And then the mist clears, the noise vanishes, and there’s just light, warmth, and a hand holding mine.
I blink slowly as everything comes into focus. I’m in a white room, a hospital room, under white sheets. The curtains are blue with pretty white ties. I still have a drip. There’s one person in the room, and he’s sitting on a chair by my side. His head is resting on one hand, his fingers sunk into his hair, which has lost its usual neatness and is sticking up on top. He’s wearing a pair of black track pants and a light-blue T-shirt that says, ‘Warning, may contain traces of awesome.’ I’ve never seen him dressed like this before. Even when I went to his house for the Waitangi Day party, he wore smart jeans and a shirt.
He’s holding my hand.
I look down at his strong fingers, his wide palm, his tanned skin that makes mine look pale. His skin is warm.
I don’t want him to stop holding my hand, but I need a drink of water, and to visit the bathroom.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, my voice little more than a whisper.
His head snaps up, and he rises immediately and moves close to the bed. “Nicola!” Relief and pleasure cross his face, two emotions I’ve never seen from him before.
“Traces of awesome?” I say.
He looks down at the T-shirt. “I had to change out of my suit because it was covered in blood. I took the helicopter to the airport and called in at a clothes shop on the way to the hospital. I didn’t even look at what the T-shirt said.”
Unbidden, my eyes fill with tears. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
His smile fades. “What? No, it’s okay…”
“Your beautiful, expensive suit. I’ll pay for it to be dry cleaned.”
“Nicola, forget about the suit—”
“I threw up in your helicopter.”
“I don’t care, I only want—”
“And I ruined your day. You’d worked so hard to make that happen. You should have stayed there. I can’t believe you had to leave because of me.” Tears spill over my lashes and down my cheeks. Some part of me registers it’s something to do with the accident and the morphine because I would never normally let him see me cry, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. “I’ll understand if you fire me, because I—”
He leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
Shocked, I inhale sharply and then hold my breath.
There’s no passion behind the kiss. He doesn’t tip his head, move his lips across mine, or try to slip his tongue into my mouth. His lips just rest on mine, firm, warm, and dry.
Even so, my face flames at this first, intimate connection with him. I feel like Snow White, awoken by her handsome prince, if handsome princes wore weird T-shirts and track pants. Inside my head, bells are ringing and someone’s throwing confetti in the air. Outwardly, though, I don’t move. I know he’s going to move back and apologize. Say it didn’t mean anything, and he only did it to stop me talking.
He does move back, but only a fraction. His breath whispers across my lips, and I can smell his clean, fresh aftershave. Then—and this is the most shocking thing of all to me—he kisses me once more, a brief touch of his lips to mine, before moving back.
I have no time to react, because the door opens and a nurse walks in, smiling as she sees I’m awake.
“Nicola!” She comes forward, while Leon moves back to give her room. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“A bit groggy.”
“That’ll be the morphine. How’s the head?”
“Not too bad. Better than when I was in the helicopter.” I clear my throat. “What time is it?”
“It’s nearly three o’clock. Let’s take your vitals and see how you’re doing.”
She fusses around with the machines, while I do my best not to look at Leon, and fail. He’s leaning against the wall, texting on his phone, and I study him for a moment.
He left the Ark, when he’d worked so hard to organize the PM’s visit. He flew me here in his helicopter. He stayed by my side so he could be there when I awoke. I was sick in his helicopter and I got blood all over his suit, and he isn’t mad.
And he kissed me. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a tonsil-tickling smacker, and it would show as lukewarm on a kissometer. Everything points to that meaning it was nothing more than a reaction to his relief that I was all right.
But he moved back. And then he kissed me again. That’s gotta mean something.
He looks up from his phone, catching me looking at him, and I drop my gaze.
“Hal wants to know if you’re calling everyone Susan,” he says.
I smile at the reference to the robot in the old sci-fi comedy series Red Dwarf who suffers a concussion. “How did the visit go?”
“Terrific, apparently. The PM loved the Ark and did a talk right under our sign about animal welfare to the cameras that’ll be shown on national TV tonight.”
I feel a swell of pleasure—the new, colorful sign says Noah’s Ark No-Kill Animal Sanctuary and has a badge of the Bay of Islands. It’s huge exposure for the Ark. Leon and the others are going to be thrilled.
“I’m so pleased for you,” I tell him.
He smiles. “And I’m relieved you’re okay. You had me worried for a bit.” He looks at the nurse. “How is she doing?”
“Blood pressure and pulse are good.”
“That’s great. I’d still like her to have a CT scan, though.”
My eyes widen. “Leon,” I scold, “I’m sure the nurses and doctors know what’s best.”
He ignores me. “Can you organize that?” he asks the nurse.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” she says, “I’m sure he’ll arrange that for you.”
It suddenly occurs to me that I’m in a room on my own. I stare at him. “Are you paying privately for this?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can tell from his look that I’ve guessed right.
“Oh my God.”
The nurse gives me a wry glance. “Can I get you anything?”
“I need to… um… use the bathroom.”
“Of course. Do you feel up to walking?”
“Yes.” I don’t want to have to use a bedpan.
“Don’t worry,” Leon says, and he moves around the other side of the bed. Before I can open my mouth to protest, he slides one arm beneath my knees and lifts me up into his arms.
“Jesus!” I clutch hold of him. My embarrassment increases tenfold when I realize I’m in a hospital gown—one of those that ties up at the back. I’m wearing panties beneath it, but that’s all, and his skin is warm on my legs and back. “Leon!” I put my arms around his neck. For the second time in five minutes, I feel a rush of heat at the thought of being so close to him.
The nurse chuckles and directs him to carry me behind the bed where there’s a private bathroom, and she follows him with the drip that’s still attached to me. Inside, he lowers my feet to the floor.
“Would you like some help to—”
“No,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
There’s a tiny hint of a smirk before he leaves the room. A smirk! He’s never smirked around me.
The nurse is trying to hide a smile. “Can you manage?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. My head feels better, and although I’m a little shaky, I’m determined to manage on my own.
She leaves the room and pulls the door almost shut. I lean on the sink and look into the mirror as I blow out a breath. Oh, dear God. I look dreadful. I have a huge pad on the back of my head. I’m white as a ghost. My hair has come loose from its bun, and my mascara has smudged. I try to clean some of it off with a tissue and give up. After scooping my hair back into its elastic, I go to the toilet, wash my hands, rinse out my mouth, and then head back to the bed. I feel exhausted.
Leon comes forward, and this time I’m grateful to accept his hand as he helps me back onto the bed. “That wore me out,” I say.
He holds up his phone. “Do you have the energy to talk to Izzy?”
&
nbsp; I nod, take the phone from him, and put it up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Nix! Oh my God, Nix. Thank God you’re all right.”
I smile. “I’m fine.”
“Are you? Leon’s text said you’re going to have a CT scan.”
I throw him an exasperated look. “He’s insisting. I think he’s paying for it.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Just let him, will you?” Izzy says.
“Like I have a choice.”
She gives a short laugh. “Oh God, you should have seen him, Nix. He ran over and caught you when you fell. He was barking orders to everyone to ring the ambulance and to give you space when they all rushed over. He was covered in your blood. And then when the paramedics said they were going to take you to the hospital, he carried you to the helicopter himself.”
“I threw up in it.”
“I very much doubt he cares. You can both deny it all you want, but he definitely has feelings for you.”
I glance at Leon. He’s watching me, and although he doesn’t look exasperated, his expression has returned to normal, carefully blank. The smirk has gone. My boss is back.
My heart sinks a little. She could be right. The second kiss he gave me suggests he does have feelings for me. But he doesn’t want to have feelings for me. I know, at that moment, there’s no hope of us ever hooking up. I think it’s because I work for him, and, for some reason, he’s vehemently anti-relationships in the workplace. He’s never going to give in to his feelings for me, if he does have any.
I lower my gaze. It’s probably for the best. We’re complete opposites. We’re like the north pole of two magnets that will never touch. Or like polar bears and penguins, destined never to meet.
All the time I work at the Ark, anyway.
Chapter Four
Leon
When Nicola is done talking, I take the phone and tell Izzy not to bother driving down to the hospital. It’ll take her and Hal an hour to get here, and in that time I’m hopeful Nicola will have had her scan and been declared safe to go home, and I can fly her back in the helicopter.
“You said you returned it to the airport,” Nicola says once I’ve hung up. “What did you mean?”
“After I dropped you off here.”
“Here?”
“I landed on the helipad on top of the hospital.”
She stares at me. “Seriously?”
“There was blood everywhere, Nicola. You’d regained consciousness but I was very worried about you. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
She presses her lips together. I know what she’s thinking about.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” I say softly.
She drops her gaze to her hands. “It’s all right, I know it didn’t mean anything.”
“I didn’t say that.” I watch her gaze snap back up to mine. “But I shouldn’t have done it,” I add, “not when you work for me. I do apologize.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but at that moment the door opens, and the doctor comes in.
I stand by the window and watch as he examines her. Every now and again she glances at me, but she doesn’t ask me to leave, so I stay put.
The doctor investigates the wound on the back of her head and asks about her headache, examines her eyes and her vision, and checks her fine motor control. Then he asks her a series of questions about herself, and things like what year it is, listens to her speech, and asks her to write something down.
“You’re doing very well,” he says eventually with a smile. “I don’t think there’s any lasting damage, but Mr. King has said he’d like you to have a CT scan, and I think that would be a good idea as you lost consciousness for twenty minutes. We’ll check for intracranial hemorrhage and to make sure there’s no skull fracture.”
“What about all the bleeding?” Nicola asks. She glances at me. “Izzy said you were covered.”
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” the doctor tells her. “A superficial scrape that’ll heal quickly.” He glances at the nurse. “Let’s get Ms. Dixon down for her scan.” He looks back at Nicola. “I’ll see you again afterward.”
She looks exhausted and her eyelids are drooping, so the nurse sends me out to get a cup of coffee so she can rest. I go down to the café, buy myself a latte, then, after sinking into a chair, I lean forward and put my head in my hands.
I can’t believe I kissed her. I’m such a fucking idiot. All the times I’ve yelled at people at work for getting involved with colleagues, and I go and kiss her.
I was relieved, and for a moment the invisible barbed wire I erect around me vanished, and I gave in to the urge to show her how I felt.
I’m a man who prides himself on his self-control. I watch what I eat, work out religiously, and I haven’t drunk to excess for nine years. I’m not a thrill seeker. I like order. A place for everything and everything in its place, and I have no desire to change that.
It’s the first time I’ve ever let slip how I feel about Nicola, and it’s going to be the last time. I’ll have to make that clear to her.
I close my eyes at the memory of how soft her lips felt beneath mine. When I picked her up, I hadn’t realized she was wearing nothing beneath the hospital gown, and my hand brushed along the underside of her bare thigh before I gathered her into my arms.
I open my eyes. I can’t let myself dwell on that. I’ve spent two years training myself to think of something else every time my brain wanders remotely near thinking of her; I’m sure I can do it now.
I take out my phone, bring up my texts, and start a message to the PM’s office apologizing for my disappearance and saying how I hoped she enjoyed her visit. I steadfastly ignore the memory of Nicola’s soft lips on mine that threatens to push through.
When I return to her room, she’s been taken down for the scan. She’s gone over an hour, and I pass the time trying to read some financial reports on my phone. My brain wants to keep replaying the kiss, though, and it’s a constant struggle trying to keep it on track, like taking Wishbone for a walk.
When she comes back, she’s looking much better. There’s color in her cheeks, and her eyes are brighter. There’s no time to talk because someone brings her a cup of coffee and a sandwich, the nurse comes in to check on her, and the doctor arrives shortly afterward with the results of her scan. It pays to go private when you’re an impatient man.
“Everything looks great,” he says. “A little swelling, but that’s to be expected. There’s no sign of a fracture or hemorrhaging. The fact that your headache and nausea have improved with the medication is a good sign, as is a lack of persistent confusion.”
“No more than normal anyway,” I find myself saying. She pokes her tongue out at me. I look at my shoes. Don’t flirt, Leon!
“All your vitals are good,” the doctor continues, “and there’s no sign of amnesia. If you’re worried at all, we can keep you in overnight to monitor you. But honestly, I see no reason for you to stay. Just keep a close eye on the headache, and let us know if you feel worse at all, even a little bit.”
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Would you feel happier if you stayed the night?”
“God, no,” she replies, then adds, “no offence,” to the doctor, “but I’d rather go home.”
“Of course. You need someone with you for forty-eight hours, to let us know if you have any changes in behavior or difficulty concentrating or understanding. No alcohol, and plenty of rest, okay?”
She nods.
“I’ll get the paperwork done and sort out some painkillers, and you can head off.” He smiles and leaves the room.
She blows out a breath. “I’d better get dressed.”
“I bought you a change of clothes because your suit was covered in blood.” I hand her the white T-shirt and black track pants, not unlike what I’m wearing. She lifts the T-shirt, stares at it, then turns it around to show me.
It has a picture of two glasses of wine, one red, one white. It says, ‘I go both ways.’
“I can’t apologize enough,” I tell her. “I was in a hurry and I just took one from the top of a pile.”
She gives me a wry look. “Yeah, right.” She goes to undo the tie at the back of her gown.
I open my mouth to ask her whether she needs a hand changing. Her gray eyes lift to mine, sending a shiver running down my back.
I turn around and leave the room.
When she’s ready, and she has her medication, I insist on her sitting in a wheelchair, and I push her—protesting all the way—to the exit, where there’s a taxi waiting.
“Do you want me to lift you in?”
“Don’t you dare.” She gets up hurriedly and practically runs to the taxi.
I put the bag with our blood-soaked clothing in the boot, get in the other side, and direct the driver to the airport. Then I sit back and finally glance over at her.
She’s watching me. “You shouldn’t have paid for that scan,” she says.
“Think of it as a perk of the job. I wasn’t letting you go home without making sure you were safe.” I frown. “You frightened the hell out of me today.”
She gives a small smile. She looks tired, and she rests her temple on the window as the taxi threads through the traffic.
It’s only fifteen minutes to the airport, and we don’t talk for a while. The silence is awkward, and I know I’m going to have to say something about what happened.
“I’m so sorry about Wishbone.” I swallow hard. “He should be punished. If you think I should… you know…” I know I have to say it, although I feel faint at the thought of asking Hal to put him down. Even though the Ark is a no-kill shelter, the vets will put an animal to sleep if its quality of life is poor and it’s suffering, or if it’s a danger to people.
But her eyes widen. “Jesus, Leon! Of course not. He’s not dangerous, it’s not like he mauled me or anything. It was an unfortunate turn of events. If I hadn’t been standing by the wall, I would only have had a bruised butt.”
I try not to think of massaging arnica cream into her soft, bruised bottom. “If you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure. Wishbone is a sweetie; he just gets overexcited. Maybe we’ll just be a bit more careful about letting him run loose. I’ll keep a spare set of leads in my office, just in case.”
My Boss, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 2) Page 3