“Love it. I suppose it’s imported?”
“Probably,” he agreed, concentration still shot to pieces.
“You need to eat more than that,” Fiona said as he finally clattered the fork down into the empty bowl.
“I’ll make a sandwich. One for you?”
She shook her head slowly, grimacing at the pain it caused. “Just my pills and the water, thanks. I’m going to stagger to the bathroom in a minute and then see if I can get some sleep.”
So now I have to leave her.
He stayed watching her for a few moments, then uncoiled from the bed and lifted the tray away. Once again he was acutely aware of the darker shadow at her groin through the fine cotton.
He turned to set the tray aside and find the pills. Fiona moved a hand down to cover her lap.
“I’ll get rid of this old nightgown soon,” she added. “I usually sleep in long T-shirts. Not so pretty, but not so see-through, either.”
Is she winding me up on purpose? She’s doing a fine job of it, whether it’s intentional or not.
Suddenly he pictured her breasts snugly outlined by stretch-knit fabric, her nipples peaking against the softness. Which for some reason seemed even sexier than being able to half-see them through the folds of gauzy cotton she currently wore.
Wordlessly he poured a tumbler of water and passed it to her, then loosened the top of the pill bottle and shook several of the painkillers into his palm. Fiona grunted as she reached toward his hand and picked out two.
Christian’s pulse quickened as her pretty nails scraped over his skin. Again his imagination conjured up her fingers clutching his shoulders as she writhed in pleasure beneath him.
Fiona and Jan. Jan and Fiona. My lovely sunflower and my exotic orchid. And dammit, I can’t have either of you.
To escape his bitter reflections he turned away and walked across to the big windows to adjust the blinds against the sun.
“I’ll give you ten minutes to get to the bathroom,” he said in a voice that felt rough and raw. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortably back in bed before I go and collect Nicky. Do you need a hand?”
Fiona shook her head. “I’ll just take these,” she said, slowly pushing the pills into her mouth, raising the glass, and gulping at the icy water. She swallowed and handed the tumbler back.
Christian watched the small movement of her throat, and a sudden fierce yearning to bite her just there struck him. To nuzzle at her soft skin and trail a line of slow kisses down to the warm valley between her breasts which might—just possibly—still hold a hint of raspberry fragrance.
“Amy Houndsworth will be here soon if you need anything,” he said hoarsely, reaching to retrieve her robe from the foot of the bed. He held it up as a modesty shield as she levered herself up with several small gasps and moans. He clenched his teeth against her pain, eyes fixed out over the harbor, determined to avoid looking at her.
At her body, which would no doubt be silhouetted against the glittering mid-day view. And at her various bruises and dressings, which tore at his conscience. Why wasn’t it him who’d been injured?
My house...my cars...my responsibility.
Instead it was lovely fragile Fiona who’d been so dangerously damaged.
She smiled her thanks and twisted to slip her hands into the sleeves. He heard the slight catch of pain in her breath.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Christian lowered the silky garment, slid the sleeves over her wrists, and then smoothed it upwards in a light caress. He stood for a moment with his hands on her shoulders, feeling the burning imprint of every finger.
“Belt?” he asked, right beside her ear. From this position, he could so easily lower his lips onto the back of her neck...could nip her, tease her, kiss her. She was totally at his mercy, and some age-old instinct goaded him to touch her...subdue her...take her. His big frame jangled with warring emotions. The civilized man and the cave-man were only millimeters apart. And no woman had ever tipped the balance as precariously as she had.
“Thanks. Don’t worry.” She eyed the crutches with no pleasure. “I’ll be back in bed in a few minutes.”
Remember Jan, remember Jan, he repeated to himself as Fiona limped toward the bathroom door.
And remember how Jan died. Remember this is her sister, who might be in the same danger. If you ever won her, could you bear to lose her to breast cancer too?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fiona jerked awake in the big bed as a faint whirring noise reached her ears. She’d been lying drowsing in the dim golden room. Someone had pulled the blinds further closed as she slept. And the pills had helped her to sleep wonderfully, despite the heat, the hurt and the waves of searing sensuality that had earlier engulfed her.