squeezed his hand but he pulled it away again. He clearly didn’t like being touched—she’d have to remember that. It was plain he had a lot on his mind, but she had to bring him back to the immediate future. ‘No, Mitchell. You have to focus on this. If you don’t, there won’t be any tour, because you won’t be able to perform.’
‘I won’t?’ It was almost as if his stronghold tower was wobbling all around him and about to come crashing down. There was real confusion on his face and it was the first time she’d seen him look a bit vulnerable. Maybe Dave was right, maybe she shouldn’t believe what was in the press.
She flipped open the box and pulled out the blood-glucose meter. Although there were numerous kinds on the market, they were all very similar. She handed it to him. ‘Let’s start at the very beginning.’ She gave a little smile. ‘A very good place to start. I take it someone at the hospital showed you how to do this?’
He smiled, and opened his meter. ‘Yeah, Dragon Lady was very bossy.’ His head tilted to the side. ‘Shouldn’t you be doing this for me? Isn’t that why you’re here?’
The words were said more curiously than accusingly but it made her realise it was time to be very clear about what her role was.
‘This is your condition, Mitchell, not mine. You need to learn how to manage it.’ She held out her hands towards the still messy kitchen. ‘We can’t let things like this happen all the time. You need to learn how to control things. No one else can do it for you.’
She bit her lip. She was praying he wasn’t about to have a monster-style, rock-star temper tantrum on her and start ordering her around. It would be so easy to tell him what to eat, check his blood-sugar levels and tell him what insulin to take, but it wasn’t safe. He had to learn how to do all that by himself.
Children as young as five were taught how to manage their diabetes. And for all Mitchell was a millionaire rock star, he was still an adult with a condition that needed to be controlled.
She gave a little smile. She had the strangest feeling that Mitchell Brody wouldn’t take kindly to being told what to do anyway. She was probably going to have to tiptoe around him.
He zipped open the fabric case and pulled out the meter, slotting a testing strip into place. The meter turned on automatically and she watched as he hesitated just for a second before placing the automatic finger-pricking device over the pad of one of his fingers. Seconds later he put a tiny drop of blood on the testing strip and the machine started its ten-second countdown.
Samantha said nothing. She just watched. He’d obviously paid attention when Dragon Lady had shown him how to use this and he seemed to manage it with no problems. One less thing to worry about.
The machine beeped and she looked at the reading. Four point two. She pointed at the screen. ‘Do you know what a normal blood-sugar reading is?’
He nodded and sighed. ‘It’s supposed to be between four and seven, but mine was much higher than that in hospital.’ She wanted to smile. He could obviously remember what he’d been told. Things were beginning to look up.
‘It would have been. You’d just been diagnosed with diabetes. It takes a bit of time to regulate things.’
He leaned back in the chair. She could see the release of pent-up muscles, the fatigue that was common after a hypoglycaemic attack, practically hitting him like a wrecking ball. ‘So what now, genius?’ One eyebrow was raised.
It was too late to do anything but the basics right now and she had to prioritise because it was clear he needed to rest. She stood up and walked over to the kitchen, rummaging around to find some bread and pop it in the toaster that had probably cost more than her car.
‘Right now we’re going to give you something else to eat. Although your blood sugar is in the normal range, you’ve probably been running a bit higher than normal for the last few days. It makes you more prone to hypo attacks. The smoothie will have given you a burst of sugar—the last thing we want is for that to fall rapidly in the middle of the night. I’m making you something a bit more substantial to eat.’ She glanced in the fridge. ‘Cheese or ham on your toast?’
Both eyebrows went up this time. ‘You’re making me something to eat?’
She wagged her finger at him as the toast popped. ‘This is a one-off. My priority is to get you safely through the night. I take it you’ve still to take your long-acting insulin?’
He scrunched up his face. ‘Yeah.’
‘Then you can do it after this. We’ll talk in the morning about how best to handle things going forward.’ She leaned back into the fridge and came back out with cheese in one hand and ham in the other. ‘You didn’t say which you prefer.’
‘Ham, with a little mustard on the side.’ She nodded and quickly made up the sandwich. ‘We need to talk about food choices tomorrow,’ she said, as she sat the plate down in front of him.
He groaned. ‘Colour me happy.’
A smile broke across her face. ‘Wow. I haven’t heard that in years. My grandpa used to say that all the time.’
For a second something changed. The barrier that had been between them from the second she’d got there seemed to disappear. This time his smile reached right up into his weary eyes.
He wasn’t the sexy guy whose calendar had adorned the staffroom wall at work. He wasn’t the heartthrob who’d played sold-out venues around the world.
He was just Mitchell Brody, the guy she was alone with in a million-pound chalet in the snowy Alps. Right now she was living every girl’s dream. Honestly? What nurse did she know who wouldn’t kill for this job?
Which was why it made her feel so uncomfortable.
Up close and personal he had the kind of warm brown eyes that could just pull you in and keep you there. The kind that could make you forget everything else around you. And that was pretty much what was happening now.
The meter gave a little beep—reminding them to switch it off—and it jerked her from her daydreams. ‘Cup of tea?’
She started boiling the kettle and searched through the cupboards for cups. He was still watching her with those eyes and it was unnerving. His gaze seemed to linger on her behind as she bent down to look in a few cupboards before he finally said, ‘Top right for tea, bottom left for cups,’ and took another bite of his sandwich. ‘To be honest, though, I’d prefer a beer.’
Her brain switched straight into professional mode. ‘It’s too soon for a beer.’ The words came out automatically before she could stop them and she cringed. He was a rock star—of course he’d want a beer. She had to try and push her bossy instincts aside and be realistic and put the patient first.
It was no use telling people who were newly diagnosed what they couldn’t or shouldn’t do. For most people, it just gave them the urge to rebel or to think their life would never be the same. And that could be disastrous. She’d seen exactly how her sister had reacted to things like that.
No. She knew better. This was all about making this work for the patient. This was his life, not hers. She was beginning to question her suitability for this job. It would always be tricky to teach an adult about something they might consider a new way of life. But to teach someone
