Fever Cure

by Phillipa Ashley

  “Well, I suppose, it’s just what I’ve always wanted to do,” she said. “Ever since I was a little girl.” Her eyes lit up at a half-forgotten memory “You know what? Mum used to find me—I couldn’t have been more than five—with my dolls and teddies in a circle, and me telling them all what to do. I’d make little exercise books and put the bad toys in the naughty corner if they didn’t do as they were told.”

  She couldn’t resist that one, and Tom duly grinned. Hmm… She’d threatened him with that punishment. Then again, it might be fun, just her and Tom, him having to do as he was told. Exactly as he was told. Wearing nothing but his black silk boxers.

  Or nothing at all.

  He was watching her, an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

  She shifted on her seat. “Mum always did say I was a bossy boots.”

  “To be honest, I was just a tiny bit in awe of you myself.”

  “Now I know you’re talking rubbish. I can’t imagine you being scared of anyone.”

  “Ah—now that’s just where you’re wrong. We had a particularly terrifying French mistress at school. I was always in trouble with her. She sent me on a five-mile run once just because I slipped a live toad in her briefcase…”

  They were attracting the attention of the other diners, but she couldn’t help laughing out loud. It was the image of the prim mistress opening her bag in the middle of a vocabulary test.

  She summoned up her sternest voice. “I’d have sent you on a ten-mile run and called your parents in for a chat too.”

  “Unfortunately, my parents lived two hundred miles away. It was a boarding school, you see. No parents to call. Not unless you did something really bad. And I have to admit, the cross-country run was awful enough. Mrs. Larchwood had me woken at six a.m., and I had to do it without breakfast. Charlie—my brother—had to beg me some cold toast from the refectory. I was nearly fainting by lunchtime, but I was lucky not to get six of the best on that occasion.”

  Keira was shocked. “It sounds awful!”

  “It wasn’t all bad. Not brutal or anything like that, and you’re spot on, it did serve me right. I should never have subjected the toad to an experience like that.”

  She had to hold her napkin up to her mouth to cover her giggles.

  “So,” he went on. “Your mother encouraged you to be a teacher, did she?”

  “Oh yes. She was all for it. She knows how much I like helping the kids to find out new things about their world. And I love giving them the confidence to go for their dreams. Thanks, by the way, for what you said to them about becoming a doctor.”

  “I had worried it was rather naïve of me, to be honest,” he admitted ruefully. “Not everyone has my…well, let’s just call them advantages in life. So, what do you get up to besides work? Bungee jumping? Sumo wrestling?” he asked. She held her hand over her mouth. He’d got her giggling like one of the girls in Year Five. “A boyfriend?”

  Oh.

  Well, that was a cure for the giggles. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t touching his eyes.

  “That was pretty direct.”

  “I like to get straight to the point,” he said.

  She struggled to get her spaghetti onto her fork.

  “Keira…”

  The metal slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table.

  “Oh blast. Sorry.”

  Tom’s fingers fluttered over her wrist. “Have I upset you?”

  “No.”

  “But you don’t want to talk about boyfriends? Allow me,” he said, rescuing the fork from the table and expertly twirling a hank of spaghetti onto it. He leaned closer, his eyes so intensely blue and so full of sensual promise that she wanted to melt.

  “Open wide.”

  A wisp of steam rose from the food. Keira parted her lips, anticipating the feel of the slippery pasta on her tongue. Skillfully, Tom slid the laden fork into her waiting mouth. A dozen flavours and textures exploded against her taste buds.

  “Nice?”

  “Umm…”

  A stray strand of spaghetti had escaped the corner of her mouth. Should she suck it in or push? Sucking would involve slurping noises, so she pushed the strand back between her lips with a fingertip.

  Tom speared a prawn from his risotto and smiled as she chewed while trying not to squirm discreetly against her chair. If he only knew what her pelvic floor muscles were up to at this moment…

  He pointed to her hand with his knife. “There’s sauce on your finger.”

  “Oh dear…”

  She glanced down. A bead of creamy juice had smeared the tip of her nail.

  “You’re right. I’ll wipe it off…”

  “I’ll do it.” Gently, slowly, he took her hand in his and lifted. Leaned over the table and…no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t—ooohhh.

  Soft, warm lips closed around her index finger and sucked. The pressure surprised her and sent her into a kind of sensual shock. Her body zinged as he tasted her skin. His tongue lingered, circling her finger to lick up every last drop. Her thighs hummed with pleasure as he pulled his mouth away and laid her hand gently on the cloth. She asked herself as his eyes glittered in the candlelight, could a woman melt from lust?

  He reached for her spoon. “More?”

  “Um…” Oh bugger, her vocabulary had sunk to Stone Age level tonight.

  “I’ll assume that’s a yes… I think we’ll try a bit of juice this time.”

  Pushing her chin forward, Keira opened her lips as he held out the spoon. Hard metal gave way to velvet richness as the creamy liquid slid onto her tongue, filling her mouth with juice.

  Tom’s voice, deep and sexy, rumbled out one word.

  “Swallow.”

  Her thighs were glued together as the sauce trickled down her throat. She thanked the stars for a private table as Tom shot fire through her loins without even touching her.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to manage a dessert?” he asked as she lapped a bead of sauce from her lips. “Only I hear they do an amazing tiramisu.”

  Her throat was tight as she answered. “Tom, right at this moment, I don’t know if I can manage another mouthful.”

  Scooping up a forkful of risotto, he smiled. “We’ll see, shall we?”

  No dessert, vowed Keira. Absolutely no chocolate, cream or alcohol of any kind.

  She’d given up on the pasta before he’d cleared his plate. He tried to top up her glass again too, but this time, she flattened a hand over it. “No thanks,” she said firmly, trying to get a grip. The waiter took the plates away, and she gulped down a glass of mineral water. Time to be serious. Anything to distract him from any more food foreplay. He would seduce her without even taking a stitch off if she wasn’t careful.

  “Tom…”

  “Um?” he asked innocently.

  “It’s your turn to confess now.”

  Sitting back, he folded his arms across his chest and let a frown crease his brow. “Now this sounds serious.”

  “Why did an earl’s son become a doctor?”

  The embarrassed silence and more attempts to refill her glass told her all she needed to know.

  “Tom?”

  He exhaled hard as if he was about to deal with a really difficult case. Then a smile quirked his lips. “Exactly the same reason as you. Wanted to ever since I can remember. And you know, I used to practise too. On other kids, though, not my toys…”

  “You are joking!”

  “Yes, but I had you going there for a moment, didn’t I?”

  “You are impossible!” she hissed, smacking him lightly on the hand.

  “I’ll be impossible again, if you keep that up.”

  “Don’t try and distract me. I’m not fooled. The kids do it when they don’t want to tell me stuff. Tell me what it was like out there—working in the rainforest? I mean, I can’t imagine.”

  “It’s such a huge country, you really can’t generalize. There are medical facilities in the main centres and absolutely non-existent in the
isolated areas, and you can’t get to those except by plane. In our village, we’re lucky. We have a base where we hold clinics, and we run medic training courses in the town so the people can develop their own medical service. I’m surprised you haven’t heard more about it from Carrie.”

  “She’s talked about it a little, but the past few months all I’ve heard about is the wedding. She and Matt are besotted.”

  “I can see that. They’re well suited.” The waiter came with their coffee, and Tom paused.

  “Please tell me more about your work. I’d rather hear it from you,” said Keira, desperate to find out more about a life so far from hers.

  “I think I’ve probably said enough already. Surgical procedures, however minor, are hardly a fit topic for a dinner date. Good espresso, by the way.”

  “It’s not a date,” said Keira, laughing as he held his cup under her nose. “It’s a bargain, and I’m not squeamish.” This was a lie, actually. She had almost fainted when she’d taken her mum for her breast cancer biopsy. Even the smell of the hospital had made her feel light-headed.

  Tom caught the waiter’s attention. “Believe me, you do not want to know more. Squeamish or not.”

  “What about your friends, then?” she asked, unwrapping an almond biscuit. “The ones I saw in the picture.”

  “That was just a bit of fun. It was a long time ago.” If she wanted to see his reaction, she didn’t get one, and that said everything. He simply smiled and signaled to the waiter.

  “Would you like the bill, sir?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Keira shook her head. “No, let me.”

  “I’ll get it. In fact, I’ll come to the bar and pay it with my card.”

  “But we agreed to go halves!” It was too late, as Tom was on his feet, following the waiter to the till at the bar. Well, of all the nerve. He was so high-handed, and she realised he’d managed to avoid talking about the people in the picture again. Neat. Fumbling in her purse for some cash, she made a quick estimate of how much they’d spent.

  Tom returned with her coat to find her holding out some notes.

  “Don’t go there, please,” he said politely.

  “You’re a sexist pig. You know that, don’t you?”

  “You’re probably right. And there’s worse.”

  Keira pursed her lips. “What could be worse?”

  “I’m an unrepentant sexist pig, and besides, I don’t get the chance to do this very often.”

  “What? Be a sexist pig?”

  “Take someone out to dinner.”

  She stuffed the cash back in her bag. She wished he wouldn’t do that…make her feel like, well, that he really liked her company, saw her as more than an amusing sexual diversion. Which was ridiculous, of course. This was just a one-off. He was brilliant, rich and gorgeous and, above all that, could be leaving the country in a matter of weeks. Put like that, she should be laughing out loud in derision.

  As he held her coat, she realised the bubble had burst. Why had Tom ever come into her life and made her feel like this?

  “May I?”

  “Why, do you want to borrow it?”

  “Touché,” he acknowledged, but he still held her coat. She cursed herself for her sharp tongue and for the annoying tingle of pleasure that shot though her body as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. What’s more, he held out his arm for her as they stepped into the crisp night air.

  What’s more, she took it. Just as a favour, out of pure politeness, she told herself, as she let Tom guide her in the direction of the car park. The piazza was still heaving with people. The fire-eater was still on his unicycle, breathing flames above the heads of the crowd. The smell of a dozen different foods, spicy and sweet, exotic and familiar, mingled in the crisp air and filled her nose with pleasure. She licked her lips, tasting almonds and coffee. Did Tom taste of that too?

  A shiver ran through her.

  “Cold?”

  She shook her head. Not cold but hot. Hot as if the fire-eater had caught her naked skin with a lick of flame. Hotter now that Tom had pulled her arm tighter into his. How right it felt. For a little while, why shouldn’t she pretend it could last more than a night?

  “Excuse me a moment.”

  Oh. He’d let her arm go and melted into the crowd somewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a near-naked guy painted silver from head to toe. He looked like a Greek statue…and he must be absolutely freezing. She dropped some coins in his hat, and he winked at her.

  “Here you go, miss.”

  She turned to find Tom holding out one of the cellophane-wrapped roses from the purple-haired flower seller. Damn it, it was such a corny thing to do—so why did her heart start beating like she was on the unicycle?

  “Your Cockney accent is terrible. You know that.”

  He thumbed his forehead. “Sorry, miss.”

  “Tom! Stop it…”

  The rose smelled of… She kidded herself it had a deep, lingering perfume. In reality, it didn’t smell of much at all, just tickled her nose as she sniffed the velvet petals. Alex had once told her that all trace of scent was bred out of flowers these days. Made them last longer, he said.

  She didn’t care what Alex had said. She cared what Tom had done.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” As he smiled back at her with sparkling eyes, he made her feel that it really was.

  Now his strong arm was around her back, tucking her against him again. For a few minutes as they walked to the car, she let herself believe there was only the two of them. Just her and Tom, strolling through thousands of people in the heart of this big city. For those few precious minutes, she let herself savour the warm tide of pleasure and security that washed over her. It had been a long time since she’d felt like that; certainly those last few months with Alex had held the opposite of security. She’d spent most of the time strung as tight as a guitar string and walking a tightrope.

  He’d only hit her once. Once should have been enough, but she’d done what she’d sworn she’d never do with any man: given him a second chance. Alex was different, she’d told herself like a fool. He’d lashed out when he was tired and worried about work, and afterwards he’d been so contrite. They’d been together for a year then, so she’d reasoned that surely the relationship had been worth a second chance?

  As it turned out, it hadn’t.

  “Okay?” Tom was watching her, the door to the Land Rover open.

  Her attention snapped back to him. She felt a tiny pain in her fingertip and realised one of the thorns from the rose stem had pierced the cellophane wrapper and pricked her finger.

  Tom smiled, clearly oblivious to it. “Shall we go? Your carriage awaits.”

  Chapter Six

  Keira sucked the droplet of blood from her finger as the streets whizzed by, the brightly lit shops of the city turning into suburbs, endless ribbons of identical houses, traffic roundabouts and retail parks.

  Tom wasn’t Alex, and anyway, even if he was, it wasn’t relevant, because tonight was a one-off. She glanced at her watch.

  “Tom! Wait a minute, I thought you were taking me back home.”

  “I thought you were coming over to the Lodge for coffee? We’re only ten minutes away now. You didn’t say anything, so I just assumed it was okay.”

  She couldn’t let this go on. Getting any closer to him would be pushing her own self-destruct button.

  “Please stop. I need to tell you something.”

  He pressed down the accelerator.

  “Soon be there,” he called. “I’ll tell you more about the rainforest, and you can tell me more about the classroom jungle.”

  She was thrown back in her seat. All her words about asking to be taken home, about things not being a good idea, had stuck to her sand-dry mouth.

  “Are you all right?” he called as the streetlights ended. “Soon be at the estate now.”

  She could hardly hear him. “The estate?”

&nbs
p; “Well, the Lodge. My brother lives at the hall. He is the main man, after all.”

  “By which you mean the earl?”

  Tom laughed. “Yes, although he hates people reminding him. Actually, he only uses a small suite of rooms at the hall. The rest is used for educational tours, conferences and weddings. You know, the usual kind of thing.”

  “Oh, of course. My flat is always in demand for social functions too. And the plumbing deserves listed status.”

  He winced. “Ouch. I deserved that. I suppose I still make assumptions when I should know very much better.”

  “Is your brother married?” she asked, hardly caring what the answer was.

  “No, Charlie isn’t married. Charlie is a great brother and the nicest bloke on the planet.” He paused, concentrating on turning into a narrow lane off the main road. “Charlie is totally besotted with his partner, Gareth, and they don’t have any plans to walk down the aisle of Carew Chapel anytime soon. They’re planning a civil partnership, though, so I may yet get to be best man again.”

  She laughed. “But what about children? Heirs? That’s sad for Charlie, and if he—I mean, it means…” As soon as she’d said it, she wished the words back. If Charlie didn’t have any little Carews, it meant that Tom’s children would inherit the title.

  “There aren’t going to be any heirs to Carew Hall,” he said.

  Tom was glad he was driving. Otherwise he’d have stuck the nearest sharp implement he could have found into himself. Why the hell had he said that thing about Charlie… About there being no heirs?

  He’d said it because it was true. He never intended to get married and have children. He just wished he hadn’t declared it in such a bloody ham-fisted, callous way. Hell, he’d sounded like he was warning her off when he’d only meant to be honest. Instead, he’d made it sound like he thought she was some kind of gold-digger, when it was him that she should be warned about, him that no decent woman should get within a hundred miles of. He ground the gears and put his foot down as the city lights gave way to black fields.

  He tried again, softening his voice, trying to sound casual. “Charlie lets me have the Lodge while I’m back. He rents it out, usually. The place doesn’t pay for itself you know. It’s a business as much as any other.”