by Sarah Morgan
As were the phone calls from Miranda.
She wanted to visit.
But he wasn’t ready to see her.
Wasn’t ready to make the decision everyone wanted him to make.
Driven by a burning desire to recover as fast as possible, he hauled himself to the bed and started the exercises the physio had shown him.
He worked without rest, channelling all his anger and frustration into each movement, pushing himself hard.
By the time Tasha arrived back in the apartment, he was in agony. Still in her wetsuit, her feet bare, she stood and looked at him.
‘Did you take your painkillers before you started?’
It cost him to speak. ‘No.’
‘That’s what I thought. Let me tell you something about pain—once it comes back, it’s harder to manage. The trick is to head it off before it returns. You should have waited for me. I was going to do the physio with you.’ Dropping her towel and her bag on the floor, she walked over to him. Her hair lay in a damp rope over her shoulder and she smelt of the sea. ‘The surf is fantastic.’
Her enthusiasm and sheer vitality sprinkled salt into his wounds. ‘I saw you. You took a risk with that last wave.’
‘I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about risk given that you lay down under a horse.’ She glanced down at his ankle. ‘How’s that feeling?’
‘It’s fine, thanks.’ Speaking required energy he didn’t possess and she gave him a knowing smile.
‘Fine? Yeah, I bet. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll check you over.’
Despite the agony, his entire body heated and he reflected on the fact that having Tasha as his private nurse was the worst torture anyone could have invented. ‘You already checked me over.’ And he’d had a sleepless night as a result.
‘Sorry, but while I’m in charge, I’ll check you whenever I feel it’s necessary.’ Cool and calm, she faced him down.
‘You’re my responsibility. No one dies on my shift, got that?’
‘I have no intention of dying.’
‘You might, if you carry on being uncooperative.’ Her smile managed to be both threatening and sweet as she gestured to the bed. ‘Lie down.’
It was an awkward manoeuvre. ‘When will they take this damn thing off?’
‘That cast is holding your joints in the right position while they heal. When the surgeon is happy that your bones are healing, they’ll remove it. Usually about six to eight weeks. So that gives you at least another month. Better get used to it.’
‘And once it’s removed?’
‘Intensive physio—hydrotherapy—’
‘Hydrotherapy?’
‘Basically exercising in the water.’ Gently, she pushed him back against the stack of pillows. ‘Good for strengthening muscle without stressing bone and joint.’
Alessandro lay on the bed and tried to ignore the pain licking through his body. He wondered if she planned to change out of the black stretchy wetsuit before she examined him. She looked like Catwoman. ‘I just want to be fit.’
‘You will be, but it’s going to take time.’ Tasha reached behind her and unzipped the back of her wetsuit slightly. ‘If you’re worried that you’ll never be fit again, don’t be. I’ve seen your X-rays and I’ve talked to your surgeon. There’s no reason why you won’t be back to normal in a few months providing you’re sensible. If you do the wrong thing now—if you push it when you should be resting—you’ll just do damage. You need to take it steadily and do as you’re told.’
Relief mingled with humiliation that she’d read him so easily. ‘I’m not good at doing as I’m told.’
If he were, then he’d have bowed to pressure and married.
‘I know, but if you want to be fully fit again, that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ Tasha dropped her hands from the zip. ‘I need to get out of this gear and take a shower. Then I’ll give you a massage to try and relax those muscles of yours. Don’t move until I come back.’
‘Shower.’ Alessandro closed his eyes, not daring to think about the word ‘massage'. ‘Now you’re torturing me.’
She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, a frown in her eyes. ‘You could take a shower if you wanted to.’
He gave a sardonic smile and gestured to his cast. ‘Oh, yeah—easy as anything.’
‘Not easy, but possible. We just have to cover it in plastic to protect it.’
There was a long, pulsing silence. ‘You’re offering to help me in the shower?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Alessandro wondered if he was the only one feeling warm. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t suggested it. Nurse, he told himself. She was offering as a nurse, not anything else. ‘I was joking. I can manage.’
‘Well, you can’t shower on your own, no matter how macho you are.’ Her voice was mild. ‘But if you don’t want a shower, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you if you’re shy.’
Shy?
It had nothing to do with being shy and everything to do with the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing a form-fitting black wetsuit.
‘Yeah.’ His voice was a hoarse croak. ‘That’s right. I’m shy. So we’ll give the shower a miss for now.’
As she strolled away from him he took comfort in the fact that at least there was one part of his body that appeared to be working normally.
By the end of two weeks, Tasha had reached screaming pitch.
As plans went, this one had backfired big time.
The tension that had been there on the first day seemed to grow with each passing minute.
If revenge was supposed to be pleasurable then she was definitely doing something wrong because she was in agony. The only one suffering was her.
Instead of giving her the opportunity to be aloof and distant, she was being sucked deeper and deeper into his life. His lack of mobility inevitably meant that she did everything from physio to answering the phone.
Even as she had that thought, the phone rang again and Tasha rolled her eyes and answered it, wondering which of Alessandro’s many female friends it would be this time.
A brisk voice informed her that the Princess Eleanor wished to speak to her son, but before Tasha could hand over the phone a cool, cultured voice came down the line.
‘Are you his nurse?’
Tasha frowned. ‘Well, no, actually, I’m a—’
‘Never mind. I’m better off not knowing.’ In a cold, unemotional tone she demanded to speak to her son and Tasha passed the phone over without question, feeling defensive and irritated and about as small as a bacterium.
Just what was his mother implying?
She’d been expecting to be asked for a clinical update on progress, but clearly his mother didn’t consider her worth speaking to.
Angry with herself for caring, Tasha busied herself tidying up and tried not to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible not to pick up the tension between the two of them, even though the conversation was conducted in Italian.
Alessandro replied to what appeared to be a barrage of questions in a similar clipped, perfunctory tone and afterwards he flung the phone down onto the sofa, picked up the crutches and struggled onto the terrace. The loud thump of the sticks told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Startled by the lack of affection between mother and son, Tasha stared at his rigid shoulders for a while and then followed him outside. Was she supposed to say something or pretend it hadn’t happened? This wasn’t her business, was it? And she wasn’t supposed to care …
Torn, she stood awkwardly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No. Thanks.’ He kept his gaze fixed on the surfers in the bay. ‘Not unless you can conjure up a new, fit body. I need to heal instantly so that I can get back to my life.’
A life he clearly hated.
‘I know it feels frustrating, but if you rush things you’ll just do more damage.’ She tried to put herself in his mother’s shoes. Alessandro was her
only surviving son. To hear about his accident must have given her a shock. Perhaps it was anxiety that had put that chill in her tone. ‘Your mother must be worried.’
‘She’s worried I’m not doing my duty. Apparently while I’m “lounging” here, enjoying myself with pretty nurses in attendance—that’s you, by the way …’ he threw her a mocking smile ‘… my image is suffering.’
So that explained Princess Eleanor’s frigid tone on the phone. She’d assumed there was something going on between the ‘nurse’ and her son. Irritated rather than embarrassed, Tasha glanced at the bruises visible through the open neck of his polo shirt. ‘Does she know how badly you were hurt?’
‘Yes. Josh called her while I was in Theatre the first time.’
‘And?’
‘And she said it was no more than I deserved for indulging in high-risk sports. My accident is badly timed. I had fifty official engagements scheduled over the next month, including opening the annual May ball at the palace.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps she’s worried that—’
‘Tasha, she isn’t worried.’ He cut through her platitudes, his dark eyes hard and cold. ‘My mother only worries about two things—duty and responsibility. My love of polo was bad enough. Having injured myself, I’ve committed the cardinal sin of making life very inconvenient for her.’
‘You’re her son and I’m sure that—’
‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ Alessandro shifted his position so that he was facing her. ‘As far as my mother is concerned, the wrong son died. It’s because of me that Antonio is no longer Crown Prince. I can’t bring him back so I’m expected to fill his shoes …’ He hesitated and then muttered something under his breath. ‘In every way.’
Tasha frowned. In every way. What did he mean by that? ‘It wasn’t your fault. Why are you blaming yourself?’
He turned away abruptly and Tasha felt the tension flowing from him. Darkness surrounded him like a force field and suddenly she knew that the change in him, the hardness, was all to do with the death of his brother.
Her insides softened. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘Not everything can be healed by good nursing, Natasha.’ The bitterness sliced through her own defences and she stretched out her hand and touched his arm.
‘Is that why she rang? To tell you you’ve made her life difficult?’ Anger glowed inside her and suddenly Tasha wished she hadn’t passed him the phone.
She should have screened the call.
‘She rang to order me to see my advisers, who apparently have a plan for, and I quote, “pulling something positive” out of this disastrous mess I’ve made.’ A cynical smile tilted his mouth. ‘Apparently an injured prince may appeal to a certain age group, so she thinks there may be some mileage in media interviews. So that’s my contribution to society—providing entertainment for bored housewives.’
‘Next time I’m going to tell her you’re asleep and can’t be disturbed.’ Part of her wondered why she felt the urge to rush to his defence and clearly he was asking himself the same question because he stared at her for a long moment.
The hardness left his eyes and he lifted a hand and touched her face. The attraction flickered between them, live and dangerous.
Tasha tried to speak, tried to move, but her body seemed to have shut down and Alessandro gave a low groan, slid his hand behind her head and brought her mouth down on his in a hungry, explosive kiss.
Heat burst through her. Last time she’d kissed him it had been a childish experiment, a desperate desire to grow up fast. There was nothing experimental about this kiss. It was hot and sexual and the explosion of desire gripped her so fiercely that she moaned against his seeking mouth and dug her fingers in the front of his shirt.
It was only as she felt him flinch that she realised how much she must be hurting him. The backs of her fingers were pressed against his bruised chest and she’d leaned into him, instinctively drawing herself closer to his hard body. Closer to heartbreak.
‘Damn you—no.’ Angry with herself, and even more angry with him, she pulled back quickly. ‘I didn’t want you to do that. I came out here to give you sympathy and support.’
‘I don’t want sympathy or support. I want you.’ He spoke with the assurance and conviction of someone who’d never been turned down by a woman in his life, and she started to shake.
‘Don’t start that, Alessandro.’ She virtually spat the words. ‘Don’t start all that smooth talk, seduction thing—I’m not interested.’
‘Tasha—’
‘Age may have given you wider shoulders and longer legs but it obviously hasn’t given you a conscience. Do you honestly think I’d put myself through that a second time? Do you think I’m that much of a masochist?’ Her voice rose and she saw his dark brows rise in astonishment. ‘I’m not interested, Alessandro. I don’t want you to kiss me, I don’t want you to touch me—’ She broke off, aware that her voice was shaking as much as the rest of her. And he was looking at her as if she’d gone mad. Oh, God, she was overreacting. She should have laughed it off. Or said she didn’t feel anything. Or … Her hands raised, she backed away. ‘Coming here was such a mistake. I should have said no when Josh asked me. I should have …’ She breathed deeply, struggling for control. ‘I should have said no.’
‘Tasha, wait a minute.’ He reached for her but she slapped his hand away and he was forced to grab the rail to regain his balance.
It was a measure of her dedication as a doctor that she made sure he was stable before she walked away.
‘Touch me again and I’ll break your other leg.’ She turned and stalked out off the terrace, her heart crashing against her ribs and terror in her heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
TASHA sat on the bed, her knees drawn up against her chest like a child protecting herself. Her heart was pounding with reaction to the adrenaline surging around her body. The doctor in her recognised the physiological process.
Fight or flight.
The kiss licked like fire through her body, as if that one single touch had set in motion something that couldn’t be stopped. She rubbed her hands down her legs, trying to kill the sensations that engulfed her. Why had she let him do that? Why?
It wasn’t as if she was short on self-discipline. She could say no to chocolate, she’d never been drunk in her life and she’d worked relentlessly to achieve the highest grades possible in her exams. So why couldn’t she apply that same single-minded focus to staying detached from Alessandro?
Furious with herself, Tasha thumped her fist on the mattress.
There was something about him that just drew her in. She felt out of her control and that part of it infuriated her more than anything.
Impulse was her greatest fault, she thought savagely. She was a scientist, wasn’t she? Impulse shouldn’t be part of her make-up, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself acting on her instincts. First she’d resigned from a job she loved and now she was getting herself involved with the last man in the world any woman in her right mind would get involved with.
So what was she supposed to do next?
She couldn’t carry on nursing him, could she? She didn’t trust herself.
She was going to have to leave.
She was going to have to make some excuse and—
The door slammed open with a violence that sent it crashing into the wall. Alessandro stood there, his eyes dark as a storm, one hand against the doorframe to balance himself. ‘What the hell is going on, Tash? If you feel like that, why did you agree to help me?’
‘Get out!’ She wasn’t ready to face him. Didn’t trust herself to keep him at a distance.
‘I’m not going anywhere. Not until we’ve had an honest conversation.’
‘Honest? What do you know about honest?’ It was a struggle to keep her voice even. ‘One minute you—you—make a woman feel as though she’s the only female alive in the world and then the next minut
e you—’
‘The next minute I …?’
‘Just forget it. I don’t know why we’re even talking about this. I don’t want to talk about this.’
‘We’re talking about it because it’s obviously on your mind. And it seems to have been on your mind for a long time.’ He hobbled into the room, his jaw clenched against the pain, his muscles pumped up and hard. ‘That first day in the hospital, I asked you if the past was going to be a problem and you said—’
‘I know what I said.’ Her voice rose. ‘I don’t need you to repeat it.’
His gaze was steady on hers. ‘If you hate me that much, why did you agree to help me?’
‘I don’t hate you. I don’t have any feelings for you whatsoever.’ She threw out the words, knowing them to be untrue. But she badly wanted them to be true. She badly wanted to have no feelings for him. In fact, it was essential for her emotional well-being that she had no feelings for him.
‘Which brings me back to the same question—why did you agree to help me?’
‘Because I’d messed up my job and I was at a loose end. Because I wanted to prove that you didn’t mean anything to me any more, and …’ she breathed deeply ‘… I wanted to see if you were sorry.’
He looked at her for a long moment and then his eyes narrowed and he gave a humourless laugh. ‘Ah. Now I understand. You thought you’d punish me, is that it? The strip show was for my benefit. All the “look at me” surfing sessions were designed to make me suffer. All of it was designed to make me suffer. What we shared wasn’t water under the bridge. You weren’t indifferent. You were getting revenge.’
‘It wasn’t revenge.’ Tasha felt her face grow scarlet as she defended herself. ‘I wanted to prove to myself that you were nothing more than a childish crush. The way I felt about you back then was—Actually, I don’t even want to think about it. It’s just too embarrassing. And, yes, I was angry with you. You behaved like a complete and utter bastard.’
‘I know.’
‘And then you—’ His words penetrated her brain and she broke off and stared at him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I know. I know I treated you horribly.’