“Rafe?”
“No panties on the bed this time. Very disappointing,” he mumbled into the pillow.
Her cheeks heated. She risked a glance at her boss’ nephew, who didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow, and then cleared her throat. “Wake up and say hello to Dr. Bancroft.”
“Nick,” the doctor corrected.
Chelsea managed a stiff smile. “Nick.” Turning back to Rafe, who was now struggling into a sitting position and giving them an irritated look, she continued. “Nick, this is Rafe St. Sebastian.”
“Appreciate you coming out,” Rafe began, “but it’s unnecessary. I’m perfectly fi—” A barrage of coughs prevented him from finishing his dismissal.
Nick rested his medical bag on the night table, and, over the noise, said, “Obviously. But as long as I’m here, might as well make myself useful, right?”
Chelsea took that as her cue to leave. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Nick tapped his bag. “I come prepared. Pay no mind to the screams.”
She occupied herself putting things away in the kitchen. With that task complete, she sat and leafed through the latest issue of a travel magazine.
Within moments, restlessness took over. She tossed the magazine aside and wandered around the room, straightening a painting that didn’t need straightening, fluffing the pillows on the sofa and remembering how she’d buried her face in one to muffle the sounds Rafe had wrung out of her with every devastating thrust. Finally, she meandered into the hall. She was standing there waiting—not hovering, not lurking—just waiting like any concerned friend would, when the bedroom door opened and Nick stepped out.
“How’s he doing?”
Nick left the door ajar, but she couldn’t see in because his frame blocked her view.
“Resting comfortably. He’s got the flu. We’ve seen a lot of it this winter, and I more or less expected it based on the symptoms Aunt Evelyn described. I started him on this”—he handed her a pill bottle—“which should knock the virus out in no time. Just follow the dosage instructions on the label. He needs to stay out of circulation for the next twenty-four hours, take things easy, and get plenty of rest and fluids, by which I mean water or juice. Let’s lay off the whiskey for now.”
Chelsea wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t my idea, just so you know.”
He smiled. A nice smile. Charming. “I figured as much. I don’t suppose you’ve had a flu shot recently?”
“No, but I never get sick.”
Nick’s nice, charming smile turned fatalistic and he nodded his head toward Rafe’s room. “That’s what he said. One thing about the flu, it’s very easily transmitted, so beware.” He handed her his card. “The number on the back is my personal cell. Call me if you need me.?
?
She took the card and looked up into quietly observant amber eyes. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. Happy to help.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then went on. “You know, my aunt mentioned you a while back. She told me you were new to the island and she might hook us up for some sightseeing if you were interested. But then I never heard anything more.”
“She did offer. I just…got so busy, I’m afraid. I never followed up with her.”
“My loss. I wish you had. Now, I guess you’re involved.” He gestured toward the bedroom behind him.
“Oh, no. Mr. St. Sebastian’s and my relationship isn’t …” What could she say? “We’re friends.”
His brow furrowed for a moment, and he glanced back at the bedroom. “That’s interesting.” He turned to her and smiled. “If you ever find yourself not quite so busy, give me a call.”
The sound of her cell phone chiming from the living room interrupted her reply. Nick smiled. “Obviously now is not that time. I know my way out.”
Chelsea nodded her thanks and hurried to the living room to answer her phone. The caller ID read Paul. Her stomach clenched, and for a cowardly second she considered letting it go to voicemail, but the messages from Cindy were getting out of hand. Laurie’s words of wisdom echoed in her ears. She needed to inform him she had no intention of returning to her job, or him, and instruct him to pass the message on to Cindy. His bride-to-be, former bride-to-be, whatever the hell she was, needed to stop harassing her or she’d have no choice but to file a complaint with the police. She took a seat on the sofa, inhaled a fortifying breath, and answered.
“Hello, Paul.”
“Chelsea, I’ve made a mistake.”
“You’ve made several. In fact, you’re making one right now. Cindy will skin you alive if she finds out you called me.”