Helen arranged two cushions around his fractured leg to try and support it better. She shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side, opening her door and flipping her seat out of the way.
‘Here, put this behind your shoulders. Might make the ride a little more comfortable.’
She levered him forwards and stuffed the cushion behind his back, fussing a little to get it just right. James caught a whiff of her perfume and opened his eyes. They were level with her chest and he could see the pink lace of her bra and the curve of her breast as she leaned over him to adjust the cushion.
He shut his eyes again in case she thought he was staring at her breasts, and her ponytail brushed lightly against his face. Her hair was nut brown and smelled like roses. It swished back and forth a few times, caressing his face, and after a night in the cold, dark bush it was strangely comforting. He wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull her closer.
‘All set?’ she asked.
James slowly opened his eyes. He nodded and smiled. She turned to go and he put a stilling hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you. I don’t even know your name.’
‘It’s Helen. Helen Franklin.’
‘Ah. The nurse. That explains your tender touch.’
Helen stilled, suddenly mesmerised by his blue eyes. He was without a doubt the best-looking man she’d ever met. She’d not risked such thinking until now, but it was the inescapable truth.
‘Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens,’ she quipped, pulling away from his touch and resetting her seat. ‘We’ve got a few kilometres of potholed highway to travel first. I’m sure by the end of that you’ll have changed your mind.’
Helen buckled up and started the car.
‘Be gentle with me, Helen.’
Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror and found his blue flirty gaze staring back at her. He was teasing her. Great. Not only sexy but flirty, too. Fortunately, she knew the type well. Her own father was a classic example. It was typical that not even a broken leg could stymie the natural urge men like James felt to flirt.
But there was a shadow in his eyes that she recognised, too. Something that haunted him. Maybe it was just the pain. But maybe, like her father, it was something deeper, older. Something that he’d carried around for many years. Something that made him wary. Something that made him guarded.
Something that made him…intriguing.
Something that was a big flashing neon sign to her and all women to stay the hell away. Charming and charismatic had their good points but there was always a down side. She’d seen enough to know that men like James Remington, like her father, wouldn’t be held back or held still.
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Hang tight.’
She let the tyres spin a few times as she skidded away.
They made it to the hospital ten minutes later and within half an hour James had been X-rayed and given a shot of morphine.
Helen checked her watch. If she didn’t go now she was going to be late for work. They were already one doctor down, necessitating the need for Genevieve to take a patient load when she was supposed to only be working two half-days to show James the ropes before commencing her maternity leave.
Helen worried about Skye’s only general practice and what they were going to do without a replacement for Genevieve as she gently drew back the curtain that had been pulled around his cubicle. James lay on the gurney, his eyes shut, his size taking up its entire length, his feet hanging over the end.
He was shirtless and her mouth dried as her gaze skimmed over the planes and angles of his smooth, tanned chest and abdomen. A silver chain hung around his neck, a dainty medallion hanging from it. It looked surprisingly manly and strangely erotic sitting against his broad bare flesh and her fingers itched to touch it.
A light smattering of hair around his flat nipples was tantalising and she followed a trail of hair that arrowed down from his belly button until the sheet cut the rest from her view.
He shifted a little and she looked away from his abdomen, feeling a jolt of guilt at such voyeurism. He smiled to himself and Helen watched as a dimple in his chin transformed his stubbled features from Greek God-like to pure wicked. He looked relaxed for the first time since she’d met him, no tense lines around his mouth or frown marring the gap between his eyebrows.
James was drifting through space, floating. It felt good and he almost sighed as pink lace and roses flitted through the fog in his head. He felt the swish of her hair against his face again, across his lips, and it was as if she’d stroked her hand down his stomach. He could feel himself reaching for her, hear himself murmur her name.
He jolted awake and grabbed the side rails of the gurney as the sensation of falling played tricks with his equilibrium. His foggy mind took a moment to focus and when it did he found himself staring across into green eyes.
‘Morphine dreaming?’ She smiled.
James had never had anything stronger than paracetamol in his life before so he supposed that was exactly what he’d been doing. ‘Strong stuff.’ He grimaced.
The floating sensation had been pleasant and the relief from the constant feeling that his leg was in a vice was most welcome, but the sense of not being fully in control of his body was disconcerting and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. He was always in control. He’d spent too many childhood years feeling helpless to be remotely comfortable with this drug-induced vulnerability.
‘I hear you copped a lucky break.’
James grinned at her joke despite the odd feeling of being outside his body. ‘Yes, simple fracture of the tibia, not displaced. Long leg cast for six weeks.’
‘You got off very easy.’
‘Indeed.’ James remembered the worst-case scenarios that had careened through his mind as he had been hurled into the bush and knew that he could just as easily be dead or very seriously injured. ‘How’s my bike?’
She rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be worrying about the machine. ‘Alf’s recovering it now.’
‘You don’t approve?’
She shrugged. She was a nurse. Orthopaedic wards were full of motorbike victims. ‘Mighty thin doors. No seat belts.’
He regarded her seriously, her no-nonsense ponytail swishing slightly as she spoke. Not a single hair had managed to escape. He grinned. ‘You need to live a little. Nothing like the wind on your face, whipping through your hair.’
Helen sucked in a quick breath as his smile made his impossibly handsome face even more so. It made him look every inch the freedom-loving highway gypsy he so obviously was. She understood the pull of the wind in your face—she’d often ridden on the back of her father’s bike over the years. But a life of chronic instability had left her with feet firmly planted on the ground.
‘I have to get to work. I’ll check back in on my lunch-break. Can I bring you anything?’
James shut his eyes as the room started to spin again. ‘Food. I’m starving.’
She laughed. ‘They do feed you here, you know.’
‘Hospital food,’ he groaned. ‘I want proper stuff.’
‘Like?’
James thought hard as the foggy feeling started to take control again. He allowed it to dictate his stomach’s needs. He rubbed his hand absently over his hungry belly. ‘Pie. Chips with gravy. And a beer.’
Helen laughed again and tried not to be distracted by the slipping of the sheet as his hand absently stroked his stomach. Pies were her favourite bakery item. ‘A pie and chips I can do. Don’t think morphine