Dark of the Night
Page 33
Nonplussed by the brush-off, Danny grinned. “Hey, I’m the patient’s brother. Surely that gives me the right for consults or something.”
John took a hesitant step forward, pleased when his left foot obeyed. “You have a name?” His voice was still brusque. A combination of irritation and embarrassment. When it came to women he’d never been able to compete with his brother. But he’d at least been able to hold his own. Now, he was more like the invisible man. Still, she was here for him.
Not Danny.
Even if there was nothing personal in it, it gave him a delicious sense of victory. And these days he’d take what he could get.
“My name is Kathleen.” Her words tickled his ear, and he realized she’d moved again, this time flanking his bad side. “Kathleen Cavanaugh.”
“Irish?” The word popped from his mouth before he had time to think about it.
“Boston Irish.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and his heart rate ratcheted up a notch.
“That explains the accent.” Danny moved to his other side, and together they helped him toward the bathroom.
“Take these.” She handed him the sweats when they reached the door. “You ought to be able to get them on yourself.”
His eyes met hers, and it felt as if they were locked together in a world all their own, the soft intake of her breath assuring him that he wasn’t alone in the feeling. “And if I can’t manage?”
Her smile was slow and sure. “Then I’ll just have to come in and help you.”
She’d lost her freaking mind. Katie stared at the closed bathroom door, trying to ignore Danny Brighton’s blatant stare. It bored into her back. But he wasn’t the source of her discomfort.
No, indeed. It was much worse than that. She was having less than pure thoughts about Jonathan Brighton. And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him like that. Heavens, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him at all.
She was a professional. And this was a routine situation. All she had to do was observe the man, and based on what she saw make recommendations to her superiors. Simple as that.
The door opened and he stepped out of the bathroom, every muscle outlined by the T-shirt she’d provided. His dark hair curled against the neckline, his face shadowed with the hint of a beard.
He looked unkempt. And dangerous. A far cry from the button-down workaholic she’d been briefed about. This was a man with an edge.
And she’d always liked men who walked the line.
“You’re staring.” His tone was mild, but the current running between them was reflected in his eyes.
“I wasn’t actually. I was just thinking about where we ought to begin.”
“On the bed?” His smile sent shivers trailing down her back.
She swallowed, struggling for composure. “I beg your pardon?”
Danny laughed behind her, a hint of something protective in his voice. “I think he means that he needs to sit down.”
She pulled her mind out of the gutter and focused on the man in front of her. Really focused. He was holding himself together by sheer willpower, but a sheen of sweat glazed his face, and his jaw was twitching with the effort to look at ease.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. What was I thinking?” Five minutes and she’d compromised his health. Her training had been rushed, but it had been thorough. She wasn’t here to hurt him. On the contrary, she needed Mr. Brighton fully operational. Again her over-eager mind flooded her brain with vivid images having nothing to do with her job or Jonathan Brighton’s recovery.
Danny joined her, and they helped John to the bed. He sat down with a sigh. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Getting dressed never used to be an all-day affair. Although this get-up,” he gestured to the faded sweats, “beats the hell out of that.” He tipped his head toward the suit, shooting her a grateful smile.
“I thought John already had a therapist.”
Katie regretfully pulled her attention away from John, turning to face Danny’s skeptical gaze. “He does. Or rather he did. Linda Osborne was his P.T. here at the rehab clinic, but now that he’s being released, he needs someone at home. Someone to watch over him, to work with him to continue to improve his mobility.”
“And that would be you.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. This time there was no hint of playfulness. Danny Brighton was all business. And the business was protecting his brother. For all their physical differences—the one dark as sin and the other almost angelic—the brothers obviously had a deep bond. And right now Danny Brighton was assessing her.
“Exactly. Linda doesn’t do home care.” She met his gaze square on, unflinching. “I do.”
“And you’re good at what you do?”
“So I’ve been told.” She fought to keep her tone level. She’d never responded well to unspoken threats. And there was no question that John’s brother was baiting her.
“Give the woman a break, Danny. She’s just trying to do her job.” John’s voice was laced with laughter, but there was an underlying note of authority.
Danny studied her for a moment longer, then relaxed. “I’m sure you can understand my concern, Ms. Cavanaugh. My brother has been through quite an ordeal. And I just want to be certain that he has the best of everything.”
“What he means, Kathleen,” her name tumbled off his lips like warm wine, caressing her from the inside out, “is that he likes to think he’s running the show. And you were a curve he hadn’t expected.” He smiled at his brother, then returned his attention to her. “I assume you were assigned by my doctor?”
“Your insurance company, actually.” She shrugged, leaning over him to straighten his pillow. “Your doctor orders in-home care, but your insurance company is responsible for assigning someone.”
“I see.” He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “So you’re with me for the duration.”
“Duration?” She straightened, trying to read the subtext of his words.
“Yeah. I need to know that whoever I’m working with will be around to see things through to the end.”
“You mean a full recovery.” He was testing her again, but she wasn’t exactly sure how.
He shrugged. “Or as full a recovery as I’m likely to get.”
“You get what you work for, Mr. Brighton.”
“John.” He smiled again, the tension dissipating with the gesture. “And I always work for what I want, Ms. Cavanaugh. Always.”
“Now there’s an understatement.” Danny’s words were mumbled, but there was a wealth of information in his tone.
“Looks like I’ll fit in just fine, then. I expect my patients to work hard. But I assure you in the end it’s more than worth the effort.” She shot a look at first one brother and then the other, noting again the contrast between them.
Women were more likely to respond to Danny’s pretty boy looks than to John’s dark mystery. There was something off-putting about the older Brighton boy. Something that she had absolutely no intention of investigating. She was here to do a job.
Period.
“So where do we start?” John’s question pulled her out of her musings.
“I’d think the first thing to do is get you home.” Danny’s voice was proprietary again.
“Sounds like a plan.” John’s smile included her as well as his brother, and warmed her all the way to her toes. “I suppose I have to wait for a wheelchair?”
It was Katie’s turn to smile. “Actually, if you’re up to it, you can walk. Since this is rehab, and not a hospital per se, we like for our patients to feel like they’re leaving in better shape than they’ve arrived. I’d say you’ve earned the right to walk out of here.” She was babbling. But it was better than letting her mind wander free. “Of course if you’d rather have the wheelchair . . .” she trailed off, already certain of his response.
She wasn’t disappointed. He held up a hand, shaking his head. “Not on your life. They wheeled me in here. They’re sure as hell not wheeling me out.” To illustrate his
point he pushed himself off of the bed, wincing with the effort. Without thinking, she slid an arm around his waist, feeling his muscles bunch in rebuff.
“I can do it myself.” His words vibrated through her, his body warm against hers.
“I know you can.” She tightened her grip, steadying him. “But sometimes it’s all right to ask for a little help.” She told herself that she needed to gain his confidence, and to prove to him she knew what she was doing. But the truth was she just wanted to touch him.
And the thought scared her to death.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming edition of Midnight Rain by Dee Davis. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
An Ivy Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2002 by Dee Davis Oberwetter
Excerpt from Midnight Rain by Dee Davis copyright © 2002 by Dee Davis Oberwetter
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