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  She turned her attention to the unconscious man, placing two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. Steady and strong. Fleur heaved a sigh of relief. She examined his head wound, visually at first, then carefully laying her fingers on it. He groaned, his eyelids flickering. He started to turn his head, but Fleur took hold of his face, her palms on his cheeks.

  “Ne bouge pas, monsieur.” She instructed him to remain still, her tone sharp. She waited a few seconds until he subsided into still silence once more, then she took a chance and left him. She ran around to open the boot. Scanning the contents, she located his first-aid box and dragged it out. She opened the box, but found neither the immobilization collar nor the small torch she sought. She looked into the boot again and this time pulled out a rolled-up chart.

  It would have to do. She flattened the cylindrical shape to create a rigid length and grabbed a roll of bandage from the first-aid kit. Returning to the driver’s door, she leaned in again. The man’s eyes remained closed but his head wound was no longer bleeding, his pulse still steady. Fleur slid the makeshift collar behind his neck, pulling the two ends around to cross at the front, and wrapped a bandage around to hold it in place. One could never be too careful, and a spinal injury remained a possibility.

  “Monsieur, pouvez-vous m’entendre?” Her tone was softer now, less urgent as she peered up into his unmoving features. He really is very attractive.

  “Monsieur?” she repeated.

  He muttered something. She didn’t catch it.

  “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, comment vous dites?”

  “English…”

  His low voice was muffled but this time she did catch his words.

  “I apologize. Can you hear me, sir?” Fleur switched easily, her English accented but otherwise perfect.

  “Yes, I can fucking hear you. Stop shouting. Please.” His final word was delivered with considerably less venom than the first sentence.

  Fleur smiled to herself. In her experience, belligerent patients were rarely in serious trouble.

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “What…?”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “For fuck’s sake, stop shouting at me.”

  More belligerence. A promising sign. Fleur battled on.

  “Sir, do you know today’s date?”

  “Yes.”

  Fleur sighed. He was not making any of this easy. But at least the Englishman did not seem unduly confused. That would have been much more worrying than mere rudeness. She tried one last tack.

  “Do you know the name of the President of the United States?”

  “Of course I fucking do.”

  “Then perhaps you would tell me, sir.” She hoped she was managing to keep the edge of irritation from her tone. He really was most trying.

  “Barack fucking Obama. Are you happy now?”

  “Perfectly. Do you have a torch, sir?”

  “A what?”

  “A torch, sir. Do you have one?”

  “In my bag.” He still seemed disinclined to open his eyes but at least he appeared reasonably coherent. Fleur scrambled to her feet again and headed back to the car boot. She found the rucksack, opened it and dug around inside it until she located his pen torch. Exactly what she needed. She rushed back to the front and leaned in again through the open driver’s door.

  “Can you open your eyes, sir? Can you look at me please?”

  No response.

  “Sir, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I fucking said so.”

  Ah, belligerence again. Fleur kept her amusement to herself as she shoved the constraining folds of the cloak back from her face to lean in close. She laid her fingertip gently over the man’s right eyelid and peeled it upwards, shining the torch directly in his eye.

  “Fucking hell!”

  Undeterred by the angry expletive, Fleur repeated the process with the other eye, satisfied to note that each pupil dilated evenly. No obvious signs of concussion there. And his eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue.

  Her makeshift collar held his head still. He’d live. At least until she could get him to a hospital.

  “That’s better. Much prettier.”

  His low tone had a quality to it that caused a curious sensation in her lower abdomen. Fleur wasn’t sure she liked it exactly. His words perplexed her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Better without the veil. Nice hair.”

  “Ah. It was not a veil, merely a cloak. To keep the sun off.”

  “It covered your face.”

  “I chose to cover my face. The sun was in my eyes. Also, you were staring. It was not polite.”

  “I’m sorry. I meant no offense. But I still prefer you without the…whatever.”

  Fleur relented. “I took no offense.” She stopped, unsure what to say next. She settled for a murmured “Thank you” before returning to the more pressing problem facing them. “You have crashed your car, but you do not appear to have sustained any serious injury. You do need medical attention, though. I am going to get help.”

  “No!”

  “I need to—”

  “Don’t go.”

  “I am not going. I just need to get my phone.” Fleur turned and hurried back across the dusty plain to the main road, where Agwmar still stood exactly where she’d left him. She lifted the lid on one of her panniers and pulled out an iPhone. She hit the on switch and peered hopefully at the screen. No signal. She might have guessed. She glanced back toward the crashed car. Perhaps the man had a phone. He might be on a different network. It’s worth trying.

  “My phone is dead. There is no signal so far out of the city. What about you?”

  “Me?” His eyelids fluttered now, cracking open to reveal those gloriously deep blue eyes again.

  “Your mobile phone. May I try with that please?”

  “What? Yes… It’s… It’s…” He appeared confused, puzzled about something. He began patting at his jeans.

  “In your pocket?” Fleur guessed. “No, keep still. Allow me.” She placed her hands over his to stop his movements. “If you would just excuse me…” She closed her eyes and slid her hand into his front jeans pocket, feeling about in it for his phone. No joy, but she did find something else of interest. A solid, thick erection, growing harder by the second.

  “Fucking hell, girl,” the man growled at her.

  Fleur was not at all sure he was complaining. And, girl?

  “I apologize. Perhaps the other pocket…” She withdrew her hand quickly and leaned across him to investigate the other side before her courage failed her entirely. Her patient groaned but remained still while she fished his smartphone from his pocket without further undue embarrassment. Aware now of his baleful gaze fixed on her, Fleur hit the on switch and scanned the screen for some glimmer of a signal. Nothing. She shook her head in frustration.

  Fleur turned to crouch beside the car, looking up at the man, who was now fully conscious and attempting to sit up. He had noticed her attempts to immobilize his head and clearly was somewhat less than appreciative of her efforts.

  “What the fuck’s this?”

  “You might have a neck injury. Keep still, please.” Her tone remained calm, professional. She’d perfected her cool, confident voice. It worked as a rule, but not this time.

  “You’ll be the one with a fucking neck injury. Take it off. Now.”

  “No, sir. It stays. And please do not swear at me—or threaten me.” She tried her best stern voice, less practiced but still effective. Usually.

  His beautiful azure eyes drooped closed again and he leaned his head back against the headrest. He may have groaned, though Fleur was not certain.

  “I apologize. That was unforgivable of me.”

  “That is quite all right, sir. How does your head feel?” Back to her cool professional persona once more.

  “Sore. But I’m okay. Really. And my neck’s fine too.”

  “I expect that you are right, but the
collar must stay. At least until you have been X-rayed. And for that, we need to get you to the hospital.”

  He pinned her with a glare again. “No collar and no hospital. I’m fine. I’ll just go back to my hotel and see the doctor there.”

  It was clear he meant it, the idiot, misguided man. Fleur got to her feet and stood beside the car, looking down at her grumpy patient. She made one last attempt to talk some sense into him. “Your hotel will not have an X-ray facility and that is what you need right now.”

  “The Totally Five Star has every fucking facility known to man…”

  Fleur stiffened, her gaze reproachful now. It was enough to halt the tirade.

  “Sorry. No swearing, right. But no hospital. That’s final.”

  Fleur gazed into the distance and thought it just as well that his injuries were not more severe, because regardless of his wishes on the matter, she had no idea how she was going to get him anywhere near a medical facility any time soon. No phone signal meant no ambulance. Another vehicle would come past…eventually. But there was no way of knowing how long they might have to wait and it was going to get a great deal hotter out here before much longer. She had just half a bottle of water in her pannier and she’d spotted the two empty bottles in this tourist’s car boot. He might have more supplies but she would not wish to rely on that. No, waiting it out was not an option.

  She could leave him here and go for help. That was probably the most prudent plan. From the best of her recollection, the nearest property was about four kilometers away. They would have a phone and probably a serviceable vehicle. She could have help back here in an hour, two at the most. Seriously considering that option, she glanced back at her patient, who had already started easing himself from the car.

  “No, stay there…” She rushed back over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, intending to push him back into his seat. She might as well have tried to shove the car back onto the road single-handedly. He just continued getting to his feet. In moments, he towered over her. At five feet four, Fleur was not especially small, but this man had at least a foot on her.

  He had already begun to untie the bandage she’d used to secure his collar.

  “You should…” One hard stare from those glinting blue eyes silenced her. She watched as he removed her carefully crafted handiwork. She was ready to accept that her cautious approach was not needed after all, but even so, she embarked on salvage plan B.

  “Do you have more water?”

  “One bottle. You?”

  “Half a bottle. I will be no more than two hours.

  “Two hours? What are you talking about?”

  “I will go and phone for help. I will leave you all the water and as long as you stay in the car, it will be hot but you will have a little shade.”

  He shook his head firmly. “No need. The car’s not too badly damaged. I’ll change the wheel and drive it back.” He crouched to study the wreckage of the ruined front tire, then he turned his attention to the buckled bumper. “Lost a headlamp, could have been worse. It’s broad daylight. I’ll manage.”

  Fleur had never heard such lunacy. It is not happening. Definitely not. She took advantage of the fact that he was crouching by the car to rise to her full height and glare down at him.

  “Oh no you will not. You have had a serious blow to the head. You could have sustained a concussion or some other head injury—anything. You are not safe to drive. I cannot permit it.”

  He glared at her, incredulous. “You cannot—? I beg your pardon.” He tilted his head upwards, furrowing his brow ominously.

  Fleur shivered inwardly, but stiffened her shoulders. She was right about this and would stick to her guns.

  “You are not in a fit and safe condition to drive your car. I cannot agree to this idea.”

  “No? I don’t recall asking your permission. Look, miss, er… I appreciate your help and concern, genuinely. But I’ll manage from here. Thank you.” He turned on his heel and headed for the boot of the car.

  Fleur followed, maintaining a distance of a few meters between them now. “No, sir. You must not.”

  He muttered something under his breath and Fleur strongly suspected his ‘no swearing’ promise was already in tatters. She didn’t much care. She had heard worse, probably, and soon would again. She stepped forward as he straightened, pulling out the car jack. He staggered slightly.

  “You really do need to sit. Please get back in your car, out of this sun. I will be back as soon as I can with help for you.”

  He didn’t answer her. His scathing expression did his talking for him as he proceeded to the front of the car and bent to peer underneath.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glanced up at her sharply. “Looking for a jacking point. Care to help rather than standing there telling me what I can and can’t do?”

  “I am happy to help you, sir, but you are not driving. That is final. I will go fetch assistance. A tow truck, perhaps.” She turned and headed back toward the patient donkey, now idly chewing the scraggy tufts of wiry grass poking through the hard earth as he watched them with solemn eyes.

  “Please don’t trouble yourself, honey. I won’t be here when you get back.”

  The idiot man called the words at her retreating back, and Fleur curled her lips in private amusement. He would be there. He was going nowhere. She knew that, as he would soon enough, when he realized his predicament. The ignition key safely secreted in her pocket would make sure of it. She turned to face him, bowed slightly then turned away.

  Perhaps it was her unruffled confidence that alerted him. Or maybe some other sixth sense made him check his dashboard. Whatever it was, his sudden shout halted her momentarily in her tracks.

  “Where’s the fucking key?”

  Fleur started running. If she could reach Agwmar and persuade the elderly donkey to exert a little more than his customary effort, they could probably outrun this ridiculous foreigner. Then he would have to see sense. She could do the sensible thing, return with help, then he could soon be enjoying a nice lunch in the safety of his hotel. He would thank her…eventually. She hiked up her cloak and sprinted, hard.

  It was no good. She knew almost instantly she had no chance of reaching the donkey before the man did. His pounding footsteps were behind her, gaining, and in seconds he seized her from behind and lifted her off her feet. He clamped an arm around her waist, the other across her chest and swung her round to face the car again.

  “My key, if you please?”

  Fleur was unused to being manhandled and should have been more scared than she actually was. Her reaction was more outrage than fear as she kicked, squirmed and struggled in his arms. “Let go of me. I insist. Put me down. Put me down!”

  The man chuckled in her ear, holding onto her effortlessly, despite her frantic wriggling. He made no attempt to search her clothing, she noted, though he could have easily overpowered her and retrieved his key. Instead, he carried her back to the car. Once there, he turned her in his arms and bent her over the bonnet, her cloaked back against the hot metal.

  “Is it burning you?”

  “No, sir.” Fleur shook her head, though she could have lied and said yes. He seemed concerned not to hurt her, despite the determined gleam in his eyes.

  “I’ll let you go. You are free to walk away whenever you like. But there’s no way you’re leaving here with my key. I don’t want to take it from you by force, but I will if it comes to it. I normally make it a rule not to lay my hands on any woman who hasn’t asked me very, very nicely, but I’m ready to make an exception with you. I will have my key back. Do I make myself clear, girl?”

  Fleur went still, staring up into his eyes. The blue was dazzling, clear, almost turquoise. She shivered, despite the heat, and her pussy moistened. She clamped her knees together, wishing the intense feeling away. She didn’t even like this obstinate foreigner, so how could he affect her in this way just by suggesting that he might lay his hands on her? Correction, he w
as already doing just that. He gripped her wrists, his fingers against her flesh where her wide sleeves had fallen away. He made no attempt, though, to lift them above her head, which would have spread her out under him, making her feel even more vulnerable. That seemed not to be his intent, as he allowed her to keep her hands clutched in front of her.

  All in all, she had to admit, he treated her incredibly gently.

  “Do I?”

  “What? I do not know…” Fleur blinked up at him, confused

  “Do I make myself clear?” he clarified, lowering his voice to a growl.

  Fleur nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “And?”

  “I will return your key to you, sir.”

  He nodded, straightened then helped Fleur to her feet. Stepping back from her, he held his hand out to her, palm up. Waiting. Fleur slipped her hand inside her cloak and into her pocket, her fingers closing around the small key. Despite his demanding, impatient gesture, she didn’t immediately pull it out to hand it over.

  “I have another suggestion.” She raised her eyes to his, squaring her shoulders. She was just as determined as he was to have her way, but she wasn’t above compromising.

  “No deals, girl. You hand the key over, or I take it from you.”

  Clearly, this man was not inclined to negotiate but Fleur ignored his stern, implacable tone.

  “I have said I will give it to you. There is no need for threats, sir. And please, do not call me girl. My name is Fleur. Fleur Mansouri.” She managed to keep her voice blessedly even, keen not to betray how intimidated she actually felt. Negotiations were better conducted from a position of strength, or at least the illusion of it.

  She had perhaps succeeded, or at least given him something fresh to think about. He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Fleur? What sort of a name’s that?”

  She stiffened, well aware that he meant what sort of a name is Fleur for a Berber peasant. More unwarranted assumptions on his part. She was starting to become irritated by his continual inferences, though, in fairness, she had done little to clarify the situation. “It is a French name, sir. It means flower. Please feel free to use it.”