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“I’m gathering my things. We should be there in ten minutes.”
Damn these huge palace grounds and the leagues that separate the security outbuildings from the main castle. It’s great for privacy—not so good in an emergency. I glance at the woman, noticing her limp hand hanging off the edge of the sofa. She hasn’t as much as stirred since we got here.
“I’m not sure we have ten minutes,” I answer. “Her clothes are wet.”
“Undress her, Your Highness,” Doctor Williams says. “Take all the wet clothes off and cover her with blankets. Don’t submerge her in warm water or heat her up too fast, but we need to bring her body temperature up.”
“Got it. Over.” I leave the radio on charge and move to the sofa. Tearing the blankets off, I stare for a moment. She lets out a soft moan, her smooth brow furrowing ever so slightly. Moving slowly, I remove her sweater then tug the zipper on the side of her dress.
“Easy,” I say, as if I were speaking to a nervous animal. I pause, hesitating. Her eyes are still closed. Body limp. It feels wrong to undress her like this, to take this scrap of fabric off her body and see what’s hiding underneath.
I shake my head. This is necessary. Her life is on the line.
Gingerly, I lift the hem of her dress, averting my eyes as I slowly, gently pull the garment up. When I get to her stomach, my eyes drift over her skin. There’s a dark freckle near her belly button, and I have the urge to run my tongue over it.
I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell is wrong with me?
With a shallow breath, I pull one arm free, then the other. Lifting her torso off the sofa, I tug the dress over her head and toss it aside. It lands on the floor with a wet thunk.
Rowan’s body falls against mine and damn, she’s cold. Not warming up at all.
My eyes drift down over her skin-colored bra, not wanting to touch her too much. I put my hand on her thigh, feeling a line where dry meets wet on her thighs. Her jacket must have covered the dry part.
“Rowan” I say softly, touching her shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
I pause. Nothing.
Covering her torso with a blanket, I squeeze my eyes shut. I should really take her bra off. It’s soaked too, and she needs to get warm. Fuck. I haven’t been with a woman in four years, and I didn’t think the first naked woman I’d see would be unconscious.
Reaching under the blanket, I wrap my arms around Rowan’s body and unclip her bra. I pull it free, keeping the blanket over her body.
Sighing, I pinch my lips and tug off her tights. Inch by inch, ice-cold white skin is revealed. My eyes linger on the scrap of underwear around her hips, then I look away. I touch the edge of it—dry enough to leave on.
I’m not some fucking creep. I’m just trying to help this stupid woman who apparently doesn’t understand that being in the arctic means it gets cold. Why would she walk? Why didn’t she call anyone? Grab a taxi?
When I drag her tights down to her feet and pull them free, I fold the blanket down over her legs and lay the tights across the arm of a chair. She can keep the underwear on. I’ve done enough.
My heart is beating too fast, and I look away from the woman with a scowl.
She’s an inconvenience, is what she is. A potential security risk. Nothing more.
