Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [24]
“How do you feel, Jules?” he asked, taking in the physical signs as he spoke. He knew how she felt without having to ask.
“I remember,” Jules said, trying to weave her wayward and tangled memories together.
He tensed, afraid to say anything.
“Is Jameson Wilkes dead? Did you kill him?”
He was relieved at her tone—angry, aggressive. “No, but I did slam my fist into his face. I don’t imagine he’ll feel very well for a while.”
“Yes,” she said again. “I remember. He drugged me, forced wine down my throat when I refused to drink it.” She fell silent, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I remember now that you hit me. My jaw hurts.”
“I’m sorry, Jules, but I had to get you out of there fast. I think you believed I was one of those bas . . . rotten men, and you fought me.”
“Well, I just hope that you hit Wilkes much harder.” She yawned, and raised her hand to cover her mouth. She paused, staring at the long sleeve that fell over the tips of her fingers. She looked at him, puzzled.
Saint became all professional. “I’m a doctor, Jules. I had to make sure you were all right. That’s one of my nightshirts, my only one, in fact. It’s yours until I can buy you something else.”
His very bland, cool tone would have worked if she hadn’t spent two weeks faced with what men did to women. He’d stripped off that awful gown. He’d seen her naked. She’d seen Wilkes’s leering looks when she’d been without any clothes in front of him. How had Michael looked at her? It was too much. Tears shimmered in her eyes and began to course down her cheeks.
“Jules! Come on, now, sweetheart. That’s no way to greet an old friend after five long years.”
He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he held himself still. He said roughly, “Buck up, Jules, the world hasn’t ended. Nothing happened. You’re safe here. Don’t turn into a watering pot on me now.” God, at least I pray nothing happened.
She sniffed, trying to swallow the tears, and dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re not like Wilkes.”
“No,” he said very gently, “I’m not.”
“I don’t understand how you saved me,” she said, her attention wandering inward even as she spoke. Something was gnawing at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t remember what it was.
“I was told by one of the Sydney Ducks that Wilkes had a missionary’s daughter from Lahaina. When I heard the description, I knew it had to be you. The rest was planning, that’s all.”
He saw that she was frowning at a point beyond his shoulder. He waited patiently, knowing that if she remembered the happenings of the previous evening, he would simply have to deal with it.
Jules said abruptly, her eyes suddenly intent upon his face, “You haven’t changed at all, Michael. You’re still large and hard and handsome, and your eyes still crinkle.”
He wished she’d used some word other than “hard.” “I’m nearly an old man now, Jules.”
“Ha! You’re ten years older, that’s all. I remember you used the same argument on me when I asked you to marry me at the advanced age of fourteen.” She flushed at her words. A child’s words from the past. Something nibbled insistently at the edge of her thoughts, but she couldn’t seem to grasp it, to understand. It was frustrating and disconcerting. Slowly she raised her hand to touch his face. “You still feel like you used to,” she said. Then suddenly she said, her voice intense, “I dreamed you came back to me in Lahaina, and we were together again.”
“A dream,” he said cautiously. “And I did come back to you, in a sense.”
“Yes, I suppose. Your eyes are so beautiful. The hazel is so much nicer than my . . . slime green.”
He laughed at that. “Oh no, not slime, Jules. Don’t