Cassie hadn’t, after all, bothered to move. She felt a touch light-headed and couldn’t face the haul across the kitchen floor. And Dem lying across her stomach seemed to weigh a ton. Totally immovable.
Anyway, the pain in her ankle was easing a little, so perhaps lying perfectly still was the sensible thing to do. The only problem was that she was seeing things. Or, at least, not things. People. A person. Nick Jefferson to be precise. And he appeared to be walking on air.
She blinked and he disappeared. Oh, well. Maybe she had just been imagining it. She had been thinking about him riding to her rescue like some latter-day knight errant in that late twentieth century alternative to a trusty steed, a black sports car.
Which one would he be? Not Galahad, that was for sure. Galahad was the good guy, pure in body and heart; he would never have stolen a kiss. That was the trouble with good guys. They were predictable. Safe. And just a little bit dull.
No one could ever accuse Nick Jefferson of being dull. Which was presumably why she’d been wasting so much time thinking about him. It was so long since anyone had kissed her—not that they hadn’t wanted to but after Jonathan she’d been very careful not to get involved with relationships that involved kissing. The safe, predictable men didn’t do anything for her. And the dangerous ones…
Of course Nick had stolen his kiss. And stolen kisses, no matter how sweet, didn’t count. Did they? Not enough to excuse hallucinating about him, anyway.
She closed her eyes for a moment, just while she got her head straight. And when she opened them again there was a dark shadow in the doorway, a man’s broad shoulders blocking out the deepening twilight. She let out a cry of alarm and Dem, using her stomach as a springboard, fled for cover once more.
‘Cassie?’
‘Nick?’ She blinked as he reached for the light-switch and snapped it on, throwing up her hand as the light temporarily blinded her. Then she saw him clearly, discovered that she hadn’t been hallucinating after all and questions began to crowd into her head. Like, what did he think he was doing, walking into her kitchen without so much as a by-your-leave? And how the devil had he got there when she was surrounded by an eight-foot wall? And why, when she was furious with him for giving her such a fright, was she feeling so deliriously glad to see him?
‘What happened?’ Nick demanded.
But he didn’t need to ask. The toppled chair, the broken cupboard door told their own eloquent tale. She’d climbed up to retrieve the things he’d put away on the top shelf after he’d walked out without giving a thought to how she would get them down. Well, now he knew. By climbing on a rickety old chair, that was how. She had fallen and it was his fault.
As Nick moved out of the shadows Cassie could see that his face was creased with concern. Or maybe he was just frowning. He had sounded decidedly irritated on the phone. All that fuss over a drop of stock. What was it about men? They always had to make such a drama out of the simplest thing. Like this.
She’d fallen off a chair, that was all. She could handle it. But before she could tell him that he was crouched at her side, his fingers at her wrist, feeling for a pulse, and without warning she was overcome by an irresistible impulse to giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded.
‘You are. I’ve twisted my ankle, Nick. You won’t find that out by feeling my pulse.’
But he was still frowning. ‘It seems a bit erratic to me.’ He pushed the hair that had slipped from its comb back off her face, holding it there while he peered at her forehead. ‘Did you hit your head? I’d better call an ambulance,’ he said, without waiting for her reply.
She could have told him that the only reason her pulse was jumping about was that he was leaning over her, his jaw inches away from her cheek. If he turned and looked into her eyes, his mouth would be all lined up and ready to do what he’d been on the point of doing when she’d shut the door on him. Why had she stopped him? She’d wanted him to kiss her. She would be lying to herself if she denied it. It was bad enough when someone else lied to you, someone who said they loved you, but lying to yourself was just asking for trouble.
She’d stopped Nick from kissing her because she was scared. Scared of being hurt. Which was ridiculous. How could he hurt her? You had to love someone before they could hurt you and she had promised herself never to fall into the love trap again.
But up this close she could see the day-old stubble of his beard, knew exactly how it would feel against her skin, and there was a yearning deep within her to raise her hand, rub it over his cheek and feel the roughness against her palm. Just to say his name. Nick. She tried it in her head. But she didn’t say it out loud.
If she did that he would look at her, really look at her and see all that longing betrayed in her eyes. A sprained ankle wouldn’t be any defence against what would happen after that. And that would end up hurting her a whole lot more than any sprain.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, snatching her hand back before common sense took a holiday. ‘I don’t need an ambulance. All I need is a touch of witch hazel and some strapping on my ankle and I’ll be fine—’ She caught her breath as he turned away and ran his fingers lightly over her foot, her ankle. And it wasn’t because of the pain.
‘At least it’s not broken.’
‘I could have told you that, but I’m grateful for the second opinion, Dr Kildare,’ she muttered, through gritted teeth. ‘Now, if you feel up to doing something practical instead of practising your bedside manner, you’ll find the first-aid box under the sink. I’m sure there’s a crepe bandage in there.’
‘Yes, ma’am. But shouldn’t I be doing something interesting with cold compresses first?’ He glanced back at her, the corner of his mouth lifted in that impossibly sexy way that did far worse things to her than falling off a chair.
‘Should you?’ she demanded, refusing to play along. ‘Do you know what a compress is?’
Well, that wiped the grin right off his face. But that concerned little frown that creased the space between his brows hadn’t gone. ‘You don’t think much of me, do you, Cassie?’
‘I’m sure you’re trying very hard to impress me, Nick. The trouble is I can’t think why.’
‘Neither can I. It’s a worry, isn’t it?’ He stood up and crossed to the big American fridge-freezer, opened the freezer section and began pulling out the drawers.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for this.’ He hefted a small packet of frozen peas in his hand. ‘I wasn’t sure if a high-and-mighty famous cook like you would stoop to such stuff.’
‘My nephews like them.’ Oh, good grief, their trip… ‘Ouch!’ This, as he applied the frozen pack of vegetables to her ankle. Then she said, ‘It seems you do know what a compress is.’
‘I come from a family of sportsmen. And women. My mother was a particularly fine hurdler…only my untimely arrival put a stop to her Olympic hopes…but I learned all about the many uses for frozen peas at her knee.’ When he looked up at her the lopsided grin was back in place and her pulse danced another ridiculous little jig. ‘It was sprained at the time.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘Actually I think this would be a whole lot easier if you were on the sofa. Put your arms around my neck.’
‘I can get there—’
He did it for her and the jig in her pulse intensified to a reel as she stopped arguing and clasped her hands behind his head. Maybe she should get him to check it out again. She rather liked the way his fingers felt against her wrist. Which was as good a reason as any for not encouraging him.
‘You’ll put your back out,’ she warned as he slid his hands beneath her. ‘Then what would we do?’
‘Not very much,’ he admitted. His face was so close that she could see the tiny black flecks in his irises, the black flecks that made his grey eyes seem so dark. But apparently he didn’t take her warning seriously, because he scooped her up and placed her on the sofa with about as much trouble as if she were a feather pillow. ‘Certainly not
what I’d like to do to you.’
‘What’s that?’ Cassie demanded, and then blushed hotly, but he didn’t appear to notice as he turned to pick up the peas. He reapplied them, without much ceremony, to her injured ankle.
‘Put you over my knee and spank you for climbing on a rickety old chair. Haven’t you got a stepladder?’ he demanded.
‘I lent it to my next-door neighbour.’
‘You should have asked for it back. Here, hold this in place while I find the first-aid box,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll strap it for you.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said, sweat beading her upper lip as she determinedly ignored the pain. She didn’t want him changing his mind and calling an ambulance after all. Change the subject. Think of something else. No, not that! ‘How did you get in, Nick?’
‘At great risk to life and limb,’ he said, hunkering down to search through the cupboard beneath the sink so that his strong thighs bulged against the soft cloth of his jeans. The man was dangerous enough in the civilising garb of a well-tailored suit; in old jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his torso, he was a menace. He turned and lifted the corner of his mouth again in the most economic version of a smile she’d ever encountered. She bit her lip to stifle a groan. ‘Over the back wall.’
Cassie decided that a groan was perfectly in order after all. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that.’
‘There’s no need to worry, I’m not as incompetent as you; I didn’t hurt myself,’ he said, with characteristic flippancy.
‘It isn’t you I’m worrying about,’ she declared, suddenly furious with him not for the insult but for his stupidity. Did he never think? ‘Someone’s bound to have seen you and the neighbourhood watch will be all of a dither.’
‘Actually someone did shout at me,’ he confessed.
‘Then listen out for sirens; the police will be round any minute.’ As if on cue, there was a sharp rap at the front door. ‘There, what did I say?’
He put his hand to his ear. ‘I didn’t hear any sirens.’
She glared at him. ‘You’d better go and reassure whoever it is that I’m not being strangled over a hotpot, Nick. Or they really will call the police.’
But it was too late for that. Someone had already called the police and a few moments later Nick and a constable returned to the kitchen.
‘Cassie, darling, Constable Hicks tells me that one of your neighbours reported an illegal entry. I explained what happened, but naturally he wants to reassure himself that you’re safe and that I’m not just some axemurderer spinning him a line.’
Darling? Darling? What was the man playing at now? Well, she’d show him that he wasn’t the only one who could play games. She turned to the policeman.
‘Thank goodness you’ve come, Officer. This man is a complete stranger—he just climbed over my back wall and walked in.’
It was a mistake. She shouldn’t have done it; she knew that the moment the words were out of her mouth. The young policeman clearly didn’t know what to think and glanced uncertainly at Nick, who was leaning against the doorway, his face expressionless.
‘I told you, Officer, Miss Cornwell fell off a chair. I’m sure she must have bumped her head but she’s refusing to let me take her down to Casualty.’ He didn’t say it in so many words, but his tone suggested she wasn’t quite right in the head. Okay, so she deserved it. But did he have to look so pious about it?
‘Mr Jefferson told me that you’d had a fall, miss,’ the policeman said, turning back to her and starting from a point that might help him to make sense of the situation. ‘Did you, er, bump your head? Maybe you should take his advice and go down to the hospital for a check-up.’
Nick caught Cassie’s eye and raised one brow by a millimetre, suggesting that she’d asked for that. Well, maybe she had. Maybe she was crazy. She certainly felt just a little light-headed. But she was quite sure it had nothing to do with falling on that part of her anatomy. Still, she shouldn’t be making light of the situation. It was not a laughing matter.
The policeman certainly wasn’t amused. He was staring at her ankle, fetchingly draped with a rapidly defrosting bag of peas, without so much as the suspicion of a smile.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I DID have a fall,’ Cassie confirmed quickly, ‘but I didn’t hit my head. And Nick came to my rescue,’ she added, with an ingratiating smile, prompting the young constable to share the joke.
The policeman declined with a slight frown. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know Mr Jefferson?’
That was the trouble with a joke that fell flat. Having to explain it was so very…embarrassing.
‘I know and I’m sorry, Officer…’ Sorry she’d ever started this. Sorry she’d offered Nick some herbs. Just sorry. ‘It was a joke. A very bad joke,’ she added hurriedly as his frown deepened. ‘It was all Nick’s fault, you see…’ Oh, no. That sounded even worse. It was true, of course. Everything was Nick Jefferson’s fault. But he had raced to her assistance when he’d realised she was in trouble. But only, she reminded herself firmly, so that he could learn the secrets of a good stock… ‘Nick called me and I was trying to get to the phone when I fell and twisted my ankle. Nothing serious. In fact he was just about to strap it for me.’
‘Really?’ Only a policeman could invest a word with such a depth of meaning, she thought. ‘You’re quite sure that it doesn’t need professional attention?’
‘Oh, no, he’s quite capable of dealing with it, Officer.’ She might be anxious to get rid of him, but not if it meant a trip to Casualty. ‘Sprains apparently run in his family.’
‘Is that so?’
Shut up, you idiot, she told her mouth as another attempt at humour, admittedly a feeble one, sank without trace. ‘They’re sportsmen…’ Although as far as she could work out Nick Jefferson’s success seemed confined to indoor games. ‘And women,’ she added. ‘Jefferson Sports, you know…’
‘Yes. I know.’ Of course he knew. Everybody knew the Jefferson building. She’d just have to make certain that she avoided it in future. ‘Well, I won’t delay Mr Jefferson’s first aid any longer than necessary. If I could just have a few details for the record.’ He turned to Nick. ‘I wonder if you would be kind enough to go out to the patrol car and inform my colleague that I’ll be with him very soon?’ Nick turned without a word and left the room. When he had gone the officer glanced at the chair still lying on its side and the sad rums of the cupboard door, before turning back to Cassie. ‘Are you quite happy for me to leave now, Miss Cornwell?’
‘Don’t you want my name, rank and serial number?’ she asked flippantly. Then gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. Just tell the man what he wants to know and let him leave.
‘Not unless you want to make a complaint.’
‘Complaint? I thought I’d explained—’
‘If you’d rather talk to a female officer, I can arrange that.’
Cassie knuckled her forehead, convinced that she must have missed an entire chunk of conversation. Maybe she had banged her head, after all. ‘I’m sorry, Officer. I really don’t follow—’
‘Someone from the DVU, the domestic violence unit,’ he explained.
‘The what?’ She felt the blood drain from her face, the sickening nausea as she realised what he was suggesting. That Nick might have hurt her. That this was some domestic quarrel… that he had broken in and hurt her. And now she was too frightened to say anything… ‘Oh, no,’ she groaned. How on earth could she have been so stupid? Then, because the policeman was still waiting, and because she had to convince him that Nick was totally innocent, she repeated herself. ‘Oh, no, really. Nick didn’t… I mean, honestly. Oh, this is just so embarrassing.’ The young policeman remained impassive. ‘I was just teasing him. I’m sorry, really sorry. I shouldn’t have done it but he just…’ She wasn’t going to explain how she’d felt when Nick had called her ‘darling’. ‘Really. I fell off the chair trying to get to the phone when Nick called. He realised I’d hurt myself and came
rushing over. I was just teasing him a little…’ She could have offered the answering machine as evidence, but somehow she didn’t think this young man would be very impressed by the way Nick had been shouting at her…
‘Why did he come over the back wall?’
‘I couldn’t get to the door and he doesn’t have a key. He’s a friend, Constable, not a lover.’ It was important to convince him of that. Friends didn’t hit you. ‘I’m not his type, you see.’
‘No?’ The policeman finally offered a smile. ‘I can’t think why. I’d have said you were on the wish list of any red-blooded male who’s seen you on television.’ Which was sweet considering that she had to be five or six years older than him. A lifetime when you were his age.
‘Maybe he doesn’t watch that much television. But he has been incredibly kind. Risking a climb along the wall just to check that I was all right. If it hadn’t been for him I could have been lying on the floor until my cleaner arrived in the morning.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ He remained doubtful. ‘We can’t help unless—’
‘I know.’
‘And you don’t need to go to Casualty?’
‘I don’t need to go to Casualty,’ she confirmed carefully. ‘Thank you.’ She watched with relief as he closed his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. ‘And thank you for coming so quickly. I might really have needed your assistance. I should thank whoever called you, too.’
‘It was one of your neighbours. A Mrs Duggan?’
‘Oh, yes.’ The one who’d borrowed her steps. It had a certain symmetry… ‘It’s good to know people care.’
‘You seem to be particularly blessed in that department, Miss Cornwell.’
‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’ Finally convinced, the young policeman bade her goodnight and departed and Cassie was finally able to let out a huge sigh of relief and lean back against the cushion.
‘That’ll teach you to tease the law,’ Nick said.
Gentlemen Prefer...Brunettes Page 7
