he took her by the shoulders and propelled her back onto the pillows. ‘Not a word.’
‘You’re not an emergency doctor,’ she said resentfully, and he tugged on gloves, located a pile of antiseptic swabs and ripped one open.
‘No. I’m a neurosurgeon. You want a little brain surgery on the side?’
‘Look, honest—’
‘Lie still and think of England,’ he told her. ‘This might sting.’
It did sting. But for a big man he had really gentle hands, she thought as she did what she was told and lay back and thought … well, not of England but of what this man represented.
He’d almost taken her to bed. Six months ago she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry, and Alistair had taken advantage of it.
He hadn’t known she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry. Maybe he’d thought she was always a tart.
Well, he was hardly stain-free. Propositioning her when he’d been engaged to another woman …
Was he still engaged? Maybe he was married. She hadn’t asked Gina.
What was she doing, wondering what his marital status was? He was a stuffed shirt. An eminent US neurosurgeon. He was about as far from her world as it was possible to get.
‘Ouch!’ Her exclamation was involuntary. Alistair had positioned the light directly above her foot and was operating with a scalpel and a pair of tweezers. She glanced down at what he was doing and winced.
‘A scalpel! You don’t think that’s a bit of overkill?’
‘I promise I’m not amputating.’
‘Oh, very good. I’m reassured, I don’t think. Yike!’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m being quick. Local anaesthetics in the heel will hurt a lot more than I need to hurt you now. So stay still.’
‘But a scalpel?’
‘If you wiggle, I might be forced to amputate.’
‘I want a second opinion.’
He grinned. Which took her aback somewhat. It was a really great grin.
She’d never seen him smile, she thought. Or maybe she had that night six months ago but she’d hardly been in a state where she could remember anything.
She could remember that she’d decided to sleep with him. So there must have been something …
‘Got it,’ he said in satisfaction, and then, as she made to sit up, he lifted both feet, which had the effect of propelling her down again.
‘There’s cleaning yet to be done.’
‘Fussy …’
‘Yeah, and I don’t wear stilettos either. But I’m still a qualified doctor.’
He was … gorgeous? Just like last time.
No matter. There was no way she intended to be attracted by this man again. She’d made a fool of herself six months ago and that was the end of it.
She lay back and concentrated on not concentrating on anything at all for a bit. Finally he adjusted a neat dressing on her foot and moved to her end of the bed.
‘Now, let’s see to your face,’ he said. ‘Your foot’s OK. Just don’t walk on it for a bit. It’ll bleed.’
‘Then your dressing’s not good enough.’
‘Georgie …’
‘I know.’ She sighed and glowered, and then submitted as he cleaned her face. He was so gentle. He’d hurt her a bit, getting the splinter out—that had been unavoidable—but he wasn’t hurting her now.
‘Steristrips will do it,’ he said as he worked. ‘It doesn’t need stitching. But the bruise is extensive. We’ll take an X-ray to make sure.’
‘I don’t need an X-ray. There’s nothing displaced. Even if there’s a hairline fracture, there’s nothing to be done about it.’
‘But think of the damage you could do with a broken bone,’ he coaxed. ‘It’s bound to put another year or so on the sentence.’
She stared up at him. And then she choked on an unexpected bubble of laughter.
‘That’s better,’ he said, and smiled down at her, and suddenly they were smiling into each other’s eyes like …
Fools?
‘I need to put a dressing on,’ he said unevenly, and she gave a shaky little nod.
‘Yes.’
What the hell was happening? Why did this man have the power to move her?
Hell, hadn’t he caused enough trouble in her life?
‘Georg!’ For some reason—or maybe she knew the reason but she wasn’t all that happy to admit it—she hadn’t heard the doors opening behind them. Now Alistair turned with what seemed almost a guilty start. Which was crazy. He’d just been …
Looking?
No. He’d been examining a patient. Nothing more. She dragged her eyes away from his face and turned to see who’d entered.
It was Gina—Dr Gina Lopez—walking swiftly into the room and across to Georgie’s trolley. She looked frightened. ‘I just met Harry,’ she said, ignoring Alistair for the moment and concentrating on Georgie. ‘He said you made Smiley hit you.’
‘I did no such thing.’
She bent to hug her. ‘You dope.’
‘He’ll get put away for ages,’ Georgie said, but suddenly her voice was trembling again. ‘Gina, don’t hug me.’
‘She doesn’t let people hug her,’ Gina told Alistair, pulling back and sounding emotional. She swallowed and turned to her cousin. ‘Hi,’ she said, and she gave Alistair the hug she’d certainly wanted to give Georgie. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’m so sorry Cal and I weren’t here to meet you. In the end we couldn’t get all our work done on the island anyway—the pilot started to get concerned about the weather and brought us back early. But I gather you’ve arrived to excitement.’
‘You asked Georgie to meet me. Of course I arrived to excitement.’
‘She’s not always …’ Gina paused, turned to her friend sitting up defiantly on the examination trolley, barefoot, leather-clad, dressings on her foot and on her face, her lipstick still defiantly crimson … ‘Yeah, OK, she is always exciting,’ Gina said. ‘But we love her anyway.’
Alistair was starting to look confused. As if he wasn’t quite understanding what was going on. Good, Georgie thought, because that was how she was feeling.
