To hell with the black belt. He lifted her up again and dumped her on the nearest examination trolley. ‘Stay where you’re put.’
‘Do you mind?’ She seemed practically speechless. ‘I need to—’
‘Nothing’s more urgent than your face. You should have stayed put in the first place.’ He pulled her fingers away. ‘Hell, Georgie …’
‘Don’t swear. You make me feel like it’s worse than it is.’
‘It’s bad.’
‘It’s not. I’ve learned how to ride a punch. I can feel my cheekbone. He didn’t break anything.’
She’d learned how to ride a punch? In karate? He didn’t think so. Everything about this woman spoke of a tough background.
Except that she was an obstetrician.
First things first. If she’d gone to this much effort, it wasn’t about to be wasted for want of effort on his part. He wheeled across to the desk by the door and found the camera. ‘Let’s do this before we do any cleaning.’
‘Oh, very good,’ she said, and managed a smile. ‘OK, I submit.’
‘Lie down.’
‘No, I—’
‘You’ll look more pallid and wan against the pillows.’
‘I don’t want to look like a victim.’
‘I’m very sure you do.’ He fiddled with the camera. ‘If you could manage a few tears …’
She thought about that, and then she managed a smile. It was a great smile, despite the bruising. Like the sun had just come out.
‘Right,’ she said, and she lay back on the pillows, moving into her role of victim with gusto. He adjusted the camera, turned to focus on her cheek—and to his astonishment her eyes were brimming.
He stared.
‘Neat trick, huh?’ she said. ‘Don’t interrupt. I’m thinking sad thoughts.’
Sad thoughts. He couldn’t make her out. He focused and shot. The photograph would be damning, he thought. Her dark curls accentuated the pallor of her skin. The knuckle marks of Smiley’s hand were clearly visible and the splitting of the skin before it was cleaned looked worse than it actually was.
And she was playing it for all it was worth. Her eyes were brimming, seemingly pain-filled. There were tears coursing down her cheeks.
He wanted to … He wanted to …
‘Enough,’ she declared as the camera clicked for the fourth time. She swung herself upright.
He put the camera aside and pushed her down again.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. Let’s do a bit more triage. Foot first.’ He’d moved before she knew what he intended. He had her left foot in his hand, lifting it high. ‘Ouch.’
‘It’s fine,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t use that against Smiley.’
‘It’d be good if we could,’ he agreed, examining her heel with care. ‘Hell, woman, were you out of your mind, running in bare feet?’
‘I scarcely had a choice.’
‘You had a choice as to what to put on this morning.’ He hauled a nearby trolley closer and stared dubiously at its contents. ‘Stilettos?’
‘You’re criticising my footwear?’
‘I am. There’s a splinter in here. A deep one.’
‘I’ll get it out myself.’
‘Shut up and lie back,’ he told her, and then, as she struggled to sit up and opened her mouth to argue, he took her by the shoulders and propelled her back onto the pillows. ‘Not a word.’
‘You’re not an emergency doctor,’ she said resentfully, and he tugged on gloves, located a pile of antiseptic swabs and ripped one open.
‘No. I’m a neurosurgeon. You want a little brain surgery on the side?’
‘Look, honest—’
‘Lie still and think of England,’ he told her. ‘This might sting.’
It did sting. But for a big man he had really gentle hands, she thought as she did what she was told and lay back and thought … well, not of England but of what this man represented.
He’d almost taken her to bed. Six months ago she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry, and Alistair had taken advantage of it.
He hadn’t known she’d been out of her mind with grief and worry. Maybe he’d thought she was always a tart.
Well, he was hardly stain-free. Propositioning her when he’d been engaged to another woman …
Was he still engaged? Maybe he was married. She hadn’t asked Gina.
What was she doing, wondering what his marital status was? He was a stuffed shirt. An eminent US neurosurgeon. He was about as far from her world as it was possible to get.
‘Ouch!’ Her exclamation was involuntary. Alistair had positioned the light directly above her foot and was operating with a scalpel and a pair of tweezers. She glanced down at what he was doing and winced.
‘A scalpel! You don’t think that’s a bit of overkill?’
‘I promise I’m not amputating.’
‘Oh, very good. I’m reassured, I don’t think. Yike!’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m being quick. Local anaesthetics in the heel will hurt a lot more than I need to hurt you now. So stay still.’
‘But a scalpel?’
‘If you wiggle, I might be forced to amputate.’
‘I want a second opinion.’
He grinned. Which took her aback somewhat. It was a really great grin.
She’d never seen him smile, she thought. Or maybe she had that night six months ago but she’d hardly been in a state where she could remember anything.
She could remember that she’d decided to sleep with him. So there must have been something …
‘Got it,’ he said in satisfaction, and then, as she made to sit up, he lifted both feet, which had the effect of propelling her down again.
‘There’s cleaning yet to be done.’
‘Fussy …’
‘Yeah, and I don’t wear stilettos either. But I’m still a qualified doctor.’
He was … gorgeous? Just like last time.
No matter. There was no way she intended to be attracted by this man again. She’d made a fool of herself six months ago and that was the end of it.
She lay back and concentrated on not concentrating on anything at all for a bit. Finally he adjusted a neat dressing on her foot and moved to her end of the bed.
‘Now, let’s see to your face,’ he said. ‘Your foot’s OK. Just don’t walk on it for a bit. It’ll bleed.’
‘Then your dressing’s not good enough.’
‘Georgie …’
‘I know.’ She sighed and glowered, and then submitted as he cleaned her face. He was so gentle. He’d hurt her a bit, getting the splinter out—that had been unavoidable—but he wasn’t hurting her now.
‘Steristrips will do it,’ he said as he worked. ‘It doesn’t need stitching. But the bruise is extensive. We’ll take an X-ray to make sure.’
‘I don’t need an X-ray. There’s nothing displaced. Even if there’s a hairline fracture, there’s nothing to be done about it.’
‘But think of the damage you could do with a broken bone,’ he coaxed. ‘It’s bound to put another year or so on the sentence.’
She stared up at him. And then she choked on an unexpected bubble of laughter.
‘That’s better,’ he said, and smiled down at her, and suddenly they were smiling into each other’s eyes like …
Fools?
‘I need to put a dressing on,’ he said unevenly, and she gave a shaky little nod.
‘Yes.’
What the hell was happening? Why did this man have the power to move her?
Hell, hadn’t he caused enough trouble in her life?
‘Georg!’ For some reason—or maybe she knew the reason but she wasn’t all that happy to admit it—she hadn’t heard the doors opening behind them. Now Alistair turned with what seemed almost a guilty start. Which was crazy. He’d just been …
Looking?
No. He’d been examining a patient. Nothing more. She dragged her eyes away from his face and turned to s
ee who’d entered.
It was Gina—Dr Gina Lopez—walking swiftly into the room and across to Georgie’s trolley. She looked frightened. ‘I just met Harry,’ she said, ignoring Alistair for the moment and concentrating on Georgie. ‘He said you made Smiley hit you.’
‘I did no such thing.’
She bent to hug her. ‘You dope.’
‘He’ll get put away for ages,’ Georgie said, but suddenly her voice was trembling again. ‘Gina, don’t hug me.’
‘She doesn’t let people hug her,’ Gina told Alistair, pulling back and sounding emotional. She swallowed and turned to her cousin. ‘Hi,’ she said, and she gave Alistair the hug she’d certainly wanted to give Georgie. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’m so sorry Cal and I weren’t here to meet you. In the end we couldn’t get all our work done on the island anyway—the pilot started to get concerned about the weather and brought us back early. But I gather you’ve arrived to excitement.’
‘You asked Georgie to meet me. Of course I arrived to excitement.’
‘She’s not always …’ Gina paused, turned to her friend sitting up defiantly on the examination trolley, barefoot, leather-clad, dressings on her foot and on her face, her lipstick still defiantly crimson … ‘Yeah, OK, she is always exciting,’ Gina said. ‘But we love her anyway.’
Alistair was starting to look confused. As if he wasn’t quite understanding what was going on. Good, Georgie thought, because that was how she was feeling.
‘Don’t let her stand on her foot,’ he managed.
‘I’ll take her over to the doctors’ house,’ Gina told him, looking around. She located what she was looking for, darted over and hauled back a wheelchair. ‘Can you help her into this, please, Alistair?’
‘I’m not getting in that thing,’ Georgie said, revolted.
‘I want you off that foot for a few hours,’ Alistair said. ‘Pressure will make it bleed. I also want an X-ray. Get into the chair and we’ll take you.’
‘Do what the doctor says,’ Gina said, and grinned.
‘No way,’ Georgie snapped, and suddenly Alistair smiled as well.
‘You know, you’re sounding like me at the airport,’ he said. ‘Get on my bike or suffer the consequences. I didn’t get on your bike and I suffered the consequences, so now I’m expecting you to be wiser. Right.’ He stepped forward and lifted her into his arms in one swift movement. ‘Lead the way, Gina. I’m taking this lady to X-Ray and then I’m taking her to bed.’
Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Georgie’s face turned crimson suddenly.
‘To your sickbed,’ he amended. ‘Don’t look like that. OK, I know we were introduced in very different circumstances six months ago, but we’re adults. Let’s get a bit of professional detachment here. I’m sure we can handle it.’
He might be able to handle it. She couldn’t. Safely tucked up in bed—Gina had ignored her protests, helped her off with her clothes and insisted she stay where she was—Georgie had the rest of the afternoon to think about the events of the day.
She wasn’t all that upset about being in bed, she conceded. She’d been shaken more than she cared to admit. The punch to her face had done more than bruise her. It had brought back sweeping memories of the way she’d once lived—memories she’d spent her entire life fighting to get away from.
She was still feeling shaky. The X-rays were showing a hairline cheek fracture. She was getting slow in her old age, she thought bitterly, but it was still worth it. Smiley would definitely be going to jail. Gina had given her analgesics—‘Humour me in this, OK, Georg?’—and she was grateful for them. They made her sleepy. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into her cool pillows, but sleep didn’t come.
What came was the image of Alistair. A big man with gentle hands. The image of the way he’d held Thomas sprang to mind. He’d held the baby just as a baby needed to be held. Most men would be afraid of such a newborn, but not Alistair.
‘He’s still a prig,’ she told her pillow. ‘And he’s still engaged.’
But she could see why Gina had asked him to give her away. He was a real father figure.
Um … actually not. There was nothing fatherly about the way she was feeling about him. He wasn’t as old as she remembered. Mid-thirties? Young to be an eminent neurosurgeon.
The guy had to be seriously good.
But all the same …
‘Stay away from him,’ she told herself. ‘He’s only here for a week. I don’t know why he upsets your equilibrium, but he does. Just keep clear.’
She finally did sleep, and when she woke it was dark. She was hungry, she decided. That had to be a good sign.
Her jaw ached. That wasn’t such a good sign. She tried opening and closing her mouth a few times. She’d live, but she was in for an uncomfortable few hours.
The house was deathly quiet, apart from the whistling of the wind round the corners of the building. She lay still and tried to remember what day it was. Friday. The day before Em and Mike’s wedding. There were celebrations taking place that night. Hens’ night and bucks’ night. Or a mixture of both, because there’d been hassles with the bridesmaids. Everyone who wasn’t working would be down at the Athina.
They hadn’t woken her. They’d have figured she wouldn’t want to go.
She rose, flicked on her light and caught her reflection in the mirror. Wow. The bruising looked even worse than it had before she’d slept.
She needed Alistair and his camera.
Despite the discomfort, she grinned. This should really go down well in court. Hopefully by the time Smiley was released Lizzie would have her life together and would have found the strength to tell Smiley where to go.
A bruise in a good cause.
She got up and went to the bathroom, swallowed a couple of painkillers and returned to bed.
She was hungry.
As the painkillers dulled the ache, she grew hungrier.
They’d all be down at the tavern.
She didn’t want to be at the tavern. She could do without noise and crowds tonight. But …
She had the fridge to herself, she thought, cheering up. Mrs Grubb, the hospital cook, kept their fridge laden and, as far as she knew, she was all by herself. Anyone who wasn’t working would be at the party.
She pushed on a pair of scuffs as a concession to her sore foot—which wasn’t all that sore—Alistair had done a decent job. Then she padded through the house, her stomach leading the way.
The place was in darkness. She flicked on the kitchen light and loaded a plate. Cold chicken. Quiche. Some sort of noodly salad. Apple slice—hoorah for Mrs Grubb. A glass of milk and she was set.
It was hot inside. Outside there was wind—an abundance of wind by the sound of it—but the veranda was usually sheltered. Clutching her plate, she pushed the screen door wide.
‘Hi,’ Alistair said, and she almost dropped her plate.
She wasn’t dressed for company. She was wearing a very skimpy nightgown. Pink scuffs. Nothing else.
She retreated a bit but he’d pushed himself out of the ancient settee and was taking her plate from her.
He’d taken off his stupid suit. He was wearing shorts, a khaki, open-necked shirt and nothing on his legs and feet. He looked … amazing.
‘I’ll pull up a table.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘There is a need,’ he said gently. ‘Hey, I’m not going to jump you, Georgie. If you want, I’ll even go away. You’ve earned the right to eat where you like tonight.’
‘I didn’t think you were going to jump me,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, and he smiled.
‘That’s good, then. Sit.’
She sat.
‘Are you hurting?’
‘Gina gave me something. I’m fine.’
He nodded and went back to staring over the sea. Which gave her space to eat. It didn’t hurt too much to eat. She still had space in her thoughts to watch him covertly. And think about him.
He wa
sn’t a father type at all, she thought. Why Gina thought he could give her away….
She shouldn’t be thinking like that. She tried really hard to concentrate on her food. Which was hard. It’s the painkillers, she thought. They were making her fuzzy.
‘Georg?’ There was a yell from inside the house.
‘We’re out here,’ Alistair called back.
It was Harry. He was still in his police uniform. Still on duty.
‘I rang the bell and no one answered,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry, Georg. Your bedroom door was open so I knew you were up somewhere.’
‘People come and go as they please in this house,’ Georgie told Alistair, as he looked confused. ‘And Harry’s one of us.’
‘One of you?’
‘The host of young professionals who run the Croc Creek rescue base,’ she said. ‘Medics. Policemen. Pilots. We’re a huge team. Why aren’t you at the party?’
‘Duty,’ Harry said bitterly. ‘Plus this storm. I’ve been on the radio for the past hour, trying to persuade stupid bloody fishermen that they need to get into port right now. This cyclone’s supposed to be blowing out to sea, instead of which it’s lurking off the coast like a great black time bomb.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, how’s the face?’ He flicked the porch light on. Then he flicked it off again. ‘Ugh.’
‘Hey, I have to be a beautiful bridesmaid in eight days,’ Georgie protested. ‘Say something bracing like, “Naught but a scratch, lass.”’
‘Naught but a scratch, lass,’ Harry said, but he didn’t sound convincing. He glanced at Alistair in indecision. ‘Um … Georg, I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m here.’
‘About your old man,’ he said, and Georgie stilled.
‘What’s he done now?’ she whispered.
Harry hesitated. He glanced at Alistair, and Alistair obviously got the message. ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ he said.
But Georgie shook her head. For some dumb reason she suddenly wanted him to stick around. Strength in numbers? Something like that.
‘Just tell me, Harry,’ she said wearily, and both men looked at her in concern. ‘I don’t care who else knows.’
‘He’s wanted for a bank job in Mt Isa.’
She flinched.
‘You didn’t know?’ Harry asked, watching her closely.
The Australian's Desire (Mills & Boon By Request) Page 5
