Tempted by Elisabeth Naughton Page A

and hoped like hell she didn’t wake up in the middle of this.
    His eyes slid closed. He held his hands out in front of him, chanting words he’d shunned long ago. As power gathered in his fingers, heat and light radiated outward. Slowly, he lowered his hands to her broken leg.
    She jumped but didn’t wake. He ran through the chant over and over, smoothing his hand over the broken bone, knitting it back together with a magick he’d long denied. Minutes later, tired and spent from the effort, he sank back onto his heels and wiped the sweat from his brow.
    She lay in the same position she’d been in before—her head tipped to the side, her blond hair wild around her face. One hand lay in the sand; the other rested on her stomach as her chest rose and fell with her breaths. He had no idea if the spell had worked. He’d know only when she woke and tried to stand. Brushing his hand across her brow, he leaned down to her. “Wake up, kardia . Open those eyes for me.”
    She didn’t move.
    Worry pushed in, but he focused on her breathing, on the fact she didn’t have a fever, and tried again. “Wake up , kardia . Open your eyes so I know you’re there. Please open your eyes.”
    Still nothing.
    Disappointment filled his chest, but he refused to let it affect him. She was alive. For now that was all that mattered. Maybe it was a good thing she was out for the time being. At least she wasn’t in pain, and sleep would hopefully give her body the chance it needed to heal.
    He decided to splint her leg just in case. He tugged off his shirt, dropped it on the ground. Casting another look over the barely-there nightgown those witches had dressed her in, he told himself to stop being a pansy and get on with it already.
    He grasped the hem of the gown near her knees and gently pulled it up, careful not to look at what was being revealed. Shifting one arm underneath her back, he lifted her so he could drag the gown over her head. Then he reached for his shirt and slid her arms in one sleeve, then the other, and laid her back down as he tugged the two halves of the shirt closed at her front and started in on the buttons.
    Damn these buttons. Why in Hades did there have to be so many? His hands grew slick as he fumbled to cover her as quickly as possible. Catching one button, he moved to the next, this one between her breasts. A flash of skin caught his attention. He tried to look away but couldn’t. Her skin was shades lighter than his, smooth where his was scarred, soft where his was rough. The button slipped from his large fingers. He grappled with it again, his knuckles grazing the swell of her breast as he moved.
    Heat ignited through his torso, spread to his belly and into his groin. His gaze slid lower, to the strip of skin visible on her belly, lower to the juncture of her thighs…
    He jumped to his feet, swiped his forearm across his brow, and turned away. Sonofabitch. This was exactly what Atalanta wanted. This was why she’d sent them here to this remote island. Well, she wasn’t going to get her way. He was getting away from Isadora before he did something he knew he’d regret later.
    After tearing her gown into strips of cloth, he braced the wood against her shin and tied it in place, careful not to touch her more than was necessary. Then he set off into the trees in search of supplies to build a shelter and hopefully to cool himself the hell down.
    Isadora was still asleep when he came back nearly an hour later and set to work. The sun beat against his bare skin as he lashed boards together with vines and covered the structure in foliage. When he was satisfied with the result, he carefully picked Isadora up and placed her inside, made sure she was covered again, then turned to look out over the water and the glowing sunset.
    Okay, so, injuries looked after, shelter built…Now they needed food. He was good so long as he had a goal. It was the downtime alone with her that he was seriously dreading. He reached for