‘Don’t be cute!’ she accused. ‘Your English is a damned sight better than mine and we both know it,’ she growled.
‘Nobody has ever called me cute before. I’m touched.’
She found she couldn’t carry on acting as though she were unaware of the malicious mockery in his lean face. ‘So must I be…in the head!’ She banged a hand against the side of the area in question. ‘Just being here makes me certifiable.’ Her expansive gesture took in the luxurious surroundings.
‘Are you crying?’
Katie heard the wary quiver in his deep voice and remembered he didn’t like women’s tears.
‘No, but it would serve you right if I was,’ she told him, sniffing loudly.
Nikos’s expression softened; she talked so tough but looked so vulnerable. The combination affected him strongly.
‘It’s true I don’t like women’s tears, but if anyone has reason to weep it is you. You have been very brave…but now you are tired and hungry. Come and eat. Let’s call a truce.’
Though she was highly sceptical of his offer of a truce, quite irrationally his unexpected kindness cut through Katie’s defences where all his clever taunts had not.
‘What’s on the sandwiches?’ If she persisted in being stubborn, he might jump to the totally wrong conclusion—namely that she was scared to be in the same room as him!
Nikos had the good sense not to act as if he had won. ‘Smoked salmon and cream cheese, beef and horseradish and cucumber?’
Katie found it hard not to drool. ‘I am hungry.’ As if to back up her words her stomach chose that moment to growl again—this time extremely loudly. Her glare dared him to laugh. ‘And I hate to see good food go to waste.’
‘Indeed,’ he agreed, maintaining his gravity. ‘Especially just to prove a point.’
‘So much for a truce. I knew you couldn’t do it!’ she crowed.
‘It doesn’t start until we start eating.’
‘Well, if you’re going to make the rules up as we go along…’
‘I surrender, you win,’ he conceded, holding up his hands in mock submission.
‘I’m not the one scoring points, I’m hungry.’
Nikos stepped aside to let her pass. ‘So am I,’ he murmured.
Katie took his enigmatic words at face value—she wasn’t going somewhere that anybody with an ounce of sense would fear to tread!
Nikos led her to a long cream sofa piled high with plump cushions.
‘Elevate your foot,’ he suggested, pushing the cushions into a pile one end.
She had sat down at the opposite end before the extent of his inside knowledge struck her. ‘How did you know I’m supposed to?’
Nikos slid a hand under her knees and neatly swivelled her round. ‘I asked the doctor,’ he divulged, placing her feet on the pile of cushions.
Katie’s toes curled; she was astounded and indignant. ‘And he told you?’ So much for patient confidentiality.
‘You are my wife.’
‘Will you stop saying that?’ she begged.
‘Even if I do it will not change anything. I doubt the doctor saw any reason not to tell me. Now where is this bandage?’
‘In my pocket.’
‘It should be on your foot.’
‘Well, I couldn’t get it on, it’s too tight. I tried.’
He held out his hand. ‘Let me.’
Katie shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She scooted her feet up the sofa and tucked them protectively under the hem of her robe.
A nerve began to pulse in his lean cheek. ‘My touch offends you?’
‘Don’t be silly, of course not!’ she scoffed.
Telling him what his touch actually did was naturally not an option.
‘You are hyperventilating.’
‘I am not and there really is no need for a bandage; my ankle feels perfectly fine after the bath.’ Her voice rose to a shrill squeak in her frantic efforts to convince him.
‘No, it is not, I saw you limping.’
Katie closed her eyes in frustration. ‘Go on, have it your way,’ she gritted, untucking her leg and stretching it out stiff-kneed.
She could hardly tell him the idea of him placing his hands on her skin for any length of time made her hot with excitement and cold with dread. What if she got turned on? Who was she kidding? There was no if about it! Hell, he only had to look at her and she felt emotionally mugged. What if when he touched her she did or said something really stupid?
Nikos silently looked at the ankle extended towards him but he made no attempt to touch it or her. The moment stretched on…
He remained motionless so long the muscles in her thigh started to quiver. The silence between them was heavy with tension; finally Katie could bear it no longer.
‘Are you going to do this or not?’ she demanded peevishly. Not would be good.
Nikos rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the sinewy strength of his forearms. Katie was engulfed by a wave of longing that filled her with despair.
‘Then for goodness’ sake get it over and done with!’ she snapped.
When he did take her ankle between his big hands, they felt cool and capable. His attitude as he gently examined the tender bruised area was detached but sympathetic.
‘It is badly swollen and the bruising is coming out.’ His dark brows met in a frowning line as he examined her injury with strong, sensitive fingers. ‘It looks extremely painful.’
It was, but this wasn’t the reason Katie evaded his questioning glance. When she looked at him she saw his fingers touching, stroking areas on her body other than her ankle. The dangerous fantasy fuelled the pulse of inappropriate excitement that throbbed through her.
She took out her self-disgust on her innocent ankle. ‘You didn’t mention ugly,’ she told him with a disconsolate sniff. With a frown she compared the injured ankle with her sound one; it was at least three times the size.
‘I’m sure Tom will still love you if you had ankles as thick as tree trunks.’
She supposed it was the thought of Tom’s uncritical adoration that brought the thin sneer to his lips. As far as Nikos was concerned she would never be good enough for his friend or him.
‘I’m not so sure,’ she mused half to herself as her thoughts turned to Tom’s love of all things beautiful and perfect.
It was only his way of talking but sometimes, when Tom referred to her as his most precious possession, it made her uncomfortable. Tom liked his possessions in mint condition; if anything fell below the high standards he demanded he got rid of it. He had laughed and called Katie hopelessly sentimental when, after dropping a valuable vase, she hadn’t let him throw it away.
‘You bought it for me that day we went to an antique fair, and if I turn it like this,’ she explained, ‘you won’t be able to see the crack at all.
‘It’s not worth anything now. I’ll buy you another one.’ He looked perplexed when she told him a new one wouldn’t be the same.
‘No, because then it won’t have a flaw,’ he replied drily.
Would