a problem to be got rid of.'

He was pulling down Serena's socks now, distracting her from his words and the bitterness she could hear in his voice. He sucked in a breath when he saw the angry raw blisters.

‘That's my fault.'

Serena blinked. Had Luca just said that? And had he sounded ever so slightly apologetic? Together with his obvious concern for others, it made her uncomfortable.

He looked at her, face unreadable. ‘New boots. They weren't broken in. It's no wonder you've got blisters. You must have been in agony for hours.'

Serena shrugged minutely and looked away, self-conscious under his searing gaze. ‘I'm no martyr, Luca. I just didn't want to delay you.'

‘The truth is,' he offered somewhat sheepishly, ‘I hadn't expected you to last this far. I would have put money on you opting out well before we'd even left Rio.'

Something light erupted inside Serena and for a moment their eyes met and locked. Her insides clenched hard and all she was aware of was how powerful Luca's muscles felt under her feet. He looked away then, to get something from the medical box, and the moment was broken. But it left Serena shaky.

His hands were big and capable. Masculine. But they were surprisingly gentle as he made sure the blisters were clean and then covered them with thick plasters.

He was pulling her socks back up over the dressings when he said, with an edge to his voice, ‘You've said a couple of times that you didn't do drugs... You forget that I was there. I saw you.'

His blue gaze seemed to sear right through her and his question caught Serena somewhere very raw. For a moment she'd almost been feeling
soft
towards him, when he was the one who had marched her into the jungle like some kind of recalcitrant prisoner.

Anger and a sense of claustrophobia made her tense. He'd seen only the veneer of a car crash lifestyle which had hidden so much more.

She was bitter. ‘You saw what you wanted to see.'

Serena avoided his eyes and reached for her boots, but Luca got there first. He shook them out and said tersely, ‘You should always check to make sure nothing has crawled inside.'

Serena repressed a shudder at the thought of what that might be and stuck her feet back into the boots, but Luca didn't move away.

‘What's that supposed to mean?
I saw what I wanted to see.
'

Getting angry at his insistence, she glared at him. The firelight cast his face into shadow, making him seem even more dark and brooding.

He arched a brow. ‘I think I have a right to know—you owe me an explanation.'

Serena's chest was tight with some unnamed emotion. The dark forest around them made her feel as if nothing existed outside of this place.

Hesitantly, she finally said, ‘I wasn't addicted to Class A drugs...I've never taken a recreational drug in my life.' She tried to block out the doubtful gleam in Luca's eyes. ‘But I
was
addicted to prescription medication. And to alcohol. And I'll never touch either again.'

Luca finally moved back and frowned. Serena felt as if she could breathe again. Until he asked, ‘How did you get addicted to medication?'

Serena's insides curdled. This came far too close to that dark memory and all the residual guilt and fear that had been a part of her for so long. At best Luca was mildly curious; at worst he hated her. She had no desire to seek his sympathy, but a rogue part of her wanted to knock his assumptions about her a little.

‘I started taking prescribed medication when I was five.'

Luca's frown deepened. ‘Why? You were a child.'

His clear scepticism made Serena curse herself for being so honest. This man would never understand if she was to tell him the worst of it all. So she feigned a lightness she didn't feel and fell back on the script that her father had written for her so long ago that she couldn't remember
normal
.

She gave a small shrug and avoided that laser-like gaze. ‘I was difficult. After my mother died I became hard to control. By the time I was twelve I had been diagnosed with ADHD and had been on medication for years. I became dependent on it—I liked how it made me feel.'

Luca sounded faintly disgusted. ‘And your father...he sanctioned this?'

Pain gripped Serena. He'd not only sanctioned it, he'd made sure of it. She shrugged again, feeling as brittle as glass, and smiled. But it was hard. She forced herself to look at Luca. ‘Like I said, I was hard to control. Wilful.'

Disdain oozed from Luca. ‘Why are you so certain you're free of the addiction now?'

She tipped her chin up unconsciously. ‘When my sister and I left Italy, after my father...' She stalled, familiar shame coursing through her blood along with anger. ‘When it all fell apart we went to England. I checked into a rehab facility just outside London. I was there for a year. Not that it's any business of yours,' she added, immediately regretting her impulse to divulge so much.

Luca's expression was indecipherable as he stood up, and he pointed out grimly, ‘I think our personal history makes it my business. You need to prove to me you can be trusted—that you will not be a drain on resources and the energy of everyone around you.'

Boots on, Serena stood up in agitation, her jaw tight with hurt and anger. She held up a hand. ‘Whoa—judgemental, much? And you base this on your vast knowledge of ex-addicts?'

His narrow-minded view made Serena see red. She put her hands on her hips.

‘Well?'

Tension throbbed between them as they glared at each other for long seconds. And then Luca bit out, ‘I base it on an alcoholic mother who makes checking in and out of rehab facilities a recreational pastime. That's how I have a unique insight into the addict's mind. And when she's not battling the booze or the pills she's chasing her next rich conquest to fund her lifestyle.'

Serena felt sick for a moment at the derision in his voice. The evidence of just how personal his judgement was appeared entrenched in bitter experience.

Luca stepped back. ‘We should eat.'

Serena's anger dissipated as she watched Luca turn away abruptly to light the camping stove near the fire. She reeled with this new knowledge of his own experience. And reeled at how much she'd told him of herself with such little prompting. She felt relieved now that she hadn't spilled her guts entirely.

No wonder he'd come down on her like a ton of bricks and believed the worst. Still...it didn't excuse him. And she told herself fiercely that she
didn't
feel a tug of something treacherous at the thought of him coping with an alcoholic parent. After all, she still bore the guilt of her sister having to deal with
her
.

Suddenly, in light of that conversation, she felt too raw to sit in Luca's company and risk that insightful mind being turned on her again. And fatigue was creeping over her like a relentless wave.

‘Don't prepare anything for me. I'm not feeling hungry. I think I'll turn in now.'

Luca looked up at her from over his shoulder. He seemed to bite back whatever he was going to say and shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.'

Serena grabbed her backpack and went into the tent, relieved to see that it was more spacious inside than she might have imagined. She could only do a basic toilette, and after taking off her boots and rolling out her sleeping bag carefully on one side of the tent she curled up and dived into the exhausted sleep of oblivion.

Anything to avoid thinking about the man who had comprehensively turned her world upside down in the last thirty-six hours and come far too close to where she still had so much locked away.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
FOLLOWING
MORNING
Luca heard movement from the tent and his whole body tensed. When he'd turned in last night Serena had been curled up in a ball inside her sleeping bag, some long hair trailing in tantalising golden strands around her head, her breathing deep and even. And once again he'd felt the sting of his conscience at knowing she'd gone to bed with no food, and her feet rubbed raw from new boots.

What she'd told him the previous evening had shocked him. She'd been taking medication since she was a child. Out of control even then. It was so at odds with the woman she seemed to be now that he almost couldn't believe it.

She'd sounded defiant when she'd told him that she'd been addicted by the age of twelve. Something inside him had recoiled with disgust at the thought. It was one thing to have a mother who was an addict as an adult. But a
child
?

Serena had given him the distinct impression that even then she'd known what she was doing and had revelled in it. But even as he thought that, something about the way she'd said it niggled at him. It didn't sit right.

Was she telling the truth?

Why would she lie after all this time? an inner voice pointed out. And if she hadn't ever done recreational drugs then maybe she really hadn't planted them on him that night... He didn't like the way the knowledge sank like a stone in his belly.

The crush and chaos of the club that night came back to him and a flash of a memory caught him unawares: Serena's hand slipping into his. He'd looked down at her and she'd been wide-eyed, her face pale. That had been just before the Italian police had separated them roughly and searched them.

The memory mocked him now. He'd always believed that look to have been Serena's guilt and pseudo-vulnerability, knowing what she'd just done. But if it hadn't been guilt it had been something far more ambiguous. It made him think of her passionate defence when he'd questioned her trustworthiness. And why on earth did that gnaw at him now? Making him feel almost guilty?

The flaps of the tent moved and the object of his thoughts emerged, blinking in the dawn light. She'd pulled her hair up into a bun on top of her head, and when that blue gaze caught his, Luca's insides tightened. He cursed her silently—and himself for bringing her here and putting questions into his head.

For possibly being innocent of the charges he'd levelled against her
.

She straightened up and her gaze was wary. ‘Morning.'

Her voice was sleep-rough enough to tug forcibly at Luca's simmering desire. She should look creased and dishevelled and grimy, but she looked gorgeous. Her skin was as dewy and clear as if she'd just emerged from a spa, not a night spent in a rudimentary tent in the middle of the jungle.

He thrust a bowl of protein-rich tinned food towards her. ‘Here—eat this.'

There was the most minute flash of something in her eyes as she acknowledged his lack of greeting, but she took the bowl and a spoon and sat down on a nearby log to eat, barely wincing at the less than appetising meal. Yet another blow to Luca's firmly entrenched antipathy.

He looked at her and forced himself to ignore that dart of guilt he'd just felt—to remember that thanks to his mother's stellar example he knew all about the mercurial nature of addicts. How as soon as you thought they truly were intent on making a change they went and did the exact opposite. From a young age Luca had witnessed first-hand just how brutal that lack of regard could be and he'd never forgotten it.

Serena looked up at him. She'd finished her meal, and Luca felt slightly winded at the intensity of her gaze. He reached down and took the bowl and handed her a protein bar. His voice gruff, which irritated him, he said, ‘Eat this too.'

‘But I'm full now. I—'

Luca held it out and said tersely, ‘Eat it, Serena. I can't afford for you to be weak. We have a long walk today.'

Serena's eyes flashed properly at that, and she stood up with smooth grace and took the bar from his outstretched hand. Tension bristled and crackled between them.

Serena cursed herself for thinking,
hoping
that some kind of a truce might have grown between them. And she cursed herself again for revealing what she had last night.

Luca was cleaning up the camp, packing things away, getting ready to move on. When she'd woken a while ago it had taken long seconds for her to realise where she was and with whom. A sense of exultation had rushed through her at knowing they were still in the jungle and that she'd survived the first day, that she hadn't shown Luca any weakness.

Then she'd remembered the gentleness of his hands on her feet and had felt hot. And then she'd got hotter, acknowledging that only extreme exhaustion had knocked her out enough to sleep through sharing such an intimate space with him.

Before Luca might see some of that heat in her expression or in her eyes, Serena busied herself with rolling up the sleeping bags and starting to take down the tent efficiently.

‘Where did you learn to do that?' came Luca's voice, its tone incredulous.

Serena barely glanced at him, prickling. ‘We used to go on camping trips while we were in rehab. It was part of the programme.'

She tensed, waiting for him to be derisive or to ask her about it, but he didn't. He just went and started unpegging the other side of the tent. Serena hadn't shared her experience of rehab with anyone—not even her sister. Even though her sister had been the one who had sacrificed almost everything to ensure Serena's care, working herself to the bone and putting herself unwittingly at the mercy of a man she'd betrayed years before and who had come looking for revenge.

Against the odds, though, Siena and Andreas had fallen in love and were now blissfully happy, with a toddler and a baby. Sometimes their intense happiness made Serena feel unaccountably alienated, and she hated herself for the weakness. But it was the same with her half-brother Rocco and his wife and children. If she'd never believed in love or genuine happiness theirs mocked her for it every time she saw them.

Without even realising it was done, she saw the camp was cleared and Luca was handing Serena her backpack.

He arched a brow. ‘Ready?'

Serena took the pack and nodded swiftly, not wanting Luca to guess at the sudden vulnerability she felt to be thinking of her family and their very natural self-absorption.

She put on the pack and followed Luca for a few steps until he turned abruptly. ‘How are your feet?'

Serena frowned and said, with some surprise, ‘They're fine, actually.'

Luca made an indeterminate sound and carried on, and Serena tried not to fool herself that he'd asked out of any genuine concern.

As they walked the heat progressed and intensified to almost suffocating proportions. When they stopped briefly by a small stream in the afternoon Serena almost wept with relief to be able to throw some cool water over her face and head. She soaked a cloth handkerchief and tied it around her neck.

It was only a short reprieve. Luca picked up the punishing pace again, not even looking to see if Serena was behind him. Irritation rose up inside her. Would he even notice if she was suddenly pulled by some animal into the undergrowth? He'd probably just shrug and carry on.

After another hour any feeling of relief from the stream was a distant memory and sweat dripped down her face, neck and back. Her limbs were aching, her feet numb again. Luca strode on, though, like some kind of robot, and suddenly Serena felt an urge to provoke him, needle him. Force him to stop and face her. Acknowledge that she had done well to last this far. Acknowledge that she might be telling the truth about the drugs.

She called out, ‘So, are you prepared to admit that I might be innocent after all?'

She got her wish. Luca stopped dead in his tracks and then, after a long second, slowly turned around. His eyes were so dark they looked black. He covered the space between them so fast and silently that Serena took an involuntary step backwards, hating herself for the reflexive action.

He looked infinitely dangerous, and yet perversely Serena didn't feel scared. She felt something far more ambiguous and hotter, deep in her pelvis.

‘To be quite frank, I don't think I even care any more whether or not you did it. The fact is that my involvement with you made things so much worse.
You
were enough to turn the incident into front-page news and put certainty into people's minds about my guilt—because they all believed that
you
did drugs, and that I was either covering for you or dealing to you. So, innocent bystander or not—as you might have been—I still got punished.'

Serena swallowed down a sudden and very unwelcome lump in her throat. She recognised uncomfortably that the need for this man to know she was innocent was futile or worse. ‘You'll never forgive me for it, will you?'

His jaw clenched, and just then a huge drop of water landed on her face—so large that it splashed.

Luca looked up and cursed out loud.

‘What? What is it?' Serena asked, her tension dissolving to be replaced by a tendril of fear.

Luca looked around them and bit out, ‘Rain.
Damn
. I'd hoped to make the village first. We'll have to shelter. Come on.'

Even before he'd begun striding away again the rain was starting in earnest, those huge drops cascading from the sky above the canopy. Serena hurried after him to try and keep up. Within seconds, though, it was almost impossible to see a few feet in front of her nose. Genuine panic spiked. She couldn't see Luca any more. And then he reappeared, taking her hand, keeping her close.

The rain was majestic, awesome. Deafening. But Serena was only aware of her hand in Luca's. He was leading them through the trees, off the path to a small clearing. The ground was slightly higher here. He let her go and she saw him unrolling a tarpaulin. Catching on quickly, she took one end and tied it off to a nearby sapling while Luca did the same on the other side, creating a shelter a few feet off the ground.

He laid out another piece of tarpaulin under the one they'd tied off and shouted over the roar of the rain, ‘Get underneath!'

Serena slipped off her pack and did so. Luca joined her seconds later. They were drenched. Steam was rising off their clothes. But they were out of the worst of the downpour. Serena was still taken aback at how quickly it had come down.

They sat like that, their breaths evening out, for long minutes. Eventually she asked, ‘How long will it last?'

Luca craned his neck to look out, his arms around his knees. He shrugged one wide shoulder. ‘Could be minutes—could be hours. Either way, we'll have to camp out again tonight. The village is only a couple of hours away, but it'll be getting dark soon—too risky.'

At the thought of another night in the tent with Luca, flutters gripped Serena's abdomen. He was pulling something out of a pocket and handed her another protein bar. Serena reached for it with her palm facing up, but before she could take it Luca had grabbed her wrist and was frowning.

She was distracted by his touch for a moment—all she felt was
heat
—and then he was saying, ‘What are those marks? Did you get them here?'

He was inspecting her palm and pulling her other hand towards him to look at that, too. Far too belatedly Serena panicked, and tried to pull them back, but he wouldn't let her, clearly concerned that it had happened recently.

She saw what he saw: the tiny criss-cross of old, silvery scars that laced her palms.

As if coming to that realisation, he said, ‘They're old.' He looked at her, stern. ‘
How
old?'

Serena tried to jerk her hands away but he held them fast. Her breath was choppy now, with a surge of emotion. And with anger that he was quizzing her as if she'd done something wrong.

She said reluctantly, ‘They're twenty-two years old.'

Luca looked at her, turning towards her. ‘
Deus
, what
are
they?'

Serena was caught by his eyes. They blazed into hers, seeking out some kind of truth and justice—which she was coming to realise was integral to this man's nature. It made him see the world in black and white, good and bad. And she was firmly in the bad category as far as he was concerned.

But just for once, Serena didn't want to be. She felt tired. Her throat ached with repressed emotions, with all the horrific images she held within her head, known only to her and her father. And he'd done his best to eradicate them.

A very weak and rogue part of her wanted to tell Luca the truth—much like last night—in some bid to make him see that perhaps things weren't so black and white. And even though an inner voice told her to protect herself from his derision, she heard the words spill out.

‘They're the marks of a bamboo switch. My father favoured physical punishment.'

Luca's hands tightened around hers and she held back a wince. His voice was low. ‘How old were you?'

Serena swallowed. ‘Five—nearly six.'

‘What the hell....?'

Luca's eyes burned so fiercely for a moment that Serena quivered inwardly. She took advantage of the moment to pull her hands back, clasping them together, hiding the permanent stain of her father's vindictiveness.

Serena could understand Luca's shock. Her therapist had been shocked when she'd told
her
.

She shrugged. ‘He was a violent man. If I stepped out of line, or if Siena misbehaved, I'd be punished.'

‘You were a
child
.'

Serena looked at Luca and felt acutely exposed, recalling just how her childhood had been so spectacularly snatched away from her, by far worse than a few scars on her palms.

She noticed something then, and seized on it weakly. ‘The rain—it's stopped.'