Helen Brooks - Mistress To A Millionaire

And then, as a whiff of delicious and expensive aftershave enhanced by clean, warm male skin invaded her senses it sent a shot of adrenalin straight into her wilting frame, and she opened dazed golden eyes to see Slade’s hard, handsome face just inches from hers. The shock of it made her want to faint again.

‘Oh…’ She wriggled feebly, but in the next instant he had reached the bed, whereupon he placed her gently into its welcoming folds before drawing the duvet securely around her.

She shut her eyes again—this couldn’t be happening; it was a mirage, an awful but frighteningly seductive dream—but when they flickered open it was to see him standing by the side of the bed, his dark face frowning as he rang the bell.

‘Don’t…don’t do that,’ she murmured faintly. ‘Leave it.’

He glanced at her and then in answer rang it again.

‘Please… I’m all right now, really.’

‘Don’t talk such utter rubbish.’ It was curt and sharp and altogether too much, and to Daisy’s utter horror she felt the prick of tears against the back of her eyes.

No, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of him, not in front of Slade Eastwood! The thought was there but Daisy was powerless to follow it through, and in the next instant, as she felt her face crumple, she put her hands over her eyes to hide their betrayal.

There was a moment of blank silence and then she felt a crisp handkerchief being pushed under her nose and heard a soft and altogether different voice say, ‘Hey, come on; it’s not as bad as all that. You’re doing fine.’

She didn’t want his handkerchief, she didn’t want his words of comfort, and she certainly didn’t want him to sit on the edge of the bed and put his arm round her shaking shoulders; but that was what was happening, Daisy realised with a touch of horror.

The hospital nightie was pretty as hospital nighties went—at least it wasn’t a monstrosity of stiff white linen and wide gaping holes which were regulation hand-outs in state hospitals—but the pale pink cotton was thin and the gypsy-style neck was low, and her skin was tingling and heated at his nearness. She could feel his hand burning her where it rested on the top of her arm and he had pulled her into him, half cradling her against his chest. The black leather jacket was open and the dark blue silk of his shirt was soft and fragrant against her hot face and he smelt wonderful. Intoxicatingly wonderful.

As the thought hit her she jerked away from him, her hands unconsciously reaching out and pushing him away and her eyes wide with shock as she hitched into the far corner of the bed like a small animal seeking sanctuary from its predator.

The nurse had chosen that particular moment to open the door and now, as she glanced at Daisy’s scarlet countenance and Slade’s grim face, her voice was purposely bland and her expression scrupulously professional when she said, ‘You rang, Daisy?’

‘I rang,’ Slade bit out tightly. ‘I just came back to give Miss Summers some papers I’d promised her and I found her collapsed on the floor. What the hell is going on?’

‘It’s not her fault.’ Daisy’s protest was hotly indignant.

‘I’m very sorry, Mr Eastwood.’

‘Sorry is not good enough.’

They were both ignoring her as though she were invisible, Daisy thought frustratedly, and she was the patient!

‘I can assure you it won’t happen again, but Miss Summers does only have to ring the bell if she is feeling unwell,’ the nurse said carefully. ‘This was fully explained.’

‘I don’t want her left alone for the next twenty-four hours.’

Slade’s voice was clipped and cold and Daisy felt terribly sorry for the poor nurse and furiously angry with him. She went into attack mode. ‘Now look here!’ Her voice was loud and she didn’t try to moderate it as she continued, once she had Slade’s attention, ‘It was my fault I was out of bed, not hers, and I hadn’t collapsed anyway. I was just feeling a little…peculiar, that’s all.’

‘You term lying stretched out on the floor looking like death “peculiar”, I call it a collapse,’ Slade growled darkly. ‘Either way it shouldn’t have happened.’ He turned back to the nurse accusingly.

‘You’re quite right, Mr Eastwood.’ The nurse was trying to pour oil on troubled waters, her voice placating, but Daisy had the bit between her teeth now.

‘He is not.’ Now it was she who was glaring at the uniformed figure and as she suddenly recognised the fact Daisy made an effort to school her features into a more acceptable expression. ‘He is not,’ she repeated more calmly. ‘I simply felt a little faint for a moment or two, that’s all. There’s no need for all this fuss. And I feel fine now, absolutely fine,’ she finished brightly.

‘There is every need and the matter is not open for discussion.’

The sheer arrogance took Daisy’s breath away, and her fury was not helped by the subservient stance the nurse was taking as far as Slade was concerned. Daisy glowered at him with intense dislike, and he looked back at her, his arms crossed against his chest and the black denims and heavy jacket making him appear even more dark and forbidding. And handsome. Oh, yes, definitely handsome, Daisy acknowledged silently, but in a cruel, imperious, scornful way that made her long for the power to dent that outsize ego. But he was invincible—it was written all over him—and made of ice, not flesh and blood.

The next few minutes were taken up with the nurse fussing about taking Daisy’s temperature and checking her blood pressure. ‘It’s a little high.’ She frowned at the equipment in her hand. ‘We’ll check it again later.’

She wasn’t surprised it was high, Daisy thought as she slanted a quick glance at Slade Eastwood from under her eyelashes. The last ten minutes had been enough to send anyone’s temperature rocketing. Why couldn’t she have stepped in front of an ordinary family saloon with a little grey-haired old man at the wheel?

‘Now, can I get you both a drink? Tea, coffee?’ The nurse was obviously out to make amends—she was all bustle and activity and her smile was bright as she turned to face them before leaving the room.

‘A coffee would be most welcome,’ Slade replied easily.

And Slade had returned to charm mode, Daisy noted viciously as she gritted her teeth and watched him settle himself in a comfy chair he had pulled close to the bed.

Once the door had shut behind the nurse Daisy stared at Slade warily and he looked back at her quietly for a few moments before saying, ‘Relax, won’t you? I’m not about to give you the third degree.’

‘I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you,’ she lied stiffly.

‘You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ he stated firmly, quite unimpressed by the falsehood. ‘I’ve dealt with some difficult women in my time but you’re one on your own. Is it me you dislike or men in general?’ he added sardonically.

‘I’m sure there must be some men who aren’t complete and utter rats.’ It was out before Daisy even had time to consider her words and brought the black eyes narrowing on her flushed face with even more intensity.

‘But you doubt it,’ he said with silky softness. ‘Is that right?’

This conversation was not going the way she would have liked it. ‘I didn’t say that,’ Daisy prevaricated quickly, ‘but obviously a divorce leaves something of a nasty taste in one’s mouth. Now, you mentioned some papers you wanted me to look at?’ It was a clear request to change the subject and much to her surprise he acquiesced, contenting himself with one more long, level look before reaching into the inner breast pocket of his black leather jacket and bringing out a bulky envelope which he handed to her.