New Year Fireworks. Diana Hamilton
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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