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eyes.
    To her keen shock, he was staring at her, and their gazes connected with a jolt. A trick of the light put half his face in shadow, hardening his features until his straight nose was a knife’s blade and his high cheekbones might have been sculpted from marble. His lips had thinned, creating the threat of cruelty, but a mouth that lush could never be anything other than sensual.
    His expression was intense but otherwise unreadable and impenetrable. What made him so intent? Anger? Fear? Frustration? Who the hell knew? She’d have better luck catching the next flight to Egypt and trying to get a bead on the Sphinx’s mood.
    She stilled, her pain forgotten.
    He cleared his throat, looking away. “Sit up for me.”
    She did. Well, she tried. But the slight change in elevation set off another ripple of wooziness, and the whole exercise quickly turned into more than she could handle. But before she could slump back against the pillows, Sandro went to work. One of his strong hands slid around to the small of her back, keeping her in a seated position and soothing as it went, and held her steady while the other hand ran across the bare skin of her shoulders, easing the shirt down one arm, then the other.
    With the wet cold gone, all she could feel was the heat of his fingers. They felt like heaven, spreading warmth, energy and strength in a radius that went far beyond the point of contact. She almost cooed with stolen pleasure.
    Was this why she’d wanted him to touch her? Why she’d needed it?
    A twinge in her ribs snapped her out of it. “Ow,” she complained.
    “What?”
    “My ribs.”
    He nodded, focusing on her clothes, and she tried to get a grip.
    What was she doing? What had gotten into her? Heat spread across her cheeks—well, at least she wasn’t quite so cold any more, so that was progress, eh?—and, with her free hand, she clutched the blanket to her chest, making sure it didn’t slip.
    It was all the protection she had, and they were close enough to kiss.
    Focus, Sky, she told herself sternly.
    She opened her mouth, with something about keeping her underwear on hovering on the tip of her tongue, but his hands were already on the move again. They slid to the center of her back and met at the clasp of her bra. One flick of his wrists and the thing came loose, and then the straps were falling over her shoulders, just begging to be tugged off.
    Keeping his lids lowered, he obliged. She flowed with him, turning from side to side to get her arms free—
    “Hey! Whoa! What’s going on in here?”
    Mickey was back, but Skylar couldn’t take her eyes off Sandro’s intriguing face. There was the quick flash of his eyes, the infinitesimal tightening of his jaw, and then he was easing her onto the pillows and moving back into his own space farther down on the sofa. He took a minute to adjust the blanket over her torso again, and then he was back to business.
    “You’re just in time,” he told Mickey, who was hovering in the doorway with a bunch of stuff on his lap. “You got those scissors?”
    Mickey couldn’t seem to get his jaw off the floor. “I, ah…yeah. I got ’em right here. I got everything.”
    Sandro stared at him, one eyebrow heading north with growing impatience. “Were you planning to hand them over?”
    “Sure.” Mickey wheeled all the way into the room. “Here you go.”
    “Great. Thanks.” Sandro rose and strode over to help Mickey put the stuff on the table. “And could you get us some ice? For her head.”
    “Yeah. Sure.” Mickey wheeled around for the door again, but not before hesitating and shooting Skylar a look that was long, curious and speculative. “You got it.”
    Skylar hitched the blanket higher, up to her chin.
    Sandro, tracking Mickey’s line of sight, frowned.
    “Now would be good,” he said sharply.
    Mickey swung back around to Sandro, looking amused now, judging by the wry curl of his mouth. “Happy to get out of your way anytime you want, boss,” he