are professional, efficient, compassionate—”
“And stink to high heaven.”
“Excuse me?” Elizabeth drew back, affronted. “That’s a crude accusation.”
“Crude, but true. And I didn’t want them in my home, and I refused to have them touching me.”
So that was it. He didn’t want a real nurse. He wanted something from late-night T.V.—big hair, big breasts, and a short, tight skirt.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, fighting to hang on to her professional composure. She was beginning to see how he wore his nurses down, brow-beating and tormenting until they begged for a reprieve. Anyone but Mr. Koumantaros. Any job but that!
Well, she wasn’t about to let Mr. Koumantaros break her. He couldn’t get a rise out of her because she wouldn’t let him. “Did Calista smell bad?”
“No, Calista smelled like heaven.”
For a moment she could have sworn Kristian was smiling, and the fact that he could smile over ruining a young nurse’s career infuriated her.
He rolled another foot closer. “But then after Calista fled you sent only old, fat, frumpy nurses to torture me, punishing me for what was really Calista’s fault. And don’t tell me they weren’t old and fat and frumpy, because I might be blind but I’m not stupid.”
Elizabeth’s blood pressure shot up again. “I assigned mature nurses, but they were well-trained and certainly prepared for the rigors of the job.”
“One smelled like a tobacco shop. One of fish. I’m quite certain another could have been a battleship—”
“You’re being insulting.”
“I’m being honest. You replaced Calista with prison guards.”
Elizabeth’s anger spiked, and then her lips twitched. Kristian Koumantaros was actually right.
After poor Calista’s disgrace, Elizabeth had intentionally assigned Mr. Koumantaros only the older, less responsive nurses, realizing that he required special care. Very special care.
She smiled faintly, amused despite herself. He might not be walking, and he might not have his vision, but his brain worked just fine.
Still smiling, she studied him dispassionately, aware of his injuries, his months of painful rehabilitation, his prognosis. He was lucky to have escaped such a serious accident with his life. The trauma to his head had been so extensive he’d been expected to suffer severe brain damage. Happily, his mental faculties were intact. His motor skills could be repaired, but his eyesight was questionable. Sometimes the brain healed itself. Sometimes it didn’t. Only time and continued therapy would tell.
“Well, that’s all in the past now,” she said, forcing a note of cheer into her voice. “The battleaxe nurses are gone. I am here—”
“And you are probably worse than all of them.”
“Indeed, I am. They whisper behind my back that I’m every patient’s worst nightmare.”
“So I can call you Nurse Cratchett, then?”
“If you’d like. Or you can call me by my name, which is Nurse Hatchet. But they’re so similar, I’ll answer either way.”
He sat in silence, his jaw set, his expression increasingly wary. Elizabeth felt the edges of her mouth lift, curl. He couldn’t browbeat or intimidate her. She knew what Greek tycoons were. She’d once been married to one.
“It’s time to move on,” she added briskly. “And the first place we start is with your meals. I know it’s late, Mr. Koumantaros, but have you eaten lunch yet?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Elizabeth closed her portfolio and slipped the pen into the leather case. “You need to eat. Your body needs the nutrition. I’ll see about a light meal.” She moved toward the door, unwilling to waste time arguing.
Kristian shoved his wheelchair forward, inadvertently slamming into the edge of the couch. His frustration was written in every line of his face. “I don’t want food—”
“Of course not. Why eat when you’re addicted to pain pills?” She flashed a tight, strained smile he couldn’t see. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to your meal.”
The vaulted stone kitchen was in the tower, or pyrgos, and there the butler, cook and senior housekeeper had gathered beneath one of the medieval arches. They were in such deep conversation that they didn’t hear Elizabeth enter.
Once they realized she was there, all three fell silent and turned to face her with varying degrees of hostility.
Elizabeth wasn’t surprised. For one, unlike the other nurses, she wasn’t Greek. Two, despite being foreign, she spoke Greek fluently. And three, she wasn’t showing proper deference to their employer, a very wealthy, powerful Greek man.
“Hello,” Elizabeth said, attempting to ignore the icy welcome. “I thought I’d see if I could help with Mr. Koumantaros’s lunch.”
Everyone continued to gape at her until Pano, the butler, cleared his throat. “Mr. Koumantaros doesn’t eat lunch.”
“Does he take a late breakfast, then?” Elizabeth asked.
“No, just coffee.”
“Then when does he eat his first meal?”
“Not until evening.”
“I see.” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she studied the three staffers, wondering how long they’d been employed by Kristian Koumantaros and how they coped with his black moods and display of temper. “Does he eat well then?”
“Sometimes,” the short, stocky cook answered, wiping her hands across the starched white fabric of her apron. “And sometimes he just pecks. He used to have an excellent appetite—fish, moussaka, dolmades, cheese, meat, vegetables—but that was before the accident.”
Elizabeth nodded, glad to see at least one of them had been with him a while. That was good. Loyalty was always a plus, but misplaced loyalty could also be a hindrance to Kristian recovering. “We’ll have to improve his appetite,” she said. “Starting with a light meal right now. Perhaps a horiatiki salata,” she said, suggesting what most Europeans and Americans thought of as a Greek salad—feta cheese and onion, tomato and cucumber, drizzled with olive oil and a few drops of homemade wine vinegar.
“There must be someplace outside—a sunny terrace—where he can enjoy his meal. Mr. Koumantaros needs the sun and fresh air—”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Pano interrupted, “but the sun bothers Mr. Koumantaros’s eyes.”
“It’s because Mr. Koumantaros has spent too much time sitting in the dark. The light will do him good. Sunlight stimulates the pituitary gland, helps alleviate depression and promotes healing. But, seeing as he’s been inside so much, we can transition today by having lunch in the shade. I assume part of the terrace is covered?”
“Yes,
