can safely say your arms aren’t broken, given the strength of your grip on my neck.’
Millie rubbed a hand across her bottom lip, tried to make sense of what she was doing here, and gawped at the vision of glorious manhood before her. Dark, choppy hair, jeans like a second skin that underlined the solid power of the guy. Dusty work boots that hollered rough and ready. A ragged t-shirt that screamed don’t-give-a-damn, or up-for-anything, she wasn’t sure which. And this is what she’d woken up snogging? If ever there was sex on legs, this had to be it.
‘What just happened?’ She clasped a palm to her throbbing skull as she tried to piece together fragments of how she got here. ‘I was riding up the hill in the field … ’
Exercising Cracker, the pony. Thinking how her legs were so tanned they looked like they weren’t hers, how she wouldn’t need the tanning salon this year, how that was the only good thing about living in the country.
‘And I was humming ‘Leave your hat on’ … ’ Going through the Burlesque routine she’d been working on earlier this morning, for her up-coming workshop. Singing the tune. Trying to plan out the next bit of the sequence in her head as she rode. ‘Then there was this bang.’
The pony surging beneath her in panic, the ground whizzing towards her, the slam of her skull as it whacked into the ground. She definitely remembered that.
‘Humming ‘Leave your hat on’? Ironic choice then.’ He gave a snort. ‘We were blasting in the quarry, and your horse took off. I assume you fell and hit your head. You were out cold when I found you.’
‘So what was that back there, the kiss of life?’ She fixed him with a fierce stare, which dwindled as she relived how darned amazing he’d tasted. And smelled. Still did. She caught a waft of him on the breeze, and fought a sudden desire to seize his leg and bury her face in it.
His mouth twisted into a wry line. ‘Something like that.’
‘Don’t you know it’s wrong to take advantage in situations like this?’ She pushed herself up on her elbows, hurled the accusation at him, and winced at the pain which split through her head.
‘Hang on! Let’s get this straight. You were the one who got me in a headlock as you came around.’ He stood his ground, indignant and glowering. ‘I began resuscitation when I couldn’t find a pulse and you didn’t appear to be breathing, then what do I know, you’ve jumped me! Apologies for trying to save your life. Next time I won’t bother.’ He made a dive for his Land Rover.
She’d been the one snogging the socks off him?
So that was what two years giving guys a wide berth did to you. Made you into a sex fiend when you were unconscious. Her body shuddered, shriveling in a giant cringe of embarrassment. She pushed herself up to sit and another spear of pain crashed through her skull.
‘Let me see your head. You shouldn’t have been here on a horse you know, it’s private land, and it’s not a bridleway.’ He’d come back from the Land Rover with bandages, a ready-made lecture, and a double dose of bad mood. At least that covered her shame. He was leaning behind her now sounding seriously snappy as he prodded in her hair.
‘You’ve got a nasty gash, probably hit a stone, but the bleeding’s not too bad. Hold this dressing whilst I fix it. One head injury, which would have been avoided had your riding hat been protecting you, not the gatepost.’
Short tempered. Snarky. Not attractive. Except he was. Devastatingly.
‘Ouch, there’s no need to manhandle me!’
And rough too, as he crashed the bandage into place, taking control. Making her spine zither like crazy. Though he did have a point about her hat. Leaving it on the gatepost was one bad decision.
‘You need to go to casualty.’
‘No way!’ Casualty was the last place on earth she wanted to go.
‘I’ll run you there, or you can wait for an ambulance. Your choice. Whichever way, hospital is where you’re going.’ He backed away, stood like a dictator, legs splayed, practically bursting out of that faded denim in every area that mattered.
So, she may have a head injury, she may be dying of embarrassment, but she couldn’t let this power-house of a guy take over.
‘I can’t go anywhere until I’ve sorted the pony out. It’s my job to look after him, and my house depends on my job, and if I lose my house it’ll blow my whole life-plan out of the water.’ She hugged her knees tight, instantly regretting the personal information spill. Luckily he seemed oblivious.
‘For crying out loud! The pony’s up there, in the corner of the field, grazing, looking a darned sight better than you. I’ll get Blake from the quarry to sort him out. He knows about ponies.’
Now for the biggie. She screwed herself up to force it out. ‘But I don’t do hospitals … ’
One small voice protest she might as well not have made, judging by his sneer.
‘Well in that case you should have taken better care not to rip a hole in your head!’ He sighed. ‘Jeez, how difficult can you make this? Can you stand up?’
He stuck out a hand in her direction. Broad, oil-streaked. She considered refusing it. Then thought again. His strong fist enveloped hers, and with one brutal tug she was on her feet, thumping into the bolster of his body, looking up at a star shaped scar on the underside of his chin.
‘Good work.’
Another tug, and she was half way to the Land Rover, and he’d flung the door wide. The next moment he’d shouldered her up into the seat and fixed her with a stony glare.
‘Okay. No nonsense. No jumping out. And if you’re going to throw up for goodness sake then shout. I’m Ed Mitchum by the way. I work for Quarry Holdings.’
Hadn’t he already told her that? She replied through gritted teeth. ‘Millie Brown. Pleased to meet you.’ Not.
Too late. He’d already slammed the door.
‘COULD you please make the smallest effort to sit still, or do I have to watch you wriggle in your seat all day?’ Ed’s voice echoed off the walls of the hospital waiting area, short, gruff, tetchy.
Millie sent him a searing scowl. He was making no effort to hide his irritation, so why should she. With his stubble shadow, and his denim rips he seemed too large and blatantly sexual for this clean, clinical environment. Too bad this was all taking so long.
Waiting was the name of the game here, and irritated as he sounded, he was much better at waiting than she was, sitting all chilled and relaxed, one well-muscled arm flung across the back of the next chair, whilst she changed position once a second.
She’d already been into a cubicle with a nurse and answered lots of questions.
Name? Millie Brown, aka .… no need to expand on that one. Headache? Yeah, obviously. Double vision? Not yet, except perhaps when she went cross eyed ogling the hunk that brought her here.
