coffee-brown eyes fixed on his face in silent question.
The shower had turned her cheeks pink and her dark hair hung down over her shoulders in a damp, curling mass.
She was astonishingly pretty and against his will his eyes slid to her soft mouth, noting that her lower lip was slightly fuller than her upper lip. In fact, he noticed a lot of things he would rather not have noticed.
Mac ran a hand over the back of his neck and gritted his teeth. ‘I’ve been up half the night and I’m knackered. I don’t need this right now...’
Her gaze slid over the kitchen, resting on the piles of unwashed plates, the mountains of cold, half-eaten food and the empty bottles. ‘Looks to me as though this is exactly what you need,’ she said softly, a sympathetic look in her eyes as she looked back at him. ‘You know, when life gets tough, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help. People should help each other. Particularly at Christmas.’
He closed his eyes. ‘I don’t need help.’
She waved a hand and glanced around her pointedly. ‘Well, you need something, Dr Sullivan. Starting with a dressing for that burn. Do you have a first-aid kit?’
He looked down at the vicious red mark on his arm. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s blistered.’ She walked across to him and took his arm, moving it slightly so that she could take a better look. ‘And if you don’t dress it, the chances are it will get infected and then it will certainly be something. First-aid kit?’
He inhaled sharply and jerked his head. ‘In that cupboard.’
Maybe if he let her dress his wound, she’d be satisfied and leave.
His eyes tracked her as she walked across the room, noting the swing of her hips and the grace of her movements. Then she reached up into the cupboard and he caught a glimpse of a perfect, rounded bottom hugged by snug jeans. Something long dormant sprang to life inside him.
‘OK.’ She delved in the cupboard and withdrew the right box. ‘Let’s hope there’s something decent in here. Most of the doctors I know aren’t great at putting together first-aid kits.’
She flipped it open, pulled out a few items and then walked towards him. ‘Sit down.’
He tensed. ‘I feel fine. I don’t need to sit down.’
She put the first-aid kit on the table. ‘But you’re at least six-two and I’m just normal-sized,’ she said patiently. ‘If you stand up, it makes it harder for me. Sit.’
He sat, telling himself that he could at least assess her dressing technique.
She worked quickly, her fingers deft and gentle as she dealt with the burn and, for some inexplicable reason, her obvious skill irritated him.
He’d wanted her to be clumsy and inept so that he had an excuse to yell at her. But her touch was skilled and smooth, her movements economical and practised.
Cursing his brother, he sucked in a breath and pulled himself together. ‘Look, I’m going to be blunt and if that offends you then I apologise.’ He wondered which bit of her smelt so good. Was it her hair or her perfume? ‘The department needs a nurse to cover the Christmas period but that’s all we need. I don’t know what my brother has said to you but I don’t need anything more personal.’
Soft brown eyes lifted to his. ‘Is that what you think this is? A set-up?’ Her eyes danced with laughter as she covered the dressing with a bandage and secured it firmly. ‘You think I have to pay for sex, Dr Sullivan? Do I look that desperate?’
Momentarily captivated by the thickness of her dark lashes, Mac felt a kick of pure lust in his groin. This girl undoubtedly had men dropping to their knees. He might have done so himself at one time had he not decided that it was all too complicated. Women wanted something that he wasn’t capable of giving.
‘I’m just saying I don’t need a blind date,’ he said tightly, and she laughed.
‘I know you don’t. But you need me. Look at the state of your kitchen.’
His gaze didn’t flicker. ‘I work twenty-two hours a day at the hospital.’
Her eyes softened with sympathy. ‘I know, and it isn’t good for you, but all that’s going to change now I’m here. A lot of things are going to change, starting with the state of your house,’ she said soothingly, closing the first-aid box and returning it to the cupboard. ‘I can do all that, Dr Sullivan. When I’m not working in A and E I can make your life more comfortable. You’ve got me for a month. Make the most of me.’
‘Are you seriously telling me you’re prepared to clear up my kitchen?’ Mac stood up and swayed. Damn. He was more tired than he’d thought. ‘Whatever happened to equal rights? I didn’t think women did things like that any more.’
She washed her hands and dried them. ‘Well, I just happen to like creating a home. It’s my hobby. And if I don’t clean up your kitchen, we’ll all die of something horrible so it’s in my own interests. Don’t worry. You’ll be pulling your weight. You can carve the turkey, I’m hopeless with knives.’ She frowned. ‘You look shattered. When did you last sleep?’
Sleep? Mac closed his eyes and tried to remember. He gave up. ‘Too long ago.’
‘Then go,’ she said calmly, giving him a little push. ‘Forget everything and just sleep. We’ll sort everything out when you wake up.’
Her smoky, gentle voice oozed over him, soothing his jarred emotions. He stared at her blankly, fatigue paralysing his normally sharp brain. ‘You expect me to go to sleep and leave you here?’
‘Dr Sullivan.’ Her eyes twinkled like lights on a Christmas tree. ‘I’ve never forced myself on a man yet and I don’t intend to start now. Neither do I intend to steal the silver. Go to bed. And don’t bother to lock your door. You’re perfectly safe.’
He stared down into those chocolate brown eyes and felt something shift inside him.
And he knew he wasn’t safe at all.
* * *
Louisa started in the kitchen.
Humming to herself, she filled three large bin bags with the rubbish and took them outside and then ran the dishwasher twice while she threw out piles of papers and scrubbed at the stubborn rings on the kitchen table.
Two hours later the surfaces and the floor were gleaming and the crockery was clean and neatly stacked away in the cupboards. Having checked the contents of the fridge and found them decidedly lacking, she was glad she’d had the foresight to stop at the supermarket on the way and stock up on emergency provisions.
She retrieved the bags from her little car and emptied them into the cupboards. Then she set about making supper.
Remembering the remains of the take-away on the kitchen table, she decided that her impromptu shopping trip had been inspired. She chopped, fried and stirred, filling the kitchen with delicious smells. Satisfied that the food would look after itself for a while, she took a last glance around the now gleaming kitchen, threw out some ancient newspapers and takeaway menus and gave a nod.
