by Jane Linfoot
Real?
Slowly, she slid her fingers through the strands of his hair, traced them across the alarmingly tangible thrust of his cheekbone, and brought her palm to rest on a rough jaw that sent tingles up her arm. Horribly real tingles.
She opened her eyes. Blinked. Blinked again.
Awwww crap! Her stomach squelched, and her heart did one huge squeeze, then started to hammer, as the very real man who was kissing her tore his face away from hers.
She put a hand to her mouth. Found the hottest kiss ever had morphed into a gaping chasm. And as her eyes finally pulled into focus she heard that chocolate voice again.
‘Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty!’
Millie struggled to catch her breath.
‘Pleased to see you’re not dead then.’ He’d shot backwards, and was towering over her now, face like a storm cloud. ‘And I think we can safely say your arms aren’t broken, given the strength of your grip on my neck.’
Millie rubbed a hand across her bottom lip, tried to make sense of what she was doing here, and gawped at the vision of glorious manhood before her. Dark, choppy hair, jeans like a second skin that underlined the solid power of the guy. Dusty work boots that hollered rough and ready. A ragged t-shirt that screamed don’t-give-a-damn, or up-for-anything, she wasn’t sure which. And this is what she’d woken up snogging? If ever there was sex on legs, this had to be it.
‘What just happened?’ She clasped a palm to her throbbing skull as she tried to piece together fragments of how she got here. ‘I was riding up the hill in the field … ’
Exercising Cracker, the pony. Thinking how her legs were so tanned they looked like they weren’t hers, how she wouldn’t need the tanning salon this year, how that was the only good thing about living in the country.
‘And I was humming ‘Leave your hat on’ … ’ Going through the Burlesque routine she’d been working on earlier this morning, for her up-coming workshop. Singing the tune. Trying to plan out the next bit of the sequence in her head as she rode. ‘Then there was this bang.’
The pony surging beneath her in panic, the ground whizzing towards her, the slam of her skull as it whacked into the ground. She definitely remembered that.
‘Humming ‘Leave your hat on’? Ironic choice then.’ He gave a snort. ‘We were blasting in the quarry, and your horse took off. I assume you fell and hit your head. You were out cold when I found you.’
‘So what was that back there, the kiss of life?’ She fixed him with a fierce stare, which dwindled as she relived how darned amazing he’d tasted. And smelled. Still did. She caught a waft of him on the breeze, and fought a sudden desire to seize his leg and bury her face in it.
His mouth twisted into a wry line. ‘Something like that.’
‘Don’t you know it’s wrong to take advantage in situations like this?’ She pushed herself up on her elbows, hurled the accusation at him, and winced at the pain which split through her head.
‘Hang on! Let’s get this straight. You were the one who got me in a headlock as you came around.’ He stood his ground, indignant and glowering. ‘I began resuscitation when I couldn’t find a pulse and you didn’t appear to be breathing, then what do I know, you’ve jumped me! Apologies for trying to save your life. Next time I won’t bother.’ He made a dive for his Land Rover.
She’d been the one snogging the socks off him?
So that was what two years giving guys a wide berth did to you. Made you into a sex fiend when you were unconscious. Her body shuddered, shriveling in a giant cringe of embarrassment. She pushed herself up to sit and another spear of pain crashed through her skull.
‘Let me see your head. You shouldn’t have been here on a horse you know, it’s private land, and it’s not a bridleway.’ He’d come back from the Land Rover with bandages, a ready-made lecture, and a double dose of bad mood. At least that covered her shame. He was leaning behind her now sounding seriously snappy as he prodded in her hair.
‘You’ve got a nasty gash, probably hit a stone, but the bleeding’s not too bad. Hold this dressing whilst I fix it. One head injury, which would have been avoided had your riding hat been protecting you, not the gatepost.’
Short tempered. Snarky. Not attractive. Except he was. Devastatingly.
‘Ouch, there’s no need to manhandle me!’
And rough too, as he crashed the bandage into place, taking control. Making her spine zither like crazy. Though he did have a point about her hat. Leaving it on the gatepost was one bad decision.
‘You need to go to casualty.’
‘No way!’ Casualty was the last place on earth she wanted to go.
‘I’ll run you there, or you can wait for an ambulance. Your choice. Whichever way, hospital is where you’re going.’ He backed away, stood like a dictator, legs splayed, practically bursting out of that faded denim in every area that mattered.
So, she may have a head injury, she may be dying of embarrassment, but she couldn’t let this power-house of a guy take over.
‘I can’t go anywhere until I’ve sorted the pony out. It’s my job to look after him, and my house depends on my job, and if I lose my house it’ll blow my whole life-plan out of the water.’ She hugged her knees tight, instantly regretting the personal information spill. Luckily he seemed oblivious.
‘For crying out loud! The pony’s up there, in the corner of the field, grazing, looking a darned sight better than you. I’ll get Blake from the quarry to sort him out. He knows about ponies.’
Now for the biggie. She screwed herself up to force it out. ‘But I don’t do hospitals … ’
One small voice protest she might as well not have made, judging by his sneer.
‘Well in that case you should have taken better care not to rip a hole in your head!’ He sighed. ‘Jeez, how difficult can you make this? Can you stand up?’
He stuck out a hand in her direction. Broad, oil-streaked. She considered refusing it. Then thought again. His strong fist enveloped hers, and with one brutal tug she was on her feet, thumping into the bolster of his body, looking up at a star shaped scar on the underside of his chin.
‘Good work.’
Another tug, and she was half way to the Land Rover, and he’d flung the door wide. The next moment he’d shouldered her up into the seat and fixed her with a stony glare.
‘Okay. No nonsense. No jumping out. And if you’re going to throw up for goodness sake then shout. I’m Ed Mitchum by the way. I work for Quarry Holdings.’
Hadn’t he already told her that? She replied through gritted teeth. ‘Millie Brown. Pleased to meet you.’ Not.
Too late. He’d already slammed the door.
CHAPTER TWO
‘COULD you please make the smallest effort to sit still, or do I have to watch you wriggle in your seat all day?’ Ed’s voice echoed off the walls of the hospital waiting area, short, gruff, tetchy.
Millie sent him a searing scowl. He was making no effort to hide his irritation, so why should she. With his stubble shadow, and his denim rips he seemed too large and blatantly sexual for this clean, clinical environment. Too bad this was all taking so long.
Waiting was the name of the game here, and irritated as he sounded, he was much better at waiting than she was, sitting all chilled and relaxed, one well-muscled arm flung across the back of the next chair, whilst she changed position once a second.
She’d already been into a cubicle with a nurse and answered lots of questions.
Name? Millie Brown, aka .… no need to expand on that one. Headache? Yeah, obviously. Double vision? Not yet, except perhaps when she went cross eyed ogling the hunk that brought her here. Mental note to self to stop that. Drowsy? No more than usual. Dizzy? Not that she was admitting it, and only because the whole A&E thing was making her hyperventilate. One glimpse of a blue surgical gown was enough to spin her right back to that last awful time she’d been in hospital. The panic she’d felt, then the pain, and the desperate emptiness afterwards. The smell of the antiseptic took
the blurry images and brought them back in Technicolor. So much so, that when she’d gone to another room where another nurse stuck her cut together with glue, the nurse made her lie down before she let her go back to the waiting area.
And sitting with him now was driving her further up the wall than ever. Every time she saw him her mind went off on its own out-of-control extrapolation, along the lines of rocks, wet skin, underwear, sex, for no other good reason than because the guy had emerged from the quarry, looking like a model who’d lost the fashion shoot. It was bad enough being here – the smell of the place was making her feel faint – without having this Ed and his whole heap of attitude along for the ride.
She leaned towards him. ‘You really don’t need to stay. At this rate, it may take all day. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.’
‘And you’ll get home how?’ His long, lean legs extended towards her as he stretched, and crossed his ankles casually.
She pursed her lips, screwed up her face, and refused to look at the straining denim bulge at his groin. He had her there. She had no money on her. No phone. The hospital was miles away from home. If she had to get a taxi back, it would cost an arm and a leg, and there was no-one she could think of to ring to collect her. One bad idea to end up here when her best friend was away. So much for being independent. She let that one go.
‘You could go for a coffee or something?’ Give her a break from his shed-loads of animal magnetism.
‘And they might move you in the meantime. Given that your phone is lying up in that field, I might never find you again.’
No answer to that one either. She watched him stand up, ease back those disgustingly broad shoulders, and saunter towards a table of magazines. Only because there wasn’t anything else to look at. Nothing to do with the fact he was eye-candy of the highest order. Sweet as it came.
And one heck of a kisser.
That much she could remember. Even if it had been an accident. Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily and her mouth watered at the thought of it. The taste. She jumped as he burst in on her action re-play.
‘Want a magazine?’ He held up a copy of Ideal Home. ‘Horse and Hound? Hello? Woman’s Weekly?’
She shook her head, and prayed she hadn’t flushed as fuchsia pink as she felt. And the tilt of his head said he was mocking her too. Damn. Shame he didn’t have a personality to match the looks and the kissing skills. Shame for someone, though not her, obviously. Men were nowhere on her agenda, not even on the distant horizon. Definitely no room for a drop dead specimen who’d materialized from nowhere to pay havoc with her pulse rate. Not with her life-plan.
Her eyes were still glued to him as he sat down and open a dog-eared car magazine. It was so unfair when a man got eyelashes like that. Thick, delectably dark. At least Motor World might keep him off her case.
‘Millie Brown?’ Millie started as she heard an approaching nurse shout her name. ‘The doctor wants you to go down to X-ray. There may be quite a wait.’
‘X-ray?’ Millie felt her chin jut defensively, as her chest tightened. ‘Why do I need an X-ray?’
‘How about, to see if you’ve got a cracked skull?’
Arrogant Ed got in before the nurse, who wafted a sheaf of papers at Ed, then winked at Mille. ‘We’ll let your partner take charge of the papers. Make sure he looks after you!’
Millie opened her mouth to protest loud and hard, but the nurse had already bustled away.
‘That’s official, then. I’m along for the ride.’ Ed shot her a satisfied smirk. ‘Do you want to take Horse and Hound with you? And do you want to go in a wheelchair, or on a trolley?’
***
X-ray was a marathon away. At least.
From her milky pallor, Ed would have laid a bet that Miss Independence here was regretting refusing transport, but if she was stubborn and belligerent, that was down to her. When they finally reached X-ray it was after a series of false starts, wrong turns, and a whole heap of silent recriminations, on both sides.
‘Grab a seat. I’ll sort the official stuff.’ He sidled up to reception, doubting that Millie had the strength to stand. Confidently, he threw the receptionist the full-on radiance of the five hundred watt smile he kept for emergency use only and was sent away with a promise of a two hour wait. Without the smile he suspected it could have been two weeks.
Millie gave the bloodstained haystack of hair above the bandage a vigorous rub, and groaned loudly as he landed on the seat next to her. ‘I just lost the will to live.’
She leaned back on her plastic chair and closed her eyes.
Was she really that stupid? ‘I thought they told you not to go to sleep.’
She blew loudly, opened her eyes and flashed him a flaming stare. ‘I’m not. Okay?’
Then promptly shut her eyes again.
Something about the undiluted indignation in the angle of her chin made him smile. Hell, he should’ve sent Blake to do this, or one of the other guys. There was no need for him to be here. The details of the firework display in Provence still had to be finalised, there were company takeovers that needed his attention, but for one strange moment he didn’t mind being here at all. Possibly he was feeling guilty that the old warning signs up by the quarry were too faded, and should have been renewed. Maybe it was his instinct for tying up loose ends, seeing things through, to avoid problems later. Maybe it was that kiss.
He let his eyes trail up, from her scuffed boots, over bare, dirt-streaked legs, to take in the way her denim shorts creased on the curve of her stomach, the way the cotton of her vest tugged tight across the bulge of her breasts. From the riot of her hair, she might have fallen out of a haystack. Probably had. So not his type, however lush her lips. However, she’d made his blood race.
Maybe he needed to keep Miss Awkward awake. Easier to keep from ogling her when she was conscious. He gave her a prod on the leg, and she blinked and sniffed, and turned to him woozily.
‘So what do you do when you’re not falling off horses?’
She hesitated, considered. ‘This and that.’
‘That’s illuminating.’ So why did he even want to know?
‘I’m multi-faceted. Do lots of things.’
Like dodging the issue. ‘Such as?’ He wasn’t backing down, and he sensed her get that. Sensed her caving in.
She shuffled her shoulders. ‘Things like teaching dancing, exercising the pony, keeping an eye on my employer’s Grandma, when the family’s out of town. Except she’s away now too. And I make collaged boxes, special ones, with lots of sticking and gluing. Satisfied?’ She gave him a hard stare, as if she resented his intrusion. ‘So what would you be up to if you weren’t here? Slaving in the quarry?’
A counter inquisition? Only to be expected.
‘Blowing things up. Big bangs and all that.’ That pretty much covered it, he guessed. No need to say he headed up a worldwide mining and blasting company, with a mega-bucks turnover, and ran a fireworks subsidiary just for fun. Not that he left the boardroom much these days. A desk-bound explosives expert, who’d lost his way.
Something about that reply shut her up, and she leaned back and closed her eyes again.
He sat back, scanned the busy waiting room, a world away from the smart, sparsely populated private clinics his family used. Beyond the silent TV with subtitles, an elderly man was helping his wife negotiate her walking frame past a couple exchanging grimaces over the heads of their squabbling kids. Next to them a couple of teenagers, seemingly joined at the hip, were clutching each other’s hands, oblivious.
Now he’d started noticing, there were couples everywhere he looked. Damn Carrie and her coupledom flag waving. And they all seemed to be supporting each other. Supporting? Was that what couples did? The whole relationship thing was so far off his radar, he really wouldn’t know. Not a place he planned on exploring any time soon. Probably not ever. He snorted loudly, at the thought of what he’d let himself in for with this darned dating challenge. He tried to rationalise the fact it was f
reaking him out. It had already caused him to wreck one car for chrissakes.
Realistically, it shouldn’t bother him. He needed to chill, take it in his stride. But a month in, he still hadn’t come across a suitable woman. He was a man who moved mountains, literally, on a daily basis. Jeez, what could be so difficult about a few dates? It was easy stuff. But he needed to tackle it, before he crashed any more cars. Okay, he had cars coming out of his ears, but not for wasting like that. But first he had to find a woman who was up to the task.
His eyes snagged on Millie again.
No. Absoloutely not. Definitely not her.
Except she was objectionable enough to satisfy Carrie’s criteria – a million miles from being compliant. And totally not what he’d ever go for in real life. A girl with riotous hair, and tattoos – one tattoo on her leg, he assumed there would be more – who majored in sticking and gluing. He bit back a broad grin. Cassie would be gob-smacked and it would damn well serve her right. He already knew what fun it would be.
Shame then, it didn’t seem right to go there.
Big shame, seeing as he’d pretty much racked up one date already, given they’d been here four hours. He couldn’t think when he’d last spent that long with a woman. Women didn’t particularly cross his path, other than at the wealth-dripping social occasions he attended, when he literally had to fight them off, and usually ended up taking his pick for a hot after-party liaison. It was all very well to talk about finding a suitable woman for the challenge as if women were ten a penny, but in his daily life they weren’t. Women were pretty damned scarce in the working stratosphere he moved in, and suitable women were even scarcer. Where the heck was he going to find one? He couldn’t fail the challenge before he’d even begun, because he couldn’t find a woman.