him yourself,’ Sam retorted, and the sea-green eyes set in that pale creamy skin turned towards him, narrowing slightly.
‘Are you?’ she demanded.
‘Hey, be nice. He’s a patient,’ Sam reminded her.
‘Yours, not mine. I just happened to be there when he strolled through reef waters without anything on his feet.’
She didn’t actually add the idiot, but the words hung in a bubble in the air between them.
But even with her contempt there for all to see, she was beautiful. He knew it was probably her colouring that he found so fascinating: the vibrant hair, the pale skin, the flashing green eyes. Things he’d noticed way back when they’d first met.
But now he sensed something deeper in her that drew him inexorably to her.
Hidden pain?
He knew all about that.
Didn’t it stab him every day when he felt the tremor in his hand as he shaved?
So grow a beard, a mocking voice within suggested, and Harry closed his eyes, against the voice and the woman.
‘I just popped in to make sure he’d made it safely up here,’ the woman said. ‘So, see you two tomorrow.’
Sam stopped her retreat with a touch on her arm.
Harry suppressed a growl that rose in his throat. It had hardly been a lover’s touch and, anyway, what business of his was it who touched her?
‘Actually, Sarah,’ Sam was saying, ‘if you could spare a few minutes, I’d like you to stay around until the drip’s finished. We were actually at a staff meeting up at the house and your phone call switched through to there. Mina’s here for the other patients, but I think Harry should be watched.’
I have to watch him?
Sarah nodded in reply to Sam’s request, telling herself it didn’t mean watch watch, just to check on him now and then.
But watching him—he’d opened his eyes briefly as Sam spoke but they were closed again—actually looking at him might be a good idea. She could start by confirming her impressions of his physical appearance and maybe that would help sort out why the man made her so uneasy.
Why he stirred responses deep inside her that she hadn’t felt for four years …
For sure he was good looking. Olive-skinned, dark-haired, strong face, with a straight nose and solid chin. The lips softened it just a little, beautifully shaped—sensual—
Get with it, Sarah!
Stop this nonsense!
‘Are you looking at me?’
Surprisingly pale eyes—grey—opened, and black eyebrows rose.
‘Not looking, just watching—that’s what I was asked to do, remember.’
‘Not much difference, I’d have thought,’ the wretch said, with the merest hint of a smile sliding across those sens—
His lips!
She turned her attention to the monitor. The blood-pressure cuff was just inflating, so at least she had something to watch.
A little high, but the pain would only just be subsiding, so that was to be expected.
‘Tell me if you feel any reaction to the antivenin,’ she told him. ‘Nausea, faintness …’
He opened one eye and raised the eyebrow above it as if to say, is that all you’ve got?
She almost smiled then realised smiling at this man might be downright dangerous, so she walked out into the main room and found a magazine that was only four years old, grabbed a chair, and returned with it to the emergency cubicle to sit as far as possible from the man as she could get in the curtained alcove and still see the monitor.
He appeared to be asleep, and she tried hard to give her full attention to an article about the various cosmetic procedures currently in vogue in the US.
And failed.
The stonefish wound was in his right foot, so it had been his right arm she’d had around her shoulder as she’d taken some of his weight to get him back to the bure.
Had she felt a tremor in it?
Looking at him now, the arm in question was lying still on the bed. Or was it gripping the bed?
Parkinson’s patients she’d encountered in the past found tremors in their arms and hands worsened when they relaxed but lessened when they held something. Would that hold true for tremors induced by encephalitis or was a different part of the brain affected?
And just why was she interested?
She sighed and tried to tell herself it was because the surgery world had been shocked to learn the results of his brush with encephalitis. Shocked that such a talented and skilful man had been lost to surgery.
But she wasn’t here to wonder about his tremor. That was his business.
She was here to watch him, not worry about his past or the problems he faced now.
She turned her attention from the monitor to the man.
His eyes were open, studying her in turn, and although she’d have liked to turn away, she knew doing so would be an admission that he disturbed her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, those strange pale eyes holding hers. ‘I had no right to throw such a petty, personal, ridiculous remark at you. All my friends tell me I’m over-sensitive about the results of my illness, but that’s no excuse.’
Now she did look instead of watching, looked and saw the apology mirrored in his eyes.
She almost weakened because the man had been through hell.
And to a certain extent hadn’t she opted out as well, heading away from home as fast as she could, taking a job that meant she didn’t have to settle in one place, make friends, get hurt by loss again?
But she hadn’t been a genius at what she did and this man had. The world needed him and people like him.
Straightening her shoulders, she met his eyes and said, ‘Well, if you’re expecting an apology from me, forget it. I meant every word I said. You must have any number of minions who could run around checking on the facilities and programmes you’ve sent up. By doing it yourself, you’re wasting such skill and talent it’s almost criminal.’
And on that note she would have departed, except she was stuck there—watching him.
Watching him raise that mobile eyebrow once again.
‘Minions?’
The humour lurking in the word raised her anger.
‘You
