St Piran's: Prince on the Children's Ward

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘Of course.’ Tasha thought about the suitcases in her car. She was like a snail, she thought, carrying her world around on her back. And what was she doing, talking surfing with him? The point of this wasn’t to be intimate or cosy. Deciding that it was never too soon to start inflicting a little extra pain, she gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Shame you can’t join me.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder.’ The irritation in Alessandro’s voice confirmed that her arrow had found its target.

  ‘At least I’ll be able to get out there and surf, and I’ll give you a report,’ Tasha said kindly, feeling a flash of satisfaction as she saw his jaw tighten. Oh, boy, are you going to suffer. She was about to twist the knife again when he shifted position and she saw pain flicker in his eyes. His naturally olive skin was several shades paler than usual and she could see the strain in his face. The physician in her at war with the woman, Tasha strolled over to him. ‘Moving you from the hospital to here must have been a painful experience.’

  ‘It was fine.’

  He hadn’t uttered a word of complaint but she knew that he must have been in agonising pain. ‘I’ll try and help you find a comfortable position.’

  ‘I’m perfectly comfortable. And I don’t need your help.’

  ‘That’s why you’re paying me, remember? To help you. You need a nurse to look after you.’

  ‘I needed a nurse because they wouldn’t discharge me from hospital without one. Not for any other reason.’ Jaw clenched, Alessandro manoeuvred himself onto the sofa, the pain involved leaving him white-faced. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he took his weight on the crutches. ‘I don’t need to be looked after.’

  Tasha found herself looking at those muscles. Pumped up. Sleek and hard. She frowned. So what? It took more than muscles to make a real man. ‘So if you don’t need to be looked after, what am I expected to do? File my nails?’

  ‘You can do whatever you like. Read a book. Watch TV. Surf—although if that’s how you spend your day, I’d rather you didn’t tell me about it.’ He dropped the crutches onto the floor with a clatter that said as much about his mood as the black frown on his face. ‘Do whatever you like. Consider it an all-expenses-paid holiday.’

  But she wouldn’t choose to take a holiday with him, would she?

  Ten years had done nothing but add to his physical attractions, she thought irritably. It was all very well reminding herself that looks didn’t count, but everything about him was unapologetically masculine and being alone with him made her feel jittery. Which was ridiculous, she told herself, given that he could barely walk. He was hardly going to leap on her, was he? Anyway, he’d made it clear years before that he didn’t find her attractive.

  Reminded of the ‘flat-chested’ comment by her brother, it was all she could do to stop herself thrusting her chest forward. ‘Now that I’m here, you might as well at least let me fetch you a drink.’

  ‘Thanks. A drink would be good.’ The tension in his voice reflected the pain he was fighting. ‘Whisky is in the cupboard in the kitchen and you’ll find glasses on the top shelf. Join me. We’ll have drinks on the terrace if I can get myself there.’

  Drinks on the terrace?

  Tasha felt a flash of alarm. No way. Lounging on the deck, watching the sun go down over golden sand was far too intimate a scenario. That wasn’t what she had in mind at all. This was about inflicting pain, not taking pleasure. Not that she thought she was in any danger of falling for him again, but as a scientist reviewing the evidence she had to concede that it had happened before.

  ‘A drink sounds like a good idea, but forget the terrace. You only just sat down, and if you keep moving you’ll just make the pain worse.’ Whisky, she thought, laced with arsenic or something equally poisonous. Or maybe just whisky along with the powerful painkiller and antibiotics he’d been prescribed. It would knock him unconscious and then she wouldn’t need to worry about falling for his dangerous charm.

  Not that he seemed charming right now. Pain had made him irritable and moody and he leaned his head back against the sofa, jaw clenched, eyes closed. ‘I’ll have it straight. No water. No ice.’

  In other words, nothing to dilute the effects of the alcohol.

  Tasha walked into the kitchen, knowing that every movement she made was being followed by those fierce black eyes. She remembered him telling her that his ancestors had been warriors, descendents of the Romans who had once colonised the Mediterranean island of San Savarre that was his home. It was all too easy to imagine Alessandro Cavalieri in warrior mode.

  Irritated with herself, shrugging off those thoughts, she opened cupboards until she found whisky. Closing her hand around the bottle, she hesitated. It would be really bad for him to drink with the tablets, but Alessandro didn’t seem to care. Clearly he was seeking oblivion. He’d drink whisky and to hell with the consequences. In fact, he’d probably enjoy the experience of alcohol and painkillers. Tasha put the bottle back. She wasn’t here to do what he wanted. She wasn’t here to make his life comfortable. It was already comfortable enough.

  She glanced around her. The kitchen was like something from an upmarket show home. Light poured through a glass atrium and reflected off shiny black granite work surfaces. It was smooth and streamlined, designed for practicality as well as show.

  ‘I could almost want to cook in a place like this,’ Tasha muttered, yanking open the door of the tall American fridge and staring at the contents. ‘Nothing but champagne and beer—typical man. What about food?’ Exploring the lower shelves, she found some mouldy cheese and a dead lettuce, which she removed and dropped in the bin. ‘Good job I went to the supermarket.’

  While the ambulance crew had been preparing Alessandro for the transfer home, she’d taken herself into St Piran on a shopping trip for provisions. She’d spent several hours carefully selecting items to help her with her plan, thinking carefully about what would help her cause. Abandoning the idea of using anything from his fridge, she reached for her bag of supplies and pulled out a packet of herbal tea.

  Perfect.

  She’d yet to meet a man who enjoyed herbal tea.

  Humming happily, Tasha boiled water and found two mugs.

  Carrying the tea back to the living area, she put the tray down on the low glass table and waited expectantly.

  The wait was worth it. His reaction was everything she’d hoped for.

  Alessandro stared in disbelief at the pale yellow liquid steaming in the mugs. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Herbal tea,’ Tasha said earnestly. She groped around for something convincing to say about it. ‘It will be good for you. It boosts the immune system and works as a—as a—as an internal cleanser.’ As a highly trained clinician, she couldn’t believe she was spouting such unscientific nonsense and she braced herself for Alessandro to burst out laughing and demand she show him the data to support her claims, but he didn’t. Instead he glowered at her, his eyes narrowing to two dangerous slits.

  ‘Is this a joke? This is your idea of taking care of me?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m doing what’s good for you.’

  ‘Whisky would be good for me.’

  Tasha made an attempt at a timid smile. Given that she’d never done ‘timid’ before in her life, she was reasonably pleased with the result. ‘Don’t be angry,’ she coaxed. ‘I remembered afterwards that the whisky won’t go well with painkillers and antibiotics so I went for tea instead. I’m supposed to be looking after your health, remember? That’s why I’m here. Try it. It’s delicious. Caffeine-free and so healthy.’

  His gaze slid from her eyes to the contents of the mug. ‘It looks like something that’s come straight from the drains.’

  ‘Really? I find it delicious.’ To prove her point, Tasha took an enormous gulp of hers and just about managed not to spit it out. Utterly vile. ‘Mmm. Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’

  ‘Is that a serious question?’ The dangerous gleam in his eyes was a reminder to Tasha not to underestimate him.
He wasn’t tame. And he wasn’t a pussy cat. He was a man who was used to controlling everyone and everything around him.

  And it was clear to her now that he really didn’t want anyone there. He’d only agreed to it to facilitate his early discharge.

  She gave a faint smile. That was good, wasn’t it? She didn’t want him to want her here. That was the whole point. She was here to make his life difficult and uncomfortable while proving to herself that his charm had just been the creation of her hormonal teenage brain. So far she was doing well.

  Apart from that initial jolt she’d felt when she’d first seen him lounging in the hospital bed, she had herself well under control.

  She ignored the tiny voice inside herself that warned her she was playing with fire—that however dangerous he’d been as a boy, the threat was magnified now he was a man.

  Handing him a glass of water, she kept up the sympathy. ‘Take your antibiotics and painkillers now and then you can have another lot before you go to bed.’ Unable to switch off the doctor inside her, she frowned at his leg. ‘You should keep that elevated. Wait a minute …’ She grabbed three cushions from one of the sofas and carefully repositioned his leg. Although she was gentle, she knew the pain had to be agonising, but Alessandro didn’t murmur and she felt a flash of grudging respect. At least he wasn’t a wimp or a whiner. ‘How does that feel?’

  ‘As if a horse trampled on it?’ His dry humour bought a smile to her lips but she killed it instantly, unsettled by the ease with which the smile had come. She didn’t want to find him amusing any more than she wanted to find him attractive. And then her eyes met his and the desire to smile faded instantly.

  Sexual tension punched through her, stealing her breath and clouding her mind. The power of it shook her.

  ‘Take your tablets,’ she croaked. She wanted to look away but there was something about those sexy dark eyes that wouldn’t allow it.

  How long they would have stayed like that she didn’t know because the phone suddenly buzzed, breaking the spell.

  ‘Leave it,’ he said roughly, but Tasha was relieved and grateful for anything that gave her an excuse to turn her back on him. She felt dizzy. Light-headed—as if she were floating.

  ‘It could be someone important.’ Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the phone. Note to self, she thought. Don’t look at the guy unless you have to. ‘Hello?’

  A woman’s voice came down the phone, smooth and sultry.

  The dizziness faded in an instant and Tasha thrust the phone at him, plummeting back to earth with a bump. ‘It’s for you. Someone called Analisa. She doesn’t sound too happy.’ And that made two of them. Clearing the tray, Tasha stomped back into the kitchen.

  What the hell was she playing at? Staring at a guy like some sort of dreamy teenager!

  Scowling, she tipped the herbal tea down the sink.

  If she’d needed reminding what Alessandro was like, it was that phone call.

  She didn’t understand the language, but it was obvious that Alessandro wasn’t spending time placating the woman. Judging from his bored tone, it wasn’t going to bother him if Analisa or whatever her name was didn’t phone back.

  And that, Tasha thought angrily, summed up Alessandro Cavalieri. He didn’t care how many women he hurt. Flirt today, dump tomorrow.

  She took her time in the kitchen and by the time she strolled back into the living room, Alessandro was no longer on the phone. ‘Did you take those tablets?’

  ‘Yes. They would have gone down more easily with whisky.’

  ‘You’re going to need a clear head to handle all those women who keep calling you.’

  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Tasha moved the crutches out of the way before he tripped and did more damage. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. Fortunately for both of us, I’ve grown out of the girl-meets-prince fantasy.’

  ‘Good, because girl-meets-prince has never done anything for me. It’s all fake.’ His tone was irascible and suddenly she wished she’d stayed in the kitchen.

  The house was huge, and yet suddenly it seemed small.

  It was all too intimate, too—terrifying?

  ‘You’re very bad-tempered. That’s probably because you’re hungry. If you’re sure I can’t tempt you with some of my lovely, delicious tea, I’ll go and make us some supper instead.’

  ‘You’d better phone for a take-away because there isn’t anything in the fridge.’

  ‘Actually, there was, but most of it looked ready for a post mortem so I threw it away. The only thing within use-by date in your fridge is the champagne, and last time I looked that wasn’t listed as one of the five major food groups.’ Ignoring the empty space on the sofa next to him, she sprawled in one of the chairs, curling her legs underneath her. ‘I gather you don’t cook.’

  ‘I have a chef, but while I’ve been in hospital I gave him time off.’

  A chef? ‘Yes, well, next time tell him to clean the dead bodies out of the fridge before he leaves. Lucky for you I had the foresight to pick up some food on the way so we’re not going to starve.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to cook. That isn’t why you’re here.’ His face was paper white and she could see that the slightest movement caused him agony. ‘Anyway, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘If you don’t eat, you won’t recover. Why do you have a chef?’

  ‘I’m a useless cook. And I’m usually too busy to cook. I eat out a lot.’

  With women like the sultry Analisa. ‘Well, that’s not a problem. It will be my pleasure to make you delicious treats.’ Generally she hated cooking, but Tasha decided not to share that with him. She’d already decided what she was cooking him for dinner. ‘In fact, why don’t I get started? You ought to have an early night.’

  ‘I’m not big on early nights.’ Those dark eyes found hers. ‘Unless there’s a reason.’

  ‘A broken ankle and bruised ribs are a reason.’ Rejecting the chemistry, Tasha uncurled her legs and stood up. ‘The body heals better when it’s rested.’

  ‘So you’re good in the kitchen?’

  ‘I’m good in every room, Alessandro.’ Leaving him to dwell on that comment, Tasha walked back to the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind her.

  The irony didn’t escape her. Normally she avoided the kitchen. Here, it felt like a refuge from Alessandro.

  Trying not to think about him, she emptied her bags over the shiny black work surface and picked up a small bag of extra-hot chillies.

  Stir-fry, she thought, with a kick.

  She couldn’t kick him herself, but this should do the job for her.

  But as she chopped and sliced she discovered that it was impossible not to think about him. And thinking made her wonder about the dark clouds she saw in his eyes. She’d been a doctor long enough to recognise when someone was suffering. And she didn’t think the dark emotions swirling around him had anything to do with the accident.

  Might have caused the accident, though, she mused, slicing onion with surgical precision.

  Minutes later she had noodles cooking in boiling water and she was stir-frying a generous quantity of garlic, red chilli and ginger. Making a guess at the timing, Tasha gamely tipped in vegetables and juicy prawns and finally added the noodles.

  As it sizzled, she turned to the other pan and stirred the contents. It looked identical except for one ingredient—it lacked the copious amounts of red chilli.

  Just don’t mix them up, she reminded herself as she plated the meal, adding a touch of garnish to make the dish extra appetising.

  Pleased with the result, she walked through to the light, airy living room. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the evening was cool. Alessandro lay sprawled on the low sofa where she’d left him, staring with brooding concentration at the waves crashing onto the shore.

  ‘The first time I surfed here I was twenty. Josh brought me.’

  And she’d followed them. Egged on by her best friend from school, they’d hidden, giggling,
behind the rocks, watching as her brother and his sexy friend stripped down to board shorts.

  Tasha put the plates down on the table with a clatter. ‘I would have thought a playboy with a private jet and your surfing skills would have chosen North Beach, Hawaii, or Jeffreys Bay in South Africa.’

  ‘I love Cornwall. Staying with your family was one of the happiest times of my life.’

  The words pushed her control off centre and Tasha felt her stomach lurch. It had been the happiest time of her life, too. Which had made the abrupt ending even harder. ‘Our home wasn’t exactly big—it must have felt like a shoebox to you after palace life.’

  ‘It felt like a proper home. And I envied the way you could all just get on with your lives without having to think about crowds and security.’

  As a teenager she’d thought it was impossibly glamorous having security guards, but now she could see that it might be an inconvenience, especially for an active, athletic guy like Alessandro.

  ‘I guess Cornwall is a pretty low-profile place.’

  ‘It’s not bad. Fortunately this house isn’t too accessible. How often do you surf?’

  ‘Me?’ Tasha handed him cutlery. ‘Not as often as I’d like to because I generally work long hours. Normally, that’s the way I like it. I’m a career girl. But now that I’m looking after you …’ she shrugged ‘… I intend to make up for lost time.’

  ‘So if you’re a career girl, how come you’re not working right now?’

  Unwittingly he’d tapped into her deepest fears. That she might not be able to find another job. That her altercation with her last boss might have blown her reputation to smithereens.

  Tasha opened her mouth and closed it again, unsettled by the sudden desire to confide. She stifled it, knowing that confiding was the first step towards intimacy. And she didn’t want intimacy with this man. ‘I’m in between jobs. I’ve cooked a stir-fry. I hope that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Looks delicious.’ He picked up a fork. ‘I can imagine you as a children’s doctor.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Do you want to try and eat at the table?’