Raoul slowly removed his T-shirt, giving her plenty of time to see what he was doing and object if she felt so inclined. She looked at him, her eyes registered alarm, followed by a brief show of life, and then became blank again. She wasn’t screaming, or showing agitation, so he stepped out of the rest of his clothing and led her toward the shower. She went with him as meekly as a lamb.
“She must feel safe with us,” Zeke said. “Even if she doesn’t understand why. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t taken many showers since we last saw her, but I’m willing to bet she would have put up one hell of a fight if anyone tried to relieve her of her clothes.”
“Yeah, most likely. Our gal never was the passive type.”
Cantara stood beneath the shower, eyes closed, head thrown back as water cascaded over it, and allowed Raoul to soap her all over. He did so with infinite tenderness, eliciting a sigh from her that made him feel like a million dollars because he knew it was a sigh of pleasure. The first pleasure she had known in a very long time. He squirted shampoo onto her head and gently rubbed it in. Then he let the water wash the lather away and repeated the process. By the time he had finished, Zeke was there with towels. He wrapped one around her wet hair and enveloped her slender body with another large, white fluffy sheet.
“There you go, darlin’,” he said, kissing her neck. “Now don’t that feel better?”
She nodded, but seemed too confused to speak. Zeke gently towel dried her hair and brushed it out for her. A few basic items of clothing had been left in the room and Raoul helped her into a pair of panties and another enveloping dress that cover her from neck to ankle, long sleeves concealing her stick-thin arms.
“Thank you.”
The sound of her voice took them both by surprise.
“You’re entirely welcome, sweetheart,” Raoul said, choked by emotion at her gratitude for such a small service.
“Oh, you look better.” The nurse who came in with a full breakfast tray smiled at Cantara. “I expect you’re in a hurry to go home.”
“Home?” she echoed in a dazed tone.
“Come along, darlin’,” Zeke said. “There’s English tea here. We know you like that. And your favorite cereal. You think you can manage that?”
She shrugged, but made no objection when the guys spoon fed her breakfast to her. They did so slowly, taking bites of their own omelets in between, giving her digestive system a chance to handle an influx of food that was a damned sight richer than the slop she’d most likely been living on for three years.
By the time she had finished, the doctor called again with her sign-out papers, which Raoul dealt with. Parker and Pool tried to barge in, but Zeke blocked the door.
“Not now,” he said, crossing his arms over his torso. They didn’t have a prayer of getting past him, and both appeared to know it. “We’ll let you know when you can talk to her.”
“Come on, darlin’,” Raoul said, helping her to stand. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Eight
Cantara had forgotten how comforting it could be to feel safe, always supposing she had ever known. All she could remember was being angry, cold, hungry, and afraid. And having pains in her head. All the time, pains. Before that her life was a blur, occasionally interspersed by fleeting memories that were gone before she could reach out and capture them.
These two men made her feel safe because she instinctively understand they were the exception to the rule and meant her no harm. The men who had featured so prominently in her dreams were actually warm, caring flesh and blood. She had not imagined them, so she assumed she must have known them in her previous life, accounting for her willingness to trust them when she had learned the hard way that no men were to be trusted.
The men—Raoul and Zeke—had brought her to safety, washed and fed her, telling her repeatedly how relieved they were to see her, because it was evident they hadn’t expected to. Cantara knew they were sincere. She had no idea how she could be so sure, so willing to put her faith in them. She just was. Perhaps that’s why she had slept without dreaming, sensing they were there all the time, watching over her, wrapping her in the security of their compassion.
What happened after that? It was so hard to separate myth from reality, but she did remember being sandwiched between them in what felt like a limousine. How did she know it was a limo, or even what a limo was? Had she been in one before? Then they were definitely in an airplane—just the three of them. She was strapped into a seat of soft sumptuous leather, wide enough for two people, and the plane took to the air. Her two saviors were piloting it because, of course, they were heroes and heroes could do everything.
Once they were in the air, one or the other them sat with her the entire time, holding her hand, talking softly to her. She found their voices soothing, comforting, and knew it was okay to close her eyes because at last she had people to look out for her. She thought she must have been given something for the pains in her head because they were no longer there. The medication had made her sleepy. Or perhaps it was the food she had eaten. She wasn’t used to eating much at all. Tea, she remembered drinking tea and the explosion of nutmeg and cinnamon she associated with Earl Grey bringing her taste buds back to life. It was too tiring to work it all out. Her mind was such a fog, but she fought against sleeping. It wasn’t safe to sleep when men were around. They tried to do things to her. Things she didn’t want them to do.
She jerked upright, away from the troubling images playing tricks with her mind, and cried out, disorientated, afraid again.
“It’s okay, darlin’,” said the soothing voice of the man she recognized as Zeke. “You were dreaming, is all. You’re quite safe.”
“Hmm.”
“Come on, I’ve got you. Close your eyes again and we’ll be home before you know it.”
“Home?” She blinked. “I don’t have a home.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you so do.”