Leigh Michaels - Bride On Loan

“I didn’t suggest you pretend to be Hercules. At any rate, I should warn you that I don’t have much in the way of financial resources. So if you are hoping to collect from me, I’m afraid that you’re not going to have much luck.”

Caleb shrugged. “Money I have plenty of. But there are other ways of settling scores, you know. The kind of damages I want to collect, you’ll have no trouble paying.”

Her eyes turned to arctic ice. The effect was almost enough to make him shiver.

“I see,” she said. “Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time a man has leaped to the conclusion that because I’m not exactly hard on the eyes, it would be worth his while to try to manipulate me into bed, but—”

He grinned. “You think sex is what I have in mind? When the moon turns to liverwurst, maybe.”

She colored a little and said in a small, tight voice, “I do apologize. How conceited of me to assume you might find me attractive in that way.”

So the lady had a vulnerable spot, he thought with delight. “That wasn’t what you assumed,” he said easily. “You jumped to the conclusion I’m the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail a woman for sex whether I found her attractive or not.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, folded in her lap.

“Not a very flattering picture,” Caleb went on. “But you know, I didn’t say that I don’t find you appealing. It’s just that, having already had a good demonstration of what you’re capable of, I’d have to be a blooming idiot to ask for more. Frankly, my mind boggles at the thought of what you could accomplish if—”

“There’s no need to go into detail, Mr. Tanner. Now, since we’ve established that we’re not discussing going to bed, perhaps you’d like to make clear what you do have in mind?”

He took his time. Letting her stew in suspense might have interesting results. “As I’ve already pointed out, there are a number of things I’m not going to be able to do on my own for the next few weeks.”

“So? I presume that’s why you have what’s his name out there. Jennings—is that it?”

“Jennings is a fine butler in what has up till now been a low-maintenance household.”

He watched her gaze flick around the room. “Are you sure low-maintenance is the word you want?” She sounded honestly curious. “I’d call it neglected, myself.”

“I’m not referring to the house, exactly, but to my needs. Jennings answers the door and the telephone, cooks a bit, supervises the cleaning team, that sort of thing. But I take care of myself.”

“Fancy that.”

He decided to ignore the interruption. “However, now I can’t look after my own needs—and I can’t expect Jennings to pick up the slack. He’s too old to be on call around the clock, but someone will have to be.”

“And you’re expecting me to wait on you?”

“You’ve got it. I’m going to need someone to fetch and carry, hand me my crutches, sort out my pills, plump my pillows, bring fresh ice packs, read to me when I’m restless, go out for ice cream at three in the morning if I can’t sleep….”

“I get the idea,” she said dryly. “I just don’t see why you want me doing all those things.”

“I’d say you’re a natural choice. Jake tells me this is the very sort of thing your business does all the time.”

“Not precisely,” she said coolly. “There’s a reason we called it Rent-A-Wife, not Buy-A-Slave.”

“Look at it this way, Ms…” He shifted, trying without success to get more comfortable. “What is your name?”

“Does it matter? I thought slaves had to answer to whatever their masters called them.” After a moment, though, her gaze wavered and she said softly, “Sabrina Saunders.”

“Sabrina,” he said slowly, making the name almost a caress. “You caused this problem. You’re going to fix it. At least as much as it can be fixed.”

“Look, there are agencies that provide special-duty nurses, and I’m sure you can afford to—”

“I didn’t ask you for nursing services. I do not have a death wish. In fact, there are limits to slavery, too—I don’t expect you to deliver hot soup directly into my hands. Having you set it on a table nearby will be risky enough, in my opinion.”

“You know,” she said slowly, “that’s what I don’t understand. I should think all you’d have to do is raise your voice and there would be a hundred women swarming around you, thrilled to be of service.”

“Exactly.” His voice was crisp.

She frowned. “Then I really don’t understand why you’re putting pressure on me. Why would you want a reluctant helper—one you don’t even trust not to scald you with the first cup of coffee—when you could have enthusiastic ones?”

“Because I don’t even have to raise my voice to attract all those women, that’s why. I don’t know if you ran into Angelique when you arrived?”

She sounded wary. “We spoke, yes. Actually, she spoke to me, but I didn’t exactly answer.”

“She’s been here since the crack of dawn. She’d have spent the night except that all she had to wear was the princess costume.”

“And you didn’t like the idea of having her plump your pillows? I don’t get it.”

“Plumping pillows was not the sort of thing she had in mind.”

“Ah,” she said on a long note of discovery. “I suppose last night you weren’t feeling up to any—how can I put this delicately?—athletic activity. Well, I can see how having a woman like Angelique around in those circumstances might make a man like you very uncomfortable, but—”

“And she’s far from the only one who’s been hovering helpfully. Since the word started to spread last night that I was injured, there have been seventy-two phone calls and nineteen visits from women.”

Sabrina shrugged. “Sounds like masculine heaven to me.”

“Not when I’m flat on my back and unable to defend myself. Every one of those women has ideas of mothering me, nursing me or otherwise convincing me that I simply cannot live without her on a permanent basis. In other words, they’re far more interested in their left ring fingers than in my knee.”

“And you really don’t believe you can defend yourself against that?” She shook her head. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“I don’t choose to spend my energy on that kind of battle. I’d rather focus it on getting back on my feet as soon as possible.”

She’d gone straight on. “And you call yourself a playboy! Besides, you have Jennings out there. All you have to do is tell him to turn off the phone and not let anyone in, and—”

“Oh, really? You got past him without any trouble, didn’t you?”

She sounded a little less certain of herself. “You said you wanted to see me.”

“But you didn’t know that till after you were sitting here. And he doesn’t know it yet. No—Jennings is well-meaning, but he’s not cut out to be a bodyguard.”

He watched the play of expressions cross her face. Now, he thought, they were getting somewhere.

“Face it, Sabrina—since it’s entirely your fault that I’m being subjected to this siege, it’s entirely your responsibility to do something about it.”

She slapped her hands against her thighs and stood up. “You know,” she said, “I think you’re right. Goodbye.”

Caleb blinked in surprise and tried to struggle into a sitting position. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She barely paused. “To the animal rescue league to see if they happen to have a Rottweiler with misogynistic tendencies. I’ll sign the adoption papers, deliver him to Jennings, and your problem will be solved by noon.”

“Sit down, Sabrina.”

“But it’s the perfect—”