200 Harley Street: The Soldier Prince

‘Did you feel anything pull?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘I need to massage your hand first, to warm up the muscles.’ She frowned. ‘I’d better warn you now that it might hurt a bit.’

‘If it gets my hand working again and it means I can go back to work, then I don’t care if it hurts,’ he said. ‘Do whatever you need to. I’m in your hands.’

She went very, very pink.

Yeah.

He could feel the heat rising in his body, too.

‘Lie back with your palm upwards.’ She sounded slightly flustered and she was clearly making an effort to be professional.

OK. He’d behave. Even though what he really wanted to do right now was slide his good hand round the nape of her neck, draw her to him, and spend a very long time kissing her.

She pulled a chair round to the side of the bed. ‘Tell me if anything hurts.’

Wild horses wouldn’t drag that particular admission from him.

He closed his eyes as she massaged his hand. Yes, it did hurt; but at the same time it made his hand feel better. And he liked the feel of her skin against his. Warm. Gentle, yet firm at the same time. Soft. She was near enough for him to smell the light floral scent she wore. She’d always smelled of flowers in South Africa, he remembered. Roses.

With his eyes closed, and mercifully silent, Marco was a lot easier to deal with.

Maybe she ought to tell Ethan that she couldn’t cope with her new patient. But then her boss might think less of her—and she’d worked damn hard for her job here. After South Africa she’d thrown all her energies into her studies, graduating with top marks and quickly gaining promotion at the hospital where she’d worked. She hadn’t let any relationship get in her way.