Page 20 of Forbidden Hawaiian Nights
‘Tell me where to look and I’ll get what you want.’
Judging from her stubborn expression, he was guessing that the last thing she wanted was to direct him to her drawers so that he could fish out dry clothes for her, but she did as she was asked.
‘Need help putting these clothes on?’ He looked at her. ‘It’s going to be tricky getting out of those wet things.’
‘I can manage.’
‘Well, if you find you can’t, then I’m within shouting distance. In fact, I’ll wait right outside the door. Call me when you’re dressed. I’m going to inspect your ankle, and don’t even attempt to hobble out to me.’
Mia muttered something under her breath and looked at him with sulky hostility. ‘You mean just in case I topple over and sue you for personal injury?’
Max shot her an impatient look and raked his fingers through his hair.
‘Okay. I apologise for that.’
Their eyes tangled and her breathing picked up. She nodded and he hesitated fractionally.
‘I’ve learnt that the only person I can trust is myself,’ he told her heavily. ‘It’s just the way I’m built.’
Mia nodded and some of the hostility drained away. What did he mean by that? No one was built to be distrustful. She waited until he had left the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
She was as exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon, by the time she had changed into the loose-fitting cotton bottoms, baggy tee shirt and fresh underwear.
The torrential rain had subsided to a steady drumbeat, but she still had to shout to be heard, and she was as tense as a bowstring when he pushed open the door, glass of water in one hand and in the other a couple of painkillers that he held out to her.
‘These might take the edge off. Found them in one of your kitchen cupboards.’
Mia silently accepted the proffered tablets and automatically flinched as he levered himself down until he was kneeling at her feet like a supplicant as she sat on the edge of the bed. Or a guy about to propose to the woman of his dreams. A fine film of perspiration beaded her upper lip.
‘I’m going to just try and feel my way around your ankle.’ He looked up at her.
Mia was finding it very hard to actually hear a word he was saying because she was so conscious of his fingers on her skin, gently, very gently, stroking her tender, sensitive ankle. She was captivated by his eyes. Her breathing slowed and her mouth went dry. She felt giddy.
‘I guess you’re wondering why I should know anything about ankles and sprains,’ he offered, and she nodded mutely. ‘Well, believe it or not,’ he continued, in the same soothing, best bedside manner voice as he began manipulating her foot in tiny, barely discernible circles, ‘I did a summer job at a hospital when I was eighteen.’
‘You did? Ouch, that hurts.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s going to a bit, I’m afraid. Try not to think about it.’ He looked up and smiled crookedly. ‘Think about me instead.’
‘About you…’ She did as he asked and then blinked a little unsteadily. Not a good command to give, because now all she could think about was his hands moving up from her ankle, up along her calf, slipping under the baggy bottoms to slide over her inner thigh…to go further…
Heat rushed through her body.
‘Think about me working at a hospital. I was no more than a dogsbody, but you’d be amazed at what a dogsbody can pick up, and I’ve always been very good when it comes to picking things up.’
His voice was so quiet and so calming that she was aware of the pain in her ankle, whilst almost not being aware of it. He was very thorough and strangely tender for someone so big.
He told her about his hospital job. She really wasn’t sure whether he was making it all up to distract her or whether he actually had worked in a hospital for three months.
He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.
When he asked her to tell him about her family, she sighed and complied. He vanished for a couple of minutes and returned with the first aid box she kept in the bathroom.
He was distracting her. She knew that. He wasn’t interested in hearing about her family. Why would he be? She’d spent the past few days sitting opposite him and he’d barely noticed her existence, except on those occasions when he’d looked up and engaged her in something about the hotel. Other than that, she could have been a pot plant on the sideboard next to the platters of breads and pastries.
So did he really want to hear about her sprawling family? Her sisters? Her nieces and nephews? Or about that time when she was eight and they’d all gone on a family picnic by the sea, and she’d wandered off and ended up spending the night in the forest because they hadn’t been able to find her for love nor money? Was he really as interested as he appeared to be when she told him about school, and about wanting to be different from her sisters, wanting to avoid university and an office job?
He seemed to be, because he kept asking questions, while busying himself with the bandage, wrapping it around her now swollen ankle with painstaking care.
