relieved the frontal pressure and applied it sideways. More prepared this time, Sabrina merely gritted her teeth.
“It is not as bad as I feared,” he said when he’d completed the test.
“Easy for you to say!”
“I don’t believe you’ve torn the ligaments, merely strained them. We will wrap the ankle in a compression bandage. Then you must stay off your feet, apply ice and take the painkillers I will prescribe.”
“Stay off my feet for how long?”
“As a minimum, until the swelling goes down and the pain lessens. After that, you may require crutches for a few days to a week.”
“A week!”
Sabrina swallowed a groan. Her tight schedule was disintegrating before her eyes. She’d already rearranged it once to spend Christmas Day in Austria with her two best friends and business partners.
Sabrina, Devon McShay and Caroline Walters had met years ago while spending their junior year studying at the University of Salzburg. Filled with the dreams and enthusiasm of youth, the three coeds had formed a fast friendship. They’d maintained that friendship long distance in the years that followed. Until last May, when they’d met for a minireunion.
After acknowledging that their lives hadn’t lived up to their dreams, they’d decided to pool resources. Two months later, they’d quit their respective jobs and launched European Business Services, Incorporated. EBS for short. Specializing in arranging transportation, hotels, conference facilities, translation and other support services for busy executives.
Now Devon McShay, the former history professor, Caroline Walters, the quiet, introverted librarian, and Sabrina the one-time rebel and good-time girl were hard-nosed businesswomen. They had an office and a small staff in a Washington, D.C., suburb and had spent megabucks on advertising. They’d landed a few jobs, but nothing big until aerospace mogul Cal Logan hired EBS to work his short-notice trip to Germany.
Sabrina had done most of the frantic prep work for Logan’s five-day, three-city blitz, but came down with the flu the day before she was supposed to fly to Germany. Devon took the trip instead, with some interesting results. Sexy Cal Logan had made it plain he wanted to merge more than business interests with Devon.
Dev was now scrambling to put together a conference for high-level Logan Aerospace executives while Caroline and Sabrina divided forces to scout locations for the lucrative new contract they’d just landed with Global Security International.
Their client wanted to hold the conference the second week in February in either Italy or Spain. Caro and Sabrina had jumped on the computer to find locations with sufficient available rooms and conference facilities on such short notice.
Their choices narrowed to a handful of potential sites, Caro flew into Barcelona to physically inspect those along Spain’s Costa Bravo. Sabrina was supposed to check the possibilities here, on Italy’s Amalfi Coast. They had less than two weeks to put together an acceptable proposal, and Sabrina wasn’t about to let a little thing like a sprained ankle deter her.
There was another side to her determination. One that went deeper and struck at what she was. Or what she used to be. She’d struggled too long to get out of her father’s shadow…and taken too much crap from him and his lawyers when she’d resigned from the board of the Russo Foundation to go into business with her two friends. Sabrina fully intended to make it on her own and make a success of EBS, which meant hopping off this exam table and getting her butt in gear.
She aimed her best smile at the doc/duke. “Bring on the ace bandage and painkillers, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Your way to where?”
“I’m booked in a hotel in Ravello tonight. I’m scouting it as a possible conference site.”
According to Sabrina’s research, the picturesque mountaintop resort was only a short distance from Positano as the crow flew. Too bad she couldn’t sprout wings. The trip would take forever on these tortuous roads.
“You cannot drive to Ravello if you take prescription narcotics,” the doc countered firmly. “Or anywhere else, for that matter. Under Italian law you cannot drive at all.”
“Great!” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Okay, forget the drugs. Just bandage me up, throw in a set of crutches and I’ll gimp on down the coast.”
Marco hesitated. He was tempted to comply with her request—extremely tempted. The woman’s resemblance to Gianetta had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He would like nothing more than to send Sabrina Russo on her way and slam the door on the memories she’d stirred.
Unfortunately, his personal preferences conflicted with the oath he’d taken as a physician and the knowledge that he was at least partially responsibility for this woman’s injury.
“I’m afraid you don’t appreciate the seriousness of your sprain,” he told his reluctant patient. “It will heal itself in time if you’re careful. If you bring the wrong pressure to bear on your ankle, however, you could cause more serious damage that might require surgery to repair. Or leave you with a permanent limp.”
She paled a little at that. Satisfied that he had her attention, Marco pressed on.
“I should like you to remain in Positano tonight. I’ll tend to your ankle and, if your condition allows, you may continue your journey tomorrow.”
She gave in grudgingly. “I guess I have no choice.”
“Very well. Rafaela, a pressure bandage, please.”
The nurse had anticipated the request and had a rolled bandage in hand. She was every bit as efficient as her mama, Marco thought, pleased all over again that he’d paid her tuition to nursing school.
When he moved his stool closer and propped Sabrina’s foot on his knee, her breath hissed in. Marco used his gentlest touch to wrap the ankle. The skin around the injured joint was distended, the bruising already vicious.
The calf above, however, was long and smooth and shapely. As he cupped the firm flesh, a jolt went through him. This time the shock had nothing to do with seeing what appeared to be the ghost of his dead wife. This time it was lust, hard and fast and hot.
Gesù! What possessed him today? Disgusted with himself, he caught only the tail end of his patient’s question to Rafaela.
“…recommend a good hotel?”
“The tourist season is over, Signorina Russo. We have only one hotel still open. The five-star Le Sireneuse. It’s quite elegant and very popular with film stars and visiting dignitaries. Their rooms are usually booked a year or more in advance, but I’ll call and see if they have anything available, yes?”
“Thanks.”
Rafaela slid out the cell phone clipped to her waist and made the quick call.
“It’s as I feared, Signorina. The hotel is fully booked. I’ll try The Neptune. It’s just outside town and may still be open.”
Marco brought the bandage under a delicate arch and waged a fierce internal debate. His gut told him to say nothing, to let this woman find her own accommodations. She disturbed him
