The Thorn in His Side. Kim Lawrence

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СКАЧАТЬ all the odds he avoided the suicidal redhead and the tree and remained in one piece. No matter how many times he later reviewed the incident he never could figure out how—it was a miracle!

      He might actually have escaped the incident totally unscathed if the car had not at the critical moment hit the patch of mud at speed. Rafael was then forced to sit back helpless as the car went into a dramatic skid that turned the car through three hundred and sixty degrees before it took it across the road and into a ditch. Even the seat belt could not prevent the velocity causing his head to connect painfully with windscreen.

      Rafael saw stars through his closed eyelids then he heard voices—no, one voice, female and not, he mused groggily, unattractive.

      The voice was begging him not to be dead. Maybe he was?

      The pain in his head suggested otherwise and the voice sounded too sexily husky to be that of an angel.

      Rafael thought, Great voice, stupid questions, and tuned them out while he applied himself to more important matters like was he still in one piece and did those pieces all work?

      He took a personal inventory of his limbs. Everything still seemed to be attached and in working order, which was good. His head felt as though someone were playing cymbals behind his eyes, which was less good.

      One supportive hand at the back of his neck, Rafael began to lift his head cautiously and heard the voice—the one that did not belong to an angel—murmur a fervent, ‘Thank God!’

      He blinked; the action sent a stab of pain through his temple. Wincing, he pressed his hands to his forehead and began to move his head cautiously towards the voice. With equal caution he forced his heavy eyelids apart and through his interlocked fingers the pale oval of a face swam into view. Hands still clamped to his forehead, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, he blinked again and the blurry outline sharpened. The halo of glowing auburn hair seemed strangely familiar, then the rest of her face came into focus.

      It was the suicidal female who had caused his accident.

      Up close she turned out to be young, beautiful, and his critical gaze could find no flaw in the smooth lines of her face—she was unfortunately a redhead.

      Rafael’s attitude to redheads was one that had developed gradually, crystallising into a certainty after an incident involving a particularly voluptuous redhead he had been seeing and a glass of red wine that had ended up in his lap, because apparently he had not been giving her his undivided attention. Redheads, no matter how decorative, were simply too high maintenance.

      Even as he was deciding that eyes that blue did not exist without the aid of contact lenses Rafael felt his gut twist as he was hit by a savaging wave of desire that was visceral in its intensity and proved, if nothing else, he was definitely alive, and clearly the message he had sworn off redheads had not reached all parts of his body.

      His vision swam again and he closed his eyes, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. Seemingly these symptoms, along with the uncontrolled rush of testosterone, were results of the head trauma— presumably all would pass.

      He opened his eyes just as the redhead was leaning further into the car, her deep russet-coloured hair that reminded him of falling autumn leaves surrounding a vivid heart-shaped face. The nausea had gone. It had been replaced by a reckless and totally inappropriate desire to sink his tongue between those luscious lips.

      Even with his scrambled brain working at fifty-percent capacity he did consider following through with the impulse, but, Dios, that mouth!

      On the plus side the lust burning through his veins served as an effective distraction from the hammer pounding in his skull whatever the cause, adrenaline rush and near-death experience …?

      A woman’s face had not caused him to feel anything this … primitive for a long time. Part of him resented what he was feeling—Rafael liked to stay in control of everything including his appetites—the other half suggested he relax and enjoy the moment.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘ARE you all right?’

      Even while he was enjoying the way she smelt, Rafael’s critical faculties cleared enough to make him realise this was a stupid question—particularly stupid!

      Red-headed and stupid, not to mention suicidal. An image of her standing there like a sacrificial virgin waiting for him to crush her under his wheels replayed in his head, releasing a surge of energising adrenaline into Rafael’s bloodstream.

      ‘Does it hurt anywhere?’ Libby asked, pushing the door a little wider. Leaning inside, she paused, looking around for somewhere to put her phone. She hitched her skirt to rest a knee on the edge of his seat to steady herself as she laid her phone on the dashboard.

      ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’ She crossed her fingers and thought, Please don’t make me a liar.

      Fine, Rafael thought, his heavy-lidded eyes trained on the lacy top of her hold-up stocking. He was feeling many things at that moment, but fine was not one of them!

      ‘If I am fine it will be no thanks to you.’

      Libby was too startled to hear him speak to immediately place the attractive accent of his deep hostile voice, though even hostility sounded amazing when spoken in that voice … a deep and rich purr with a tactile quality that made the downy hair on her arms stand on end.

      ‘I realise that you have to make your own entertainment in the countryside, but throwing yourself in the path of moving vehicles is perhaps a little extreme.’ Still clasping his head, Rafael rotated his shoulders experimentally and swore as his bruised muscles protested.

      Libby’s natural response to sarcasm and rudeness, this comment being both, had always been to give as good as she’d got, but given the fact she’d almost killed this man it seemed appropriate to repress such impulses and bite back the retort trembling on her tongue.

      ‘What were you trying to do? Attract my attention? Or is this some local quaint mating ritual?’

      Bite me, Libby thought as her initial relief morphed into indignation. Struggling to retain a suitably meek demeanour in the face of this barrage of insults, she mumbled an apology.

      ‘I really didn’t mean for this to happen …’

      Any attempt to defend herself at this point would only sound lame.

      What am I going to tell Chloe?

      She began making a silent inventory of her achievements—almost killing a man, smashing up his car and losing her friend’s beloved pet, difficult to top, but the way things were going, she thought glumly—who knew?

      ‘I’m so … so sorry,’ she said with genuine remorse.

      ‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’

      Libby felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment in response to the sarcastic drawl as her victim, one hand still clamped to his forehead, turned, head bent forward, and presented her with a view of his broad shoulders and the back of his glossy dark head as he switched his attention to the clasp on his seat belt.

      Her glance flickered from the dark hair curling at his nape to the bloody smear СКАЧАТЬ