Rachael curled up, drawing her leg up as best she could to protect it from any voodoo concoction Tama had whipped up. “I’m a modern sort of woman. The kind that goes with modern medicine.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘when in Rome…’?” Rio teased.

“Yes, well, we’re not in Rome and I doubt if their medicine is that particular shade of green.” Rachael glared at him, slapping his hand away as Rio tried to pull her leg out for inspection. “Back off if you don’t want to lose that hand!”

“Is she always like this?” Drake asked.

“She gets worse. Don’t put a gun in her hand.”

“That was an accident. I had a high fever.” She shoved Rio’s hand away again. “I’m not getting near that stuff. You sure turn bossy when your friends are around.”

“Stop squirming around. I want Kim and Tama to see what they can do.” Rio sat on the edge of the bed, casually leaning his weight across her hips so she couldn’t sit up. “Just do it, Tama, don’t pay any attention to her.”

“What did she shoot?” Drake asked.

“The radio.”

Drake laughed. “Fortunately I brought mine. You can have it and I’ll pick up another. We’re going to have to go after Kim’s do-gooders and get them out of Tomas’s camp. That was the real reason we came, you know, not to rescue you, Rio.”

“Kim’s do-gooders?” Rachael echoed, feigning outrage. “When I’m feeling better, you’ll be taking that back.”

Rio tried to ignore the black jealousy swirling in his gut. He might come from a primitive species but he didn’t have to act like it. He could be civilized. It shouldn’t matter that Rachael smiled at Drake. And maybe it didn’t. But it did matter that she teased him. He wanted that particular note in her voice to be reserved exclusively for him. He reached inward, searching for a calm center, a place he often went to conquer the part of him that lived by forest rules. Air moved through his lungs. He breathed in and out, determined not to sway from his chosen path. It was all important for him to be in control.

He felt the touch of her fingers. Feather-light. Barely there, the smallest of connections. Her fingers twisted in the waistband of his pants, knuckles pressing against his bare skin creating instant heat. It was a small gesture, but he recognized her need for comfort, for reassurance. And that brought him instant relief.

“Rio, are you going to go after Don Gregson and the others?” Rachael had planned her escape so carefully. She had planned to live her life alone. She hadn’t even been that afraid, yet now everything seemed different. She didn’t want Rio to leave her.

8