One glimpse of a blue surgical gown was enough to spin her right back to that last awful time she’d been in hospital. The panic she’d felt, then the pain, and the desperate emptiness afterwards. The smell of the antiseptic took the blurry images and brought them back in Technicolor. So much so, that when she’d gone to another room where another nurse stuck her cut together with glue, the nurse made her lie down before she let her go back to the waiting area.
And sitting with him now was driving her further up the wall than ever. Every time she saw him her mind went off on its own out-of-control extrapolation, along the lines of rocks, wet skin, underwear, sex, for no other good reason than because the guy had emerged from the quarry, looking like a model who’d lost the fashion shoot. It was bad enough being here – the smell of the place was making her feel faint – without having this Ed and his whole heap of attitude along for the ride.
She leaned towards him. ‘You really don’t need to stay. At this rate, it may take all day. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.’
‘And you’ll get home how?’ His long, lean legs extended towards her as he stretched, and crossed his ankles casually.
She pursed her lips, screwed up her face, and refused to look at the straining denim bulge at his groin. He had her there. She had no money on her. No phone. The hospital was miles away from home. If she had to get a taxi back, it would cost an arm and a leg, and there was no-one she could think of to ring to collect her. One bad idea to end up here when her best friend was away. So much for being independent. She let that one go.
‘You could go for a coffee or something?’ Give her a break from his shed-loads of animal magnetism.
‘And they might move you in the meantime. Given that your phone is lying up in that field, I might never find you again.’
No answer to that one either. She watched him stand up, ease back those disgustingly broad shoulders, and saunter towards a table of magazines. Only because there wasn’t anything else to look at. Nothing to do with the fact he was eye-candy of the highest order. Sweet as it came.
And one heck of a kisser.
That much she could remember. Even if it had been an accident. Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily and her mouth watered at the thought of it. The taste. She jumped as he burst in on her action re-play.
‘Want a magazine?’ He held up a copy of Ideal Home. ‘Horse and Hound? Hello? Woman’s Weekly?’
She shook her head, and prayed she hadn’t flushed as fuchsia pink as she felt. And the tilt of his head said he was mocking her too. Damn. Shame he didn’t have a personality to match the looks and the kissing skills. Shame for someone, though not her, obviously. Men were nowhere on her agenda, not even on the distant horizon. Definitely no room for a drop dead specimen who’d materialized from nowhere to pay havoc with her pulse rate. Not with her life-plan.
Her eyes were still glued to him as he sat down and open a dog-eared car magazine. It was so unfair when a man got eyelashes like that. Thick, delectably dark. At least Motor World might keep him off her case.
‘Millie Brown?’ Millie started as she heard an approaching nurse shout her name. ‘The doctor wants you to go down to X-ray. There may be quite a wait.’
‘X-ray?’ Millie felt her chin jut defensively, as her chest tightened. ‘Why do I need an X-ray?’
‘How about, to see if you’ve got a cracked skull?’
Arrogant Ed got in before the nurse, who wafted a sheaf of papers at Ed, then winked at Mille. ‘We’ll let your partner take charge of the papers. Make sure he looks after you!’
Millie opened her mouth to protest loud and hard, but the nurse had already bustled away.
‘That’s official, then. I’m along for the ride.’ Ed shot her a satisfied smirk. ‘Do you want to take Horse and Hound with you? And do you want to go in a wheelchair, or on a trolley?’
***
X-ray was a marathon away. At least.
From her milky pallor, Ed would have laid a bet that Miss Independence here was regretting refusing transport, but if she was stubborn and belligerent, that was down to her. When they finally reached X-ray it was after a series of false starts, wrong turns, and a whole heap of silent recriminations, on both sides.
‘Grab a seat. I’ll sort the official stuff.’ He sidled up to reception, doubting that Millie had the strength to stand. Confidently, he threw the receptionist the full-on radiance of the five hundred watt smile he kept for emergency use only and was sent away with a promise of a two hour wait. Without the smile he suspected it could have been two weeks.
Millie gave the bloodstained haystack of hair above the bandage a vigorous rub, and groaned loudly as he landed on the seat next to her. ‘I just lost the will to live.’
She leaned back on her plastic chair and closed her eyes.
Was she really that stupid? ‘I thought they told you not to go to sleep.’
She blew loudly, opened her eyes and flashed him a flaming stare. ‘I’m not. Okay?’
Then promptly shut her eyes again.
Something about the undiluted indignation in the angle of her chin made him smile. Hell, he should’ve sent Blake to do this, or one of the other guys. There was no need for him to be here. The details of the firework display in Provence still had to be finalised, there were company takeovers that needed his attention, but for one strange moment he didn’t mind being here at all. Possibly he was feeling guilty that the old warning signs up by the quarry were too faded, and should have been renewed. Maybe it was his instinct for tying up loose ends, seeing things through, to avoid problems later. Maybe it was that kiss.
He let his eyes trail up, from her scuffed boots, over bare, dirt-streaked legs, to take in the way her denim shorts creased on the curve of her stomach, the way the cotton of her vest tugged tight across the bulge of her breasts. From the riot of her hair, she might have fallen out of a haystack. Probably had. So not his type, however lush her lips. However, she’d made his blood race.
Maybe he needed to keep Miss Awkward awake. Easier to keep from ogling her when she was conscious. He gave her a prod on the leg, and she blinked and sniffed, and turned to him woozily.
‘So what do you do when you’re not falling off horses?’
She hesitated, considered. ‘This and that.’
‘That’s illuminating.’ So why did he even want to know?
‘I’m multi-faceted. Do lots of things.’
Like dodging the issue. ‘Such as?’ He wasn’t backing down, and he sensed her get that. Sensed her caving in.
She shuffled her shoulders. ‘Things like teaching dancing, exercising the pony, keeping an eye on my employer’s Grandma, when the family’s out of town. Except she’s away now too. And I make collaged boxes, special ones, with lots of sticking and gluing. Satisfied?’ She gave him a hard stare, as if she resented his intrusion. ‘So what would you be up to if you weren’t here? Slaving in the quarry?’
A counter inquisition? Only to be expected.
‘Blowing
