Читать книгу New Year Fireworks: The Duke's New Year's Resolution / The Faithful Wife / Constantino's Pregnant Bride - Catherine Spencer - Страница 8

Wincing, Sabina swung her legs off the X-ray table and sat up on the edge. The remains of the boot they’d had to cut off lay discarded beside the table.

“Allow me to assist you, Ms. Russo.”

Rafaela nudged the wheelchair closer. After a somewhat graceless transfer, the nurse got Sabrina settled into the chair.

“I shall take you to an exam room, yes? Dr. Calvetti will review the X-rays and consult with you there.”

“You called him something else when we first came in,” Sabrina commented as she was wheeled into the corridor. “Eccellenza, wasn’t it?”

“Si.”

“What’s with that?”

“He prefers to use his medical title here at the clinic, but I forget myself sometimes. My mother cooks and cleans for him when he’s in residence at his villa, you see.”

“Not really. Who is he?”

“His Excellency Don Marco Antonio Sonestra di Calvetti, twelfth Duke of San Giovanti, fourteenth Marquis of Caprielle, ninth Marquis d’Almalfi, Count Palatine, sixteenth Baron of Ravenna …” She paused. “Or is it the seventeenth Baron Ravenna?”

“You got me.”

“There are more titles. Many more.” Smiling, Rafaela steered her patient into an exam room and set the brake. “Mama can recite the entire list without taking a breath. She has worked for the Calvetti family since she was a young girl.”

Okay, Sabrina was impressed. So the doc was also a duke. Not to mention a world-class hunk. The combination was almost enough to make her forget how close His Excellency had come to flattening her into roadkill.

But not quite enough to keep her from scowling when he delivered the good news/bad news.

“The X-rays show no sign of concussion or fractured bones in your ankle. However, you may have damaged or torn a ligament. We won’t know for sure until we perform a stress test.”

“Where and when do we do that?”

“It’s a simple test. A manipulation of the foot and ankle. I’ll do it now if you can stand the pain.”

Uh-oh! That didn’t sound good.

“Once we are done, I will prescribe painkillers. But you must be alert for the manipulation, so you can tell me when I hurt you.”

When, not if. That sounded even worse.

“Okay, Doc, let’s get this over with. Or should I say duke?”

“Either will suffice.” Those dark eyes held hers. “Given the circumstances, perhaps we should dispense with titles altogether.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what circumstances he referred to but had no problem with a more egalitarian approach. “That’s fine with me.”

“Good. You must call me Marco. And may I call you Sabrina?”

She granted the polite request with a regal nod. “You may.”

“Very well, Sabrina. Rafaela and I will help you onto the exam table.”

She managed it with their assistance and a couple of hops. Once they had her in place, Rafaela rolled up the hem of the wool slacks. The bruised, inflated sausage she revealed made Sabrina grimace.

“Lovely,” she muttered.

“It will get worse before it gets better,” the doc—duke—Marco warned.

He washed his hands at the sink in the exam room. The scent of antibacterial soap came with him as he rolled a stool close to the table, seated himself and cupped her heel. His touch was gentle, lulling Sabrina into a false sense of security. That lasted only until he flattened his other hand against her shin and applied pressure. The pain almost brought her off the table.

“Okay, okay,” she gasped. “You found the not-so-sweet spot.”

He relieved the frontal pressure and applied it sideways. More prepared this time, Sabrina merely gritted her teeth.

“It is not as bad as I feared,” he said when he’d completed the test.

“Easy for you to say!”

“I don’t believe you’ve torn the ligaments, merely strained them. We will wrap the ankle in a compression bandage. Then you must stay off your feet, apply ice and take the painkillers I will prescribe.”

“Stay off my feet for how long?”

“As a minimum, until the swelling goes down and the pain lessens. After that, you may require crutches for a few days to a week.”

“A week!”

Sabrina swallowed a groan. Her tight schedule was disintegrating before her eyes. She’d already rearranged it once to spend Christmas Day in Austria with her two best friends and business partners.

Sabrina, Devon McShay and Caroline Walters had met years ago while spending their junior year studying at the University of Salzburg. Filled with the dreams and enthusiasm of youth, the three coeds had formed a fast friendship. They’d maintained that friendship long distance in the years that followed. Until last May, when they’d met for a minireunion.

After acknowledging that their lives hadn’t lived up to their dreams, they’d decided to pool resources. Two months later, they’d quit their respective jobs and launched European Business Services, Incorporated. EBS for short. Specializing in arranging transportation, hotels, conference facilities, translation and other support services for busy executives.

Now Devon McShay, the former history professor, Caroline Walters, the quiet, introverted librarian, and Sabrina the one-time rebel and good-time girl were hard-nosed businesswomen. They had an office and a small staff in a Washington, D.C., suburb and had spent megabucks on advertising. They’d landed a few jobs, but nothing big until aerospace mogul Cal Logan hired EBS to work his short-notice trip to Germany.

Sabrina had done most of the frantic prep work for Logan’s five-day, three-city blitz, but came down with the flu the day before she was supposed to fly to Germany. Devon took the trip instead, with some interesting results. Sexy Cal Logan had made it plain he wanted to merge more than business interests with Devon.

Dev was now scrambling to put together a conference for high-level Logan Aerospace executives while Caroline and Sabrina divided forces to scout locations for the lucrative new contract they’d just landed with Global Security International.

Their client wanted to hold the conference the second week in February in either Italy or Spain. Caro and Sabrina had jumped on the computer to find locations with sufficient available rooms and conference facilities on such short notice.

Their choices narrowed to a handful of potential sites, Caro flew into Barcelona to physically inspect those along Spain’s Costa Bravo. Sabrina was supposed to check the possibilities here, on Italy’s Amalfi Coast. They had less than two weeks to put together an acceptable proposal, and Sabrina wasn’t about to let a little thing like a sprained ankle deter her.

There was another side to her determination. One that went deeper and struck at what she was. Or what she used to be. She’d struggled too long to get out of her father’s shadow … and taken too much crap from him and his lawyers when she’d resigned from the board of the Russo Foundation to go into business with her two friends. Sabrina fully intended to make it on her own and make a success of EBS, which meant hopping off this exam table and getting her butt in gear.

She aimed her best smile at the doc/duke. “Bring on the ace bandage and painkillers, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Your way to where?”

“I’m booked in a hotel in Ravello tonight. I’m scouting it as a possible conference site.”

According to Sabrina’s research, the picturesque mountaintop resort was only a short distance from Positano as the crow flew. Too bad she couldn’t sprout wings. The trip would take forever on these tortuous roads.

“You cannot drive to Ravello if you take prescription narcotics,” the doc countered firmly. “Or anywhere else, for that matter. Under Italian law you cannot drive at all.”

“Great!” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Okay, forget the drugs. Just bandage me up, throw in a set of crutches and I’ll gimp on down the coast.”

Marco hesitated. He was tempted to comply with her request—extremely tempted. The woman’s resemblance to Gianetta had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He would like nothing more than to send Sabrina Russo on her way and slam the door on the memories she’d stirred.

Unfortunately, his personal preferences conflicted with the oath he’d taken as a physician and the knowledge that he was at least partially responsibility for this woman’s injury.

“I’m afraid you don’t appreciate the seriousness of your sprain,” he told his reluctant patient. “It will heal itself in time if you’re careful. If you bring the wrong pressure to bear on your ankle, however, you could cause more serious damage that might require surgery to repair. Or leave you with a permanent limp.”

She paled a little at that. Satisfied that he had her attention, Marco pressed on.

“I should like you to remain in Positano tonight. I’ll tend to your ankle and, if your condition allows, you may continue your journey tomorrow.”

She gave in grudgingly. “I guess I have no choice.”

“Very well. Rafaela, a pressure bandage, please.”

The nurse had anticipated the request and had a rolled bandage in hand. She was every bit as efficient as her mama, Marco thought, pleased all over again that he’d paid her tuition to nursing school.

When he moved his stool closer and propped Sabrina’s foot on his knee, her breath hissed in. Marco used his gentlest touch to wrap the ankle. The skin around the injured joint was distended, the bruising already vicious.

The calf above, however, was long and smooth and shapely. As he cupped the firm flesh, a jolt went through him. This time the shock had nothing to do with seeing what appeared to be the ghost of his dead wife. This time it was lust, hard and fast and hot.

Gesù! What possessed him today? Disgusted with himself, he caught only the tail end of his patient’s question to Rafaela.

“… recommend a good hotel?”

“The tourist season is over, Signorina Russo. We have only one hotel still open. The five-star Le Sireneuse. It’s quite elegant and very popular with film stars and visiting dignitaries. Their rooms are usually booked a year or more in advance, but I’ll call and see if they have anything available, yes?”

“Thanks.”

Rafaela slid out the cell phone clipped to her waist and made the quick call.

“It’s as I feared, Signorina. The hotel is fully booked. I’ll try The Neptune. It’s just outside town and may still be open.”

Marco brought the bandage under a delicate arch and waged a fierce internal debate. His gut told him to say nothing, to let this woman find her own accommodations. She disturbed him in too many ways. Yet the sense of responsibility bred into him with his name and title would not allow him to ignore the fact he had contributed to her present predicament. Then there was that haunting resemblance to Gianetta …

“There’s no need to call another hotel. You must stay at my villa tonight.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It is no imposition, I assure you. The villa is small, merely a vacation home, but has several guest suites. I should prefer to keep a watch on you to make sure you don’t suffer any residual effects from the accident. And,” he added with a smile for the nurse, “Rafaela’s mama will cook for us. Rafaela will tell you her mama serves the best grilled swordfish on the Amalfi coast.”

“It’s true, Signorina. Mama’s pesce spada will make you weep with joy.” The young nurse kissed her fingertips in tribute to her mother’s skills. “You will taste nothing like it.”

“Well …”

“Good,” Marco said. “It is settled. How does the bandage feel? Not too tight?”

His patient tried a tentative wiggle. “It’s fine.”

After securing the bandage with a Velcro strap, he carefully lowered her foot and rose. “Before I give you something for the pain, please tell me if you have ever experienced an adverse reaction to drugs or have a medical condition I should be aware of.”

“No to both.”

Marco considered the range of drugs available at the small clinic and wrote an order for an opiate that would provide swift relief with the fewest side effects. While he waited for Rafaela to return with the medication, he flipped up his cell phone and arranged to have Sabrina’s rental car delivered to his villa.

“We will leave the keys here at the clinic. Ah, here are your pills. They are very strong,” he warned.

After she downed the correct dosage, Marco helped her into the wheelchair again. They made a stop at the woman’s washroom, where Sabrina hopped in with Rafaela’s assistance and out again a few moments later.

When he wheeled her out of the clinic and scooped her into his arms for the transfer to the Ferrari, he could tell she was already starting to feel the effects of the fast-acting medication. Her body was pliant in his arms, her breasts soft against his ribs. While he held her, she turned her face up to his.

“Thanks for taping me up, Doc. Duke. Marco.”

Her smile was wide and natural. Nothing like Gianetta’s teasing pout. He hadn’t noticed the dimples before, perhaps because Sabrina Russo hadn’t relaxed and smiled at him until this point. And her eyes were a warmer, richer brown than he’d first thought.

Holding her this close, her mouth just a whisper from his, Marco noted other differences, as well. Her breasts were fuller, her hips rounder and she had the long, sleek legs of a thoroughbred. She was much a woman, this American. Very much a woman.

Marco was more prepared this time when his groin went tight. Nevertheless, the punch hit hard and forced a reminder that this woman was his patient and would be a guest in his home. Willing his rebellious body to behave, he lowered her into the passenger seat and reached across her for the shoulder harness.

He smells like antiseptic soap, Sabrina thought, feeling more than a little woozy. Soap and suede and some subtle, tangy aftershave she’d only now noticed. She’d been too shaken—or too pissed—to sniff his neck before.

“How far is it to your villa?” she asked when he’d backed the convertible out of the clinic’s courtyard.

“Not far. About five kilometers.”

“Oh, boy! On these roads, that means we’ll get there when? Midnight?”

“I promise, you’ll arrive in plenty of time for a nap before dinner.”

“I may zonk out before then,” she warned as her head lolled against the seat back.

“I hope so.” One corner of his mouth tipped up. “That will save much wear and tear on the floorboards!”

Despite the lethargy creeping through her, Sabrina registered the impact of that crooked grin. Holy crap! The man should come with a warning label. When he dropped his brusque me Doctor/you Jane attitude and let himself be human, His Excellency was downright dangerous.

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” she replied.

And not just her thumping foot, she admonished herself sternly. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by sexy Italians right now. Caroline was depending on her for input into the megaproposal they had to submit by the end of next week. Sprain or nor sprain, crutches or no crutches, Sabrina intended to provide the required info.

For now, though, she’d just rest her head against the back of the seat and let the cool December air play with her hair. The loose tendrils fluttered around her face as the Ferrari maneuvered through the narrow streets of Positano.

The village was practically vertical. Pastel-painted shops and homes stair-stepped down the mountainside seemingly right on top of each other. At the bottom of the incline, dominating the piazza, was the cathedral. Beyond the church was the pebbly shore lined with colorful fishing boats.

As Sabrina had noted on the way into town, many of the small hotels and restaurants were shuttered. Umbrellas were folded and chairs neatly stacked on the terraces of open-air restaurants. Yet a few hardy tourists huffed up the steep, cobbled street, guidebooks in hand.

A momentary worry threaded through her as she wondered how the heck she’d handle streets like this on crutches, but she pushed the thought aside with a drug-induced optimism. She’d manage. Somehow.

When they left the town, the road once again became a narrow slice of pavement cut out of sheer rock. Rather than look down, Sabrina slumped in her seat and closed her eyes.

The next thing she heard was Marco’s deep voice murmuring in her ear. “We’re here. Don’t stir. I’ll carry you to your room.”

She felt his arm slide under her knees. His other went around her waist. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped an arm around his neck.

He lifted her easily. She could get used to this mode of transportation, she thought as she snuggled against his chest and buried her nose in the warm skin of his jaw.

“You need a shave,” she complained sleepily.

“So I do. My apologies, Signorina. I’m on vacation, you see, and had not thought I would get this close to such a beautiful woman.”

She nuzzled closer. “‘S okay. You look good with bristles. You look good, period.”

“Grazie.”

She formed a hazy impression of a vine-covered arch, whitewashed walls, the sound of the sea slapping against rocks. Then a door opened and a gray-haired woman bustled out. Rafaela’s mom, Sabrina thought as the woman greeted Marco in a torrent of Italian.

She heard him respond with her name, say something about ice. Mere moments later he lowered her onto sheets that smelled of sunshine and starch. His hands were gentle as he removed her one remaining boot. She was asleep almost before he propped a cushion under her injured ankle to elevate it.