by Annie O'Neil
He stared at the bath for a minute then dismissed it. It would take too long to fill. The walk-in shower would have to do.
“Hey! Wait a minute. I normally have a chair for showering.”
He unceremoniously deposited her on the toilet seat.
“What the—? I’m not just some rag doll you can fling around, bud.”
Bud? Since when he had he gone from Doctor to bud?
Since you scooped her up like Tarzan and dumped her on the toilet seat, you idiot.
“If I wasn’t a guest in your house, I’d—”
He turned to face her, their eyes clashing like two rivals taking that all-important final turn at a duel. She was a turbocharged combination of fury and barely contained tolerance.
“Yes? What would you do if you weren’t my guest?”
“I’d—I’d at least make sure there was a huge pile of fluffy towels before putting me in that thing.”
He felt another twist in his chest, that rare thump straight in the solar plexus telling him what he really wanted to do was laugh. But he was still too jacked up on adrenaline to go there.
“Don’t move.”
She rolled her eyes. As if, the expression said. Blue lips, knees literally knocking together. It wasn’t like they were going to start a farcical chase scene round the smattering of bedrooms he had upstairs.
He “drove” his wheelie chair from his office into the bathroom.
“Yeah. No. Uh-uh. That’s not going to happen.” Maggie spun her index finger alongside her head.
“What? You don’t like the wheels?”
“Er...that and...actually...maybe the wheels would be handy.”
She didn’t look entirely sure. He’d rip them off if necessary.
He reached into the shower and cranked the controls onto full blast. “Rainforest or handset?”
“Warm.”
Right. Of course. He was wasting time.
He pulled the chair into the tiled shower, scooped Maggie up again, minus the blanket, placed her onto the cushioned seat, then wheeled her directly under the warm flow of water after tilting it slightly so she didn’t feel as though he’d stuck her under a waterfall. One of the many pluses of life on Maple Island? Excellent water pressure.
See? Still practical. At least there was one thing he could rely on when the rest of his senses were on some maniacal drive to overrule him and exist again.
“Temperature okay?”
“Great.”
“There’s body-wash, shampoo, whatever you need. Towels next door, which, of course, I will get. Would you like a hand with your prosthetics?”
“Alex?”
“Yup?” He stared directly into her eyes, surprised to see them bright with hints of amusement.
“Any chance you’re going to get out or were you just going to strip off with me and call it a date?”
The laughter that had trickled into her throat turned into full-on giggles.
He looked down at his clothes. Completely drenched. Of course they were. He was standing in a shower. An urge to start peeling his clothes off stripper style seized him when the bump on her forehead caught his attention again. She saw him notice it and put her hand up.
He grabbed it before she reached the bump, and when their hands touched?
Heat explosion.
He dropped her hand as if he’d grabbed a burning coal. She pressed her own to her forehead with a sharp inhalation.
Damn. Way to handle simple body contact, Alex.
She had thrown him well off course. Sure, she was cold. She was hurt. But since when did he carry women across the threshold of his home, up the stairs and stand in the shower with them as if it were completely normal?
Did she have a magic wand tucked away somewhere in that winter wear of hers?
If she did, was the magic benevolent or from somewhere entirely more fiery and unpredictable? A flash of electricity crackled through his entire body. It was as if she’d flicked on a long-dormant switch and pushed the power demand up to its highest level. Turned the volume straight up to eleven.
He stared at her as the water cascaded down her face, little droplets sliding along each feature, each freckle, those full lips of hers. Electricity and warm running water was a pretty lethal combination if the hammering in his chest was anything to go by.
You are a doctor. She is hurt. Behave like a normal human. Not a dormant creature suddenly brought back to life after a long, interminable freeze.
He knelt before her and sat back on his heels, his voice dropping to somewhere deep in his chest he hadn’t accessed before.
“Let me have a look. When did this happen?”
“I told you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes remained locked with his. “The ambulance ride over. It’s been this way all day.”
Had it? Of course it had. He was being an idiot. A cursory glance said it wouldn’t need stitches, it was just an abrasion, but...even so...a bandage wouldn’t go amiss.
Was he only noticing it now because he was finally noticing her? The actual Maggie Green rather than a recent hire who’d arrived in a tornado of chaos?
Maybe the electricity that had been zapping between the pair of them all day hadn’t been exasperation after all, or two diametrically opposite people actively repelling each other.
It was attraction. Plain and simple. Didn’t even need to be a neurosurgeon to figure that one out and so here he was. A neurosurgeon soaked to the bone in his own shower, kneeling in front of a flame-haired beauty whose dark eyes were burning holes straight through to his soul.
They stared at each other in silence. The water cascading down their heads, their faces...her neck...the dips and curves that led to her breasts...the flat length of her belly. Her chest rose and fell with short, quick breaths as he drank her in.
And then she blinked.
He didn’t blame her. The moment was intense. Too intense. If anyone had told him a year ago—hell, two hours ago—that he was going to be kneeling at the feet of his new physio as if she were Aphrodite herself he would’ve... Well, he wouldn’t have laughed. That’s for sure.
“To be honest,” Maggie confessed, “it’s my knees that got more of a bashing than my head.”
He forced himself to drop his gaze to her knees. She was still wearing trousers and, thanks to the warm water pouring over them, they were sticking to her like latex.
“Do these come off any way other than the usual way?”
“’Fraid not.”
“I think we should take them off and—”
“Um, no, sir. I think you’ll find the ‘we’ in this whole scenario is more like you’d better get your butt out of here and find me some towels. I’ll sort out my own business, thank you very much.”
She spoke with absolute confidence. Her eyes told another story.
She didn’t want him to see her legs.
Fair enough.
No! Not fair enough. He was a doctor and for all intents and purposes, right now she was under his care and her knees might need patching up.
“Sorry. My roof, my rules.”
She arced an astonished eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”
He pressed himself up so that he was no longer sitting back on his heels but kneeling so that they were eye to eye.
“I am a doctor. I am your boss. You are my responsibility. You are safe with me.”
Together they processed what he’d said.
You are my responsibility. You are safe with me.
Big words from a man who had promised the same to a little boy with a dead mother.
She hadn’t followed the orders that would have saved her life. She’d had responsibilities, a son, and still she hadn’t followed orders.
Maggie must’ve seen his thoughts drift. His indecision. She gave another
one of those flippant shrugs of hers, flicking her tightly corkscrewing curls behind her shoulders.
“Yeah. I’m pretty clear about who’s who and what the lie of the land is, Dr. Kirkland. Doesn’t mean I can’t get my own clothes off.”
“I think I should have a look at your knees. We want our staff to be staff, not patients.”
She cocked her head to the side, maintaining such a high level of intensity in her gaze he felt as though they were physically connected.
“Fine. As long as you don’t look.”
It took him a few seconds to realize she was taking off her clothes.
Practical Alex would’ve gotten out of the shower and found a plastic laundry basket to put everything in and run down to the dryer. Responsible Alex would have looked away.
He didn’t let his gaze dip. That would betray the trust she was investing in him, if that’s what she was doing. Perhaps it was a dare. A test.
It definitely felt like a test and something told him Maggie Green didn’t tolerate people who couldn’t cross the finish line when it came to keeping their word.
Their eyes were caught in a magnetic hold. He forced the breath in his chest to stay even. Steady. Even though his pulse was pounding away in his brain, continuing to send the bulk of his blood flow into regions that weren’t entirely useful. At least, not in this scenario.
From the movement of her body he could see she was hitching herself up on one hip, then the other, pulling her trousers off what he imagined would be the smooth curves of her derriere and down along her hips, then her thighs. He ached to look. But betraying her trust was not an option. He wanted her to know he was honorable. That she could count on him. Even if it meant suppressing the millions of electric currents his body was begging him to find a use for.
Eyes still steadily hooked on his, Maggie pulled one of her knees up, the toe of her running shoe grazing along the length of his chest as she pulled it up to the chair. His fault, not hers. He should’ve moved back. But he couldn’t move. Not even when it had felt as though she’d dragged a hot poker along his chest.
He heard her shoe fall to the floor with a little splash, then she repeated the whole thing again. The toe of her second shoe seared along the length of his chest, her eyes unblinking as she removed and dropped it to the tiled surface of the shower floor. The sound of saturated fabric shifting around her ankles and a little flick of her legs told him her trousers were now off. She leant toward him and they both tipped their heads forward as she took hold of the soaked material and pulled it onto her lap.
Their heads touched, lightly. They both looked up and at each other. He could feel her breath on his lips. He wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her. And not just any old kiss. An urgent, hungry, satiating kiss. Something that would answer all of the questions he’d had from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Something that would tell him if all of this was a hallucination or very, very real.
“Ready, Doc?”
He nodded, not entirely sure what he was saying he was ready for.
Maggie sat back in the chair and detached her prosthetic, their eyes still locked on each other’s. He was going to kiss her. Resistance seemed...ridiculous. Why wait for something he’d never known he wanted?
So he did.
He didn’t hover nervously. Offer tentative butterfly kisses. No. His mouth crashed down on hers as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.
From the moment his mouth touched hers, he knew that lightning could strike twice. That there was more than one woman he’d been meant to kiss. To hold. To cup her face between his hands. To taste as the water poured over the pair of them, erasing time, history, anything and everything that up until this moment would’ve kept them apart.
It wasn’t a one-sided kiss. Not by a long shot. Maggie’s entire body was arching up and toward him. She’d woven her fingers through his hair and was sliding her other hand along his stubble as their kisses gained in intensity.
Just as he was about to slip his hands onto her waist and pull her even closer to him, the bathroom door abruptly slammed open.
Alex pulled himself away from Maggie and turned just in time to see his son walk through the door.
Jake. His little boy. A mop of sandy blond hair, just like his. Brown eyes like his mother’s. As if he’d ever forget who had brought this child into the world. His serious, intense, loving son who’d gone through all but a single year of his life without his mother.
“Hey, Dad.” Jake’s eyebrows tugged together as he took in the scene then noticed that Maggie was holding one of her legs in her hand. His eyes widened further than Alex had ever seen them.
“Oh....” His eyebrows rose up to his hairline. “Cool....”
* * *
Maggie would’ve happily stayed in “her” bedroom for the rest of the night. After Alex had all but bolted out of the shower, he’d thrown the promised stack of fluffy towels into the room then left her to get on with things on her own. She’d taken her time luxuriating in the warm flow of water but she wasn’t cold anymore. Not by a long shot.
The moment their lips had touched, wildfire had scorched through her body and left nothing but hot embers in its wake.
In reality, she should’ve turned the water temperature down to cold the moment he’d left. No one—and by no one she actually meant not a single solitary human—had ever made her feel so damn sexy so damn fast.
Her fingers had still been shaking when she’d given her knees some long overdue TLC. They were sore all right, but nothing too major. When she’d finally gotten out of the shower and wrapped her body and hair in a pair of those thick cotton towels, she’d seen that Alex had slipped a note under the door saying he’d retrieved a wheelchair from the clinic for her and some spare crutches if she didn’t want to put her prosthetics back on that night.
As much as it had pained her to admit it, for tonight her reserves of stoicism were depleted. Alex had been right to invite her across to his house. And kind. There was something extra comforting about being in a home rather than bunking in the hospital, which, as lovely as it was, would’ve been a bit too much like...well...staying in a hospital.
She’d wheeled along behind him in the low, sling-backed wheelchair—both of them pretending they had barely met let alone had a Class-A make-out session in the shower. When she’d seen past the bedroom door he’d swung open for her she’d sighed with delight. A big old low-riding sleigh bed she wouldn’t have to worry about mountain climbing in and out of. She could literally fall out of bed and not risk further injury. There was a thick comforter covered by a cleverly designed patchwork quilt that looked as though someone’s grandmother had sewn it long ago. Alex’s maybe? His wife’s?
Everything about the softly lit room was so sumptuous and inviting it all but screamed for her to come in and sleep. Sleep away all of her worries and start over tomorrow, but Alex had stiffly insisted she join them for a dinner of lasagna, garlic bread and salad. And, of course, the apple pie. When Jake had peeked out from behind his father’s back, a blue satin cape tied round his shoulders, and put his hands together in a praying position she’d relented.
Alex had offered to carry her down, sensing that putting her prosthetics on again might be an ask too far. She’d laughed off his suggestion and made some crack about not wanting to do his back in.
In truth? She didn’t want to be that close to nestling her nose and lips up against that neck of his. That special warm spot she now knew smelt of juniper and sea air. Not that she’d been breathing him in like a life-affirming essential oil in the shower or anything, but... Oh, all right. She had been. He actually smelled of dedication, if such a thing was possible. Fidelity. And something unique to him. Eau d’Alex.
Whatever it was, if she’d been a teenager she would’ve bought a bottle of it and put a few drops on her pillow every night in the hope of some less-than-pu
re dreams.
She also knew that whatever it was would make her want to kiss him again.
Which was why when her new boss had offered to carry her down the stairs a second time, she’d given him a solid no.
Jake had suggested she slide down the wooden banister, even though his dad wouldn’t let him do it. Maybe, Jake had said with a wistful look in his eyes, he’d let her. Alex had given his son a glare. There had been love in it. But definitely a glare.
Risking a glare of her own, she’d said she’d like to try something she hadn’t done in ages. Bump down the stairs on a pillow. Before she’d barely finished her sentence Jake had rushed off and returned with two pillows covered in a superhero motif.
Alex had compressed his lips then said, “If you’re going to do it, you may as well do it in comfort. And safety.” He ducked into a room—his office, she presumed—and emerged with two extra-thick sofa cushions and two helmets, one hockey and one bicycle.
“Do you always keep helmets in your office?”
“Yes,” he’d replied. “Stops me from having a head injury when I’m doing the clinic’s accounts. Spreadsheets aren’t my forte.”
One by one she and Jake had bumped their way down the broad wooden staircase. He’d done a victory dance when they’d landed then he’d offered to pull her to the kitchen. Like a carriage horse. She wasn’t sure of it, but after she’d pulled her helmet off and shaken her hair out, she was pretty certain when she’d looked up and seen Alex on the top landing, he’d been smiling.
* * *
Half an hour into their shared supper, she was really pleased she’d made the effort.
All the tension that had been snapping and popping between Alex and her had smoothed into something more...fun. Especially as Alex seemed to have handed any and all conversational reins over to Jake.
“Daddy told me that before you came here you were in the Paralympics?”
Oh? Daddy must’ve visited the internet while she’d been in the shower.
“That’s right. Equestrian and running.”