P.s. Love You Madly

She resisted the urge to touch that restless mouth, to try to sooth it. It was sensually shaped, yet the lines that bracketed it seemed to have been engraved by years of discipline.

He was handsome, but too thin. She remembered the feel of his ribs jutting beneath his shirt when she had held him for those few moments.

Almost guiltily, she smoothed his hair from his forehead.

Emerald, clanking, came to her side, dragging something. “Lift up his head,” she said.

Darcy gritted her teeth and slid her hand beneath the man’s neck and up to the back of his skull. His brown hair felt moist at the roots. She lowered his head to rest against the cushion Emerald had brought—before she realized it was the bookworm.

“Not that,” Darcy rebuked, and threw Emerald a sharp glance.

“You said to get something for his head,” Emerald said defensively.

Oh, what the hell, thought Darcy.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Emerald asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said. She touched his brow again. “He’s burning up.”

Emerald arose with the clinking of chain mail. Darcy bent over the man to loosen his tie and undo his top shirt buttons.

Rose Alice burst through the front door. “I saw the whole thing,” she thundered. “I called 9-1-1. Don’t touch him, Darcy. Get back. I’ve got him covered.”

With a shock, Darcy saw that Rose Alice had one of Gus’s golf clubs and was brandishing it at the fallen man.

“Rose Alice,” she cried. “Put that down. He’s unconscious. He’s ill—this is a sick man.”

“Probably drugged to the gills—” Rose Alice sneered “—I thought he had a funny gleam in his eyes. Never should have let him come over here. Get back, Darcy. I’ll teach him to mess with my girls.”

Emerald, halfway to the phone, had stopped dead and now stared fearfully at Rose Alice.

The man stirred. He gave a small groan, and a muscle played fitfully in his jaw. His head rolled back and forth against the bookworm.

“Stand back,” commanded Rose Alice, her grip tightening. “He’s coming to. If he tries anything, I’ll knock his butt to kingdom come.”

“Rose Alice,” Darcy said in her most menacing tone, “put that down, dammit. Right now.”

She put her arms around the man so that her body shielded his, and she glowered furiously at Rose Alice. “I mean it,” she said. “We’re fine. He’s the one in trouble. He’s got some sort of fever.”

Reluctantly, Rose Alice lowered the golf club. “I would have got a gun,” she said. “But I couldn’t find any bullets.”

“Thank God,” Darcy said. “Emerald—call. Make sure an ambulance is coming.”

Emerald went to the phone, dialed and began to talk excitedly.

The man moved again. The frown line between his brows deepened. The dark lashes flickered restlessly.

Suddenly, his hand rose and clamped hotly on her forearm. His grip was surprisingly strong, and she stifled a gasp of surprise. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

She found herself staring into a pair of green eyes that were narrowed in pain. He raised his head so that his face was close to hers.

“How’d I get on the floor?” he demanded. His voice was a harsh whisper.

“You fell,” she said.

He sank back against the bookworm. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Give me a minute. Then I’ll get out of here.”

He didn’t relax his hold on her, but she hardly noticed. With her free hand, she smoothed back his hair. “No,” she objected. “You’ve got a fever, a bad one. We’ve called an ambulance.”

He groaned. “I don’t want an ambulance. I’ll be fine. Just let me rest a minute.” His eyes squeezed shut, and he grimaced.

“You need to take it easy,” she cautioned.

He opened his eyes and studied her face with perplexity. “You’re the Parker woman, right?”

She nodded. She had a strange, swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Right.”

He put his free hand to his forehead. “And I showed up on your doorstep demanding we talk about our parents, right?”

“Right,” she breathed. His hair had fallen over his brow again, but this time she fought down the impulse to stroke it back into place.

He made a sound of disgust. “I shouldn’t have come. This thing—it sneaked back up on me. I wasn’t in my right mind. I’m probably not in my right mind now.”

He swore and pressed her hand against his chest, and once again she felt the surging beat of his heart.

“Take your mitts off her,” ordered Rose Alice.

He raised his head and looked at her in pained disbelief. Rose Alice was a large, stocky woman with peroxided blond hair. She wore ragged shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. She did not pull the golf club back in a threat to swing, but she gripped it more tightly, and her arm muscles tensed. The movement made the tattoos on her biceps ripple.

“Who’s that?” he demanded.

“My mother’s housekeeper,” Darcy said. “Please—lie back down.”

Rose Alice said, “He shouldn’t be hanging on you that way. It’s too damn familiar.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he kept her hand pressed against his heart. “You keep the room from spinning round.”

“I don’t mind it,” Darcy told Rose Alice. “Please,” she said, turning back to Sloan English, “don’t exert yourself.”

“I think I hear sirens,” said Emerald. “Hark.” She stalked to the door with a jingle and metallic clatter.

Sloan gave her a puzzled scowl. “And who’s that?”

“My sister,” she said, trying to coax him to lean back again. “You said something about Kuala Lumpur. Is that where you caught this fever?”

“Yes,” he said, sinking back. “And it’s a devil. But you won’t catch it. Humans don’t pass it to humans.”

Rose Alice curled her lip. “Says you. How do we know you’re not running around spreading your cooties?”