She had fielded his questions carefully, coped with his alternate pleading and abuse. When he'd demanded whether she was aware that Luke was just using her, she'd almost wept; but it hadn't been that which had thrown her, it had been the one question, 'Do you love him?' It had hit her like a bolt of lightning. She'd heard her father's indrawn breath as she'd replied, unable at that point to dissimulate. 'Tell him I'll flay him if he hurts you,' had been the only response he had made before he'd hung up.
She hadn't mentioned the phone call to Luke, but then even when he had finally returned they had communicated mainly with cold glances. He had treated her as though she were part of the furniture, and finally she had retreated to her small bedroom before it was even dark. The paperback she'd taken from a bookshelf would normally have made her oblivious to her surroundings for hours; but tonight she hadn't been able to concentrate, though she had memorised the first page word for word—well, she had read it countless times.
She saw the light under the door indicate that Luke had retired too and saw it extinguished. Sleep was elusive even in the small hours, and the hand she'd scalded the previous night was still throbbing. It was a superficial burn, red and raw but none the less painful. She recalled seeing a medicine box in the dresser and in desperation decided to try and find some pain-killers to dull the throb.
Creeping through Luke's room was traumatic, but she tried to ignore the large bulk outlined in the bed. Downstairs, she went directly to the dresser and discovered to her relief that there was a bottle of painkillers.
'What exactly are you doing?'
She leapt and the bottle clattered to the floor, spilling the contents over the stone flags. 'Now see what you've made me do,' she accused, close to tears.
Luke retrieved the bottle and looked thoughtfully at her. 'What do you need these for?' His eyes caught the furtive movement as she tucked her injured hand behind her back. 'The coffee last night?' He caught the wrist she tried to conceal, an expression of fury on his face. 'Hiding it won't make it go away. You've been in pain all this time?'
'It's nothing.'
'Superficial,' he agreed, eyes raised to brush her face, taking in the signs of strain and blue bruised discolouration beneath her wide-spaced eyes. 'Hurts like hell, though.' He continued to examine the inflamed area.
Emily swallowed. She'd been ready to scream at his initial cool diagnosis, but the sympathetic addition made her throat ache with a sudden rush of tears. Tenderness from Luke, even as impersonal as this, delivered a mortal blow to her new vulnerability.
'A bit,' she admitted in a breathy whisper.
'It could have been avoided.'
The blue eyes were intent, the spurt of irritated anger having given way to unfamiliar concern. Emily felt her body clench as she fought to tear her eyes away from his dark face. 'You're still dressed.' She had only just realised he was still wearing a pale denim shirt and darker blue jeans.
'I wasn't anticipating sleep.' The curve of his mouth was sensual, the rasp in his voice ironic. His voice was filled with a puzzling self-mockery. Emily realised just how close to exhaustion he looked.
Her uninjured hand went out as if to touch his chest, the impulse too strong to counter. She looked at her own hand as if surprised to see it there, a hair's breadth from his solid, warm reality. With a sharp inhalation she snatched it back as though it too were burnt.
Luke's stillness was almost frightening; there was a tension emanating from him that for a split-second she was positive would explode into action. He was breathing slowly, the inhalations laboured, as if he was consciously controlling the process.
'Sit there.' The curt command was so ridiculously rational compared to what her imagination had been anticipating that she felt sure all the unspoken sexual tension had been born of her rampant frustration. Hot with a sudden painful humiliation, she subsided into a chair. Her arm throbbed and her head ached with a bleak, penetrating misery.
'Keep your arm in that. I've got some bandages in the car.'
She shuddered as the cold water came into contact with her hot flesh, but it did dull the throb of insistent pain. Luke left the door open as he disappeared and the intense night fragrance drifted into the room almost like a physical presence. She inhaled and relaxed slightly, letting a warm, diffuse drowsiness temporarily snuff her anxieties.
She raised her head sleepily from the crook of her arm on the table-top when he entered carrying a box. Silently she watched him competently extract several items.
'Have you taken any pain-killers yet?'
'I don't need…' His presence somehow made other more painful sensations take supremacy over the superficial injury… Some wounds went deeper.
'Preserve me from martyrs and swallow these,' he said in a tone that indicated he felt inclined to push them down her throat if she offered further resistance. 'Now, let's have a look at the damage.' He bent close, intent on examining the extent of the scald which, although she knew it was minor, was extremely painful. 'It's blistered.' His touch was gentle, if clinical, but his voice held a raw anger. 'If you'd had the sense to immerse it under cold water at the time none of this would be necessary,' he chastised, taking a dry dressing from its bag. 'I'll put a dressing on; it'll be more comfortable that way. What the hell were you thinking of?'