Rebel's Bargain

‘Nurse?’ His voice was sharper. ‘Is that you?’

‘Hello, Orsino.’ Her voice was like smooth, golden honey, as rich and seductive as in his dreams.

He stiffened, fingers stilling as they groped for the call button. He registered the familiar disinfectant hospital scent and realised this was no dream.

Something whacked him hard in the chest, a jolt of pain as his bruised ribs expanded then eased when he remembered to breathe again.

She’d come.

Even trussed up like a turkey dinner and blind to boot, he knew her voice. He’d know it anywhere. He’d even thought he’d heard it beneath half a tonne of snow. It had bullied and cajoled him into not giving up. How was that for ironic? He must have been out of his mind.

‘Who is it?’

Orsino heard her soft gasp. Obviously she expected him to recognise her voice but he’d be damned if he’d give her that satisfaction.

She’d come too soon! They’d promised to take the bandages off his eyes today. He hadn’t wanted her seeing him like this—helpless and light-headed from medication that kept pain to a dull throb.

How had she got here so fast when he wasn’t expecting her for another couple of days?

‘It’s Poppy.’ She was at the end of the bed.

‘Poppy?’ His voice thickened unexpectedly on the second syllable, turning it into a question. Orsino flinched, detesting the emotion he heard in that single word. Where had that come from?

Heat flared under his skin and he knew in his gut it wasn’t just hurt pride because she saw him like this—so much less than the man he’d been. It was something blood-deep and disturbing. Something he no longer wanted to feel.

He’d finally acknowledged they had loose ends to tie up but nothing had prepared him for the explosion of unwanted emotion her presence ignited.

Had he made a mistake, getting her here?

It wouldn’t be his first where she was concerned.

‘Yes, it’s me.’ Her voice came from right beside him. ‘How are you?’

Orsino groped for the bed controls. He hated being flat on his back while she hovered over him. Bad enough with the nurses …

‘Let me. What did you want?’ Soft fingers brushed his and he jerked away. He told himself it was because he didn’t like the pity in her voice. The tingling in his fingers was a legacy of frostbite, no more.

‘Orsino?’

His lips compressed as his body responded to her husky whisper. It reminded him of the last time they’d been together. The memory caught him up short, smashing his composure.

Damn! This wasn’t supposed to happen.

‘I can do it myself.’ This time when he reached for the controls her hand was gone. Seconds later he was sitting up, the bed supporting him.

He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable.

‘Here, I can help.’ No huskiness this time. Just cool efficiency. Orsino told himself he welcomed it.

Then the scent of raspberries reached him—tangy and sweet—and she tugged the pillows behind him so he sat more comfortably. Something soft brushed his jaw and he reached up, catching it.

It was a lock of hair. Soft and springy, tickling his palm, twisting around his finger. He tugged lightly and felt warmth surround him, as if she’d leaned close. The light raspberry-and-woman scent deepened in his nostrils and he swallowed hard as the past rose in a consuming wave.

He told himself to release his grip but his hold tightened on the silk skein of her hair. He tried to imagine it cascading in dark red waves around her pale shoulders and was disturbed to find he pictured it too clearly.

‘You’ve grown your hair.’ The whole time he’d known her it had been gamine short. Poppy’s air of youthful fragility, reinforced by her stunning eyes in that sculpted face, had caught the public’s imagination. She’d been the fresh, innocently sexy face of fashion.

Innocent!

His mouth twisted as tension knotted his chest and belly.

‘I wanted a new look.’ Her words sounded offhand.

Orsino released her. He refused to ask if her new look dated from their separation. For five years he’d avoided society pages and magazines that might feature her. Now wasn’t the time for curiosity to reawaken.

Nor his libido.

But it had. Even battered and bruised, his body responded to her feminine scent and the sound of her voice. Too eagerly. Sex hadn’t been part of his plan. It infuriated him that she could still do this to him.

He leaned back against the pillows, increasing the distance between them. Yet the perfume of her skin lingered.

When he’d imagined them meeting he’d envisaged himself almost healed, enough to see at least.

His jaw tightened. It had been a mistake mentioning her name so soon to the officious hospital staff. He should have waited. He hated not being in control.