creeping up her throat and settling in the center of her pale cheeks. She let him help her up, her body swaying toward his. She smelled of heat and honeysuckle, taking him to a time and place he hadn’t revisited in years. Twin phantoms of loss and longing danced in his head.
Iris gasped softly, her steps faltering. She tugged her hand away, her face lifting to his. “It’s too much.”
He stared at her, not following.
A neutral mask settled over her face. She squared her shoulders and started walking forward at a faster pace.
It lasted only a few feet before she stumbled again. Maddox caught her up as she started to fall.
“Someone’s hurt,” Iris whispered.
Maddox frowned, even more confused. “Who’s hurt?”
“Help! Somebody call 911!” A woman’s voice, high and frantic, drew his attention. He spotted a woman in a bathing suit waving her arms as she jogged awkwardly up the beach.
The woman in the bathing suit caught sight of Maddox and Iris. “There’s a woman on the beach. She’s injured.” The woman staggered to a stop and tried to catch her breath.
Maddox looked down at Iris, the hair on his arms rising. Her coffee-brown eyes met his briefly before she dropped her gaze and lowered her chin almost to her chest.
He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and gave a terse report when the emergency operator answered. By now, several people had responded to the woman’s cries for help. Tourists and locals alike followed as she jogged back down the beach out of sight. Iris lifted her head and started walking toward the beach, obviously intent on following.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Maddox caught up with her. “You can barely stand.”
“I can help her—”
He grabbed her elbow. “I’ve called for help. They’ll be here in a couple of minutes. You need to get out of the sun and get some bandages on those cuts.” He gestured at her legs.
Her gaze dropped to where blood from her injured knees ran down her shins in slow rivulets. Her brow wrinkled as if she hadn’t realized she was hurt. “They’re just scrapes.”
“Scrapes can get infected if they’re not cleaned.”
Her expression tightened. “I know what I’m doing.” She pulled away and headed for the wooden steps leading from the street to the beach, leaving him little option but to follow her or walk away.
Every instinct he had screamed at him to walk away.
But his legs chose to follow.
Maybe it was adrenaline or sheer female stubbornness, but Iris seemed to find a second wind, moving through the sand with long, steady strides. Maddox caught up with her, sidling a glance at her. She still looked pale, dark circles under her eyes and lines of weariness etched in her forehead, but she didn’t falter as she reached the circle of onlookers ringing a woman lying near the water’s edge.
“I need to get to her,” she murmured, looking up at Maddox.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you a doctor or something?”
“Just get me to her,” she said more firmly.
He edged through the crowd, bringing Iris with him. While she crouched by the woman, taking her hand, Maddox made a quick visual assessment of the woman’s injuries. Definitely not a local; her tan was the chemical variety, and not even the crusted sand and seawater could hide the fact that her crumpled linen suit was designer quality. Her feet were bare, with angry red ligature welts circling both narrow ankles. Similar marks marred her slender wrists.
Her face was pale beneath the tan, smeared vestiges of makeup faintly visible around her eyes and lips. Though her eyes were closed, she was making low moaning sounds, confirming that she was at least partially conscious.
The woman who’d called for help sat by the injured woman’s head, gently stroking matted hair away from her face. “Did anyone call paramedics?” she asked.
“They’re on the way,” Maddox assured her. Since it looked as if Iris was going to do nothing but hold the injured woman’s hand, he knelt and checked the woman’s pulse. Slow but strong. That was a good sign. But her skin was cool to the touch, suggesting she might be slipping toward shock. “Does anyone have a beach towel or something we can use to cover her?”
A man from the crowd offered a multicolored beach blanket. Maddox dusted off the loose sand and folded it over the woman.
She gave a swift gasp, her eyes snapping open to meet Iris’s gaze. The sudden movement caught Maddox by surprise, sending him rocking onto his backside in the soft sand.
A groan rumbled from Iris’s throat and she let go of the woman’s hand. Her face glistened with perspiration and deeper shadows bruised the delicate flesh around her eyes. Trying to rise from her crouch, she ended up on her rear in the sand.
She lifted her eyes to Maddox. “She has a concussion. The back of her head. I don’t think she has any other serious injuries.” Her voice was thin. Breathless.
He forced his attention back to the injured woman, who was trying to sit up. Maddox gently held her still. “The medics’ll be here any minute, darlin’. Hear the sirens? Just lie still.”
Her blue eyes locked with his. “I don’t remember….”
He patted her shoulder. “You may have a bump on your head.” He glanced at Iris. She was staring at the woman.
The sound of sirens died. In seconds, two Sebastian paramedics pushed through the crowd to flank the victim.
Maddox moved out of their way, heading for Iris’s side. She struggled to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered to help her up, and turned her gaze toward the pink facade of Hotel St. George a hundred yards down the beach. Her shoulders slumped.
“Just a few yards,” Maddox coaxed, wrapping his arm around her waist. Her body vibrated like a tuning fork where he touched her. He tightened his hold on her, and half carried her down the beach toward the hotel. As they neared the back entrance, her stumbling gait faltered, her legs giving out.
Maddox lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than she looked, her loose cotton dress hiding the fact that she was almost painfully thin. She made a soft sound of protest that he ignored, then settled her head against his shoulder, her breath shallow and rapid against his throat.
He carried her to one of the cedar benches flanking the walkway. She slumped in the corner of the bench and looked up at him, her gaze unfocused.
He crouched beside her, his heart pounding more from concern than exertion. “Iris? Do you have your room key?”
She struggled to sit up, reaching for her handbag. Suddenly, she pitched forward, her forehead slamming into his mouth. Pain rocketed through his lip, eliciting a soft curse as he caught her to keep her from toppling to the concrete walk.
“Iris?” He eased her head back, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed. Her head was a dead weight in his hand.
She was unconscious.
Chapter Two
“Welcome back.”
Iris blinked, her vision slowly clearing. Over her head, rattan ceiling fan blades slowly circled, stirring the air around her. The light was off, but muted sunlight filtering through the curtains cast a saffron glow over the white walls.
She was in her hotel room. In her bed.
And sitting next to her, his elbows propped on his knees, was the sandy-haired stranger she’d met at the open-air café.
She bolted upright, scooting back toward the wicker headboard of the hotel bed. “What are you doing here?”
He sat back, his expression shuttering.