Читать книгу Tender Loving Care - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 8

Somehow Melissa managed to get back to the kitchen and finish making breakfast. By the time she’d put the two meals on a tray and brought the food into Logan’s bedroom, her heartbeat had returned to normal.

Wendi was curled up on the bed, her head on her father’s shoulder. It was a perfect domestic scene, the “beautiful people” at home. Bitterness rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. When the job was done, she’d analyze her emotions; today she had work to do.

“Here’s breakfast, gang,” she said cheerfully. “Logan, I cut your French toast into strips.” She set the tray over his lap, then handed Wendi her plate. Taking his fingers in her own, she pointed to the food. “French toast, bacon, more strawberries, juice, coffee.”

“I can’t eat all that,” he said.

“I can,” Wendi offered.

“No sneaking food until your dad’s done. Promise?”

The girl nodded and nibbled on her bacon.

Melissa measured out his morning medication and placed the pills in his hand. “Drugs first.” She was pleased when he swallowed them without complaint.

When he set the empty juice glass down, he sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I had fresh squeezed. Thanks, Melissa.”

Why did he have to smile at her like that? she thought angrily. Didn’t he know it made her feel all weak in the knees? With Wendi watching their every move, she had to guard against any emotion showing on her face.

“You two eat up. I’m going to go shower and change.” She started from the room.

Logan called her back. “Aren’t you joining us for breakfast?”

Melissa glanced at the bed. There wasn’t room for a third person. “No. I’m not hungry.”

“Dad, do you know what Melissa’s wearing?” Wendi asked. Her mouth curved impishly. “A bathrobe. Good thing Mrs. Dupuis isn’t here to see.”

Logan looked up. “Mrs. Dupuis is the soul of propriety. She’s worked for us for almost five years and I’ve never even seen her in anything but her uniform.”

Melissa smiled self-consciously. “I’ve got one up on Mrs. Dupuis,” she said as she turned to leave. “You’ve never seen me at all.”

Melissa buttoned her cotton blouse and tucked it into her jeans. After giving her hair one more flick with the brush, she stepped out of the bathroom. The mirrored closet doors reflected her image, and she closed her eyes as she remembered the woman in the portrait.

You’re a fool, she told herself firmly. Look at who his ex-wife is. So what if he was friendly and teasing? It didn’t mean a thing. Patients always came on to nurses; the story was as old as the profession itself. When his eyesight was better, he’d be off living his life, and she’d be off living hers.

But last night, long after he’d drifted to sleep, she’d lain awake and relived the evening. And when she’d gone in to check on him, and he’d rolled over sleepily and called her by name, she’d allowed herself to dream. There were worse things to be than a fool.

She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. A short, plain woman stared back. Medium, just as she’d told Logan. Her short hair was baby fine and refused to hold a curl. The memory of Fiona’s long dark tresses made her want to scream in frustration. Enough, she said silently. No more feeling sorry for poor little me. I’ve a job to do and I’m going to do it. He’s the patient and I’m the nurse. And that’s the end of the story.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked into Logan’s room.

“…and then I’m going back over to Kelly’s. I wasn’t very good company last night. You don’t mind, do you?” Wendi glanced anxiously at her father.

Pulling his daughter closer, he kissed the top of her head. “Of course not, sweetie. I’m just going to lie around all day and torment Melissa.” He turned swiftly in her direction and smiled.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Your perfume. What is it anyway?”

She collected the tray of dirty dishes. “Magnolias.”

“I thought so.” He stretched his arms up and yawned. The fabric of his robe gapped, exposing his chest.

She felt her mouth go dry. “I’ll, ah, be in the kitchen, washing up the dishes. When I come back, we’ll see about getting you cleaned up.”

Logan frowned. “There’s no way you’re going to give me a sponge bath, Melissa.”

“Logan, you can’t…”

The phone on the nightstand rang.

“I’ll get it.” Wendi leaned over her father and picked up the receiver. “Hello.” She listened for a moment. “Hi, Mr. Anderson. Yeah, he’s right here. No, he looks good. And Melissa’s great. Okay, bye. Here, Dad. It’s Mr. Anderson.”

“I gathered that. Good morning, John.”

Wendi followed Melissa down the hall. “I’m going to try and sleep a little this morning, then Kelly and I are going to the movies.”

Melissa put the tray on the counter and opened the dishwasher. “Are you going to be home for dinner?”

“Are you cooking?”

Her smile was so much like Logan’s that Melissa felt her heart skip a beat. “I could be convinced.”

“All right! I’ll be back by six.” She ran out of the room and skidded around the corner, her long braid flying behind her. Snapping her fingers, she sang, “I’m just too cool for you, boy. Da da, oh yeah. I’m just…” The sound was abruptly cut off when her door slammed shut.

The flowers started arriving at nine. By ten-thirty, half a dozen large bouquets filled Logan’s room. He’s been on and off the phone, fielding calls about various projects he was involved with.

Melissa signed for a spray of perfect peach roses, then carried them into the bedroom. “Here’s another one from—”

He jumped and the receiver went flying. She set the arrangement on the floor and picked up the phone, then folded his fingers around the plastic.

“I’ll have to get back to you,” he growled, and hung up. He turned toward her. “Don’t ever do that to me.”

The anger in his voice was like a blow. She placed the roses on the fireplace mantel. “I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t know you were on the phone. I won’t interrupt again.”

“Melissa.”

She stood perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe.

“Answer me,” he said. “Are you still here?”

“Yes, Logan. I’m right here.” She covered the space to the bed in three short steps. “What do you need?”

He reached out his hand, palm up. The invitation could not be denied and she touched her fingers to his.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he said. “Would you do me a favor and take the flowers out of the room?”

“Why?”

Logan tugged on Melissa’s arm until she was forced to sit next to him. The warm pressure of her thigh against his was comforting…and arousing. The desire lapping at his loins was enough to make him feel lazy…and hungry…and male.

“Because I can’t smell your perfume and I don’t know when you’re in the room.”

“Oh.”

“That’s it? No argument, Nurse VanFleet? Just ‘oh’?”

“You’re the cranky one, not me.”

He heard the smile in her voice. What did she look like? he wondered again. He’d always thought of himself as a visual person, but here he was being turned on by little more than a feminine voice and a gentle touch.

Her hand rested against his, their fingers linked. It had been a long time…maybe too long. While his mind told him to resist the urge, his body clamored for more contact. Her perfume enticed him, erasing the last trace of common sense.

Ah, the hell with it, he thought. They were both adults. His palms moved up her arms to rest on her shoulders; her hair was soft, the wispy ends tickled the backs of his hands.

She shifted, but his fingers pressed down as he held her in place. The air around them became charged with an electric current.

Melissa felt the subtle change in the room. What had started out friendly, even comforting, rapidly became erotic. Stand up, she told herself. If she stayed another second, she’d give in to temptation.

She stared at his face, searching for a clue to what he was thinking. The lines of his jaw were taut, his lips pulled straight in a firm line, but neither told her anything.

Then his hands began to move toward her face, tracing random patterns on her neck. He wanted her, she thought with relief and anticipation. She started to lean forward, then stopped. No, that wasn’t quite correct. He wanted a woman and she was the only one around.

“Say something,” he commanded, pulling her toward him.

“Logan, let me go….”

He silenced her with a kiss. Those lips that she’d been admiring now brushed against hers. The touch wasn’t the hungry assault she’d have expected from a man like him, but a tender exploration. Moving from one corner to the other, he made sure every millimeter of her mouth was equally caressed, tasted, savored. Comfort and contact with another person, she told herself. That’s all he was interested in. Yet the logical explanation didn’t keep her from reacting to his ministration. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Bracing his weight on one arm, he tilted her jaw with his other hand. Now that she was free, she told herself to push away. But instead, her fingers trailed up his arms and shoulders to meet in the middle of his back, then moved to the thick curls at the nape of his neck. He was silk and steel. His skin was hot like fire, his hair was cool like satin.

He pressed his thumb lightly on her chin, urging her to allow him entrance. No, she thought. But the deep moan in his chest was her undoing. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with the touch of hers.

It was like drowning in fire. Flames of sensation ran through her body, pausing only to collect in her breasts and between her thighs. Fighting against his touch became impossible and she gave herself up to the inferno.

Logan’s fingers traced the line of her neck, then moved down to her shoulder. He longed to discover the curves he’d earlier wondered about. Even through her clothes, he could feel the roundness of her body; the lush fullness, so different from Fiona’s harsh angles and protruding bones, made him ache. He…

Logan drew back with a suddenness that caused his head to swim. What the hell was he thinking of? Melissa was his nurse and hired by his boss. He had no business making love with her…or any other woman like her, for that matter. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? He only wanted sophisticated types who knew the rules of the game: no commitments, no pain. Despite her humor and intelligence, she didn’t strike him as the worldly kind.

“Logan, I…” Melissa’s voice cracked, but it wasn’t enough of a clue to tell him what she was thinking. The mattress moved and he knew she’d stood up. He wanted to rip the bandages from his eyes and study her face.

“I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice sounding nearby. “I should never have allowed things to get so out of hand. It was very unprofessional of me.”

The genuine shock and remorse in her tone filled him with irritation. He swore.

“Logan? Are you hurt?”

He turned away. “I’m fine.” He ached, but it couldn’t be helped by one of her little pills. The only cure would be to bury that part of him deep within her waiting softness and carry them both to a place beyond pain.

Melissa touched her hand to her kiss-swollen lips. She felt like a fool…or worse. An incident like this could cost her her job, or at the very least, her self-respect.

She’d heard about patients coming on to nurses. It hadn’t happened to her before, but she recognized the symptoms. A caring woman helping a man in need. They were isolated together in a world of their own making. It was a volatile situation.

Logan tried to smile. “I’m sorry, too.”

She silenced him by pressing her fingers on his arm. “Don’t apologize. It happens all the time. Not to me, of course. The only thing Bobby ever did was give me his favorite stuffed animal, but I think the sentiment was the same.”

“Thanks.”

She stared at his face for a moment longer, memorizing the planes and angles and hollows. If only his feelings had been real, she thought. When he touched her, she burned with a fire she’d never felt before. Who are you, Logan Phillips?

“You’re reacting to the blindness,” she said quietly, almost afraid to speak the truth. In a way, these words were as much for her as for Logan. “It’s very natural to reach out for physical contact. I should have been more prepared. After all, looking after you is my job.”

Her matter-of-fact tone doused his desire faster than a cold shower. Part of her job? Did she think he was some weak-kneed mental case who needed to be pampered and coddled? “I see. Thanks for the information. I’ll try not to trouble you again. Just get rid of the flowers. I want to know when you walk in the room.”

Melissa picked up the nearest arrangement and carried it out. Explaining away his sensual invitation was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But there’d been no other option. She was his nurse.

Besides, Logan had turned to her because he needed a woman…any woman. But she’d turned to him because she was starting to care. It was a combination destined to break her heart. There was no place for her in Logan Phillips’s life, now or ever.

When the last bouquet had been placed in another part of the house, Melissa returned to her room. She’d kept the arrangement from John Anderson, Logan’s boss, on her dresser. The peach roses had been from Fiona. The card had been signed with just her name. Melissa had stuck them in Wendi’s room. She smiled as she remembered the young girl turning over sleepily and calling out good-night. Wendi had just enough of her father’s charm to make her hard to resist.

Melissa paced the space between the dresser and the bathroom door. Her room had been decorated in dusty rose. She didn’t have a view of the pool, but her window looked out on the side garden. The queen-size mattress was covered with a satin bedspread, and a cherry-wood dresser held all her clothes, with several drawers to spare.

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour. It was getting close to noon. She couldn’t hide from Logan forever; he was her responsibility.

Since her disastrous relationship with Jeff Bernard, she’d avoided entanglements of any kind. Working as a practical nurse protected her from pain. If she didn’t date, she couldn’t be used or dumped. But at what price? After six years of running from men in general, she was starting to see that she’d given up her chance for love and a family. Not that she expected to be rescued by a handsome prince. They were reserved for the Fiona Phillipses of the world. Still there might be someone—a medium kind of man, who was looking for the love of an honest, giving woman.

If nothing else, her reaction to Logan’s kiss proved she wasn’t as immune to men as she had thought. It had to mean that; she wouldn’t let herself think that the only thing she wasn’t immune to was Logan.

Maybe when she was done here, she would take some time off and think about her future. She couldn’t run forever. However, before she made any grand plans for her life, she still had to face her very attractive patient. The best way to handle the situation would be to pretend nothing had happened between them. She could do it; she’d been hiding her real feelings all her life.

Logan sat in bed, listening to the radio. Maybe he was just getting old, but he didn’t understand rap music. The words didn’t make sense and the beat hurt his head.

The fragrance of magnolias drifted into the room. Was she angry? Would she leave him now?

“I was wondering where you’d run off to,” he said as he held his fists tightly against his sides. He’d suffer whatever was necessary to avoid embarrassing either of them again. Her words still echoed in his ears: reacting to the blindness.

She sat next to him and touched his arm. “I was thinking. We need to talk about a bath.”

He wanted to jerk away from the contact but couldn’t. By kissing her, he’d broken all his own rules. When she’d explained away the intimacy, he’d reacted with anger and hurt pride. But in his world of blackness, he felt isolated. Her voice and gentle hands provided a guide through this difficult time; she was his anchor. He needed her.

Wiser than he, she’d apparently decided to ignore his outburst. “Am I the biggest jerk you’ve ever known?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated. “I once knew this guy who was about two inches taller than you.”

“Very funny.”

She laughed. “Now about cleaning you up…”

“If you mean a sponge bath, you can forget it.”

“Isn’t this where I came in, Logan?”

“Don’t change the subject. I’ll take a shower.”

She sighed. “You can’t get your bandages wet.”

“So we’ll cover them.”

“You know that wouldn’t work. I can’t very well tape up your face.” She touched the gauze around his head.

“Okay. What’s the compromise?”

“You take a bath. I saw a huge tub in your bathroom. I bet you’ve never used it.”

Actually he had, about a year ago. If he recalled the night correctly, it had involved a redhead and several bottles of champagne. But he didn’t want to remember that now. It was enough that Melissa had returned their relationship to its comfortable footing.

“Okay to the bath,” he said.

“I’ll go run the water.”

He felt the mattress shift. Her fragrance lingered in the room, then faded. Logan swung his legs over the side of the bed, then rose and started toward the bathroom. He was almost at the door when something…or someone ran into him. Putting out his hands to keep them both from falling, he grabbed Melissa’s soft arms.

“Yikes! Where did you come from?” she asked.

“Scared you?” He ran his thumb in circles on her skin, then stepped back when he realized what he was doing. No touching…at least no sexual touching. He’d be damned if she was going to acquiesce simply because he was her patient. When he took Melissa to his bed, she’d be burning up as much as he was….

Where had that come from? No relationships, that was his rule. She’d barely been in his house twenty-four hours, and already he was having thoughts he had no business thinking. He leaned against the wall and brushed back his hair.

“The water’s ready,” she said. Taking his hand, she led him into the bathroom. “The towel’s right here, and there’s the tub. Do you need any help?”

He could still feel the lingering hardness from their recent encounter. “I’ll be fine.” He started untying his robe.

“Call me when you’re done and I’ll shave you.”

“I don’t think so.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Do you have an electric razor?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy to use an electric razor?”

“Logan, you can’t shave yourself. End of argument. Get in the tube before I throw you in myself.”

“Cheap talk.”

“Lo-gan.”

He held up his hands. “I’m getting, I’m getting. Shut the door.”

He was still laughing when he heard her pull it closed with a bang.

“Hold still.” Melissa glared at her patient, but it didn’t seem to do any good.

“This isn’t my idea of a good time.” Logan moved again on the chair.

“I have a very sharp razor in my hand. Now we can complete this operation with or without blood. The choice is yours.”

He mumbled something unintelligible and was still. Melissa tilted his jaw toward the left and began to work. The burns from the sandblast were healing nicely, but he flinched as the sharp steel slipped over the welts.

“I know,” she said. “I’m being careful.”

He was still damp from his bath. Droplets of water clung to his chest hair, individual prisms catching and reflecting the light. A white towel was wrapped casually at his waist. The contrast between the soft terry cloth and his tanned skin made her nervous. Part of her wanted to rip away the barrier and plead with him to take her; the other part wanted to get into her car and drive until she’d forgotten that Logan Phillips ever existed.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked.

“Didn’t I already answer that?”

“No. You said you weren’t married now.”

“Fair enough. I’ve never been married.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Why are you so interested in me and my personal life? I promise, it’s not the least bit exciting.”

“I feel strange having you know so much about me, physically I mean, and I don’t even know what you look like.”

She finished shaving him and wiped his face with a damp washcloth. “You’ll see me in about five days. I think you can contain yourself until then. Here.” She thrust some clothes at him. “Get dressed. Then we’re having lunch in the kitchen. Afterwards, if you’re very good, I’ll let you call the office again.”

He stood up and looked down at her. Even with the bandages, he was intimidating. What color were his eyes? she wondered. Green like Wendi’s? Or maybe blue or brown? She had to wait the same five days to find out.

“Who died and left you in charge?” he asked.

“Mr. Anderson. He’s signing my check.”

Logan turned toward the house when he heard another burst of laughter. A breeze had sprung up in the late afternoon and was chasing away the heat of the June day. The French doors leading to the living room and kitchen were open. He couldn’t hear the entire conversation between Melissa and his daughter, but snatches drifted out to him. The sentence fragments had to do with clothes and boys and who liked whom.

There was a cry of “Oh, no,” followed by silence, then more laughter. He thought about getting up to investigate, but by the time he’d made his tortuous way into the house, whatever crisis existed would have already passed.

“You’d better be hungry, Dad, because there’s a ton of food.”

Wendi’s voice was accompanied by the slap of her sandals on the cement patio. He was seated at the picnic table by the pool. “What were you two having such a good time about?” He smelled Melissa’s perfume before he heard her soft chuckle.

“I was having a little trouble with the indoor grill,” she said.

“Yeah, you should have seen how high the flames—”

“Wendi!” Melissa said.

“But it was great. Anyway, none of the chicken burned. And I made the salad.”

His Wendi had helped in the kitchen? The same daughter who measured every action on a scale of how cool it would make her look? Logan shook his head in disbelief. “I’m impressed.”

“You should be. It’s so much work. Tearing up all that lettuce, then cutting up everything. Next time, let’s go to a salad bar.”

He instinctively turned toward Melissa before he remembered that they couldn’t share an amused glance over the girl’s head. In fact, for all he knew, she wasn’t looking at him at all. Frustration knotted up inside him and dampened his enthusiasm for the meal.

“Breast or thigh?” Melissa asked.

“Excuse me?”

Wendi giggled. “She means the chicken, Dad. Jeez.”

“I knew that. Thigh, please.”

When Melissa had finished serving the meal, she began the now-familiar task of pointing out where his food was located. “Good luck with the salad,” she murmured. He could feel her soft breath in his ear. “I wasn’t sure you’d want any, but certain people were quite insistent.”

“Just tell me if I have dressing on my chin or lettuce in my teeth.”

It took most of his concentration to get the food from the plate into his mouth, without any serious mishaps in between, so he simply listened to the talk flowing around him. Wendi was her normal exuberant self. In Melissa’s presence, she seemed to have shed some of the hard cynical edge she’d been developing as she grew up. If only he could keep her his little girl forever.

“We’re going to have pork chops tomorrow, Dad. Then Mexican the next night.”

He carefully wiped his mouth with the napkin and turned his head toward Melissa. “I don’t expect you to cook every night. We can have something brought in.”

“I don’t mind, Logan. Besides, I don’t think you’re ready to use chopsticks or wrestle with spaghetti.”

“You do keep threatening that, don’t you?”

He felt her hand on his arm. The brief contact grounded him in space and time; the warm sensation lingered long after she’d pulled her fingers away.

“Mom doesn’t cook at all.” Wendi uttered the words with all the innocence of youth, but Logan sensed Melissa stiffening in her chair.

“I’m sure she doesn’t have time,” Melissa said casually.

“Maybe you can meet her when she comes to pick me up,” Wendi offered.

Over my dead body, Logan thought with a fierceness that startled him. Fiona had women like Melissa chopped up and served for breakfast.

“Sure. If you’d like.”

He wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn there was a slight tremor in Melissa’s voice. He wanted to reassure her that she’d be safe, that he’d protect her, but it wasn’t his place. His reaction was simple gratitude, he told himself. She had been there for him and he owed her. She was just his nurse and he’d better not forget that. If he did, he might do something they’d both regret.

“I’m too cool for you, boy…”

Melissa hummed to herself as she folded the laundry. Except for cooking, domestic chores weren’t part of her job description. There were two ladies who came in twice a week to clean the house, but she found the simple tasks of washing and ironing actually quite fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ironed a man’s shirt. No, that wasn’t strictly true. It had been Jeff’s shirt…the night of the banquet…when he’d announced he was leaving her for a very successful, very beautiful, pediatrician. Six years was a long time between creasing sleeves, she thought humorously. She’d better get all her fun while she could.

She’d already been with Logan and Wendi for six days and they’d settled into a comfortable routine together. On the days she wasn’t at camp, Wendi spent her time with friends or had them over. The kitchen still hadn’t recovered from seven twelve-year-olds practicing their baking skills at the same time. The cleaning people would be digging flour out of corners and cracks for weeks yet.

Logan spent his mornings working by phone. Then they’d have lunch together and she’d read to him for an hour or so. After dinner by the pool, the three of them would play games, with Wendi or Melissa taking turns reading the cards or telling him what number he’d rolled with the dice. The temptation to conspire against him was strong, but so far they’d only given in once…well, twice, if she counted the time they’d dug for a really hard question when playing Trivial Pursuit.

After Wendi drifted off to catch up on her MTV, Melissa would spend time with Logan. She’d change his bandages, then they’d stretch out on the big bed in his room and talk, or she’d simply read to him. With the crickets calling outside the windows and soft music playing in the background, she allowed herself to pretend the nights were real. For those few hours, Logan was her handsome prince…and she was as beautiful as Fiona.

All that would change shortly. When she’d driven Logan to the doctor a couple of days ago, he’d been told he was healing nicely. The bandages would come off this morning.

Melissa picked up the pile of T-shirts and headed toward Logan’s room. He was pacing restlessly, counting the steps from the wing chair to the doorway.

“Coming through,” she called as she ducked past him.

He grabbed her arm. His unerring sense of direction never ceased to amaze her. “Take them off now,” he commanded.

She twisted out of his grasp and walked to the armoire. “The doctor is due here any minute. Try and control yourself.”

He smiled. “You sound so tough, Melissa, but I won’t be blind much longer. Then how will you keep me in line?”

That’s what she was dreading most. Part of her felt guilty for wanting to keep his eyes bandaged. She knew it was difficult for him, and he’d handled himself amazingly well. But when he could see, he really wouldn’t need her anymore. And all the touching—the gentle brush of her fingers to tell him where she was, the embrace to lead him to the patio—would be unnecessary and inappropriate. She hadn’t realized how much she savored those moments, until they were about to be taken from her.

Besides, he’d be able to see what she looked like. She tried to console herself with the thought that it was unlikely he’d run screaming from the room, but still…his blindness had been a mask, allowing her to be who she really was. Once he could look at her, she’d become scared and tongue-tied and foolish. Was it so very wrong to want the fantasy to continue just a little longer?

“You’ll be here until I go back to the office?” he asked.

“Yes, Logan. You can’t do any close work for two weeks. I’ll be here to make sure you follow directions.” Two weeks until he was out of her life forever.

She shut the drawer and stood up. He was right behind her. For a second, she thought about leaning against him and allowing his arms to comfort her and chase away all her fears. But since that second day, when she’d rationalized their kiss, Logan had been a perfect gentleman. It was driving her crazy.

The sound of the doorbell rescued her from her own fantasies. “That must be Mr. Anderson and the doctor.” She scurried away before Logan could detain her.

“How’s the patient?” John Anderson asked as he walked into the foyer. The older man was as tall as Logan, but his build was heavier with a round belly hanging over his belt.

“Pacing and cranky, as you can imagine.” She turned to greet the doctor. Both men were dressed in bright plaid slacks with matching shirts. They had spent the morning together golfing. Melissa shook her head. The thought of an entire course of men dressed in gaudy attire was enough to keep her inside with the door locked.

“Lead the way, young lady,” the gray-haired doctor said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “John is buying lunch when we’re through here and I feel an appetite coming on.”

“It’s just down the hall.” She escorted them to the back of the house.

Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed. When he heard them, he stood up and moved forward. “Melissa?”

“Yes. Mr. Anderson and the doctor are here.”

“Who won?” Logan asked.

John sighed. “It was that damned sand trap on the thirteenth hole.”

The doctor set a small bag on the bed. “Hope you appreciate the house call, Logan. Your boss is a persuasive man.”

“Yeah,” John said. “It’s costing me a bottle of ‘42 Bordeaux.”

The men laughed, but Melissa inched her way closer to the door. She had to get out before the doctor took off the bandages and Logan saw her and…

“Nurse?”

She froze, not quite out in the hall. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Would you remove the patient’s bandages, please?” He opened his bag and withdrew a small flashlight.

She swallowed, then walked to the nightstand. The scissors were right where she kept them. Slowly she moved around the bed and waited for Logan to sit down.

He smiled confidently. “I’ve been counting the days, Melissa.”

“I bet.”

The men watching, combined with her own nervousness, made her fingers tremble. The sound of gauze being cut seemed loud in the still room.

She peeled away the dressings and removed the pads. Logan’s lashes were matted from the cream, but they were still long and dark. As he blinked, she resisted the urge to look away or hide her head. At least she’d find out what color his eyes were, she told herself.

But when he looked straight at her, she couldn’t breathe. Instead of blue or green, his irises were a rich tawny brown. Flecks of gold radiated out from the black pupil, creating an almost magical glow, as if he had the power to see into her heart. She’d always thought him good-looking, but without the white band around his head, he was…incredible. His nose was perfectly straight and the hollows in his cheeks were more pronounced. The skin and angles and bones blended together into noble, masculine features.

He squinted, as if trying to bring her in focus, but didn’t speak. Why didn’t he say something, or look away…anything?

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said finally.

She groaned and ducked her head. “After almost a week, that’s the best you can come up with?”

Behind her the doctor chuckled. She spun around, having forgotten the other two men in the room.

“Let’s take a look.” He clicked on the light and tilted Logan’s face up. “Good reactions. Infection seems cleared up. Remember, no close work and wear sunglasses to protect your eyes from the light. Indoors also, for at least a week. Come to the office in about ten or twelve days and I’ll see if you’re ready to go back to work.” He put his equipment away. “Well, John, what about that lunch?”

Mr. Anderson grinned. “Logan, you follow orders. I can’t afford any more of these house calls.” He winked at Melissa. “Hang in there, Nurse VanFleet. Don’t let him get away with anything.”

“Me?” Logan asked as he slipped on dark glasses. “I’m the perfect patient.”

He turned and gave her that lethal grin. She felt her heart begin to melt. Dear God, she was going down for the third time and there wasn’t a lifeboat in sight.