Fever Cure

by Phillipa Ashley

  A sudden thought seized him. That wasn’t true, was it? At this moment, leaving was the last thing on his mind, and that disturbed him more than anything.

  As he looked down and saw her parted lips and eager eyes, guilt and desire mingled. He shifted in his seat as he felt himself growing hard. Rock hard. My God, she was scrambling his body and his brain.

  “What I’m really trying to say, Keira, is that you need to tell your class the whole story if you want them to learn about life in the rainforest.”

  “Actually, you’d do it much better than me. Why don’t you come and talk to the children?”

  Tom felt his stomach clench. Now that was too much to ask. To speak about the place in public, answer questions—even from children—he could not face. Not even for a woman whose mouth he was already dreaming of kissing. His heart thudded against his chest.

  “Keira, don’t take this the wrong way. I can see you’re a very conscientious teacher, that you care about the children and want them to really enjoy learning about the world. But you must know, I would be completely inept in front of a bunch of schoolchildren.”

  He saw her, sitting patiently, waiting for him to continue. Just as if he were a pupil struggling to work out the answer to a tricky problem. She was different, this woman. Misguided too, wasting her skills on an irredeemable student like him, one who had made mistakes that could never be put right. Yet he wanted her so much to try, so he tried to explain.

  “You wouldn’t. Not the way you just told your story to me. You made it seem so very real, so alive. To hear about your adventures would mean so much to them. If they could hear you, experience what you have—”

  “I’m afraid it’s absolutely out of the question.”

  “But…”

  A knot tightened in his stomach. Oh God. Not here. He had to get out.

  “I’m sorry, Keira, but the answer’s no.”

  Lights flashed, and a thudding beat heralded the start of the DJ setting up. Soon they wouldn’t be able to hear themselves think, let alone talk. If he didn’t walk away now, he might reveal more than he already had.

  Sweat was already breaking out on his forehead as he grabbed his jacket and sprang to his feet. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. You must excuse me. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Good-bye.”

  Well, how do you like that? You invite a man to chat to a bunch of Year Fives, and he reacts as if you’ve asked him to have a full body wax.

  She knew she was trying to make light of his response, but it wasn’t working. Keira couldn’t laugh at Tom Carew. Not in that way. It wasn’t funny, being led up the garden path like that and believing he was interested in her, flirting with her. That there was actually a nice guy underneath that caustic exterior.

  Her gaze followed him as he made his way out of the room. As his impressive back view disappeared, Su pounced.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “How was Lord Tom?”

  “It’s The Honourable Tom.”

  “Whatever. How did it go? Do you have a date at the palace? An invite to Will and Kate’s housewarming party? The number of his valet?”

  “It was a bit of a let-down.”

  Su pulled a mock face. “What do you mean?”

  “He blows hot and cold.”

  “Mmm… Sounds great.”

  “Not in a good way.” Keira gave a sigh. “Look, can we go into the lounge and try and get a coffee? The dancing’s about to start, and I don’t think I can stand the conga right at this moment.”

  Tom sucked in a long, slow breath and leaned against a stone statue. This damn thing he was wrestling with had got the better of him again. He’d had to get away, just had to.

  Ahead of him, across the moonlit gardens, the windows of the function room glowed red and green and purple. His breath emerged in clouds of mist as he tried to focus on exhaling slowly. He shivered as the sweat trickling down the small of his back cooled and evaporated.

  He blinked at the dial of his watch. He really could have done with more sleep, but it had been another one of those nights. For the third time in as many weeks, he’d been jolted awake in the small hours with a suddenness that left his heart pounding, and he’d struggled to work out where he was. The sweat glazing his chest told him he was back in the rainforest village, but as his heart had begun to slow, as he’d felt the chilly night air licking his body, he’d realised the truth. He’d risen from his bed on shaky legs and wrenched open the sash window of the bedroom. A fox sniffed the air beneath the old yew tree. Mist was rising from the leaves on the manicured lawns.

  Then he’d known exactly where he was.

  Back home.

  He glanced up at the hotel again and heard shrieks of laughter above the pounding bass line. What have you turned into, Tom? What kind of man refused an invitation to talk to a group of children? From a lovely girl like Keira too. He hugged his arms to his chest. It was bloody freezing out here, even colder than he’d remembered London could be, yet the warm feeling that eddied through him, taking the edge off the chill, took him by complete surprise. For the first time in many, many months, he realised something. He wasn’t wishing himself back in the tropical heat of the village. He was wishing he had the courage to go inside and tell Keira he would talk to her students.

  He set off on the gravel path towards the flashing lights. He should get back in there and behave like a gentleman should. No—like a man should. But God knew how he was going to find the nerve to do it.

  Two large and very expensive cappuccinos later, Keira was still reeling from Tom Carew’s good cop, bad cop routine. The way he’d sparked into life when he’d talked about his work, the fire in his voice, had made her ache to know more about him. Those midnight eyes had been lit with distant fire like a shooting star on a clear night. His deep voice had been thick with longing for the place he couldn’t wait to return to.

  She wondered if he’d ever felt that passionately about a woman, but somehow she doubted it. How could anyone compete with his vocation? Besides, what was the point in wanting to get to know Tom better? She’d touched only one tiny raw nerve, and he’d jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

  She’d braved the function room again—she couldn’t stay in the lounge forever, and besides, Su had disappeared in search of the hotel’s wedding manager. And now here she was playing wallflower. Leaning back against the oak paneling, rubbing one sore foot against the back of her aching calf. Thank goodness it was nearly time for the bride and groom to leave for their honeymoon. Now there were only the slow dances to endure.

  She levered herself off the wall and padded over the plush pile and sank down onto a chair. She watched as partners reached for each other, as hands settled on backs and shoulders and heads were laid lovingly on chests or held back, tense, keeping a safe distance.

  She’d been through all the stages, in the days when she’d danced with Alex, first excitedly, then dutifully, and finally, not at all.

  “Keira.”

  Long, strong fingers skated briefly over the bare skin of her shoulders.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  The tiny, downy hairs on her arm rose in the wake of that touch as she slowly turned to face Tom. Her nipples responded too, and he couldn’t fail to notice.

  Even with the benefit of her heels, Tom was head and shoulders taller than her. Now he towered above her. Like her, he’d abandoned some of his clothes. His waistcoat was gone and his cravat abandoned. The top buttons were undone, a sprinkling of dark hair visible in the open V.

  Thud.

  “I’m asking you to dance.”

  Double thud.

  “I could say it’s absolutely out of the question.”

  “And I’d deserve it. I think I may have been a bit of a prat back there.”

  “Again.” How cool she sounded, how sophisticated, but her racing heart told her otherwise.

  Tom gave a rueful smile that threatened to melt her in a pool of drool. “S
o this is a peace offering. Will you dance with me?”

  “I don’t think you really want to do that. It’s probably just guilt.”

  “Guilt is an overrated virtue, believe me,” he replied. “But I’m wearing the hair shirt. Can’t you tell it’s prickling?”

  “Not enough. It needs to really itch to work properly.” Keira couldn’t believe her daring, baiting someone like Tom Carew. She knew she was playing a dark and sexy game that could only lead to trouble.

  “You’re going to make it really hurt before you agree to dance with me, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes. And the punishment is that you come to school and speak to my class.”

  His eyes gleamed, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse and leave her. Goose bumps rose on her bare arms.

  “I’ll consider it. If you agree to a dance.”

  She took his hands, and his fingers closed around hers, making her hand seem delicate as a child’s. Now they were pressed together in the dark heat of the overcrowded dance floor. Tom’s arms were around her waist pulling her close to him, and his warm breath was whispering against the skin on the back of her neck. Her fingers were trying not to explore the hard muscles in his back through his shirt. He smelled fresh and male, and it was all she could do not to take a deep breath of him. Over his shoulder, she could see gazes fixed on them.

  “You don’t do this very often, do you, Tom?” she asked, seeing lots of heads turn in her direction as the other guests nudged each other.

  “Why? Is my dancing that bad?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “Not at all. It’s very…nice, but you doing it at all seems to have attracted quite a lot of attention.”

  “Hmm. I thought it might. And you’re right. I don’t dance very often.”

  “Not even at weddings?”

  “Especially not at weddings. In fact, I’m usually well out of them by ten—if I can’t get out of attending in the first place. I’m told everyone has a fantastic time after I’ve left.”

  Her body relaxed as she laughed at his joke, tension starting to ebb away from her legs and shoulders. His hands shifted lower down her back. His fingers were skating over her silky slip of a dress. Any lower and… He wouldn’t do that, would he? Stiff, aloof Tom? He wouldn’t lay those strong aristocratic hands on her bottom like—like many of the couples around them were already doing. She tensed her buttocks as his fingertips rested on the base of her spine.

  “Did you know Matt before you worked together?” she croaked.

  “Oh yes, we were at Oxford together.”

  “Of course. Silly of me.”

  “Are you all right, Keira? Your voice sounds rather hoarse.”

  “Does it?” she croaked. “No. It’s just a sore throat. I mean—not that I need medical attention.”

  “Good, because I’m off duty.”

  His hands slipped lower. Barely a centimetre, but she guessed what he was up to. Checking to see if she’d changed into the thong. His fingers halted at the waistband of her panties and—no, she wasn’t imagining it, they were pressing against the lacy ridge of her underwear, subtly mapping the extent of it.

  Keira thanked her lucky stars they were low-slung mini-shorts. If all she’d had between the heat of Tom’s palms and her naked skin was the flimsy silk of her dress, she didn’t think she could cope.

  “Were you at the same college?” she squeaked.

  “No. We met in the university rowing club.”

  “Does that mean you were in the Boat Race?”

  He laughed. “Hell, no. I barely made the reserve boat, let alone the first eight.”

  “Really?”

  “Let’s not talk about me. I want to know about you.”

  Smooth as you like, his hands slipped lower and rested casually on her bottom. Warm and big and… She was screwed up so tight inside, it was almost hurting.

  “Ohhh.”

  “Are you quite sure you’re okay?” he enquired mischievously, tilting back his head.

  “Yes. Oh yes. Quite all right. Fine, in fact. And you don’t want to know about me. It’s all very boring…and…”

  She clutched his back tighter, feeling the muscles ripple under her fingertips. How much longer could she keep from pressing her aching body against his thighs?

  “Hmm?”

  She was raw-voiced as she answered. “You still haven’t agreed to my proposition.”

  “What proposition was that?”

  “To talk to the children.”

  “Ah, that proposition.”

  “Well?”

  The last bar of the ballad ended in a flourish. Tom’s hands lingered on her rear for a moment longer than was necessary; then he stood back and gave a little bow as if he were a gentleman in a Regency ballroom.

  A gentleman. As if. Tom was as red-blooded as any man she’d met, hotter than any she’d ever danced with. She ought to put as much distance between them as possible. Really.

  He smiled the smile of a man who knew he’d just won a battle. “I’m afraid the price just went up. I’m going to need much more than a dance from you, Miss Grayson.”

  “Wh-what do you mean, ‘the price has gone up’?”

  “I want to take you out to dinner.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t mean that,” she murmured softly as he held out an arm to squire her off the dance floor.

  Tom frowned. “Strange, but at medical school they didn’t tell me telepathy was one of the human senses. Besides, it’s your duty to say yes. Don’t class 9H…”

  “It’s 5S.”

  “Whatever. Don’t they deserve to meet a real-life person from PNG?”

  “Yes, they do, but I’m not sure it’s worth submitting to blackmail…”

  “Keira, please, I’m harmless, you can see that. It’s only dinner you’re agreeing to, not a headhunting expedition.”

  Oh, but he was. She could smell the danger and excitement of Tom Carew, and it was driving her crazy even though she’d known him only a few hours.

  Someone flicked the lights on, and Keira squinted in the fluorescent glare. Then she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. Behind the confident gaze and half smile, there were tiny lines around his eyes and dark shadows under them. He was weary of something or maybe just bored. Of game-playing, perhaps? Of dancing and flirting? Whatever, he expected an answer.

  She could try to kid herself she would agree for the children of class 5S, for the education and broadening of their minds, but she knew it wasn’t true. She was doing it because he was six feet two of smouldering sex appeal. Everything about him, from his top-drawer accent to his Second Eight physique, screamed that he was not the man for her, and nothing shouted it louder than his determination to be out of her world as soon as possible.

  “I’ll be at school on Wednesday at two p.m.,” he said, gesturing to the side of the dance floor.

  “Hey, I don’t know if I can fix that. It’s Literacy Hour.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s my half-day, and even then I might have to cry off.”

  “If you say you’re coming, you keep your promise. I won’t have my class disappointed.”

  His forehead creased in a frown; then he nodded. “You’re absolutely right, of course. In that case, I’ll be there. Barring a major emergency, that is.” He squinted at the dial of his watch. “And now I really must go. I have a wedding car to trash. I’ll see you on Wednesday, and then we’ll fix a date for dinner.”

  “I haven’t said yes to any dinner.”

  “I’m afraid you have no choice.”

  She wondered why she was fizzing, why electricity was running through her body. He had started to walk away as she dared to say it: “What can you possibly do to make me, Dr. Carew?”

  Slowly, he turned round and paused before taking a step towards her.

  “Well. For a start, I could tell everyone you dropped your knickers in front of me in the churchyard.”

  Chapter Three

  Tom cursed as he
floored the accelerator on the steep hill that led to Keira’s school on a damp Wednesday afternoon. The ancient four-wheel drive had seen better days twenty years ago. Now, it was a gear-crunching rattletrap that had been rallied all over the Carew estate by him and his brother Charlie before they even had driving licenses.

  Swearing under his breath, he rumbled into a space marked “Reserved: Mrs. Janine Davies-Hart, Deputy Head Teacher”. He hoped Mrs. Davies-Hart would understand. This was an emergency. Keira was going to go ballistic if he was any later. How they could possibly be interested in some weird doctor ranting on about the other side of the world, he didn’t know. He braced himself for the stab of panic, but thankfully, it didn’t happen.

  The ratchets of the hand brake groaned as he pulled it on. It was ridiculous. These were primary school children. Nine-year-olds, ten at a push. Except Keira would be watching him and maybe asking him a few questions of her own.

  Five minutes of standing in the reception area and he already felt like he’d been caught skipping prep by the housemaster. He’d studied the award certificates on the wall while discreetly practicing a few deep-breathing techniques. As usual, they weren’t working.

  “You’re late.”

  The sound of her voice made things worse, but he turned round calmly enough. Hell, she was gorgeous when she was fired up. That glow in her soft cheeks, her hair the colour of burnished copper, like the beech leaves that had fallen in his garden.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “I had an urgent house call.”

  “Excuses don’t wash with the children,” she said as they set off down the corridors. “And is that your vehicle I saw in the deputy head’s space? You’re lucky she’s at a conference, or you’d be in trouble.”

  “Sorry again,” he said with his best little boy expression. By the way she pursed her lips at him, he guessed she’d seen it all before. He didn’t like to tell her that he had been visiting a patient with terminal cancer. That he’d spent the past half-hour administering pain relief and trying to offer what comfort he could to the man’s wife and young family. He could see she was nervous, and this energetic place bursting with people at the beginning of their lives was hardly the time or place to mention it.