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“How would you know that?”
“I read it somewhere,” Christian told him. “I think she has heatstroke. And she’s sunburned.” Her skin was coated in perspiration as well. “We should put her in a bath.”
Rory ducked into the bathroom. Let out a harsh litany of swear words and stormed back into the suite. “There’s no fucking water! That’s why she didn’t fill the tub when she was stuck out there.”
Christian carefully placed her on the bed, propping her against the mound of pillows, as Rory went to the wet bar and grabbed several bottles of unchilled FIJI from the butler pantry. He set them on the nightstand and then returned to the bathroom for towels.
Christian twisted the cap off the water and held it to Bayli’s mouth, helping her sip because her body was shaking. She attempted a deeper drink, and he eased the bottle away.
“Not so much, so fast,” he told her in a quiet voice. “Little sips. Okay?”
She glared at him through eyes that danced in their sockets. Christ, for all he knew, her retinas were fried.
Rory dampened a hand towel and wiped all the makeup from her face. He tossed it aside and reached for another, moistening it as well and gliding it gently along her neck and collarbone. Christian helped her sip some more. He wished like hell he could remember precisely how to treat heatstroke. It’d been in an article in the Wall Street Journal when a CEO’s plane had crash-landed in the tropics and the executive had only narrowly survived the extreme climate.
They needed to cool Bayli down, just not so quickly that she went into shock. So no packing her in ice.
Christian told Rory, “We have to get the water on so we can get her in the bathtub.”
Rory handed over a wet towel. “I’ll be back.”
With Rory out of the room—because he didn’t want his best friend exploding over the terrifying situation for Bayli—Christian asked her, “How’d you get locked out? It’s not an automatic lock.”
“Melita,” she said, still hoarse and weak. “She didn’t know I was out there. She locked up before leaving.”
“Do you remember when that was?”
“I’d just had lunch.”
Christian swore under his breath. “So about four hours with no water. Thank God you’re a smart girl and created some shade for yourself.” He kissed her temple. “The problem is, all that glass and metal probably adds about six to ten degrees to the temperature in that confined area. You must have felt like an ant under a magnifying glass with the sun beating down on you.”
“Exactly.”
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she said with a feeble attempt at a smile. “Melita can’t be blamed, either, Christian. She knows I don’t spend any serious time out on that balcony. It was an honest mistake. Don’t have her fired or anything, okay?”
“Always worried about others.” He kissed her softly. Then said, “I’ll have to figure out how to break it to Rory, because he will want her fired.”
“Not when he calms down and sees the incident for what it was.”
Rory returned minutes later and started the bath. He then told them, “Kind of odd that the water was turned off outside.”
“Maybe because they didn’t think anyone was here,” Bayli offered. “They could conserve water during the day that way if they have some leaky faucets or sprinkler heads.”
“Sure. That makes sense.” Though Rory didn’t look convinced.
Bayli pulled in a few unsteady breaths. Tried to collect herself, evidently. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and this time inhaled deeper.
But then her lids fluttered open. Her tawny irises were clouded and she frowned.
“What is it?” Christian asked, instantly alarmed.
Her head rolled on the pillow and she pinned him with a look. “When was Lily here?”
* * *
“You have fucking got to be kidding me!” Rory thundered.
