The Surgeon's Runaway Bride Page 15

  Suffocating with dread, he had to know. “How—how long…?”

  Madeline understood, rasped, “A bit under six minutes.”

  “Are—are you…?”

  Madeline gave a shaky nod. “I’m sure!”

  They resumed their resuscitation efforts during his ragged supplications for her to fight, to come back to him.

  Five lifetimes later, Jewel’s pulse began to quicken. Then she started choking on the ET. He pounced to remove it, replacing the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth at once.

  “Por favor, meuamor, open your eyes…” he prayed, begged.

  And then she did. Looked him straight in the eyes. He almost fell to his knees to kiss the deck in thanks. This was a lucid gaze, disoriented, feeble, but housing her intellect and uniqueness. She was OK!

  Her hand rose to the mask.

  “Leave it on, amor,” he implored.

  “Wh-wha—?” she wheezed behind the mask.

  Pain clamped his body. He hunched over her, needing to contain her, protect her. “Shh, shh, amor, you’re fine, fine.”

  Her hand lurched to the angry cut on her forehead and his hand jerked, catching hers before he jumped to sterilize and bandage her wound. Her fingers trembled a trail to another cut on her cheek and he again removed her hand, pressed a kiss to her lips, his rigid with the pressure of emotion. “You’ll be fine, amor.”

  Dazed eyes stared at him. Then she closed them.

  It had been ten days since she’d almost drowned.

  Later on the day that Roque had fished her out of the river and resuscitated her, she’d developed adult respiratory distress syndrome and had almost died again.

  For four days afterwards it had been like re-entering her old nightmare. So much so, she’d wondered if she’d ever exited it, if the intervening years, Roque and the full, meaningful life she’d led ever since, had not been an unbelievably complex escape mechanism of an irreversibly damaged mind and body.

  Two things had convinced her this was a brand-new nightmare. Her body wasn’t injured, just her face. And Roque.

  For why would a diseased mind seeking escape into a dream world give her more injuries of the kind she dreaded? Far worse, why create such a man as Roque to love, only to have him not love her back and inflict such intolerable torment?

  “Here comes another of my culinary miracles.” Her sluggish stare panned to watch Roque pushing into their cabin, a tray high in one hand, his face alight with forced brightness. “Your last breakfast aboard before we arrive in Manaus, amor.”

  He’d cut the expedition short. And all the way to Manaus he’d been devoted to her, to nursing her back to health.

  He set the tray down on her lap, brushed his lips on hers then straightened and went to continue packing their stuff. Before he turned away she again caught that new pained expression in his eyes.

  But it wasn’t new. She now remembered when she’d seen it before. Right after her first accident.

  She’d been so traumatized then it seemed she’d blotted it out. Now another trauma had shaken the memory loose. And now she knew why she’d blotted it out. So she’d survive.

  His pity had been the one thing she hadn’t been able to bear.

  But had that been why he’d pursued her afterwards? Had she moved him so much he’d tried to heal her the only way he’d known how, with the best medicine there was, a gorgeous man’s desire and attention? The notion was weird, but now she knew the motives she’d thought he’d married her for were ridiculous, it seemed like the only explanation. Why else would someone like him have looked at her then? How could he look at her now?

  His behavior now only reinforced her pity theory. He’d started to pull away before the accident but was now deluging her in attention again. It seemed compassion was his strongest motivator.

  Not that she’d accept it. Or endure it. If she’d been the unwitting object of his benevolence once, she’d never be again. Up till the accident she’d at least been the object of his honest lust.

  But if pity had been why he’d married her, why had he been angry when she’d walked out, proving she hadn’t needed or deserved pity any more, when he should have been relieved?

  Easy one, that. She’d behaved cruelly. And if her suspicions were correct, ungratefully to boot. He’d had every right to be furious, to lash back.

  But she knew now why she had behaved so badly. Knowing she’d never give him the babies he craved had been what had sent her mad, then vicious with pain. Believing all those lies about him had been more bearable than facing her deficiency; running away had been better than waiting for him to discard her.

  And now she knew he was the one man who most needed his own flesh-and-blood family, who would be the most magnificent father, it would have gutted her if he loved her back, only to find out what he’d be deprived of to be with her. She should be glad—she was glad—for him, that he couldn’t love her.

  Knowing he didn’t and hadn’t loved her left out his nobility, his monumental compassion, to explain all he’d done for her. But even with the most benevolent of intentions, he must have sighed in relief the moment she’d walked out the door. He would again when she walked away this time.

  As for why he hadn’t divorced her, she’d also figured that out. Now that he was wealthy and celebrated, besides being the most fantastic male on earth, he must be wading in women. What better way to ward off the vultures than with a married status? He must have kept her as his scarecrow wife.

  She didn’t have cut and dried explanations for why he’d gotten involved with her again, none but the obvious, of course.

  A long honk cut through her oppressive reverie and she found herself staring blankly at him. A gentle hand stopped her when she moved to get up.

  He smoothed her bangs out of her eyes, picked up her hand, kissed it then placed a fork in it. “Eat your breakfast first, Jóia. We don’t have to jump off the boat the minute we dock.”

  She put the fork down. “I’m really not hungry.”

  She wondered at the coolness in her tones, the rock-steadiness. Must be the numbness of inescapable doom. The riverboat was already docking. This was it. The end.

  The pressure to make it a quick one built, made her move the tray away, propelled her out of bed. “Sorry you went to the trouble for nothing.”

  Roque watched Jewel getting dressed in silence, her last words echoing in his head.

  Had she been telling him something? What her every nuance had been telling him since she’d regained her health after those harrowing days when he’d almost lost her, when he’d hung onto her with all his will and life…?

  Deus, he couldn’t bear even the memories.

  But that had been when her withdrawal had occurred. Up until the accident, her passion, so different from the past, so deep and giving, had still been at full blast. So much so he’d started to hope it wouldn’t fade this time. He’d also managed to harness his eagerness, giving her the space she needed for her emotions to take root, had started to think her continued desire meant he’d been succeeding.

  He’d even made peace with her episodic remoteness, accepted it as part of her character. He really couldn’t expect her to be perpetually aware of him, transmitting and receiving. He’d succumbed to doubts, of course, woken up in a sweat with her in his arms, convinced she was gone, or would tell him she was going. He’d struggled to blot out those episodes.

  Then had come her total withdrawal after her brush with death. But that was even more understandable. The last thing he expected now was vivaciousness and passion.

  But that was logic talking. Insecurity whispered that with her frailty extinguishing her passion, the truth about her feelings had been uncovered. When her body didn’t respond to his, he ceased to exist for her.

  But, no! Her passion hadn’t been just sexual. He may have believed that of her before, but not now. The woman he worshipped had such depth, such consideration, she wouldn’t have given him all that intimacy, all that fire, all that h
ope, if her emotions had been uninvolved. It wouldn’t have been so beautiful and overpowering without a powerful emotional ingredient on her side. And then there had been the companionship and laughter and dependence and appreciation.

  But those were gone, insecurity lamented. And he had to listen. And burn in uncertainty. Had it been her accident? Those minutes when her breathing had stopped and her heart almost had? Had her emotions for him been in the most superficial part of her being, had they been the most fragile that they’d been the first part of her to die? And now couldn’t be resurrected?

  He refused to believe that. What they had, had been, was real. And rare. Unique. She was just depleted. He’d wait, revive her, and her emotions. But to do that, he had to have her near. But how, now the expedition was over?

  He knew how, had been putting off proposing it to the last minute of the expedition. Then the last ten days had happened and it felt like a replay of the past. And now he was loath to repeat it, to offer her something she might accept only out of a need for support.

  But he couldn’t wait any more. He had to ask her to stay with him. He’d continue giving her space, as long as it took, take his cues from her while building up to asking her to share his life, be his wife again, and for real.

  He walked behind her out of the cabin that had witnessed so much ecstasy and turmoil, headed down to the lower deck, his hands itching to grab her back, to tell her, ask her…

  “Got a minute, boss?”

  Berto. Inferno. This had to be about the charter plane he’d arranged to take them all back to Rio. In fuming impatience, he watched her walk ahead, turned to Berto, spilled all responsibility into his lap and turned around to Jewel, his heart tripping—and he didn’t find her!

  His gaze jerked around, the irrational panic that had become ingrained in him of losing her, one way or another, turning to stupefaction.

  She’d carried her bags, disembarked and was already halfway across the pier.

  But she couldn’t walk away—not again.

  His mind froze, but his body was on autopilot, running after her. She turned at his grab, looked at him with vacant eyes. Deus, that was far worse than when she’d walked away before. She’d had some life in her eyes then. Being subjected to her indifference demolished him.

  Say something. Put in words what she knows she means to you. “Jewel, the past weekss”

  She cut him off, her voice tranquil. “The past weeks were incredible, Roque. And they proved to me what a great thing I missed out on, walking out on you.”

  Elation swelled in his heart. Until she went on, “I don’t have the words to thank you for everything—for saving my life, for the magnificent time together, professionally and personally. It was great to have an all-out affair and have it run its course, so that there will be no more wondering or wanting. Now that we have closure we can say goodbye with nothing but goodwill.”

  He stared at her, expecting her to burst out laughing and say, Fooled you!

  But she didn’t say it, continued in that rational tone, “I’m OK with remaining married indefinitely. A man like you must be beset with vultures and a paper wife is the best deterrent. It’s the least I can do for you.” She suddenly reached up and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Roque. Be happy.”

  Then she turned and walked away.

  He remained paralyzed, staring after her as she reached one of the cabs waiting to take tourists into Manaus along its single highway. He stood there until the cab had disappeared.

  And she was gone. Again. For good this time.

  Jewel. Gone. For good.

  And he wondered. Why hadn’t his heart stopped?

  So he could live with it? He couldn’t. Deus, was that it? He’d been wrong—so wrong—again?

  And again he’d done it to himself. He’d put himself in her path, given her every opportunity to pulverize him, then walk away.

  But in the past he’d had the motivation to build himself, his vocation, and the uncertainty about her and his emotions for her, to keep him going.

  He had none of that now.

  This time, all was lost.

  He was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE eyes that looked back at Roque were a stranger’s.

  He’d almost forgotten how he looked, hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror, not even when he’d shaved, which he probably hadn’t, for the past month since Jewel had walked away.

  For the first week, duties had swamped him, running interference with his agony. Then he’d rounded up the mission’s results and damages and had really started to suffer—and think.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept what she’d told him. She’d almost died, again, and had to be traumatized. She shouldn’t be on her own now. He must be with her, and if later, when she was fully healed, she still felt the same way, he’d deal with that when—if—it came to pass. First he had to find her.

  But he couldn’t. She’d disappeared.

  For the past few weeks he’d torn through Rio, hired private investigators, scoured the whole country—airports, hospitals, hotels, rented residences—everything and everywhere. And nothing. Then, half an hour ago, he’d gotten his first lead.

  A woman who owned a bakery downtown had reported seeing Jewel, but wouldn’t give more information until she was satisfied Jewel’s husband wasn’t some goon.

  That had forced him to stop long enough to shave. He had to try to look human again so he wouldn’t scare that woman, make her think Jewel was better off not being found by him.

  He slicked his shower-wet hair back, grabbed his jacket and ran to the door. He snatched it open and—and…

  Right there on his doorstep—Jewel.

  Everything about her hit him, all at once, like an avalanche, burying him, driving him to his knees in his mind. She seemed smaller, thinner, felt younger, frailer. Her hair was a blaze of luxuriant color and gloss in his dim entrance light, her eyes housing the spirit that bound his soul—and her face, the face of his every reason. It was no longer bruised, the scars less than he’d thought they would be. And she was wearing brown—but she never wore brown.

  Deus—was he imagining her?

  “Hello, Roque.”

  The soft, rich melody that had echoed in his memory, her voice, her presence—her. She was really here.

  Pressure built behind his eyes, a jagged rock filled his throat, shredded his voice around her name. “Jewel…”

  “I—I heard you were looking for me.” Her eyes probed him, wary. Expecting he would deny it?

  The upheavals, the dread, the love and loneliness and longing—it all crashed on him. He stood there, paralyzed, mute.

  She nodded, exhaled a tremulous murmur, “This must be old news, thens” Her words choked as she jerked around, hurried away.

  He captured her, his trembling hands sinking in her reality, fixing her face for his eyes to beseech his questions. Are you here for me? Are you still mine?

  And her eyes gushed her response.

  He had no idea when he’d carried her to bed, how they’d become flesh to flesh. The first thing he registered was the moment he sank into her, went home, when she absorbed him into her flesh, wept for him, inside and out, and it all merged into a dream sequence. Jewel and him and union. Safety and certainty and ecstasy. Time stretched and senses bent and shattered to the gasping rhythm of abandon and the savage sanctuary of release.

  Reborn, invincible with his most vital part restored and still cushioning him, anchoring his existence, he rose above her, disbelief still streaking in his system.

  She was here. Here. His again. At least, this way. For now.

  He’d take all the for nows he could. He’d put them together and make a for ever.

  Her eyes were shimmering as her lips moved. He caught them, only realized when he’d drained them again that he’d swallowed something she’d said with her sweetness. He retrieved the thick words, replayed them.

  She’d whispered, “I need to know. That’s why I came bac
k.”

  The statement sank into his mind like a depth mine. Then its import hit bottom. He wasn’t the reason she’d come back?

  “Know what?” he rasped.

  “Why, Roque?” Her face was stained with a poignancy so sharp it cleaved into him. “Why? Why everything? Why did you marry me? Why did you pursue me during the expedition, only to keep me away? And after you had me, why did you step away again, only to come even closer after the accident? Why did you look for me after the expedition? Why did you just make love to me?”

  Why ask? When she must know? She needed his total surrender in words? Then give it to her.

  He did, pledged it. “Because I love you, always have, always will, only you—only ever you.”

  Her whole body jerked, then went nerveless beneath him. He lurched up and off her, ended up kneeling, watching her crumple under the onslaught of terrible emotions he couldn’t begin to guess at.

  “Jewels” he pleaded.

  Her whisper stifled his plea. “If you think I want to hear this, you’re wrong—wrong. I don’t. All I want is to be with you, for a while longer…”

  “Por Deus! What are you trying to do to me? You’re back, only to tell me I’m only good enough for a longer ‘affair'?”

  “An affair is all I can give you.” She shot him a weird, hectic smile. “It can be as long as you like—until you find the one you can love, would want to spend your life with…”

  Would his head burst with it all? “You’re the only one I can love—can spend my life with.” Misery corroded him when horror filled her eyes as his confessions sank in. She finally sobbed, “You c-can’t mean thats!” “I see you’d rather I’d told you I’d infected you with a terminal disease.” It was either resort to sarcasm or weep.

  “B-but th-the only reason I came back, the only reason I let us be together again, was knowing y-you don’t love mes” “You must want to drive me insane! Or are you mad? You only want to be with me if I don’t love you? If I’m so beneath you that you can’t bear the thought of my love…”