Praise for SUSAN MALLERY
“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd
“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“A gifted storyteller, Ms. Mallery fills the pages with multi-faceted characters, solid plotting and passion that is both tender and sizzling.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“If you haven’t read Susan Mallery, you must!”
—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
SUSAN MALLERY is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over eighty books and has been a recipient of countless awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. Her combination of humor, emotion and downright sexiness has made her a reader favorite. She makes her home in Southern California with her husband, her very dignified cat and her not-so-dignified dog. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.
Tender Loving Care
Susan Mallery
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“If you don’t cooperate and put this thermometer under your tongue, I’ll be forced to take your temperature the old-fashioned way.”
Logan Phillips obligingly opened his mouth, then clamped his lips around the offending plastic-covered device. Frustration mingled with irritation when he realized the bandages around his eyes prevented the graduate from the Attila the Hun School of Nursing from seeing his glare. He didn’t belong in the hospital—he had a business to run and a daughter to take care of. They couldn’t keep him here….
The electronic thermometer beeped, indicating it had taken his temperature. “There. Was that so bad?” The instrument was pulled from his mouth. “In a little while, I’ll send someone in to give you a nice sponge bath, Mr. Phillips.”
Sponge bath? He rose up on one elbow and addressed the general direction from which he’d last heard her voice. “Just wait a minute, Nurse whatever-your-name-is. You can’t expect me to…hell, I’m a grown man, and there isn’t any way that…are you listening to me?”
Murmured conversations from the hall and the overloud ticking of a wall clock were the only responses. Perfect, Logan thought as he settled back on the pillow. First the accident, then an eye infection. He’d thought he’d reached bottom when his doctor had forced him into the hospital, but he’d been wrong. They’d poked and probed his sore eyes and ignored his very reasonable demands. Now they were sending in a strange nurse to wash his body. With his luck, they’d probably assign some green first-year student and the poor girl would get a lesson that hadn’t been covered in Anatomy 101. Where the hell was his doctor? He had to get out of here.
Under his eyelids, the insistent throbbing began again, like miniature jackhammers at work. He didn’t know what time the night nurse had given him his last dose of painkiller, but it was starting to wear off.
Logan reached a hand over to the small table beside his bed. His fingers brushed against something that felt like the call switch, then the plastic square slipped out of his grasp and fell. He couldn’t find the cord to pull it back up, and his attempts sent the water jug flying off the stand, as well. It crashed to the floor and bounced twice. There was the sound of ice settling, then silence. He swore under his breath.
Just as he found the thick ribbon of tape that connected to the call button, he heard the click of feminine footsteps on the linoleum.
“Where were you when I needed you?” he asked as he retrieved the small box. “And if you’re here about the sponge bath, you can just forget it.”
There was only silence. Logan located the switch to raise the bed so that he was in a sitting position. There were two more footsteps and then more silence.
“How very disappointing,” the woman said finally. “I hadn’t hoped for more than a handshake on our first meeting, Mr. Phillips, but then I’ve been out of town for quite some time. Are sponge baths now a popular form of introduction?”
Logan felt heat creep up his face. “You’re not here to bathe me?” He wasn’t really asking a question, it was more a form of self-torture to verify how big a fool he’d just made of himself.
“I can be, if it’s that important to you.”
Despite his lack of vision, he could almost see her smiling. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Only if you’re sure.” The woman’s voice was low. Not at all masculine, it was more of a combination of smoky sounds, with long slow vowels. Not Southern, exactly, but definitely intriguing. The way his day was going, she was about eighty…and bald.
He shifted on the bed. “If you’re not here to bathe me or draw blood, then what can I do for you, Ms…?”
“Melissa VanFleet, Mr. Phillips. But please call me Melissa.”
She moved again. Her voice was right beside him and he instinctively looked up. There was only darkness. The subtle scent of her perfume drifted by his face. The fragrance was unfamiliar, floral but with a hint of spice, almost like magnolias. His eyes had only been bandaged two days, but already his other senses seemed heightened.
“You keep saying my name, so I guess you know I’m Logan Phillips?”
“I did assume that, yes.”
“What can I do for you, Melissa?”
“I’m here about the job.”
Melissa stared at the man in the hospital bed. She’d been working with the ill and injured since she was eighteen, and Logan had to be one of the healthiest specimens she’d seen since a pro football player had come into emergency with a broken leg.
Even with the bandages covering his eyes, he was handsome. His tanned skin and dark hair contrasted with the white gauze wrappings. Angry red streaks across the lower half of his face highlighted the strong lines of his jaw. The hospital gown stretched tight across his shoulders; the thin cotton clung to the broad expanse of his chest.
His large, powerful hands toyed with the light blanket; the restless movements were the only indication of unease. No doubt Logan Phillips was as comfortable in the bedroom as the boardroom.
She looked back at his face. His mouth was curving into a half smile.
“I don’t know what my office told you, but I’m not really prepared to conduct interviews, Melissa, let alone look at a building design. Perhaps you could contact my secretary and set up an appointment.”
Was he kidding? “I’m a practical nurse, Mr. Phillips, not an architect. Your boss wants to hire me to look after you for the