An Innocent Affair. KIM LAWRENCE
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THREE
‘DON’T touch her,’ She heard an authoritative voice grate.
To Hope, this sounded like excellent advice. The pain seemed to be everywhere, but the moment she tried to move it had been obvious the worst damage had been done to her left leg.
‘We thought we ought to give her the kiss of life.’
‘Or put her in the recovery position,’ another voice added.
‘For God’s sake, man, she’s breathing. She’s just fainted, and from the angle of that leg it’s just as well.’ The brusque reply was much closer this time. ‘Where’s that ambulance?’
‘I don’t faint.’ She felt impelled to protest this point.
‘She’s awake; she said something.’
‘What is it, Hope?’ The touch on her forehead was firm but gentle, and she could smell Alex’s distinctive cologne mingled with the warm, musky scent of his body.
‘I didn’t faint.’ She forced her eyes open and found his face very close.
‘That’s too bad. I expect it’s hurting like hell.’
‘My leg?’
‘It looks broken,’ he told her matter-of-factly. ‘Where else does it hurt?’
‘Everywhere.’ Weak tears started to seep from her eyes and she felt ashamed. ‘I’m meant to be modelling swimwear in the Maldives next month.’ A spurt of hysterical laughter followed this admission.
‘The ambulance won’t be long. Just hold on.’ She sensed rather than saw him move away. Agitation made her move restlessly. ‘Don’t try to move, Hope.’
‘Promise you won’t go away,’ she whispered fiercely. Her eyes were glittering feverishly as she caught his hand in a surprisingly strong grip.
A flicker of something close to shock crossed Alex’s face. He froze, and his eyes dwelt momentarily on her tightly clenched fingers before moving to her face. ‘I promise.’ Hope gave a sigh and relaxed.
When the paramedics arrived she was forced to relinquish her hold on Alex’s arm. The loss of contact made her come close to losing her tenuous control.
‘She needs something for the pain,’ she heard him say harshly.
‘Don’t worry, sir. We won’t move her until that’s sorted.’
Too right you won’t, mate, Hope thought, trying to bring the bewildering scene into focus. This being brave business was not all it was cracked up to be. She made sudden contact with a pair of familiar grey eyes. Something in the calmness of his gaze must have transmitted itself to her, because it was suddenly a lot easier to follow the paramedic’s instructions to grip the mask and breathe in the gas and air mixture. This almost instantaneously took the edge off the pain. It didn’t disappear, but it was easier to cope with.
Someone stuck an injection in her thigh before her leg was cocooned in a splint and she was strapped to a stretcher.
‘Are you coming with us, sir?’
Hope pulled the mask off her face. ‘You don’t have to.’ Alex bent his head closer to catch her words and she repeated herself.
‘I’ll come.’ Hope closed her eyes and gave a small, satisfied smile. Why she should feel safer knowing he was within grabbing distance was a mystery she would unravel at a later date.
‘How are you feeling?’ Alex raised his voice against the noise of the siren. Dear God, man, he thought with savage impatience, why not simply talk about the weather? That would be almost as inane! He functioned well in a crisis, but once command of the situation had been taken out of his hands he felt frustratingly impotent.
‘Drunk,’ came back the surprising reply.
Alex looked questioningly to the paramedic. ‘It’s the drugs and the gas and air. It affects some people that way.’
‘Do you know something?’
‘What, Hope?’
‘You’ve got the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,’ she confided in a slurred tone.
‘That’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘I wanted to say so. Something else I wanted to tell you, Alex—’ she began.
Alex turned and the paramedic swiftly smothered the smirk on his face. ‘I think we might discuss this later on, Hope.’
‘I’ve forgotten what it was anyway.’
‘Well, aren’t you a lucky girl?’
Was she meant to reply to that one? Hope wondered. Wearing a white coat seemed to endow its owner with an endless supply of platitudes.
‘We’ll whip you up to Theatre shortly, and realign that tibia, and you’ll be as good as new in next to no time. The ribs will be sore for a while, but they’re only cracked. You’re really very…’
‘If you tell me one more time how lucky I am, Adam, so help me I’ll realign your nose,’ she said wearily, but with sincerity.
Her brother-in-law cast a dampening glare at his tittering minions. ‘Someone who throws herself into pits and doesn’t break her neck has to expect clichés, Hope.’
Her grin was a shadow of its former self. ‘Has anyone told Mum and Dad yet?’ she asked fretfully.
‘Alex insisted on doing that personally. He thought it would give them less anxiety than a phone call.’
‘I see.’ So that was where he’d gone. Since she’d been placed in the care of her brother-in-law she hadn’t seen him. She did have an embarrassing recollection of clinging tenaciously to his hand, but details were rather hazy. ‘What’s that she’s got?’ she asked suspiciously as a nurse materialised at the bedside.
‘A pre-med, Hope, to calm you down.’
‘I am calm. Any more calm and I’d—’
‘Why don’t you shut up, Hope, and let us do our job? If you’d prefer another doctor you’re entitled…’
‘We’ve been through all that, Adam, and I’m quite happy with you so long as your precious ethics don’t get in the way of treating a family member.’
‘Oh, my ethics can take the strain. It’s the nursing staff I’m worried about.’
Hope was still grumbling quietly to herself when she drifted once more into a drug-induced slumber.
Three days later she was packing up her belongings—or at least giving instructions whilst her mother did so for her.
‘Lovely flowers, dear,’ her mother observed, fondly regarding the large bouquet of yellow roses arranged in a tall vase.
‘Send them to the children’s ward,’ Hope put in quickly.
‘Quite sure?’
Hope smiled grimly. Her mother wasn’t going to find a card no matter how hard she looked, because she had removed it—ripped it up and thrown it away with the other rubbish. There had been just one word on the card; Alex, written in a bold, strong hand.
She’d woken up the previous afternoon to find him standing there beside her bed, holding the roses. It must have been raining outside because his hair had been wetly slicked back, curling slightly over the collar of his leather jacket. A film of moisture had covered the faintly tanned olive-toned skin of his face, enhancing the air of healthy vitality he exuded.
Her eyes had skimmed over the sharp planes of his face, touched the firm lines of his sexy mouth before coming to rest on his eyes—eyes that followed the slanting line of his dark eyebrows, eyes that were silver-flecked grey and, most significantly, eyes that sent an electrical surge spiralling