on the sand, Chantal glared up at the tall, athletic man in white running shorts and black tee shirt who was now kneeling on the sand beside her. He appeared to have come from nowhere as she’d tripped and hurt her ankle. She deduced he must have been running behind her, but he was barely recognisable as the suave director of Accident and Emergency she was used to seeing as she worked alongside him at the Hôpital de la Plage.
‘If you weren’t my boss I’d …’
He looked down at her, smiling in the most patronisingly irritating yet surprisingly sexy way, his fingers firmly supporting her swelling ankle. She told herself to concentrate on the pain, which would help her to stop fantasising about something that was never going to happen to her again—especially with the usually serious, work-focussed Dr Michel Devine.
‘I’m going to have to carry you up the beach to my car up there on the promenade so I can get you back to the hospital.’
‘No! I don’t want to be carried. Just help me to my feet so I can hop as far as—’
‘Be quiet, Dr Winstone, and that’s an order! ’
She frowned as she decided to give in to him. He always got his own way in Urgences but she’d never seen him quite so domineering before. She couldn’t help admiring the expression on his face. It made him appear even more desirable as a man. And she didn’t do desirable any more. Not since last September.
She decided the pain was addling her brain, filling her head full of mad ideas. Weird feelings she would never have contemplated since she’d changed completely on that awful night.
Effortlessly, Michel picked her up and carried her in his arms across the sand. The pain in her ankle was now becoming more intense. She decided to give in completely. He was, after all, the most experienced expert in accidental injuries for miles around, probably in the whole of France. And it was a good feeling to simply relax in his arms.
Yes, she should be grateful he’d come along when he had. And the pleasant feeling of strong, muscular, masculine arms around her helped to counteract the pain. Since the two-timing Jacques had done the dirty on her she’d never expected to tolerate a man’s arms around her again.
As he was loading her into the back seat of his car she put on a contrite tone of voice and told him she was sorry.
‘Sorry for what? Being a difficult patient? Forget it. I get to see them every day. Once I’ve shown them how to co-operate, as I did with you, we get on fine. Your childish behaviour was because you were suffering from shock, probably still are.’
He was looking directly into her eyes now, an expression of concentration creasing his forehead. She found herself admiring his warm, brown, expressive eyes.
‘How’s the pain now? Worse?’
She nodded as a particularly sharp spasm passed through her ankle. ‘Mmm. Do you have any—?’
He was already pulling out a strip of painkillers from his glove compartment. ‘Swallow those two with this water.’ He opened a new pack. ‘Now, try to keep the ankle as still as you can. I’ll get it X-rayed as soon as we get back to hospital.’
She lay still as Michel drove off. The welcome sight of the Hôpital de la Plage came into view and she gave a sigh of relief.
‘It was the warm spring sunshine that tempted me out this Sunday morning,’ she muttered, almost to herself, as Michel drove up to the front entrance of the hospital. ‘I should have stayed in bed.’
‘So should I. I hadn’t planned that I would have to work on my day off.’
He switched off the engine as a porter arrived to remonstrate with the owner of this car parking in an ambulance space.
‘Oh, sorry, Dr Devine. I hadn’t recognised you. I see you’ve got a patient on the back seat so— Oh, it’s you, Dr Winstone. Are you all right?’
‘No, she’s not all right. Could you please bring a stretcher and then park my car in the staff car park?’
Chantal could tell that Michel was reverting to type after his initial attempt to be patient with her. She remained very still and quiet as a nurse came out to help the porter load her onto the trolley. Michel supervised while holding her right ankle to prevent any further damage as they trundled along to X-Ray.
‘Good news No fractures.’ Michel was pointing out the X-rays illuminated on the screen.
She raised her head from the pillow.
‘Thank heavens for that. So it’s simply a sprain. I’ll get the ankle strapped up and I’ll be on duty again tomorrow morning.’
He frowned. ‘Chantal, there’s nothing simple about a sprain, as you well know. I think you’ve been lucky that you haven’t torn the surrounding ligaments but there’s been mild stretching of the ligaments which will have to be dealt with. The treatment is to minimise the pain. You’ve started on the paracetamol. Two five hundred mg every six hours will take the edge off it. For the first three days you need complete rest, ice-pack applications pressed on to the injury for fifteen minutes every two hours and—’
‘Michel, I can’t possibly do all that. I’ve got too much to do.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I’m going to put you in a side ward attached to Female Orthopaedic. I take no chances with my staff. Deal with a sprain properly at the beginning and future problems shouldn’t arise.’
Chantal lay back on the trolley, looking up at the bright lights above her head. Michel was on the phone to the orthopaedic sister. He was smiling now. ‘Yes, we’re coming along now if that’s OK with you, Sidonie? Good. Yes, you know Chantal, Dr Winstone. She’s been with us in Emergency since February. We’ll go over the treatment she needs when I arrive. I’ve got hold of a porter at last. Be with you in a couple of minutes.’
Half an hour later Chantal was safely settled in an orthopaedic bed, wearing the most unglamorous hospital pyjamas. Her right leg was elevated on hard orthopaedic cushions, Sister Sidonie was applying an ice pack to the painful area. Michel was watching her every move as if ready to criticise.
‘Ow!’ Chantal found it impossible to check her cry as Sister pressed on the painful area.
Michel was nodding his approval. ‘That’s exactly right, Sister. More pressure on the injury just there. Keep it like that for fifteen minutes. Here, let me show you the exact pressure required to reduce this inflammation.’
Taking over from Sister Sidonie, he placed his fingers on Chantal’s ankle.
‘Michel!’
‘Yes, I expect that did hurt a bit but you’ll thank me for this later.’
Chantal lay back against the pillows and gave in. She didn’t know what he had in mind for the thanks she would have to give him. Even through the pain he was inflicting she got a thrill at the touch of his fingers. Most bizarre. She’d worked with this man for over two months and hadn’t ever thought of him in this way. As she’d suspected earlier, the pain must have addled her brain. She’d gone back to childhood days and was imagining he was a knight in shining armour who’d come to rescue her from danger, probably on a white horse instead of simply jogging along the beach.
‘That’s
