Page 22 of Hot & Heavy

Yasmine immediately tried to get up, but he shoved her back down, probably a little too hard, but, really, he'd had enough of her nonsense. He quickly attached the plastic cuffs to her ankles to further restrain her.

"I asked you a question. Answer me."

She zipped her lips. Just what he'd expected her to do.

"That's okay, cupcake. Let's just take these clothes off and see if you have any injuries that aren't visible."

He proceeded to lift the hem of her filthy garment, exposing long and well-shaped legs, something he should not be noticing at the moment.

She suddenly found her tongue, as he'd expected she would. "Nay! I'll answer you. I have no injuries under my gunna. No need to remove my clothing."

"Suddenly shy, are you?" He smiled at her in a mocking way. He could tell that she'd like nothing more than to clout him over the head with another rock.

"Damn you to hell," she swore.

"I'm already well on my way there, without your help, sweetie. About the water?"

"There is no water, other than the drippings on the back of the cave wall, down that short passage-way."

She motioned with her head toward the back of the cave. "It satisfied my thirst today, but it tastes like dragon piss."

"You've got a foul mouth on you," he said as he took out his first-aid kit and wet a piece of gauze with a small amount of precious water from the drinking tube leading to the hydration bladder on his back, then held the tube to her mouth. "Here. Take a couple of small sips."

At first she resisted. Surprise, surprise. She was the kind of woman who resisted everything, even what was good for her. Once she realized that it was not poison, she gulped the water greedily. He had to pull it away. Who knew how long it would have to last them?

He forced her to lie back and knelt at her side. Taking the wet gauze, he began to clean the cuts on her face, some of which were still seeping blood. "Most of the wounds are just superficial, but the one above your left eye probably needs a butterfly clip," he remarked as he worked, dabbing and applying antiseptic.

"I have no idea what you said. Just do what needs to be done."

He took a metal suture from his kit and leaned forward. "This is going to hurt."

"You cannot hurt me any more than others have done." She closed her eyes and did not even wince when he clamped the pieces of skin together. He finished cleaning up the blood as best he could with the small amount of water.

"That'll have to be good enough for now."

"You have cuts on your face, too. Release me so I can minister to you."

"No way!"

She made a tsk-ing sound of disgust, then remarked, "You look ugly with that black on your face."

"Thanks for the compliment." Ian was sensitive about his receding hairline, but he had a passable face and a superior body, thanks to SEALs training. No one had ever called him ugly before, and it rankled a bit.

It was then that he noticed the thin welt around her throat. It was not a new scar. Suddenly he recalled something he'd seen but not taken note of in passing. Looking down, he saw the same welts around her wrists and ankles.

"Sonofabitch!" he muttered under his breath. "Who did this to you?"

"A man," she replied flatly. Her eyes were wide open now. And she clearly put him in the same category as the kind of man—or men—who'd done this to her.

He shook his head. "Not a man. A beast."

She shrugged. "It has been my experience that all men fall into that category."

"Then your experience hasn't been wide enough."

"Just like a man, defending his own."

"I am not defending this," he said, tracing the scar on her neck with a forefinger.