With a Little Help (12 page)

Nate rested his elbow on a counter and lounged. “Much like the design of an operating room, except we don't cook the patients.”

With onions already caramelizing in olive oil, she added garlic, the appetizing aroma filling the kitchen. She saw his nose twitch appreciatively. “What about radiation?”

“It isn't politically correct to call it cooking.”

Having him watch her work was unsettling. And far too intimate. She began to chop some cooked chicken she'd found in the fridge. The meat went into the oil with canned tomatoes, tomato paste, chopped mushrooms and pitted olives.

Fresh basil and oregano would have been better, but she settled for the dried versions he had available. After tasting and seasoning the sauce, she increased the heat to thicken and reduce the liquid. In another saucepan, she added pasta spirals to simmering water.

“I'm making enough so you can have leftovers tomorrow,” she told him.

“The way this meal smells, there won't be any. What are you making?”

“It's a traditional Italian dish called
pasta puttanesca.
”

He grinned. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Harlot's pasta,” she translated. “Supposedly made by the ladies of the night after work. They could
throw together whatever ingredients they had on hand, and the meal didn't take long to make.”

“Hmm.”

“What does ‘hmm' mean?”

“You don't want to know.”

“If you're comparing me to a lady of the night…”

“Only in the sense of how much I'd like to take you to bed with me.”

This was dangerous ground. “Before or after the pasta?”

“Decisions, decisions.”

She aimed a dish towel at him but he ducked and the cloth sailed over his head. The pasta began to bubble and she moved quickly to turn down the heat. She was sure he had only mentioned bed to get under her skin, or perhaps pay her back for running away yesterday.

“You could do something useful like set the table,” she suggested.

“You're staying, of course.”

She hadn't planned to, but suspected he wouldn't eat unless she agreed. And good food was healing. “There's plenty here. I may as well.”

He opened a drawer and took out knives and forks. “Try not to sound so enthusiastic.”

“I didn't know I'd be cooking dinner
and
eating it.”

“With me. That's what you're not saying, isn't it?”

She tested the pasta for tenderness. “Yesterday we agreed not to get involved.”

At the door to the breakfast room, he swung around. “Sex doesn't have to come with involvement.”

“To me it does.”

Muttering something she didn't catch, he went into the other room and she heard him slamming things down on the table. Her heart was thumping at just the idea of going to bed with him. Not that she would, of course. She'd already made up her mind before discovering what else Nate had been up to. So why did the right decision feel so wrong?

She drained the pasta and added it to the sauce, stirring until the spirals were nicely coated. In his fridge, she'd found a wedge of fresh parmesan cheese and shaved some into a bowl ready for serving. By the time he came back into the kitchen, she had filled two deep bowls with pasta.

“Table's ready,” he said.

She almost echoed his earlier words,
try not to sound so enthusiastic,
but didn't want to get back on a personal level. Better to keep things as businesslike as possible between them. “If you can bring that basket of rolls, I'll carry the bowls through.”

Opening the door with her hip, she kept it braced until he'd walked past her, then let it swing shut as she placed the pasta and shaved cheese on the table. To her surprise, a red candle flickered in the center. How
had he lit it one-handed? Then she saw the lighting wand on a side table. “What's the occasion?”

“I wouldn't have bothered for
cuisine de cardboard.
Good food seems to need the atmosphere.”

Touched in spite of herself, she took the seat he held out for her. “I'm glad you think my food is good.”

He sat down across from her, raising a glass of water in a toast. “Better than good, it's superlative.”

The way he attacked the pasta should have reassured her, but there was still the question of why he'd interfered in her business. She ate her own meal in thoughtful silence, the breaking of bread the only sound between them for some time.

He mopped up the remnants of sauce with a piece of bread, then looked at her across the table. “Okay, spill.”

She finished the last mouthful and put her bowl aside. “What?”

“You know what. I said or did something to make you mad at me again. That's becoming a habit.”

“I'm not mad at you. Well, I am.”

“Then spill.”

Cooking for him, eating with him were mistakes. Letting him eat his frozen whatever-it-was would have set a more appropriate tone for what she wanted to say. “Actually I came here on business.”

With his good hand, he stacked the dishes into a pile.

“I told you there's no rush to collect your stuff, unless there's something you need urgently,” he said.

“Sophie will come for the equipment tomorrow.” Emma hadn't allowed for the distracting effect Nate was having on her. Telling herself that her response to him was purely physical didn't make it any easier to confront him. “On the way here, I picked up a rental car, but it's too small to hold much of my gear.”

When he'd let her in, he must have seen the compact hatchback parked in the driveway. “Couldn't they have given you something larger? You'll find it a challenge supplying your clients in that little thing.”

“It doesn't look as if that will be my problem.”

“Why not?”

She hadn't intended to share her worries with Nate. Thanks to her mother speaking out of turn, he'd already tried to do too much on her account. “Today my builder found asbestos in the kitchen walls and in one wall of my flat.”

Nate leaned back in his chair. His strained expression reminded her that he was far from well.

“Tough call. When builders at the hospital found asbestos in an old storage facility, they had to close an entire wing down. Seeing the experts go in all suited up in white and wearing respirators was like something out of a science fiction movie.”

“Except this is real.” And her home and income were at stake.

Putting two and two together, he asked, “How will you keep your business going while the cleanup takes place?”

She had no intention of telling him how adrift she felt. Not when he was more involved in her affairs than he had any right or need to be. “I'll manage.”

“If there's any way I can help—”

“Thank you, but no,” she cut in. “As I found out today, you've already been far too helpful.”

His eyes darkened. One thing she granted Nate, he was quick on the uptake. “Mitch Kelso.”

“Don't blame Mitch. I dragged the truth out of him.” She leaned forward. “What were you thinking, paying him to work for me without telling me?”

At least Nate looked embarrassed. “I probably should have told you, but you made such a big deal out of how expensive he is.”

Her anger swelled afresh. “I suppose making me into a charity case helped you feel superior.”

“There's no charity about it, Emma. And I thought we sorted out the superiority thing yesterday.”

“I did, too, until I found out what you'd been up to behind my back.”

Nate got to his feet. “Paying Mitch to work on a project he's enjoying is more like therapy for him than going behind your back.”

“If you'd told me that from the start, I might have
believed you. But you never meant me to find out, which is sneaky and contemptible. When I started to add up the small things, like the increased amount on your check—I'll be returning the excess, by the way—and Mitch's involvement, the pattern became clear. You think you can run my business better than I can.”

He dragged his left hand over his hair. “How the devil do you reach a conclusion like that? All I did was try to help.”

“The way my parents have tried to help all my adult life. With no consideration for what matters to me, and no respect for my achievements.”

He looked frustrated. “I can't see what's pushing your buttons, Emma. Yesterday I thought we'd reached a new understanding.”

“I did, too.” Her sharp tone conveyed how disheartened she was to find they were farther apart than before.

As Nate prowled around the room, conflict raged through her. Despite all logic, she ached to be held against him, his seductive mouth on hers. Wanted much more if she was honest.

How could she feel so attracted to Nate when he thought he knew better than she did what was best for her? “What happened yesterday was a mistake,” she said, wondering which of them she hoped to convince. “It won't happen again.”

Pausing, he grasped the back of a chair. “You
know that's bull. It happens whenever you and I are in the same room. Tell me you don't feel the sexual tension between us right now?”

“Of course I don't.” But her blood was racing through her veins like wildfire.

His next words stunned her. “You mean you don't want to. Damn it, what makes you think I do?”

Resentment rocked her. Not only did he share her parents' disdain for her life choices, he didn't want to be attracted to her, either. Shouldn't she be relieved? Instead she felt a sense of rejection deeper than anything her family had inflicted. That was becoming a habit with him. “I'm glad we understand each other,” she said, striving to keep her voice level.

His expression darkened. “Unlikely. Hasn't it occurred to you that you're not the only one committed to what you do?”

This time she did push herself to her feet. “Believe me, I've had a doctor's commitment drummed into me for most of my life.”

“I'm not talking about being a doctor. I'm talking about saving lives, being able to help.”

Her shoulders lifted. “Is there a difference?”

“The difference is between doing something for status and recognition, and doing it because it needs to be done.”

She thought of Joanna's comment on the phone. “And of course, only you can do it.”

“Far from it. Grace made it clear that my depart
ment will power along very well until I'm fully recovered.”

Emma looked for signs of resentment, surprised to find none. Her puzzlement must have shown because Nate added, “We still have to deal with what's between us. Basically, I can see two choices.”

Warily, she met his gaze. “What's number one?”

“We go to bed right now.”

E
MMA WAS SPEECHLESS.
They seemed to be on a merry-go-round—covering the same ground yet unable to get off. “How is sleeping with you supposed to help?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“A famous writer once said the best way to deal with temptation is to give in to it.”

“I can't wait to hear what's behind door number two.”

“We go cold turkey. Kill what we feel with neglect.”

Swallowing was suddenly a challenge. “That might be the safest way.”

He swiveled to face her. “You like the safe way, don't you, Emma?”

“If I did, I would never have gone into business for myself.”
Or be having this discussion.

“I'm talking about emotionally. Dealing with ingredients is easier than dealing with people,” he said.

“I deal with people all the time. Not only staff and suppliers but clients.” Was he still suggesting she had it easy? “Why don't you say what you mean.”

“Okay. Looks to me like you've invested so much energy into
not
being like your parents that you haven't taken the time to decide who Emma Jarrett really is.”

Clearing the table gave her hands something to do, although she had to fight the temptation to aim a dish at him. She was reeling with resentment. “All this because I don't want to make love with you?”

“How would you know whether you do or not? Finding out would mean breaking down the wall you've built around your feelings.”

“Now I'm frigid, as well. Charming.” She pushed past him to carry the dishes into the kitchen, where she dumped them on the nearest counter.

“How the hell did you arrive at frigid from what I said?” he demanded, hard on her heels. When she didn't respond, he took her arm and turned her around. “Do I have to kiss you again to get that crazy idea out of your head.”

This close, he made her skin heat and her head spin. Hardly frigid. “What's the point if I don't have any feelings?”

“Walling them off doesn't mean you don't have them. Yesterday when I kissed you, I saw the cracks appearing—until Joanna came back and you got cold feet.”

“I did not get cold feet. To me, sex isn't a spectator sport.”

“I told you Joanna respects my privacy.”

Emma avoided stating the obvious, that the housekeeper would be well aware of what was going on behind Nate's closed bedroom door. “How come we've shifted the discussion to my shortcomings, instead of your interference in my work?”

To her surprise, he calmed down. “You're right, I shouldn't have hired Mitch without telling you.”

From experience with her family, she knew this was as close to an apology as she was likely to get. She decided to be gracious. “Thank you. For the admission, and for trying to help. I've asked Mitch to send me an invoice. Besides, nothing more can be done before the asbestos is dealt with.”

Nate was silent, but Emma knew what he would say next. “Why don't you run the business from here until the asbestos is gone?”

Sophie would be ecstatic. But what about her? She was sick with worry about how to keep the business going during the removal, but did she want to be close to Nate on a daily basis? “What would you get out of it?” she asked warily.

“Home-cooked meals until I can use my hand.”

“Is that it?”

“You'd be doing me a huge favor. You saw what was supposed to be my dinner tonight. Joanna's the first to admit she's no cook.” He spread his good hand, fingers wide apart. “You'll need a place to stay, as well. You could use the housekeeper's suite.”

Joanna lived out, Emma knew. But she was still
hesitant. “Taking into account what you've paid Mitch, I'd still be getting the best of the deal.”

“I'm prepared to call it even, if you are.”

Since she couldn't see too many other ways of keeping up with her commissions and paying her bills, she nodded. “All right then. It's a deal.”

She noticed his pallor and the lines of pain bracketing his mouth, appalled that she'd forgotten his injury. “There is one condition.”

He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. She took it from him and opened the bottle, shaking out two capsules. “What's the condition?” he asked.

She filled a glass with water and gave it to him. “By day I run my own show.”

His eyes gleamed. “And by night?”

“We lead our separate lives.”

He swallowed the pills. “You think I can't keep my hands off you if you're living under my roof?”

How could he be sure, when she wasn't? “It isn't a challenge. But we need some ground rules. I need some rules.” She couldn't function professionally and deal with the way she practically went up in flames with little more than a touch. “I won't deny there's…chemistry…between us. But we don't have to give in to it.”

“Unless we both agree,” he added.

She felt safe inclining her head. “No more thinking you know what's best for me.”

He gave her a rueful grin. “I try not to make the same mistake twice. Next time I'll ask.”

That was a start. “Then this could work. When Doug's ready to start removing the asbestos, I'll let you know. Should be in the next few days. In the meantime, I'll cook dinner each night for you as part of our deal.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

So would she, but she avoided examining her reasons too closely. She'd stated her rules, and would abide by them.
If it killed her.

 

N
ATE SAW HER OUT, THEN SANK
onto the sofa in the den, waiting for the pills to kick in. He told himself having Emma in his house wasn't the reason for his spirits lifting, although he'd needed some good news. In a couple of days he'd have the second X-ray to find out whether the first scan had missed an occult fracture. If it had, he'd be out of action for months instead of weeks. And he was already going stir-crazy.

Keeping the peace between them would be a challenge. He couldn't even do Emma a favor without setting her off like a firecracker. Paying Mitch when she obviously couldn't afford the designer's services had seemed like a nice thing to do. Where did she get off attributing his gesture to some kind of arrogance peculiar to doctors?

He hated feeling like a lowlife for going behind her back. But he'd seen how defensive she was about
her work and, knowing her parents, he shouldn't be surprised. Cherie and Greg Jarrett had inflated ideas about medicine. As visiting medical officers at Nate's hospital, they were notorious for resisting policies designed to make the senior medical staff more approachable.

Nope, Nate couldn't blame Emma for having a chip on her shoulder. He could and did blame her for lumping him in with her family. Okay, she had a point about Mitch. But surely Nate wasn't totally self-important? He was fallible, human.

Miserable.

The pain in his wrist was only part of his discomfort. The rest had to do with Emma. She was making him miserable. No, scratch that.
He
was making himself miserable because she haunted his thoughts, gave him an outback-size erection at the most inconvenient times and made him wish he was different.

He didn't want to be different. He'd worked hard to get where he was and shouldn't have to apologize for his achievements. If she didn't like it, too bad. When she moved in, she'd better get used to taking him as he was. He'd defended himself to her for the last time.

 

C
OOKING AN EVENING MEAL
for Nate was very different from moving into his house, Emma thought as she unloaded cases from the rental car. For the past two days she'd managed to be pleasant but aloof
when she'd come to prepare his dinners, and he'd responded in kind.

Under protest, she'd agreed to eat with him. For company, he'd said. He had no idea how unsettled she felt sharing his table. Simple requests for salt or cream for coffee brought images of him doing the same with a wife someday. Emma wasn't interested in the role, but the idea of another woman sitting opposite him was unaccountably upsetting. It hurt almost as much as finding out he'd been paying Mitch without telling her.

Nate wasn't going to change no matter what he said. She'd be a fool to let herself regard him as anything but a client. Not that she let her clients kiss her. When she thought about his seductive mouth on hers, just the memory made her reel.

Apart from the weather, their only conversation was when she asked about his wrist, or he complimented her on the food. He was following her rules to the letter. Why, then, did she feel so on edge?

Some people just didn't know what they wanted, she chided herself. She didn't need him interfering in her affairs, and she certainly didn't want closeness between them. If the result was a feeling of general dissatisfaction, she'd have to live with it.

So would her mother. Emma smiled. After toying with not telling her family where she'd be living, she concluded they'd find out via the medical grapevine if nothing else. Naturally, Cherie had Emma engaged
to Nate before she'd finished explaining what was going on.

Mitch had looked amused when she told him she'd made a deal with Nate. “I'm betting he won the argument.”

“There was no argument. I agreed to let Nate pay for the work you've done so far, and in return I'm cooking for him until he can fend for himself.”

“There's a first time for everything,” Mitch muttered. At her baffled look, he went on, “I've never heard anyone say Nate couldn't fend for himself. He's one of the most self-sufficient people I know.”

“Haven't you heard the saying about no man being an island?”

“You haven't seen the good Dr. Hale in his element, at the hospital. His word is practically law.”

One reason why she was determined to keep her cool. She'd had more than enough of her parents throwing their professional weight around. She had no wish to see Nate do the same. She hated to think she was still deluding herself that he was somehow different. When would she learn?

Probably over the next few days, she concluded, depositing the last of her things in the housekeeper's suite. Nate might be able to keep up his good guy act for a short time, but living and working under his roof, Emma was bound to see his true colors. By the time she could return home, she should be well and
truly over any delusions about Nate. Strange, but the idea gave her no satisfaction.

Her rooms were located at the opposite end of the house from his. The suite comprised a spacious bedroom with an en suite bathroom, a sitting room with a plasma TV on one wall and French doors leading to a private terrace. Opening the doors, she breathed in the scent of old-fashioned roses. Too bad she wouldn't have much time to enjoy the outdoor area. According to Doug, her home would be cleared as safe within a few days, provided he didn't find any more problems.

Joanna had said Nate was having the second X-ray on his wrist today. Emma told herself she was glad of the chance to settle in without having Nate around. But after putting her clothes and personal items away, and setting up her computer in the sitting room, she found herself clock watching. How long did one X-ray take, anyway?

 

N
ATE LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR
to sniff and sample the jewel-colored cabernet shiraz the waiter poured for him. When he nodded his approval, the man left. “There's one thing to be said for not being able to drive.”

His friend Troy Lawler frowned at his glass of sparkling water. “All right for some.” He picked up the glass. “To your X-ray showing no sign of a fracture.”

Nate raised his own glass. “I'll drink to that.” He didn't want to admit how worried he'd been that the second X-ray would reveal more damage than the first. He hadn't relaxed until Amy Lester had given him the all-clear. “Your timing was perfect, Troy. When you called to suggest lunch, I was getting into a cab outside the hospital.”

His friend grinned. “Naturally. Timing's my specialty.”

“So's modesty.” But Troy was right. As a Formula One driver, he'd been crowned world champion three times in a stellar career driving for Team Branxton. Three years ago, Troy had been staying at a winery outside Canberra when Nate's gourmet group had arrived for lunch. After asking the winemaker to introduce them, Troy had become an occasional member of the group. His friendship with Nate had developed in tandem, and they made a point of getting together as often as their work allowed.

Troy watched the waiter serve the
mezze
they'd ordered, a combination of hummus, baba ghanoush,
labneh,
pureed peppers, walnuts and breadcrumbs, a generous serving of warmed pita bread and fresh mint leaves as a palate cleanser. “I hear your birthday dinner was spectacular. Shame I was in Spain and had to miss her.”

About to sample the creamy
labneh
served with salt, red pepper and olive oil, Nate paused. “Excuse me?”

Troy bit into a chunk of serrano pepper. “News travels fast. Your lady chef is…wow, hot.”

“I assume you mean the pepper?” Nate said, keeping his tone neutral.

Troy cooled his mouth by tasting the
labneh
. “Word is she's hot, too.”

Since many of their friends had attended the dinner, Nate was left wondering who'd been talking. “Emma wasn't hired for her looks. She's a top-notch caterer.”

“And hot. I looked her up on the Net.”

“Because?”

“I wanted to see who'd caught your eye. You have to agree, it's been a long time between drinks.”

Nate balled his good hand into a fist, keeping it out of sight under the table. “Good to know you're keeping score.”

“Out of concern for your well-being, my friend.”

“I'm touched. Now can we drop the subject?”