by Tina Beckett
It sounded as if the voice was smiling. ‘Why don’t you wake up? You’re in hospital.’
Really? The thought didn’t bother him as much as it should. He was comfortable and relaxed, as if lying on a cloud. He tried opening his eyes and light seared through his brain, making his head hurt. He’d just have to keep them closed for a while...
‘Which hospital?’ Not that it mattered particularly. But talking might convince the voice that he’d complied with her request.
‘The Royal Westminster. You’re in the private wing.’
That made sense. Someone must know who he was, and that the son of Leo DeMarco, head of one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in Europe, could stand the cost of a night’s stay in hospital. Or maybe he’d been here longer than just one night. Gabriel couldn’t remember.
He flexed his fingers, running his hand across his chest and then moving his legs. Everything appeared to be working. No pain. Whatever he was in here for was probably very minor...
‘Open your eyes.’
No... He didn’t want to. Maybe he said as much, without knowing it, or maybe the voice just read his mind, because he felt the touch of a hand against the side of his face.
‘Come on. Open your eyes.’
He couldn’t resist. This time the pain wasn’t so bad, because the hand was shading his face. When he turned his head in the direction of the voice, a mass of red-blonde curls and a pair of blue eyes snapped suddenly into focus. What had happened to him suddenly came a very poor second in importance to who she was.
‘What’s your name? Are you a nurse?’ Stupid question. She wore a dark blue sleeveless summer dress, which seemed to be held together by a few buttons and a belt around her waist. Clearly not a nurse unless they’d changed the uniform from sensible to sexy.
‘My name’s Clara Holt. I’m not a nurse, although I’m medically trained. Your father sent me.’
His father? Since when had he started sending women to sit at Gabriel’s bedside? The thought occurred to him that maybe his father had, for once, made a marvellous choice. She was perfezione...molto bella... Porcelain skin and shining gold hair. Right now, making the gorgeous Clara happy was all he wanted to do...
‘Grazie.’ Her lips curved into a slight smile. He’d missed out her lips, and that was unforgivable...
‘You speak Italian?’
‘Only a few words.’
She knew the ones that mattered. Every woman should understand the words a man said when he called her beautiful.
Wait. How many of his thoughts had sprung to his lips by mistake, and what language had he voiced them in? The feeling that this wasn’t right was beginning to nag at the edge of his consciousness. If he thought a woman beautiful, he usually had the manners to wait, and make quite sure it was the kind of compliment she wanted to hear.
Gabriel shook his head, trying to clear it, and struggled to sit up. Pain shot across his temples and he suddenly felt very nauseous. The wonderful Clara reached out, gently pushing him back down onto the pillows.
‘You’ll feel better in a moment, just take it slowly.’
She was an angel. Clara could take him up to her cloud any day of the week and...
No! He still wasn’t thinking straight. He fought to locate a sensible question in his head, and came up with only one.
‘What’s the matter with me?’
* * *
This was to be expected. Gabriel was still struggling with the residual effects of the drug in his bloodstream. His impulse control was impaired, and when the feeling of well-being started to wear off he’d be experiencing the worst hangover he’d ever had.
It was best to stick to the basic facts for the moment and leave the rest until he was a little more able to get his head around it. Gabriel was clearly not quite in control of his tongue yet, and if the most important thing on his mind was that she was beautiful, then that was just a sign that he hadn’t woken up properly. The shiver that his words had produced was both unnecessary and inappropriate.
‘You’re going to be all right.’ Clara decided to skip the part about what was wrong with him.
‘Am I? Really?’ He frowned.
‘Yes, you are. You might have a headache and you probably don’t remember what happened last night—’
‘Yes. I have a headache. And I don’t have a clue how I got here.’
‘The disorientation will pass, too.’
‘When...?’
‘Soon. You’re going to be fine.’ Clara reached into her bag, taking out one of the plastic bottles she’d brought with her and cracking open the seal. ‘Would you like some water?’
His gaze seemed to be following her every move. ‘Yes, please...’
She opened the packet of drinking straws from her bag, putting one into the bottle and leaning over to hold it close to his mouth. His fingers closed around hers, light and caressing. His touch was just as electrifying as his words had been.
But she wasn’t here to experience the delights of Gabriel DeMarco’s dark gaze. If all the rumours were true, there were more than enough women who were happy to share those things with him. She had a job to do and when her boss had called her at one o’clock this morning, it had been immediately obvious that being chosen for this was an opportunity. A high-profile client, in an extremely sensitive situation.
‘Take it easy. Not too much...’ He was gulping the water down as fast as the straw would allow, and she pulled the bottle away from him for a moment. His fingers tightened around hers, stopping her from taking the bottle back completely.
‘Thank you. May I have some more, please.’
‘Slowly, this time.’
He drank again, and when the bottle was half-empty he let her take it away from him. ‘You know I’m a doctor?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Gabriel DeMarco’s file contained a lot more information than that about him.
‘Then you’ll know that I’ll understand whatever you tell me about my medical condition.’
The facts, maybe. The hows and the whys, probably not. But he seemed to be getting more and more agitated and it was clear that he wasn’t going to just rely on her and go with the flow. Clara had to think carefully, and give him the information he needed without sending him into a panic.
‘You inadvertently ingested a drug last night. It’s not done you any lasting harm, but you’ll be feeling a little groggy for a while.’
‘What drug?’ Clara hesitated and he reached for the call button at the side of the bed. ‘If you won’t tell me...’
‘All right.’ The last thing she wanted was any contact with the doctors and nurses, beyond what was medically necessary. The fewer people who remembered him being here the better. ‘Flunitrazepam.’
His hand moved to his face, massaging his temples with his fingers and thumb, as if he was trying to get his brain to work.
‘It’s not possible to inadvertently ingest flunitrazepam. It’s manufactured with a blue dye these days, with the specific aim of making it difficult to slip into someone’s drink.’ His fingers wandered to his throat as a thought seemed to occur to him.
‘You have a sore throat? That’s because you were given activated charcoal last night by feeding tube. Your friends, Dr and Mrs Goodman, were with you the whole time, until I arrived.’ Clara tried to reassure him. The uncomfortable realisation that something had happened last night and he had no memory of it was going to dawn on him any moment now.
‘I remember... I think. I was going to Grant and Sara’s place for dinner. Where are they?’
‘They’re at home. Sleeping, I imagine, I didn’t arrive here until four in the morning.’
‘And what exactly is your part in this, Clara?’
He was rapidly coming to his senses. She was no longer the angel with the beautiful hair, she was someone who had to justify her presence to him. I
t was almost a disappointment, but in professional terms it was probably just as well. Clara reached into her bag for the bundle of identification papers.
‘I work for Gladstone and Sullivan Securities. You recognise the name...?’
‘Of course. My father’s company has used you for years.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘Please tell me I haven’t done anything that requires that level of discretion.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’ Clara handed him the documents. The answer to the question of why exactly he needed security was an awkward one and should probably wait until he was recovered enough to handle it.
He flipped open her passport, glancing at it, and then took his time reading the faxed letter of introduction. ‘My father sent this at two in the morning. Clearly he thinks the situation is serious.’ Gabriel came straight to the realisation that Clara was hoping he’d overlook.
‘I’m sure you must know that anything connected with your well-being is considered serious.’ Clara skirted the issue. ‘The two most important things for you to know are who I am, and that I have the situation fully under control.’
‘I’d prefer it if I had the situation fully under control. And since you’re obviously leaving out a few important details, I think the next thing I need to do is to get out of here and find someone who will tell me what’s going on.’
Clara’s clients fell broadly into two categories. The ones who didn’t want to know, and those who wanted to know everything. She generally preferred the latter, but it brought different challenges, and it was clear that Gabriel DeMarco had decided to be as challenging as possible.
‘I’ll be happy to tell you everything. We have a hotel suite for you nearby—’
‘What’s the matter with my house? Not fallen down during the night, has it?’
‘No, your house is fine...’
‘Good. I’m fine and so is my house.’ He shot her a look that left her under no illusions that he’d believe her reassurances a little better when he had concrete proof. ‘So I’m sure you won’t have any objections to my going there.’
Clara took a breath. ‘I’d advise—’
‘No, you don’t get to do that. I’m going home and if you want to accompany me and tell me exactly what’s going on, you’re welcome to do so. Then you can advise me and I’ll decide whether to take that advice.’
He sat up slowly, reaching for the controls for the bed. He must still be feeling very groggy, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
‘All right. I have a car outside, and we’ll take you there.’
‘Okay, thanks. I’ll take a shower and get dressed...’ He waited, obviously expecting Clara to leave the room.
‘Let me help you.’
‘I can manage...’
‘And I’m tasked with your safety, Dr DeMarco. Letting you fall over and crack your head open on the bathroom floor isn’t anywhere on my agenda.’
The thought of telling him that she doubted he had anything she hadn’t already seen hundreds of times before leapt to the tip of her tongue and stopped there. The flimsy hospital gown couldn’t disguise a pair of strong shoulders. Gabriel DeMarco had a good physique, made even better by dark hair and melting brown eyes in a face made proud by high cheekbones. She doubted if she’d seen anything quite like him before.
He smiled slowly. ‘That’s a bit more like it. We’ll get along far better if you’re straight with me. And while you’re about it, call me Gabriel. I have a feeling that knowing more about my last sixteen hours than I do justifies first names.’
‘Very well.’ Clara opened the small wardrobe behind her chair and took out a hospital dressing gown. Gabriel operated the controls on the bed, getting to his feet slowly and pulling the dressing gown on, tying it firmly at the waist. He took a couple of steps and then waved her away.
‘Good enough for you?’
‘No, you look a little unsteady.’ If he wanted honesty, that was exactly what she’d give him.
‘How’s this, then?’ He walked across the room, obviously making an effort to pull himself out of the cloying arms of the drug. ‘While you’re giving me a little privacy you can go and ask the doctor if he can prescribe something for this headache.’
He rattled off a list of painkillers and anti-emetics. He must feel pretty awful.
‘Or I could tell him that you have a headache and that you feel sick, and see what he suggests.’ Most doctors didn’t much like their patients telling them what to prescribe.
‘I’ll leave you to phrase the request tactfully.’ He gave Clara a brisk farewell nod, which indicated that her next move was to leave the room and close the door behind her.
* * *
When he’d been lying down, Gabriel’s main concern had been to get Clara out of the room before he asked her into the shower with him to scrub his back. He felt a lot more in control of himself now, but it was impossible to tell whether the effects of the flunitrazepam might loosen his tongue again. Or the effects of Clara Holt’s dazzling blue eyes.
As soon as he was on his feet, though, another reason for wanting to be alone asserted itself. The pounding in his head became almost unbearable, and as soon as the door closed behind her, he rushed into the bathroom. His stomach was empty but still it twisted into knots as he fell to his knees, retching violently.
Shaking, and covered in a cold sweat, he got to his feet, flushing away the evidence. Gabriel rinsed his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste left by the charcoal, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Why did he have to meet the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen today, of all days?
But Clara Holt wasn’t just a beautiful woman. She had the answer to a number of key questions. He’d take this slow and steady. One thing at a time. And the first thing was to have a shower and get dressed.
* * *
He didn’t remember selecting the clothes that were folded neatly on a chair, and was reasonably sure he wouldn’t have put that shirt with those trousers. Perhaps Grant and Sara had been back to his house, they had a spare key. Yet another question.
When he opened the door to his room, Clara was standing right outside it, holding a clipboard and the medication he’d asked for. She took advantage of his instinctive move to stand aside for her, and walked back into the room, closing the door behind her.
‘You’re looking better.’ Her smile was kind, but just enough to let him know that she was happy with the way things were going, rather than giving any indication that she was here for her own pleasure.
‘Thank you. It’s good of you to say so.’ Gabriel sat down on the bed, picking up the half-bottle of water that Clara had left on the table, and she tipped the tablets from the dispenser into his hand.
‘I’ll be better when these kick in. And when I get home.’ If Clara had any thoughts of taking him anywhere else, she could think again. Gabriel had an almost irrational longing to be able to shut his front door behind him and come to terms with all of this.
‘You’ll be needing these.’ She reached into her handbag, which was large enough to contain all manner of things and probably did, and produced his keys and his wallet.
‘Thanks. You have my phone?’
‘Your father gave us permission to send it to our labs and get it checked over for any... intrusions.’
Gabriel rolled his eyes, regretting the movement almost immediately as pain shot through his temples. ‘And how long did my father say you could keep it?’
‘I’ll make sure you have it back tomorrow morning.’ She had the grace to sound a little embarrassed about it.
He’d argue that one out later. And since Clara was obviously acting on instructions, he’d take the less inviting option of sorting the matter out with his father, and not her.
‘Okay, fair enough. Can we go now?’
Clara nodded. ‘Yes. Ian Anderson’s outside. I think you know him.’
‘Yes, I know him.’ Ian drove his father when he was in London, and Gabriel knew and liked him. It seemed that Clara had done her homework and was making a comprehensive effort to reassure him. ‘Is a doctor available to discharge me?’
‘No need for that. You can leave whenever you feel up to it, you just need to sign this form.’ She put the clipboard on the bed beside him.
He read the form. Advice on possible complications after ingesting drugs...he knew that. Counselling and other follow-up...he’d take that under advisement. Clara handed him a pen and he scribbled his name at the bottom of the form.
‘Is that it?’ This was far more straightforward than usual, even for a private facility.
‘Yes, that’s it. Are you ready?’
He was more than ready. He followed Clara out of the room, nodding to Ian, who fell into step behind them. She handed the clipboard to a nurse at the reception desk, who gave him a smile before Clara hurried him away. Outside, an SUV with tinted windows drew up, and Ian opened the back door, waiting for Gabriel and Clara to climb in, before he rounded the car and got into the front passenger seat.
They were well organised, he had to give them that. But the overwhelming probability was that this was all some kind of mistake, and that his father had done the expected and overreacted. Gabriel closed his eyes, leaning back on the leather seat, as the car drew away.
‘I assume the bill’s paid. I’d hate to think we were doing a runner.’ He decided that teasing her a little couldn’t hurt, and it made all of this seem a bit more normal.
‘Yes, we’ve paid.’ Her voice betrayed a hint of humour. ‘It’ll be itemised on your account when you receive it.’
‘Good. And who did you tell them you were? Mata Hari?’ In truth she didn’t have the air of a femme fatale, although she could probably pull the look off without any trouble at all. But his father’s protection officers generally blended into the background, only betraying their presence when needed. In her summer dress and low heels, Clara could easily have passed for a concerned girlfriend. A very attractive one at that.
