“He’s fine, Rowan,” Nigel answered. Apparently because the doctor decided he needed to check Chris’s eyesight. “A mild concussion. But the studio bosses will feel happier if Chris stays overnight.”
Rowan looked at the doctor currently studying her brother’s right eye. “Just a concussion?”
The doctor didn’t break off his inspection of Chris’s eyeball. “I believe so. But I want to be sure.”
“Awesome.” Rowan pulled a face at her brother. “First night in Australia and I’m sleeping in a hospital room. Way to go, squirt.”
The doctor straightened. “I don’t know how you do things in America, but unless the patient is possibly going to die, overnight visitors are not allowed in the hospital rooms.”
Rowan frowned. “But he’s my brother.”
Chris smirked at her. “And he’s alive. Yay. Now take off. I thought I was getting out tonight but it looks like I’m staying put.”
“So I came all this way for what?”
Her brother looked at her. “To go buy me a toothbrush?”
She crossed her arms. “Seriously?”
The clatter of the hospital chart dropping back into its holder prevented Chris from saying whatever he was going to say. It was probably for the best. By the gleam in his eye, it would have made Rowan want to punch his shoulder again.
“That’s enough for the evening, I think,” the doctor spoke up. He fixed her with a steady glower, obviously not impressed with any of them. “You can come collect Mr. Huntley tomorrow, but now he needs rest.”
Rowan studied her brother’s grinning face, her belly tight. She couldn’t help but notice the deep purple bruise smudging his cheek. He’d been very lucky, it seemed. The fall from the trailer could have really hurt him, and as much as the idea pained her, his good looks were part of his career. If his face had been damaged, his nose broken, it would have impacted the filming of Dead Even and may have had an adverse effect on his future roles.
Damn it. It was times like these she wished he were a normal brother, with a normal job. Like a dog walker or something. She wouldn’t need to be constantly worrying about stuff like this, superficial stuff, surreal stuff, if he was a dog walker.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the doctor continued, his glower replaced with calm sympathy. “We are well aware of who your brother is. The media and any unauthorized personnel will not be allowed access to him or the ward he stays in. There will be no need for his bodyguard to stay.”
The word bodyguard sent a hot lick of something delicious through Rowan’s agitation. She threw the silent Aslin a quick look over her shoulder, her pulse pounding faster at the sight of his towering strength and undeniable presence.
For a worrying moment, she longed to feel his warm, strong hand on the small of her back again. To lean against his hard body and surrender to the attraction she felt for him.
That same hot lick teased her again at the thought. Why couldn’t she lean on him? Would it truly be so bad?
“Thanks, doc.” Nigel’s voice jerked her from the ridiculous question, and she focused her attention on the film director. “Aslin, can I trouble you to take Rowan…” He stopped, giving Rowan a frown. “Where are you staying, Rowan?”
She blinked. She hadn’t booked into a hotel room yet. She hadn’t planned on her brother ending up in the ER. Just like she hadn’t planned to spend the evening being seduced by a British super-soldier.
Or making out with said soldier in an alley behind a bar.
“She can crash in my suite tonight,” Chris piped up. “But after that you’re on your own, sis. You cramp my style too much.”
Nigel laughed. Even the doctor chuckled.
Rowan glared at them all. “Your style? Falling flat on your face, you mean?”
Chris smirked. “That’s the one.”
“Fun’s over,” the doctor said. “Time for everyone to go. Mr. McQueen, as the person who brought Mr. Huntley in, can I get you to sign some paper work at the nurses desk, please?”
“Sure thing, doc.” Nigel extended his arm across Chris, and Rowan almost yelped when Aslin brushed against her to complete the handshake. “Thanks for taking care of Rowan for us, Aslin. Back to normal on set tomorrow, okay? Shall we say ten a.m.?”
“We shall,” Aslin answered.
Or at least she thought he did. All she could hear was the roaring of her blood in her ears. With just one small touch of his body—his chest on her shoulder, of all things—she was almost panting with need. God, how was she going to survive the motorcycle ride to Chris’s hotel?