‘Jacqui?’
As she looked up at him, his face no longer distant, withdrawn, angry, but showing only concern for her, the sensation of falling didn’t go away.
‘Are you feeling dizzy?’
No…Yes…Not in the way he meant…
‘I’m fine,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘Unlike the telephone.’
Cross as she was, all her protective instincts came rushing to the surface. Telling him what Maisie had done would only make things worse between them and she rationalised that a few more minutes wasn’t going to change things.
All she had to do was wait until Harry was safely out of the way, plug it back in and leave him assuming that the telephone people had been working on the line somewhere.
‘Is the line still dead?’ he asked.
That small voice that lived in the subconscious urged, ‘Tell him…’
She ignored it.
‘Er—yes,’ she said, fingers mentally crossed as she held up the receiver so that he could listen for himself. ‘Not a peep.’
Although this was technically true, she was well aware from Sunday School that this was something called ‘lying by omission’ and her voice had that slightly ‘peepy’ quality that her mother would have recognised instantly. Of course, that might have had more to do with Harry’s hand on her shoulder, his closeness, than a total inability to fib without her voice going up several octaves.
He took the receiver from her, but maybe he’d learned his lesson from the last time, because he didn’t bother to listen, simply replaced it on the cradle.
‘I’d better take another look at your scalp,’ he said.
He didn’t wait for her permission before he parted her hair with what, for a big bad giant, was exquisite gentleness. But agreeable as this might be, she leaned back—just sufficiently to show him that she could do this without falling over, but not far enough to break contact—and said, ‘Can I get this straight? When you say that you’re a doctor…’
‘Yes?’
‘You do mean that you’re a doctor of medicine?’
Jacqui finally got the smile she’d been waiting for. Genuine humour. The kind of creases around the eyes that looked so good on a man. The kind of creases around the mouth that were so unbelievably sexy…
‘That’s a very good question, Jacqui. It suggests your brain is still in good working order.’
Oh, good grief, that had to mean the answer was no…
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘Do you have an equally good answer? Or am I to accept from the fact that you evaded giving me one that you are, in fact, a doctor of philosophy? A scholar of some deeply obscure subject such as Babylonian cuneiform, perhaps? Or the breeding habits of natterjack toads? Or even…’
‘Relax, Jacqui. Your head is safe in my hands.’
It didn’t feel safe. He might know what he was doing, but his careful probing of the damage was sending very unsafe tingles skittering down her spine. But that was what a bang on the head would do for you. Knock things loose. Especially sense; he was the big bad giant who lived at the top of the mountain, she reminded herself…
‘Medicine is the family business. My greatgrandfather was the local doctor.’
‘Really? The village doesn’t look big enough to support its own surgery.’
‘It used to be in the days when farming was done by men rather than machines. It finally closed about ten years ago when my cousin was lured away to a large practice in Bristol that has its own dedicated team of support staff.’
‘Nice for him. Not much fun for the locals. What do they do now?’
‘Drive ten miles to the nearest town like most people in rural communities.’
‘Definitely no fun if you’re old or have a sick child.’
‘They should try living in a place where you have to walk for a week…’ His jaw clamped down on the words, cutting them off.
So, when he disappeared to foreign parts for months or years, he was working. Africa? Walking for a week to the nearest clinic sounded like rural Africa.
She didn’t press him for more details, just stored up the information to take out and examine later.
‘So,’ she said, verbally tiptoeing around the danger zone, ‘that was your great-grandfather. What did your grandfather do?’
‘What?’ He was back on the defensive, eyes shuttered, expression forbidding, and for a moment she quailed.
‘You said it was the family business,’ she reminded him.
For a moment she thought he was going to tell her to go to hell and take her busybody nosiness with her.
‘He’s a heart specialist,’ he said, abruptly.
‘Present tense?’
‘He still takes an active interest in his field,’ he said. Then, ‘My father is an oncologist and my mother is a specialist in paediatric medicine. Is there anything else you want to know?’
He sounded vaguely surprised to have said so much, she thought. As if he was unused to talking about himself or his family and couldn’t quite work out why he was doing it now, and she wondered where all these incredibly clever people were when he so obviously needed them.
‘They’re all, as you can see, very busy people.’
Like Selina Talbot, then. Obviously putting career before family ran in the family, too.
‘And you?’ she asked, again leaning back to look up at him.
‘I’ll just check your vision again.’ He took her chin in his hand before she could argue, so that she was forced to keep her head still as he moved his finger across her sight line while she followed it with her eyes. Then, her face still cradled in his hand, he finally answered her. ‘I’m a doctor who’s satisfied that you’ve done no serious damage on this occasion but who, if asked for his advice, would suggest taking rather more care when crawling about beneath furniture.’ Then, ‘And while I’m at it, to avoid walking backwards.’
‘That’s not what I asked, Harry.’
‘I know.’
His palm was cool against her neck and chin, his thumb, fingers gentle against her cheeks. And everything that was female in her responded with a powerful surge of longing. She wanted him to kiss her, she realised with a shock that left her dizzier than any bang to the head. To touch her. To enfold her in arms that were strong enough to hold off the entire world. Were holding off the entire world…
Maybe the blow to
