by Kris Pearson
Christian remained sitting on the side of the bed for several more minutes, holding Fiona wrapped in his arms. Finally, hating to do it, he relaxed his grip a little and raised his guilty eyes to hers.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I should be the one comforting you. I suppose I’ve been hurting you, hanging on like this?”
“Hardly at all.”
He set his hands onto her hipbones and made a small barrier between them, then gave her a tiny regretful nudge.
“Try the chair.”
Sighing, Fiona half-turned and stepped back. Christian rose to hold the chair steady as she sat. He started to push her toward the door.
“No, wait. The mirror please. Let’s see how bad I look.”
“Damn good, considering what you’ve been through.”
“I looked awful after lunch.”
She frowned as she regarded her reflection. “I’ll scare poor Nicky. Let’s see if we can disguise this big bruise on the side of my face at least.” She pointed to a tube of foundation. “Can you dot some of that over it?”
Christian squatted beside the chair and squeezed a dab onto his finger. It was the last thing he needed—permission to touch her again.
“Not my usual thing.”
“Paint by numbers,” she said. “Do the purple bit peachy.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll be gentle.”
He cupped her face in one hand to steady it, and began to smooth the make-up over her bruised jaw.
“Pat it,” she advised.
He rolled his eyes and she started to giggle.
“Stay still then.”
“You’re tickling.”
“And you’re getting better if you’re starting to give me orders again.”
“I don’t give you orders....”
“Eat this toast, Christian. Let me look after you, Christian...” he gently mocked her.
“I promised Mom and Dad. And Jan would want you both well cared for,” she protested.
“Jan would want you well cared for too, but I don’t think she’d expect me to paint your face.”
“She wouldn’t want me scaring her daughter,” Fiona countered, turning to the mirror to inspect his work.
“Any more?” Touching her was heaven and hell combined.
“Maybe just a bit,” she agreed, watching as he squeezed out a little extra foundation.
He worked on with care, enjoying the softness of her skin and the excuse to be so close.
“Best I can do,” he finally said, knowing he couldn’t make the charade last any longer.
He stood and inspected her, and fluffed up her hair a little with his fingers. “I had to get on with the nanny search while you were in hospital,” he added. “I’ve got a possible candidate coming to dinner to see how she gets on with Nicky. Nice girl—good references. You can give me your opinion.”
“I’ll scare her off looking like this.”
His eyes meshed with hers in the mirror. His face was serious. “We really need her, Fee. I’m only here for a few more days—I have to dash over to Japan unexpectedly. I’ll get you to the hospital for your Friday check-up, but then I’m gone until next Wednesday. Something really urgent cropped up this afternoon.”
Fiona nodded. “I’ll be okay. Mostly just resting.”
“With any luck Kathy will be your nanny too while I’m gone. Amy Houndsworth will take care of the cleaning—and continue with the cooking for a while longer.”
“So I won’t be doing her out of a job?”
“You were never doing her out of a job. She’s been our housekeeper for the last several years. As soon as we knew Nicky was on the way, I wanted Jan to have help. This is a big place.”
“But she’s cooking for you, too?”
“Only the evening meal for Jan’s last few weeks. As a favor. Casseroles to heat up and so on. I told her you’d be taking over our dinners as soon as you’re well enough again.” He began to steer the chair across the dense carpet. Once they were through the doorway it rolled with ease on the smooth marble tiles.
Fiona drew a deep breath and said the words she knew were inevitable.
“If you’ve got a nanny you won’t need me as well. I’d love to get to know Nicky better, but I’ll have to go back up to Mom and Dad’s after all.”
Unseen behind her, Christian pressed his lips together in a tight line. It was exactly what he’d wanted a few days ago—but now...?
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stay...a little longer, anyway. I don’t know how Nicky will get on with Kathy. I’m certainly not leaving my daughter with a virtual stranger while I tear off overseas. Amy could probably help out again, but I’d rather have you around to keep watch on things.”
“Even in my present state?”
“Nothing wrong with your eyes or your brain.”
My brain’s gone to mush, with you so close.
“So what’s she like, this nanny-person?”
“Young. Short. A fiery little red-head.”
“Hot-tempered?”
“I hope not, working with children. She’s been nannying for several years. The agency said she was one of their best.”
“They would, wouldn’t they...”
“We’ll see what we think of her tonight. See what Nicky thinks of her, more importantly.”
He pushed her into the big glass-fronted living room with its low couches, colorful rugs, and casual dining area. Nicky’s space-age highchair sat drawn up to the table, and three other places were set.
Nicola played on one of the rugs, surrounded by toys. She struggled to her feet as Fiona and Christian appeared. Christian swept his daughter up before she could lurch against Fiona’s damaged knee. He tickled her until she squealed and giggled.
“Special visitor coming to meet you tonight, Nicola Jane,” he said. “She’s called Kathy. Can you say ‘Kathy’?”
“Kat-ee,” Nic piped.
He set her down beside the toys again. “Not bad at all, clever-clogs. And Auntie Fiona’s feeling better now, so she’s here for dinner, too.”
He stretched his rangy frame out on the rug and began building a tower of blocks for Nicola.
Fiona sat quietly watching. Christian was lean and athletic, such a physical presence. He’d propped himself on one elbow; his other arm stacked the colored cubes. She found the contrast of the big confident man and tiny child irresistible.
She pushed her bare toes against the smooth floor and the chair slid easily so she had a better view of him while he occupied himself with Nicky. The indigo shirt strained across his shoulders and gaped at the front again to reveal a slice of dark shadowed chest. Her fingers twitched as she imagined testing the texture of that crisp hair, dragging her hand through it, rubbing her breasts across it. He was masculine without compromise, hard and strong and handsome. How was she supposed to resist?
The tower of blocks collapsed and Nicky laughed as she batted the remaining few down. The doorbell pealed.
Christian rose lithely to his feet and strode away. A few seconds later Fiona heard muffled pleasantries and returning footsteps. She swiveled the chair for her first glimpse of the nanny. A tiny girl with wavy red hair and over-long black trousers strolled in, gazing about the splendid room.
“My sister-in-law, Fiona,” Christian said by way of introduction. “And this is my daughter, Nicola.”
Kathy offered Fiona a bright smile and then made straight for her new charge.
“Hi-ya Nicola,” she beamed, swinging Nicky up onto her hip. “Cool T-shirt,” she added, pointing at the fairies with shiny wings across Nicky’s front. As simply as that, she snared the child’s attention. Nicky, who could easily have turned shy or timid, was soon chattering happily.
Christian raised an eyebrow at Fiona and she sent him a slight nod. Things seemed to be off to a good start, anyway.
Dinner proceeded amidst easy laughter. Kathy talked about the children at her last job. The
ir father had been transferred to Madrid—hence her availability.
Nicky grew tired and fractious and was put to bed.
Christian made it obvious he felt Kathy was a definite possibility; he showed her the guest wing and her proposed bedroom.
Throughout the evening, Fiona’s eyes roamed again and again in his direction, drawn against her will by his sheer physical presence and undiluted virility. She became ever more convinced she needed to leave him the moment she was well enough to travel. Her resolve was wearing perilously thin.
Her brain knew it was the right decision.
But her heart? It tore in two at the prospect.
CHAPTER NINE
Next morning she gritted her teeth and hauled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She managed to sponge over most of her body, but didn’t dare risk the shower in case she fell. She limped out to breakfast, surprising Christian who was setting juice and fruit on a tray.
“I was just bringing it,” he said, sounding harassed.
Nicky threw her spoon on the floor, missing the plastic mat under her highchair. Blobs of oatmeal hit the rug.
She saw Christian grimace and reach for a paper towel.
“Would you rather I went back to bed?”
“You’ve made it this far. You might as well stay.” He slid her tray onto the table and bent to clean up Nicky’s mess.
Poor man, she thought. No wife any more, and a daughter who’s a bundle of mischief. It won’t be easy for him, even with a nanny.
She levered the chunks of fruit clumsily up to her mouth, determined to manage on her own. Half an hour later she lurched back to bed, and lay there missing Jan, thinking of their childhood together, weeping quietly for all the future times they’d never share. Eventually she dozed—only to be woken by Christian at her bedroom doorway.
“Amy’s there to watch Nic. Are you ready to have your hair washed?” He carried a dark green waterproof coat over one arm and an outdoor chair under the other. He still wore his white toweling robe.
Fiona’s pulse-rate increased. The robe covered him decently, but now there was a palpable air of the bedroom about him. Her eyes roamed all the way up from his sinewy bare feet to his unshaven face and somewhat tousled dark hair.
“Don’t panic, I’m going to cover you up, not undress you,” he said, misreading her expression. He carried the chair through to the bathroom, returned with one of the hand-towels, and stood beside her.
She pushed the covers back and dug her toes into the luxurious carpet. Christian held out his hands.
“Up,” he said, grasping hers and lifting her carefully. He arranged the towel around her shoulders, taking care that none of her hair caught underneath. Fiona held her breath as his hands roamed over her neck, rescuing wisps of it.
“I thought if we put my old fishing coat on you back-to-front we wouldn’t get any of your dressings wet. Or your nightgown, of course.”
“The dressings are mostly supposed to be waterproof,” she said. “But okay.”
He shook the coat out.
“Don’t worry—it doesn’t smell fishy.” His mouth kicked up at the corners into a slight smile.
Fiona raised her arms as far as she comfortably could, and slipped her wrists into the sleeves of the big garment. Christian drew it upwards, stepping very close and leaning around her to fasten the top buttons behind her neck.
Her face became almost buried against his chest. The same wonderful scent from the other evening swirled all around her. His scent. The enticing personal scent that her sister had been able to enjoy every day in their bed.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the shocking scenes that drifted under her hot trembling eyelids—Christian and Jan, twined together in this very room—making love as she so much ached to.
“That ought to do it,” he said, moving behind her to fasten the last of the buttons. “You look a bit…unusual…”
“But this isn’t a ‘usual’ situation,” Fiona said as she reached for her crutches.
His grin became wider, and he tugged at the belt of his white toweling robe as he entered the luxuriously appointed en suite bathroom.
“Not quite ‘the emperor’s new clothes’, either.” He shrugged the robe off his shoulders and tossed it over a hook.
All of Fiona’s fantasies collided. Christian—tall, dark and damned near naked. Well, wearing perfectly respectable black swim-shorts she had to concede. But there was so much of him. Such long streamlined arms. Such broad shoulders. A beautifully-sculpted chest that took her breath away and positively encouraged her fingers to play in the dark hair that she’d glimpsed at the neck of his unbuttoned shirt the previous evening.
One of her hands rose and almost touched him—smoothing the air just a fraction away from the soft shining haze over his heart.
“Lucky Jan,” she gasped, snatching her hand back far too late. “Sorry.”
“You like me, do you?” he teased.
“No—of course not. I mean...there’s a lot of you, isn’t there. You’re a bit...” she mumbled in confusion.
“I’m a bit what?”
“You’re a bit too much. To take in at a glance.” She found it impossible to tear her eyes away. She wanted more than a glance. She wanted to roam over him at her leisure, enjoying all his masculine hardness and strength, his warmth, his smoothness, his roughness.
She had a too-fast glimpse of his taut golden belly and long thighs before she subsided into the chair. Christian put her crutches aside and stepped behind her to turn on the water. She sat there overcome with embarrassment and longing.
“This might have been a very stupid idea,” she heard him say. She heard the small soft curse as well. What was he really thinking? That they’d be close, wet, and far too private? That was exactly her take on it.
He moved about, whistling softly to himself as he adjusted the temperature of the water. She kept her eyes resolutely turned away. Then she caught sight of him in the big mirror on the side wall. His wet black shorts clung close against his hips, emphasizing the long line of his back and the tight curve of his butt. The increasing weight of the water in the fabric made the shorts sag a little lower. They hung across his hipbones in a gentle arc.
Fiona itched to touch him. His thighs shone as the water streamed over them, flattening his body hair, defining the shape of the strong muscles that flexed under his golden skin. Higher, his chest-hair seemed sprinkled with glittering diamonds as the overhead lights caught the water droplets.
If she stretched a little, she could see herself as well. She looked totally ridiculous. His huge green waterproof coat dwarfed her. Her unwashed hair sat flat against her head. She’d rarely felt so unattractive. What was she thinking of—spinning daydreams about a man as gorgeous as Christian when she looked such a pathetic frump?
This is Jan’s husband. You cannot have him.
“Tip your head back,” he instructed, cupping her jaw in his hand and tilting her until she rested against something warm and resilient. She turned her eyes upward and found her head pillowed against his belly with a view of his body in reverse...up to his impressive chest and shoulders and hungry handsome face.
“Close your eyes.” He raised the spray-nozzle to wet her hair. “Keep very still. I’ll try and avoid the dressing over your eye.”
The warm water trickled over her scalp and down over his big body. Fiona sighed as the fingers of his other hand smoothed through her hair, directing the water, shielding her face. He turned the nozzle off and reached for the shampoo.
“Tropical Creme”, he murmured, reading the label as though to fill the sudden silence.
“It’s something the salon recommended.” She kept her eyes resolutely closed.
Christian drizzled shampoo over her hair and started to massage it in, kneading sensuously but softly, careful to avoid her injuries. The fruity fragrance surrounded them both. He bent a little lower, enjoying the closer view of her face. One side was entirely undamaged. Her sk
in was smooth and so much paler than his hands. Her dark lashes lay golden-tipped against her high cheekbones. Her lips were full and soft.
You are my wife, yet not my wife...
He supported Fiona’s head in one big palm and massaged behind her ears, down to her nape, then up to her crown.
“That’s heaven,” she murmured, giving him the excuse he needed to keep touching her. He continued running his fingers over her scalp, working the lather into every strand of her hair. The slippery soapy sensations coursed through his big body, finding their mark all too easily. He gritted his teeth.
Down boy...
It shouldn’t be possible for this drowned-rat of a woman, totally concealed in his old waterproof coat, to have such an outrageous effect on him. And yet, whenever he’d been in her company through all the years of his perfectly happy marriage, she’d lit sparks that smoldered and refused to be extinguished.
Even the one swift kiss he’d given her as a ‘welcome home’ from hospital had got way out of hand.
This was so wrong. Nothing could ever come of it. No matter how much Fiona invaded his dreams—and his daydreams—she wasn’t attracted to him in return. Politely stand-offish, more like.
Why would I expect her to be? I’m her sister’s husband. Her sister’s choice of man, not her choice.
But if things were different...if the timing were otherwise...would there be a chance? He compressed his generous mouth and sighed.
He had to accept she lived a glamorous life on the other side of the world, which suited her to perfection. She wouldn’t relinquish it for a second-hand man with a ready-made family—especially one who couldn’t decently make any move toward her for months yet.
He reached out for the spray-nozzle again and tilted Fiona’s head to pillow it against his belly, hoping she wouldn’t feel what lurked so close below. The water cascaded over her hair and down his aroused body.
