Tender Loving Care

by Susan Mallery

  Wendi looked at Melissa, her eyebrows raised in outrage. “You went in my dad’s bedroom dressed like that?”

  Melissa glanced down at the long robe covering her oversize pink T-shirt she’d worn to bed and laughed. “Wendi, he’s got bandages over his eyes. He can’t see me.”

  “Oh.” Logan’s daughter dropped her overnight case onto the floor. “Then I guess it’s okay. I’m going to check on him. I’ll be right back.”

  She shot off down the hall and Melissa went back into the kitchen. The girl returned in about five minutes.

  Melissa looked up from the oranges she was squeezing and smiled. “I’m making French toast and bacon for breakfast. Do you want some?”

  “Yeah.” Wendi walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t feel like eating any dinner. Wow, you can really cook.”

  “Most people can. Why are you surprised?”

  She shrugged. “My dad barbecues about once a year and we usually have to call the fire department. Mrs. Dupuis does all our cooking. She’s the housekeeper.”

  Melissa peeled off three more strips of bacon. “Where is she now?”

  Wendi sat on the stool in the corner and started braiding her long hair. “France. She’s got a ton of relatives. I went with her last year, but this summer Dad’s sending me to some dumb day camp. Don’t you think I’m way too mature for camp?”

  Melissa glanced at the preteen; the path of the tears was clearly defined on her face. Despite her height and air of sophistication, she looked like a scared little girl. “Sounds like fun to me. Do you go every day?”

  “Nah. Three days a week. It’s computers and math and stuff. Dad wants me to be an architect or an engineer.”

  “And what do you want to be?”

  Wendi shrugged. “Maybe a model, or an astronaut. I haven’t decided. Wanna see my room?”

  The swift shift in conversation caused Melissa to stop squeezing the juice. If Wendi wanted to be friends, who was she to argue? “Ah, sure. I haven’t started cooking yet.”

  Melissa followed the girl out of the kitchen. She hadn’t had a chance to explore the rest of the house. Logan’s room was to the right of the living room. Wendi moved toward a door on the left side of the kitchen. They passed through the formal dining room, complete with a built-in hutch and buffet and a pair of French doors that looked out onto the patio and pool. A vague sense of unease began to nibble at her confidence. Melissa tugged on the belt of her robe. She suddenly felt dowdy and underdressed.

  Wendi pointed down the short hall. “That’s Mrs. Dupuis’s room. Normally she keeps an eye on me, but this summer I get to play my music really loud.”

  Her grin eased Melissa’s feeling of apprehension. But when Wendi pushed open her bedroom door, the knot returned to Melissa’s stomach.

  She had a vague impression of delicate furniture and lace draperies, but her attention was caught by a stunning portrait hanging on the opposite wall. The woman in the painting was young, not quite thirty, and dressed in a formfitting gown. Dark hair fell in a smooth line of satin all the way to the middle of her back. Wide almond-shaped eyes, the exact color of the emeralds clinging to her neck, seemed to stare into Melissa’s soul and find her wanting. The high cheekbones and haughty curve of her mouth were familiar…and incredibly beautiful.

  “What a lovely picture,” Melissa said. “But I can’t help thinking I’ve seen her before. Who is she?”

  “She’s the spokesperson for Fire perfume and the star of the daytime soap, The Proud and the Powerful.” The pride in her voice was evident.

  “I don’t watch much TV, but I’m sure I’ve caught her a few times.” She moved closer. There was something about the eyes that…

  Wendi began to giggle. “Didn’t Dad tell you?”

  Melissa swallowed, guessing what the girl was going to say. “No.”

  “Fiona Phillips is my mom.”

  Chapter Three

  Somehow Melissa managed to get back to the kitchen and finish making breakfast. By the time she’d put the two meals on a tray and brought the food into Logan’s bedroom, her heartbeat had returned to normal.

  Wendi was curled up on the bed, her head on her father’s shoulder. It was a perfect domestic scene, the “beautiful people” at home. Bitterness rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. When the job was done, she’d analyze her emotions; today she had work to do.

  “Here’s breakfast, gang,” she said cheerfully. “Logan, I cut your French toast into strips.” She set the tray over his lap, then handed Wendi her plate. Taking his fingers in her own, she pointed to the food. “French toast, bacon, more strawberries, juice, coffee.”

  “I can’t eat all that,” he said.

  “I can,” Wendi offered.

  “No sneaking food until your dad’s done. Promise?”

  The girl nodded and nibbled on her bacon.

  Melissa measured out his morning medication and placed the pills in his hand. “Drugs first.” She was pleased when he swallowed them without complaint.

  When he set the empty juice glass down, he sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I had fresh squeezed. Thanks, Melissa.”

  Why did he have to smile at her like that? she thought angrily. Didn’t he know it made her feel all weak in the knees? With Wendi watching their every move, she had to guard against any emotion showing on her face.

  “You two eat up. I’m going to go shower and change.” She started from the room.

  Logan called her back. “Aren’t you joining us for breakfast?”

  Melissa glanced at the bed. There wasn’t room for a third person. “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “Dad, do you know what Melissa’s wearing?” Wendi asked. Her mouth curved impishly. “A bathrobe. Good thing Mrs. Dupuis isn’t here to see.”

  Logan looked up. “Mrs. Dupuis is the soul of propriety. She’s worked for us for almost five years and I’ve never even seen her in anything but her uniform.”

  Melissa smiled self-consciously. “I’ve got one up on Mrs. Dupuis,” she said as she turned to leave. “You’ve never seen me at all.”

  Melissa buttoned her cotton blouse and tucked it into her jeans. After giving her hair one more flick with the brush, she stepped out of the bathroom. The mirrored closet doors reflected her image, and she closed her eyes as she remembered the woman in the portrait.

  You’re a fool, she told herself firmly. Look at who his ex-wife is. So what if he was friendly and teasing? It didn’t mean a thing. Patients always came on to nurses; the story was as old as the profession itself. When his eyesight was better, he’d be off living his life, and she’d be off living hers.

  But last night, long after he’d drifted to sleep, she’d lain awake and relived the evening. And when she’d gone in to check on him, and he’d rolled over sleepily and called her by name, she’d allowed herself to dream. There were worse things to be than a fool.

  She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. A short, plain woman stared back. Medium, just as she’d told Logan. Her short hair was baby fine and refused to hold a curl. The memory of Fiona’s long dark tresses made her want to scream in frustration. Enough, she said silently. No more feeling sorry for poor little me. I’ve a job to do and I’m going to do it. He’s the patient and I’m the nurse. And that’s the end of the story.

  Straightening her shoulders, she walked into Logan’s room.

  “…and then I’m going back over to Kelly’s. I wasn’t very good company last night. You don’t mind, do you?” Wendi glanced anxiously at her father.

  Pulling his daughter closer, he kissed the top of her head. “Of course not, sweetie. I’m just going to lie around all day and torment Melissa.” He turned swiftly in her direction and smiled.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Your perfume. What is it anyway?”

  She collected the tray of dirty dishes. “Magnolias.”

  “I thought so.” He stretched his arms up and yawned. The fabric of his robe gapped, exposing his c
hest.

  She felt her mouth go dry. “I’ll, ah, be in the kitchen, washing up the dishes. When I come back, we’ll see about getting you cleaned up.”

  Logan frowned. “There’s no way you’re going to give me a sponge bath, Melissa.”

  “Logan, you can’t…”

  The phone on the nightstand rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Wendi leaned over her father and picked up the receiver. “Hello.” She listened for a moment. “Hi, Mr. Anderson. Yeah, he’s right here. No, he looks good. And Melissa’s great. Okay, bye. Here, Dad. It’s Mr. Anderson.”

  “I gathered that. Good morning, John.”

  Wendi followed Melissa down the hall. “I’m going to try and sleep a little this morning, then Kelly and I are going to the movies.”

  Melissa put the tray on the counter and opened the dishwasher. “Are you going to be home for dinner?”

  “Are you cooking?”

  Her smile was so much like Logan’s that Melissa felt her heart skip a beat. “I could be convinced.”

  “All right! I’ll be back by six.” She ran out of the room and skidded around the corner, her long braid flying behind her. Snapping her fingers, she sang, “I’m just too cool for you, boy. Da da, oh yeah. I’m just…” The sound was abruptly cut off when her door slammed shut.

  The flowers started arriving at nine. By ten-thirty, half a dozen large bouquets filled Logan’s room. He’s been on and off the phone, fielding calls about various projects he was involved with.

  Melissa signed for a spray of perfect peach roses, then carried them into the bedroom. “Here’s another one from—”

  He jumped and the receiver went flying. She set the arrangement on the floor and picked up the phone, then folded his fingers around the plastic.

  “I’ll have to get back to you,” he growled, and hung up. He turned toward her. “Don’t ever do that to me.”

  The anger in his voice was like a blow. She placed the roses on the fireplace mantel. “I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t know you were on the phone. I won’t interrupt again.”

  “Melissa.”

  She stood perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe.

  “Answer me,” he said. “Are you still here?”

  “Yes, Logan. I’m right here.” She covered the space to the bed in three short steps. “What do you need?”

  He reached out his hand, palm up. The invitation could not be denied and she touched her fingers to his.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he said. “Would you do me a favor and take the flowers out of the room?”

  “Why?”

  Logan tugged on Melissa’s arm until she was forced to sit next to him. The warm pressure of her thigh against his was comforting…and arousing. The desire lapping at his loins was enough to make him feel lazy…and hungry…and male.

  “Because I can’t smell your perfume and I don’t know when you’re in the room.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s it? No argument, Nurse VanFleet? Just ‘oh’?”

  “You’re the cranky one, not me.”

  He heard the smile in her voice. What did she look like? he wondered again. He’d always thought of himself as a visual person, but here he was being turned on by little more than a feminine voice and a gentle touch.

  Her hand rested against his, their fingers linked. It had been a long time…maybe too long. While his mind told him to resist the urge, his body clamored for more contact. Her perfume enticed him, erasing the last trace of common sense.

  Ah, the hell with it, he thought. They were both adults. His palms moved up her arms to rest on her shoulders; her hair was soft, the wispy ends tickled the backs of his hands.

  She shifted, but his fingers pressed down as he held her in place. The air around them became charged with an electric current.

  Melissa felt the subtle change in the room. What had started out friendly, even comforting, rapidly became erotic. Stand up, she told herself. If she stayed another second, she’d give in to temptation.

  She stared at his face, searching for a clue to what he was thinking. The lines of his jaw were taut, his lips pulled straight in a firm line, but neither told her anything.

  Then his hands began to move toward her face, tracing random patterns on her neck. He wanted her, she thought with relief and anticipation. She started to lean forward, then stopped. No, that wasn’t quite correct. He wanted a woman and she was the only one around.

  “Say something,” he commanded, pulling her toward him.

  “Logan, let me go….”

  He silenced her with a kiss. Those lips that she’d been admiring now brushed against hers. The touch wasn’t the hungry assault she’d have expected from a man like him, but a tender exploration. Moving from one corner to the other, he made sure every millimeter of her mouth was equally caressed, tasted, savored. Comfort and contact with another person, she told herself. That’s all he was interested in. Yet the logical explanation didn’t keep her from reacting to his ministration. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  Bracing his weight on one arm, he tilted her jaw with his other hand. Now that she was free, she told herself to push away. But instead, her fingers trailed up his arms and shoulders to meet in the middle of his back, then moved to the thick curls at the nape of his neck. He was silk and steel. His skin was hot like fire, his hair was cool like satin.

  He pressed his thumb lightly on her chin, urging her to allow him entrance. No, she thought. But the deep moan in his chest was her undoing. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with the touch of hers.

  It was like drowning in fire. Flames of sensation ran through her body, pausing only to collect in her breasts and between her thighs. Fighting against his touch became impossible and she gave herself up to the inferno.

  Logan’s fingers traced the line of her neck, then moved down to her shoulder. He longed to discover the curves he’d earlier wondered about. Even through her clothes, he could feel the roundness of her body; the lush fullness, so different from Fiona’s harsh angles and protruding bones, made him ache. He…

  Logan drew back with a suddenness that caused his head to swim. What the hell was he thinking of? Melissa was his nurse and hired by his boss. He had no business making love with her…or any other woman like her, for that matter. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? He only wanted sophisticated types who knew the rules of the game: no commitments, no pain. Despite her humor and intelligence, she didn’t strike him as the worldly kind.

  “Logan, I…” Melissa’s voice cracked, but it wasn’t enough of a clue to tell him what she was thinking. The mattress moved and he knew she’d stood up. He wanted to rip the bandages from his eyes and study her face.

  “I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice sounding nearby. “I should never have allowed things to get so out of hand. It was very unprofessional of me.”

  The genuine shock and remorse in her tone filled him with irritation. He swore.

  “Logan? Are you hurt?”

  He turned away. “I’m fine.” He ached, but it couldn’t be helped by one of her little pills. The only cure would be to bury that part of him deep within her waiting softness and carry them both to a place beyond pain.

  Melissa touched her hand to her kiss-swollen lips. She felt like a fool…or worse. An incident like this could cost her her job, or at the very least, her self-respect.

  She’d heard about patients coming on to nurses. It hadn’t happened to her before, but she recognized the symptoms. A caring woman helping a man in need. They were isolated together in a world of their own making. It was a volatile situation.

  Logan tried to smile. “I’m sorry, too.”

  She silenced him by pressing her fingers on his arm. “Don’t apologize. It happens all the time. Not to me, of course. The only thing Bobby ever did was give me his favorite stuffed animal, but I think the sentiment was the same.”

  “Thanks.”

  She stared at his face for a moment longer, me
morizing the planes and angles and hollows. If only his feelings had been real, she thought. When he touched her, she burned with a fire she’d never felt before. Who are you, Logan Phillips?

  “You’re reacting to the blindness,” she said quietly, almost afraid to speak the truth. In a way, these words were as much for her as for Logan. “It’s very natural to reach out for physical contact. I should have been more prepared. After all, looking after you is my job.”

  Her matter-of-fact tone doused his desire faster than a cold shower. Part of her job? Did she think he was some weak-kneed mental case who needed to be pampered and coddled? “I see. Thanks for the information. I’ll try not to trouble you again. Just get rid of the flowers. I want to know when you walk in the room.”

  Melissa picked up the nearest arrangement and carried it out. Explaining away his sensual invitation was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But there’d been no other option. She was his nurse.

  Besides, Logan had turned to her because he needed a woman…any woman. But she’d turned to him because she was starting to care. It was a combination destined to break her heart. There was no place for her in Logan Phillips’s life, now or ever.

  When the last bouquet had been placed in another part of the house, Melissa returned to her room. She’d kept the arrangement from John Anderson, Logan’s boss, on her dresser. The peach roses had been from Fiona. The card had been signed with just her name. Melissa had stuck them in Wendi’s room. She smiled as she remembered the young girl turning over sleepily and calling out good-night. Wendi had just enough of her father’s charm to make her hard to resist.

  Melissa paced the space between the dresser and the bathroom door. Her room had been decorated in dusty rose. She didn’t have a view of the pool, but her window looked out on the side garden. The queen-size mattress was covered with a satin bedspread, and a cherry-wood dresser held all her clothes, with several drawers to spare.

  Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour. It was getting close to noon. She couldn’t hide from Logan forever; he was her responsibility.