Knight on the Children's Ward (8 page)

‘Better?'

‘Much.' She was breathless—from laughing, from riding, from dragging in the delicious scent of dusk, and then, when she slid off the horse and he spread out a picnic, she was breathless from just looking at him.

‘It helped,' Annika said. ‘You were right.'

‘After a bad day at work,' Ross said, ‘or a difficult night, this is what I do and it works every time.' He gave her a smile. ‘It worked for me today.'

‘Was today a bad day?' Annika asked, and he looked at her.

‘Today was an exceptionally bad day.'

‘Really?' She cast her mind back. Was there something she had missed on the ward? An emergency in ICU, perhaps?

But Ross smiled. ‘I had a meeting with the CEO!'

‘I wondered what was with the suit.'

‘On my return they want me to commit to a three-year contract. So far I have managed to avoid it…'

‘Does a three-year contract worry you?'

‘More the conditions.' He gave a tight smile. ‘I'm a good doctor, Annika, but apparently wearing a suit every day will make me a better one.'

‘At least it's not an apron,' she joked, but then she was serious. ‘You
are
a good doctor—but why would you commit if you are not sure it is what you want?'

And never, not once, had he had that response.

Always, for ever and always, it had been, ‘It's just a suit. What about the mortgage? What if…?'

‘I love my job,' Ross said.

‘Do you love the kids or the job?' Annika checked, and Ross smiled again. ‘There will always be work for you, Ross.'

‘I've also been worrying about you.'

‘You don't have to worry about me.'

‘Oh, but I do.'

They ate cold roast beef and hot mustard sandwiches and drank water. The evening was so still and delicious, so very relaxing compared to the drama waiting for her at home.

‘I should get back…' She was lying on her back, staring up at an orange sky, inhaling the scent of grass, listening to the sounds of the horses behind them. Ross was so at ease beside her—and she'd never felt more at home with another person.

She looked over to him, to the face that had taken her breath away for so long now, and he was there, staring back and smiling.

A person, Annika reminded herself, who barely knew her—and if he did…

If she closed her eyes, even for a moment, she knew she would remember his kiss, knew where another kiss
might lead, right here, where the air was so clear she could breathe, the sky so orange and the grass so cool.

‘I should get back,' she said again. She didn't want to, but staying would be far too dangerous.

‘You don't have to go,' Ross said.

‘I think I do,' was her reluctant reply. ‘Ross, it's too soon.'

‘Annika, you are welcome to stay. I'm not suggesting a weekend of torrid sex.' Low in her stomach, something curled in on itself. ‘Though of course…' he grinned ‘…that can be an optional extra…' And then he laughed, and so too did she. ‘There's a spare room, and you're more than welcome to use it. If you want a break, a bit of an escape, here's the perfect place for it. I can go and stay at the flat if you prefer…'

‘You'd offer me your home?'

‘Actually, yes!' Ross said, surprised at himself, watching as she turned on her phone again and winced at the latest flood of incoming messages. ‘Hell, I can't imagine what you have to go home to.'

‘A lot,' Annika admitted. ‘I have kept my phone off all day.'

‘You can keep it off all weekend if you like.'

Oh, she could breathe—not quite easily, but far more easily than she had all day.

‘I don't want to stay here alone.'

‘Then be my guest,' he said.

‘I have a shift at the nursing home tomorrow night.'

‘I'm not kidnapping you—you're free to come and go,' Ross replied, and after a moment she nodded.

‘I'd love to stay, but I should let Aleksi know.'

She rang her brother, and Ross listened as she checked if he was okay and reassured him that she was fine.

‘I'm going to have my phone off,' Annika said. ‘Tell Mum not to worry.'

He busied himself packing up the picnic, but he saw her run a worried hand through her hair.

‘No, don't—because I'm not there,' she said. ‘I'm staying with a friend.' She caught his eye. ‘No, I'd rather not say. Just don't worry.'

She clicked off her phone and stood. Ross called the horses, and they walked them slowly back.

‘It's nice,' Annika said. ‘This…' She looked over to him. ‘Do your grandparents have horses?'

‘They do.'

And he'd so longed for Spain, longed for his native land, yearned to discover all that had seemed so important, so vital, but right now he had it all here, and the thought of Spain just made him homesick.

Homesick for here.

 

It was relaxing, settling the horses for the night, then heading back to his house.

‘Have a bath,' Ross suggested.

‘I have nothing to change into. Maybe I should drive back and pack. I haven't got anything.'

‘You don't need anything,' Ross said. ‘My sisters always leave loads of stuff—they come and stay with the kids some weekends when I'm on call.' He went upstairs and returned a few moments later with some items of clothing and a large white towelling robe. ‘Here.' He handed her a toothbrush. ‘Still in its wrapper—you're lucky I did a shop last week.'

‘Very lucky.'

‘So now you have no excuse but to relax and enjoy.'

He poured her a large glass of wine and told her to
take it up to the bath, and then he showed her the spare room, which had a lovely iron bed with white linen.

‘You have good taste.'

‘Spanish linen,' Ross said, ‘from my grandmother…She's the one who has good taste.' On the way to the bathroom he kicked open another door. ‘I, on the other hand, have no taste at all.'

His bedroom was far more untidy than his office, with not a trace of crisp linen in sight. It was brown on black, with boots and jeans and belts, a testosterone-laden den, with an unmade bed and a massive music system.

‘This reminds me of Luke's room.'

‘You can come in with your bin liner any time,' Ross said. ‘My door is always open…' Then he laughed. ‘Unless family's staying.'

The bathroom was lovely. It had a large freestanding bath that took for ever to fill, a big mirror, and bottles of oils, scents and candles.

His home confused her—parts looked like a rustic country home, other parts, like his bedroom, were modern and full of gadgets. It was like Ross, she thought. He was doctor, farmer, gypsy—an eclectic assortment that added up to one incredibly beautiful man.

Settling into the warm oily water, she could, as she lay, think of no one, not one single other person, whose company could have soothed her tonight.

His home was like none she had ever been in.

His presence was like no other.

She washed out her panties and bra, but stressed for a moment about hanging them over the taps to dry. They were divine: Kolovsky silk in stunning turquoise. In fact all her underwear was divine—it was one of the genuine perks of being a Kolovsky. It was seductive,
suggestive, and, Annika realised, she could
not
leave it in the bathroom!

So she hung it on the door handle in her bedroom and then headed downstairs, where he sat, boots on the table, strumming at a guitar, a dog looking up at him. She thought about using her fingers as castanets and dancing her way right over to his lap, but they'd both promised to be good.

‘Why would you do this for me?' She stood at the living room door, wrapped in his sister's dressing gown, and wondered why she wasn't nervous.

‘Because my life's not quite complicated enough,' Ross said, with more than a dash of sarcasm. ‘Just relax, Annika, I'm not going to pounce.'

So she did—or she tried to.

They watched a movie, but she was so acutely aware of the man on the sofa beside her that frankly her mother would have been more relaxing company. When she gave in at eleven and went to bed, it was almost frustrating when he turned and gave her a very lovely kiss, full on the lips, that was way more than friendly but absolutely going nowhere. It was, Annika realised as she climbed the steps, a kiss goodnight.

She could taste him on her lips.

So much so that she didn't want to remove the toothbrush from its wrapper. But she did, and she brushed her teeth, and then when she heard him coming up the stairs she raced to her bedroom. She slipped off her dressing gown and slid naked into bed, then cursed that she hadn't been to the loo.

He was filling the bath.

She could hear it, so she decided to make a quick dash for it, but she came out to find him walking down
the landing wearing only a black towel round his loins. His body was delicious, way better than her many imaginings, and his hair looked long, and his early-morning shadow was a late-night one now. She just gave a nod.

‘Feel free…' He grinned at her awkwardness.

‘Sorry?'

‘To wash your hands…'

‘Oh.'

So she had to go into the bathroom, where his bath was running, as he politely waited outside. She washed her hands and tried not to look at the water and imagine him naked in it.

‘Night, Annika.'

‘Night.'

How was she to sleep? He was in the bath for ever, and then she heard the pull of the plug and the lights ping off. She lay in the dark silence and knew he was just metres away. And then, just as she thought she might win, as a glimpse of sleep beckoned, she heard music.

There was no question of sleeping here in a strange house, with Ross so close. She couldn't sleep, so instead she did a stupid thing—she checked her phone.

Even as she turned it on it rang, and foolishly she answered. She listened as her mother demanded that she end this stupidity and come home immediately—not to the flat, but home, where she belonged. She was wreaking shame on her family, and her father would be turning in his grave. Annika clicked off the phone, her heart pounding in her chest, and headed out for a glass of water.

The low throb of music from his room somehow beckoned, and his door was, as promised, open. She glanced inside as she walked past.

‘Sorry.'

‘For what?'

‘I'm just restless.'

‘Get a drink if you want…' He was lying in the bed reading, hardly even looking up.

‘I'll just go back to bed.'

‘Night, then.'

She just stood there.

And Ross concentrated on his book.

His air ticket was his bookmark. He'd done that very deliberately—ten days and he was out of here; ten days and he would be in Spain. And then, when he returned—well, then maybe things could be different.

‘Night, Annika.'

She ignored him and came and sat on the bed. They kept talking. And it was hard to talk at two a.m. without lying down, so she did, and even with her dressing gown on it was cold. So she went under the covers, and they talked till her eyes were really heavy and she was almost asleep, and then he turned out the light.

‘The music…'

‘It will turn itself off soon.'

She turned away from him; there were no curtains on the window, just the moon drifting past, and he spooned right into her. She could feel his stomach in her back, and the wrap of his arms, and it was sublime—so much so that she bit on her lip. Then he kissed the back of her head, pulled her in a little bit more, and she could feel every breath he took. She could feel the lovely tumid length of him, and just as she braced herself for delicious attack, just as she wondered how long it would be polite to resist, she felt him relax, his breathing even, as she struggled to inhale.

‘Ross, how can you just lie there…?' He wasn't even pretending; he really was going to sleep!

‘Relax,' he said to her shoulder. ‘I told you, nothing's going to happen—I had a
very
long bath.'

And she laughed, on a day she had never thought she would, on a day she had done so many different things. She lay in bed and counted her firsts: she had been cuddled, and she had hung up the phone on her mum.

The most amazing part of it all, though, was that for the first time in ages she slept properly.

I
T WAS
midday when she woke up.

Annika never overslept, and midday was unthinkable, but his bed was so comfortable, and it held the male scent of him even though he had long since gone. Instead of jumping guiltily out of bed she lay there, half dozing, a touch too warm in her dressing gown, smiling at the thought that there was really no point getting up as she had nothing to wear—and there was no way she was getting on a horse today!

She hurt in a place she surely shouldn't!

‘Afternoon!' He pushed the bedroom door open, and the door to her heart opened a little wider too. He hadn't shaved, and looked more gypsy-like, dark and forbidden, than she had ever seen him, but he was holding a tray and wearing a smile that she was becoming sure was reserved solely for her. She smiled back at him.

‘What did I do to deserve breakfast in bed?'

‘You didn't snore, which is very encouraging,' he said, waiting till she sat up before placing a tray on her lap, ‘and it's actually
lunch
in bed.'

It was
the
nicest lunch in the world: omelette made from eggs he had collected that morning, with wild
mushrooms and cheese. The coffee was so strong and sweet that if she had given orders to the chef at her mother's home he could not have come up with better.

‘You're yesterday's news, by the way,' Ross said. ‘In case you were wondering.'

She had been.

‘Lucky for you some bank overseas has gone into liquidation and the papers have devoted four pages to it—you don't even get a mention.'

‘Thank you.'

She had finished her lunch, and he took the tray from her, but instead of heading off he put it on the floor and lay on top of the bed beside her.

‘I like having you here.'

‘I like being here.'

She could feel his thigh through the sheet. She felt so safe and warm and relaxed, in a way she never would have at the movies with him, or across the table in some fancy restaurant—so much so that she could even get up and go to the loo, brush her teeth and then come to the warm waiting bed.

‘I am being lazy,' Annika said as she crossed the room.

‘Why not?' Ross said. ‘You have to work tonight.'

And he might never know how nice that sentence was—for surely he could never understand the battle of wills, the drama it entailed, merely for her to work.

Ross accepted it.

It was warm. The sun was streaming through the window, falling on the crumpled bed. After hot coffee and the omelette, wearing a thick dressing gown under the covers was suddenly making her feel way too hot. She stared at him, wanting to peel her dressing gown off, to stand naked before him and climb in bed beside him.
He stared back for the longest time. The air was thick with lust and want, but with patience too.

‘Sleep.' He answered the heavy unvoiced question by standing up. He stood in front of her, and she thought he would go, but she didn't want him to.

There was a mire of confusion in her mind, because it was too soon and sometimes she wondered if she was misreading him. What if he was just a very nice guy who perhaps fancied her a little?

And then he answered her fleeting doubt.

His hands untied the knot of her dressing gown, and she stood as he slid it over her shoulders. She saw his calm features tighten a fraction, felt the caress of his gaze over her body and the arousal in the air.

She was naked in front of him, and he was dressed, and yet it felt appropriate. She could not fathom how, but if felt right that he should see her, that they glimpsed the future even if it was too soon to reach for it. She felt safe as he pulled the bedcovers over her.

Only then did he kiss her. He kissed the hollows of her throat, sitting on the bed, leaning over where she lay. He kissed her till she wanted him to lie down beside her again, but he didn't. He kissed her until her hands were in his thick black hair, her body stretched to drag him down, but he didn't lie down. He just kissed her some more, till her breath was as hard and as ragged as his. It was just a kiss, but it brought with it indecent thoughts, because they both explored what they knew was to come. Their faces and lips met, but their minds were meshed too. It was a dangerous kiss, that went on and on as her body flared for him, and then he lifted his head and smiled down.

‘Go back to sleep.'

‘You are cruel.'

‘Very.' He smiled again, and then he left her, a twitching mass of desire, but relaxed too. She had never slept more, never felt more cherished or looked after. The horrors were receding with every hour she spent in his presence.

She slept till seven, and then showered and pulled on her uniform. She made his bed before heading downstairs. He offered her some dinner but she wasn't hungry.

‘I need to go home and get my agency uniform, and perhaps…' she blushed a little at her own presumption ‘…perhaps I should pack a change of clothes for tomorrow.'

‘Here.' He handed her a key. ‘I lie in on Sunday. Let yourself in.' And he handed her something else—a brown paper bag. ‘For your break.'

He had made her lunch—well, a lunch that would be eaten at one a.m., after she had helped to get twenty-eight residents into bed and answered numerous call bells.

 

She deliberately didn't look inside until then. She sat down in the staffroom and took the bag out of the fridge and opened it as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

He had made her lunch!

A bottle of grapefruit juice, a chicken, cheese and salad sandwich on sourdough bread, a small bar of chocolate and, best of all, a note.

He
was
thinking of her.

Even though she had slept for most of the day, it had been nice knowing Annika was there, and without her now the house seemed empty and quiet.

He had never felt like this about anyone, of that he was sure.

Gypsy blood did flow in his veins, and it wasn't just his looks that carried the gene. There was a restlessness to him that so many had tried and failed to channel into conventional behaviour.

He didn't feel like that with Annika.

Yet.

Her vulnerability unnerved him, his own actions sideswiped him—it had taken Imelda months to get a key; he had handed it to Annika without thought.

He was going away in little more than a week, digging deep into his past, thinking of throwing in his job…He could really hurt her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Ross headed upstairs and stepped into his room. He smiled at the bed she had made. The tangled sheets were tucked into hospital corners, his pillows neatly arranged. If it been Imelda it would have incensed him, but it was Annika, and it warmed him instead.

And that worried him rather a lot.