Falling for the Rebel Falcon

‘He’s my half-brother. My name is Leonid Tsarev.’

He extended his hand and she shook it, trying to control her whirling thoughts. She was shocked at herself. She, who prided herself on being in command of every situation, was suddenly reduced to stammering confusion.

‘How … how do you do?’ she murmured.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I COULD ASK you the same,’ he said wryly, ‘but it’s a silly question. Neither of us seems to be doing very well since meeting the other.’

‘I guess you’re right. Ouch!’ She reached down to her ankle, which had hurt as she moved it.

‘The doctor will be here soon,’ he said. ‘He can make a full assessment.’

‘I hope so,’ she said, rubbing the spot, but making little impact because the material of the jeans was in the way.

‘You’ll need to take them off so that the doctor can get to it,’ Leonid said. ‘Ah, there’s someone at the door.’

While he went to the door she started to undress, meaning to pull the sheets over her, to preserve modesty. First she removed her right shoe, then tried to remove her left, but this was the injured foot and pulling at the shoe was intensely painful. She was still floundering when he turned back into the room, carrying a tray of tea.

‘Are you having trouble?’ he asked, quickly setting down the tray.

‘Yes, this shoe won’t move—ow!’

He set down the tray. ‘Let me help you. Just lie there and I’ll do the work.’

He eased the shoe off as gently as possible. It hurt, but not unbearably, and at last both feet were free.

‘Thank you,’ she said, lying back.

He tried to study the damaged foot, frowning. ‘It’s hard to see while your jeans are covering it.’

‘Yes, I really will have to take them off,’ she sighed.

‘Let me help you. It’s all right, I won’t look. This is strictly medical.’

‘Thanks.’

She opened the buttons at the waist, unzipped the front and began to ease the material down. At first she managed but there came a point when he had to take over. Perdita took a deep breath, raised her hips slightly, balancing on her one good foot, while he drew the jeans towards him, gradually revealing beautiful, slender hips clad in delicate silken panties. But these he didn’t see. His head was ostentatiously turned away.

A little further, a bit more—then it was time to pull the jeans over the injured foot.

‘Sorry if I hurt you,’ he said as she gasped.

‘Not your fault.’

‘Is anyone staying here with you, anyone I can contact?’

‘No.’

‘You’re alone? There’s nobody to look after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she assured him.

He looked cynical. ‘You can lie there and say that, after what’s just happened?’

His manner was kind but authoritative, with a touch of ‘laying down the law’ and she was provoked to say, ‘What about you? Is someone looking after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ he echoed her.

‘Well, you know the answer to that.’

‘Yes, Miss Hanson, I guess I do.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘I saw it in your passport when I picked it up off the floor. You are Erica Hanson, and you’re English.’

‘I guess my passport told you that too.’

‘Plus your accent, and the fact that you chose tea.’

‘Ah yes, that’s a dead giveaway, isn’t it?’

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the doctor, a kindly middle-aged man.

‘How much does it hurt?’ he asked, feeling the ankle. ‘Bearable,’ Perdita said.

‘Good. It’s a bit twisted. There’s no serious damage but it still needs some rest.’

‘You mean I’m going to be confined up here?’ she asked, aghast.

‘Not necessarily. The hotel can let you have a wheelchair for a day or so. I’ll arrange it, plus a walking stick for when you need to leave the wheelchair.’

He bandaged the ankle and gave her some painkillers, then spoke to Leonid. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow. Can you manage to look after her until then?’

‘But—’ Perdita began to protest but was silenced by a gesture from Leonid.

‘Leave it to me,’ he told the doctor.

He saw the man to the door and returned. Perdita was still lying down, now with the duvet modestly pulled up over her hips. It had seemed the right thing to do, although this man had a mysterious quality that didn’t make her feel at all modest.

‘I can’t let you look after me,’ she protested.

‘You don’t have any choice,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve decided.’

‘Don’t I get a say?’

‘Not in the slightest.’