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* * *
One eye fluttered open. Haze clouded Raine’s mind. She must still be in the elevator.
“Mademoiselle? Pouvez-vous m’ecouter?”
Can you hear me? Yes, I can hear you. The words flowed through Raine’s brain but didn’t make it to her lips. She turned her head into the hardness against her. Get me out of here. Please. Only a whimpered croak escaped her throat as her body shivered and her stomach churned.
“Fermez vos yeux,” the husky accented voice said. A male voice. “Je vais m’occuper de vous.”
Close your eyes. I’ll take care of you. Raine swallowed, her heart pounding. Who was he? A stranger. In a foreign country. But a note of kindness in his voice convinced her to obey. First and foremost, she had to leave the tower. Either that or die an untimely death.
Despite her need, her legs wouldn’t move. She squeezed her eyes shut, clamped her arms around the man’s neck, and allowed the black emptiness to take her again.
* * *
Raine awoke. Fluffiness cushioned her head, and she was lying…on a sofa? Where was she? She jerked upright and blinked, trying to focus. Yes, a sofa. An emerald green brocade. She looked toward her feet. Her shoes were gone.
“Ah, you are awake.”
Though slightly familiar, the velvety-smooth, accented voice startled her. Deep and sensual, it trickled over her clammy body like the swirl of a smoky Cognac. Her skin prickled as a tall man strode toward her. Was he carrying a cup? She arched her brows, trying to adjust to the blurriness. He held the cool glass to her lips.
“Drink, Lorraine.”
Lorraine. He knew her name. The name she loathed. But in his sexy French accent it sounded beautiful and exotic. Lor-Renne.
Heat spread through Raine. She should be frightened—indeed, she was—but the lure of a crisp drink of water proved too tempting to resist. Her body craved hydration. Eagerly, she sucked the liquid into her mouth. And promptly spit it out, staining her moonstone silk shell with a splatter of purple.
“That’s wine!”
“Oui, it is wine, of course. What else would it be?”
“Water. You know. Eau? I was expecting water.”
“I am sorry.” A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat.
“What’s so funny?” The words sputtered from Raine’s lips. “And who are you, anyway?”
“I am Blaise,” he said. “Blaise Dartagnan.”
Raine closed her eyes. What a poetic sounding name. Blez Dartanyan. “Dartagnan. Like in The Three Musketeers?”
“Oui. Yes. Something like that.”
Raine struggled to clear her vision. If he was as handsome as his voice suggested, she definitely wanted a better look. She widened her eyes and scanned his face. “Oh, God.” Her heart thudded against her sternum.
He sat across from her on a black lacquer coffee table. A few days’ worth of golden stubble dusted his chiseled jaw line, and his long nose turned up just a touch at the tip, which, for some reason foreign to Raine, was incredibly sexy. High cheekbones, full lips, an adorable dimple in his chin. And eyes. Deep set and slightly slanted, they sparkled like lapis lazuli fringed with a nutmeg curtain of lashes. But as spectacular as his eyes were, they paled in comparison to the flowing mane of gold that fell over his broad shoulders. She wanted to touch it, let it slide between her fingers like strands of silk. But that would be insane. He was a stranger. He had cared for her, taken her from the tower when she couldn’t help herself, but still, he was a stranger.
“What is it?” He searched her face. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?” Damn, his hair was beautiful.
“You said, ‘Oh, God.’ Is something the matter?”
Uh, yeah. I said “Oh, God” because you’re the most amazing creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. “I just…” Raine cleared her throat. “Water. Please.”
“Yes. Of course. I should have thought. You’re American. You don’t want wine.”
“I’ve nothing against wine. But right now, I need water.”
