other lamp and for a fleeting second saw the expression on his face. The humour was gone and in its place was exhaustion and pain. She hesitated and then sat down on the chair, hating herself for not just being able to walk away. It wasn’t that she cared, she told herself quickly. It was because he was in pain. She’d never been any good at watching someone in pain. ‘You look rough.’
‘Go to bed, Tasha.’ It was a dismissal she chose to ignore.
She wondered whether he was thinking about his injury or the loss of his brother.
‘Things always seem worse at night,’ she said casually. ‘I see it on the ward with both the kids and the parents. There’s something about being in the dark. It makes you think too much.’ And she knew that sometimes it helped to talk to pass the time. She’d spent hours keeping frightened kids company at night, playing cards, chatting quietly while the rest of the ward slept. ‘What were you doing back in Cornwall anyway? I imagined you in some gilded palace, doing prince-like things.’
‘You imagined me?’ His head turned and she wanted to bite her tongue. Suddenly she was staring into those dark eyes and everything inside her melted, just as it had when she was a teenager.
‘Just a figure of speech. You’re the crown prince.’ Suddenly she felt awkward, and she wondered why she found it so much easier to talk to children than adults. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother. That must have been very hard for all of you.’
‘It’s life.’ His voice was hard and she floundered, wondering how it was possible to want to comfort and run at the same time. ‘What are you doing here, Tasha? Why did you really volunteer to look after me?’
Her heart jumped in her chest. So he wasn’t just brave, he was as sharp as a blade.
It wouldn’t do to forget that.
‘I wanted to help.’
‘Really?’ The bleak, cold look in his eyes had been replaced by smouldering sexuality that made it impossible to breathe or think. Time was suspended. In the background the crowd roared its approval at some amazing feat of sportsmanship but neither of them looked towards the screen. They were looking at each other, the chemistry a magnetic force between them, drawing them together.
And then he turned his head and closed his eyes. ‘Go to bed, Tasha.’
Embarrassment drove her to her feet. Another minute and she would have kissed that mouth. She would have leaned forward and—
Oh, God.
‘Right. Yes. Good. Well—try not to knock over any more lamps.’ She fled to the door, wondering what it was about this man that affected her so badly.
She was a career-woman. She was dedicating her life to her little patients. The only thing she was interested in was getting another job as fast as possible.
This time when she walked into her bedroom she closed the door firmly behind her.
* * *
The dark rage inside him mingled with frustration. The inactivity was driving him crazy. Almost as crazy as living with Tasha. Even when she wasn’t there, she was there. He smelt her perfume, spied a pair of feminine shoes discarded next to a chair.
And now she was surfing. Alessandro watched from the terrace as she carved into the wave, graceful and perfectly balanced. It was like watching a dancer. Some bolder tourists had chosen to visit the beach to take lessons on the soft sand and then try the bigger surf created by the rocks. They huddled in groups, learning to stand on the board, learning to balance, practising the ‘pop-up’. Then they ventured into the water and spent the time falling off their boards in the shallows.
Tasha had none of those problems.
Watching her was sheer poetry. He turned away from the window, envying her the opportunity to push herself physically. Before the accident he would have been out there with her. Or maybe not with her, exactly. He frowned, not sure how he felt about having her there. She was the reason he was home, and those new painkillers had certainly taken the edge off the agony. But other parts of him weren’t faring so well. The inactivity was driving him mad.
As were the phone calls from Miranda.
She wanted to visit.
But he wasn’t ready to see her.
Wasn’t ready to make the decision everyone wanted him to make.
Driven by a burning desire to recover as fast as possible, he hauled himself to the bed and started the exercises the physio had shown him.
He worked without rest, channelling all his anger and frustration into each movement, pushing himself hard.
By the time Tasha arrived back in the apartment, he was in agony. Still in her wetsuit, her feet bare, she stood and looked at him.
‘Did you take your painkillers before you started?’
It cost him to speak. ‘No.’
‘That’s what I thought. Let me tell you something about pain—once it comes back, it’s harder to manage. The trick is to head it off before it returns. You should have waited for me. I was going to do the physio with you.’ Dropping her towel and her bag on the floor, she walked over to him. Her hair lay in a damp rope over her shoulder and she smelt of the sea. ‘The surf is fantastic.’
Her enthusiasm and sheer vitality sprinkled salt into his wounds. ‘I saw you. You took a risk with that last wave.’
‘I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about risk given that you lay down under a horse.’ She glanced down at his ankle. ‘How’s that feeling?’
‘It’s fine, thanks.’ Speaking required energy he didn’t possess and she gave him a knowing smile.
‘Fine? Yeah, I bet. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll check you over.’
Despite the agony, his entire body heated and he reflected on the fact that having Tasha as his private nurse was the worst torture anyone could have invented. ‘You already checked me over.’ And he’d had a sleepless night as a result.
‘Sorry, but while I’m in charge, I’ll check you whenever I feel it’s necessary.’ Cool and calm, she faced him down. ‘You’re my responsibility. No one dies on my shift, got that?’
‘I have no intention of dying.’
‘You might, if you carry on being uncooperative.’ Her smile managed to be both threatening and sweet as she gestured to the bed. ‘Lie down.’
It was an awkward manoeuvre. ‘When will they take this damn thing off?’
‘That cast is holding your joints in the right position while they heal. When the surgeon is happy that your bones are healing, they’ll remove it. Usually about six to eight weeks. So that gives you at least another month. Better get used to it.’
‘And once it’s removed?’
‘Intensive physio—hydrotherapy—’
‘Hydrotherapy?’
‘Basically exercising in the water.’ Gently, she pushed him back against the stack of pillows. ‘Good for strengthening muscle without stressing bone and joint.’
Alessandro lay on the bed and tried to ignore the pain licking through his body. He wondered if she planned to change out of the black stretchy wetsuit before she examined him. She looked like Catwoman. ‘I just want to be fit.’
‘You will be, but it’s going to take time.’ Tasha reached behind her and unzipped the back of her wetsuit slightly. ‘If you’re worried that you’ll never be fit again, don’t be. I’ve seen your X-rays and I’ve talked to your surgeon. There’s no reason why you won’t be back to normal in a few months providing you’re sensible. If you do the wrong thing now—if you push it when you should be resting—you’ll just do damage. You need to take it steadily and do as you’re told.’