bulky, and darkly beautiful in a dangerous Byronic hero sort of way…in short, a knock-out! She felt a spurt of indignation. Why hadn’t someone warned her?
In the masculine beauty stakes she’d have rated him, on a scale of one to ten, at a conservative twelve and a half! She couldn’t help but reflect that it would have been an aesthetic tragedy if a face like that had been scarred; as it was, the only immediate evidence of his injuries was a thin scar that ran from a point midway along his prominent cheekbone to his temple.
He’d probably laugh when she explained…they’d laugh together. Another look at that lean uncompromising face with its intriguing planes and angles told her that was taking optimism too far! Whatever else this job was going to be, it wasn’t going to be a laugh a minute.
To prove that she wasn’t intimidated—an uphill battle—she smiled serenely, and the dark fallen angel face didn’t budge. There wasn’t even the suggestion of a quiver around the beautifully sculpted lips.
Faced with belligerent antagonism on the face of her patient—and Kat was getting the distinct impression this wasn’t the sort of man who would respond to gentle understanding—she felt a twinge of nostalgia for the pale, pliable, mummy’s boy of her imagination.
There was nothing even faintly pliable about the man who was looking at her with the sort of affection most folk reserved for something nasty they’d discovered on their shoe! He might be using crutches but nothing about him said vulnerable. Even in less than full working order he exuded an almost tangible aura of restless vitality.
‘I’m Kathleen Wray.’
Illness must have taken its toll, but he wasn’t making any concessions to it. Probably those lines around his eyes and hard but sexy mouth hadn’t been so deeply ingrained before his accident; long-term pain probably had a lot to do with the faint blue smudges under those fairly spectacular eyes too. Those deep-set, heavy-lidded orbs were just as startlingly blue as his mother’s, but whereas hers sparkled with humour his held a restless almost explosive quality. In fact there was something combustible about the entire man!
‘Is that supposed to mean anything to me?’
‘I think maybe the sting’s still in,’ Joe fretted. ‘What are you supposed to use for bee stings—vinegar…?’
The babe firmly repossessed her arm. ‘I’ve got some hydrocortisone cream in my bag.’ She dismissed the throb in her arm with a careless shrug.
‘And where might your bag be?’ Matt asked, looking around for any sign of transport.
‘In my room.’ Her eyes innocently sought the second-floor window in an effort to locate the charming room she’d been allocated.
The significance of the gesture wasn’t lost on Matt. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re actually staying here? What the hell’s going on?’ he barked.
‘I assumed you’d be expecting me. I’m your physiotherapist, Mr Devlin.’
‘Not the best cover story. I don’t have a physiotherapist.’
‘You mustn’t worry. Your mother…’ Matt watched as she gave a self-conscious glance towards Joe. The composed little voice with the husky rasp dropped to a confidential whisper. ‘She’s paying my salary.’
‘Hah!’ Matt wasn’t sure why he should be worried about her salary, but at the mention of his parent things started to make a lot more sense.
His mother was untiring in her determined efforts to fling females she considered suitable mates in his path, in the mistaken belief that a grandchild was the key to healing the rift between father and son.
‘My mother. I should have guessed.’
His scrutiny slid over Kat from head to toe in a boldly insolent way that had her chin automatically rising to an aggressive angle.
‘Impressive.’ His eyes lingered on the contours of her full breasts.
Which was more than could be said for his manners! But Kat could cope with crude sexual innuendo; she had stopped rounding her shoulders in a futile attempt to hide her womanly attributes when she was about fifteen. She squared said shoulders proudly and clung onto her temper with difficulty.
‘I’m terminating your contract, Blondie.’
That was the best news she’d heard for some time, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so when she recalled the promise Drusilla had wrung out of her. Concentrating on the state of her debts made it easier to retain her composure.
‘My name is Kathleen Wray. You can call me Miss Wray, or, at a push, Kat. I don’t answer to Blondie. And I’m not leaving until your mother tells me my services are no longer required.’ Her rigid stance faded as her stormy grey eyes softened. ‘Pride is all well and good, Mr Devlin,’ she announced in a kindly way. ‘But, whether you like it or not—’ she cast a swift professional eye over his tall, broad-shouldered figure ‘—you do need me.’
Matt looked baffled by her response.
‘Are you slow or what…?’ He didn’t need this, not now. He was in pain, hot, tired and had a damned hank of hair in his eyes and no free hand to push it away. As always the mortifying consequences of illness made him mad enough to yell and curse. It took a lot of self-control to restrain his inclination to indulge in both.
‘It’s probably the pain that’s making you so tetchy.’ She kept her tone objective, not that it made his reaction any the less hostile. From the way his eyes flashed and his jaw tightened, she assumed he took any reference to his physical weakness as a direct insult; some men were like that.
‘I’m not in pain!’ Matt bellowed, throwing self-restraint to the winds. The muscles down his left leg chose that precise moment to go into painful spasm. Matt swore under his breath and gritted his teeth against the pain.
‘I told you you shouldn’t have gone into the office.’ There was a concerned note in his friend’s voice.
‘Save your sanctimonious I-told-you-sos.’ Matt closed his eyes and forced himself not to fight the wave of pain. Experience had taught him tensing up only prolonged the spasms.
‘You didn’t bring him straight here from the hospital…?’
‘He wouldn’t let me.’
‘I really don’t see there was much he could do to stop you!’ Kat responded crisply.
Her eyes were compassionate as she looked at the tall figure who was obviously suffering considerable pain. When he tried to shrug off the supportive hand she placed beneath his elbow she diplomatically pretended not to notice his efforts to dislodge her light grip.
‘You don’t know Matt,’ Joe returned wryly.
Kat resisted the childish impulse to assure him she didn’t want to.
‘Let’s get him inside, shall we?’ Matt heard the bimbo say, just before he had to endure the ultimate indignity of being hustled like a baby through the door between his best friend and Blondie.
Dear God, it had been bad enough when those damned nurses had fussed and fretted; this was more than flesh and blood could be expected
