Reluctantly, Adrian eased to a sitting position and jumped down from the dresser. Then she turned and held out her hand. “Give me the flashlight.”

Rooke didn’t have a choice because she needed to brace her good hand on top of the dresser to get down. The instant she relinquished the light, Adrian shined it on her injured hand.

“Okay,” Adrian said briskly, squelching her initial panic upon seeing the amount of blood running down Rooke’s arm and dripping from her fingers. “That’s going to need some attention.”

“I just need to wash it up.”

“It needs a thorough cleansing, and then we’ll decide what else.”

Adrian swept her flashlight toward the stairs. “Come on. You’re dripping on the floor.”

“Sorry,” Rooke muttered. She tugged her T-shirt from her pants and wrapped the bottom edge around her injured hand, hoping to catch most of the blood.

• 49 •

RADcLY fFe

“I was kidding,” Adrian said softly, wondering if Rooke really thought she was that uncaring. She led the way, navigating through the haphazard piles of boxes, furniture, and racks of clothes as quickly as she could. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Are you just being tough?”

“Not really.” Rooke stopped at the top of the stairs. “I’ll wait here until you bring a towel. I don’t want to get blood on your grandmother’s carpet.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Adrian lifted the light enough to illuminate Rooke’s face. She looked paler than usual, but otherwise her expression was unreadable. If she hurt, she didn’t show it. Adrian gripped Rooke’s free hand. “Be careful on the stairs.”

Rooke tried to concentrate on maneuvering down the narrow stairs, but most of her attention was fixed on Adrian’s hand clasping hers. Adrian’s skin was very soft even though her grip was strong. She wondered how her callused, rough hands felt to Adrian, and she wished she had something finer to offer her.

“Here,” Adrian said, drawing Rooke into the hall bathroom. “Hold your hand over the sink, but let me run the water for a few minutes before you get it wet. I’m afraid the water has been standing in the pipes and I don’t want any rust to get into that laceration.”

“Okay. I can take it from here.” Rooke peeled the bottom of her T-shirt away from her hand, and as soon as she did, blood welled up and dripped into the porcelain bowl.

“No, you can’t.” Adrian turned on both faucets, and after some coughing and sputtering, copper-tinged water erupted. She opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. The shelves were empty. “I’m going to check my grandmother’s bathroom. I’m sure she’s got first aid supplies in there. Will you be okay?”

“Yes. Sure.” Rooke was almost as embarrassed by the fuss as by the accident. She hated giving Adrian a reason to question her competence.

“Look, it’s really not a big dea—”

Adrian pressed her fingers against Rooke’s mouth. “Let’s see if we can go five minutes without you aggravating me. Which means, hush.”

Rooke would have been offended at being called aggravating

• 50 •

SecretS in the Stone

except she was too stunned by the sensation of Adrian’s skin against her lips to care. She felt heat, a teasing pressure, silky softness. Fighting the urge to slip her tongue out to taste her, she clamped her lips more tightly together. When Adrian’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she laughed, Rooke’s confusion suddenly turned to unexpected pleasure.

She grinned.

“Not used to taking orders, are you?” Adrian whispered, lifting her fingers away from Rooke’s mouth. The smile had taken her by surprise.

Rooke’s eyes had shifted from cool obsidian to gleaming onyx in the space of a heartbeat, and Adrian had not only seen the transformation, she’d felt it. A burst of heat and power enveloped her, still dark, but no longer dangerous. Sensual. Erotic. Hypnotic. She backed up a step.

“Remember, don’t get it wet yet. I’ll be right back.”

Oddly light-headed, Rooke braced her good arm on the sink and closed her eyes. She’d had plenty of work-related injuries in her life, and on a scale of one to ten, this was about a three. Blood didn’t bother her, even her own. Even though her hand throbbed, it wasn’t enough to make her dizzy or sick to her stomach. Just the same, her insides were jittery and her head buzzed. She didn’t feel right at all.

“Hey,” Adrian said gently, rubbing Rooke’s back. “Do you need to sit down?”

Rooke shook her head. Adrian’s hand circling between her shoulder blades sent warm waves of pleasure through her. She sucked in air, which seemed in short supply, and gripped the sink harder. “I’m okay.”

“Right, then.” Adrian lined some bottles up along the edge of the sink, then cradled Rooke’s injured hand in both of hers. “Let’s get this clean. Tell me if the water’s too warm. Or if it hurts.”

Mutely, Rooke watched as Adrian held her hand under the faucet.

Adrian ran her thumbs over the top of Rooke’s hand, dislodging the clotted blood while carefully avoiding the edges of the four-inch laceration that ran across the entire width of her hand just above her knuckles. Soon, their joined hands were covered in crimson.

Adrian concentrated on not hurting Rooke, hoping to stave off the effect of the warm red blood streaming over her skin, but she couldn’t block the images that seeped into her consciousness despite how hard she tried to barricade herself. She caught flashes of foreboding stone

• 51 •

RADcLY fFe

castles, fire-scorched parapets, and fierce warriors with their faces covered by beaten-metal helmets. She smelled burning oil and heard the agonized cries of the mortally wounded. Among the melee a single figure dominated the battle, dark eyes blazing, great sword cutting a swath through those who stormed the gates. Guardian. The word hummed in her mind as Adrian struggled to focus. She doubted more than a second had passed, and she’d had a lot of practice covering up her brief lapses. When she was a child her siblings and parents had laughed at her “overactive imagination,” until she’d learned not to share the strange and vivid pictures that sometimes jumped into her consciousness.

“Can you straighten your fingers?” Adrian asked.

“Yes.” Rooke carefully demonstrated. “A little sore but everything works.”

“Good. Are your fingertips numb?”

Rooke shook her head. “Are you a doctor?”

Adrian laughed, then out of nowhere, thought of Melinda holding her hand and unerringly divining her occupation. Melinda. Why did she keep stealing into her thoughts? “No. I’m a writer.”

“Oh.” Rooke couldn’t imagine a single thing more foreign to her experience. Common sense told her to let the subject drop, but she wanted to know about this part of Adrian. “Books, you mean?”

“No. Well, parts of books sometimes—I just finished scripting a photo journal about the war. To go along with still photos of friend of mine took. Sometimes I write articles about”—Adrian laughed—“just about anything that interests me. And then hope that someone else finds it interesting too and buys the piece.”

“For magazines and things like that?”

“That’s right. So I end up traveling to a lot to places that don’t have hospitals nearby. Most of us in my line of work get to be pretty good at first aid.” Adrian peered at the laceration, gently drawing the edges back with her thumbs. “It’s not too deep. Hand me the peroxide, could you?”

“Do you really think I need that?” Rooke stalled, eyeing the bottles lined up along the sink. Everything in her medicine cabinet at home was arranged precisely so she knew what they were. She didn’t recognize some of the bottles Adrian brought in.

“Rusty metal. Dirty attic. God knows what living up here? Yes, I

• 52 •

SecretS in the Stone

think you need it.” Adrian released Rooke’s hand and plucked up the peroxide. “Keep it under the water while I pour this on. It won’t hurt.”

“I’m not worried about it hurting,” Rooke said.

“Then stop fussing.”

Rooke set her teeth to squelch a retort. She hadn’t intended to fuss, mostly because being taken care of was a completely new experience.

She liked it, and she wasn’t certain that was such a good thing.

Adrian turned off the water and opened a nonstick gauze pad.

After smearing some antibiotic ointment on the pad, she laid it gently over the laceration on Rooke’s hand and then expertly wrapped it with a roll of gauze. “There. That’s better.”

“Thanks.”

Aware that she was still holding Rooke’s hand, Adrian realized they’d gone from being strangers to being strangely intimate in a matter of a few hours. The air in the bathroom became close and too warm.

The muscles in Rooke’s bare arm resting along the length of hers tightened and a thrill coursed through her. Too sensitive. She was just too sensitive right now to have this much physical contact with anyone.

That’s all it was.

“You should probably have that looked at in the morning,” Adrian said briskly, moving away to break their contact. Avoiding Rooke’s gaze, she gathered up the first aid supplies and stored them in the cabinet. “I don’t think it needs stitches, but I’m not a professional.”

“It’ll be fine. You did a great job with it. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Adrian said softly. “Well. Will you send someone from your crew tomorrow to check the roof, then?”

Rooke followed Adrian out into the hall. “It’ll be light in a couple of hours. I’ll look at it then.”

Adrian halted abruptly. She just knew if she pointed out to Rooke that climbing up on the roof with an injured hand wasn’t wise, Rooke would argue, and she didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. The entire night had been one adrenaline rush after another—the erotic dream, Rooke’s sudden appearance, Rooke’s injury. Not to mention her heightened sensitivity to the smallest touch, her uncharacteristically intense physical reaction to Rooke, and the strange vision she’d just had. She felt drained and vulnerable, and she didn’t like the sensation one bit. Rooke Tyler was a disruption she didn’t need.