He chuckled and, despite his efforts to fight it, a wave of fog drifted him back into the floating abyss. Being nice to Helen conjured up some very delectable images and with his last skerrick of good sense he hoped it was just the morphine. The feel of her hair in his face and her pink lace was already too interesting fodder for his narcotic-induced fantasies.
If he wasn’t careful she might become way more fascinating than was good for him. Helen Franklin looked like she was the kind of woman men stayed with. And James didn’t stay. He didn’t know how.
CHAPTER TWO
AT SIX o’clock Helen walked into the hospital to find James entertaining three nurses. It had been a shocker of a day. From Elsie and her cows, to finding James, to the news that another locum would be difficult to find. She wasn’t feeling particularly jovial.
‘Feeling better, I see,’ she said dryly.
Her colleagues greeted her warmly and then fluttered their hands at James, promising to catch him later. She frowned at the very married nurses and felt strangely irritated.
‘Thank God you’re here. Break me out, will you?’
He was sitting propped up in his bed, a black T-shirt thankfully covering his chest, his leg supported on a pillow. She shook her head. Did he think he could just snap his fingers and she’d jump to attention? ‘The med super wants to keep you overnight.’
James snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I broke my leg, that’s all.’
‘Jonathon’s just being cautious.’
‘I’m going stir crazy in here and this bed is frankly the worst thing I’ve ever lain on. The ground in the bush last night was softer than this.’
Helen laughed despite her irritation because it was true. The mattresses left a lot to be desired. ‘How’s the cast?’ she asked, moving to the end of the bed. ‘Wriggle your toes.’
James sighed and wriggled his toes for the hundredth time since he’d had the damn thing put on that morning.
Helen touched them lightly to assess their colour and warmth. ‘Do they—?’
‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘They don’t tingle. I don’t have pins and needles,’ he said testily. ‘They have perfectly normal sensation.’
Helen quirked an eyebrow. Good, now he was irritated, too. ‘So this is the doctors-make-the-worst-patients demonstration?’
‘I’d like a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed before starting work in the morning if it’s all the same to you.’
Helen’s hand stilled on his toes. ‘Work?’
‘Yes, work. You know, the reason why I’m in Skye in the first place?’
Helen became aware of her heart beating. She hardly dared to hope. ‘Oh…you still want to…take up the contract, then?’
James frowned. ‘Of course? Why? Are you withdrawing the offer?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ she said, absently stroking his toes peeking out from the end of the cast. ‘I just assumed…I mean I thought…you’d want to rest up until your leg was out of the cast.’
He snorted and tried not to be distracted by the light touch of her fingers on his toes and how strangely intimate it was. ‘It’s just a broken leg. I may not be as mobile as I’d like but I’m still capable of sitting in a chair and seeing patients. You do still require a doctor, don’t you?’
Helen couldn’t believe her luck. Her dark mood lightened. She smiled. ‘We most certainly do.’
‘Excellent. I’m your guy. Now,’ James said as he swung his leg down off the bed and reached for his crutches, ‘if you know where my luggage is, perhaps you could get me some clothes and the appropriate paperwork so I can get the hell out of here. I’d like to check on my bike.’
Helen watched him fit the crutches into his armpits, her hand now lying on the empty pillow.
‘It’s fine. I went and checked. Alf has it at the garage. He’s shut now. You can go visit tomorrow.’
‘It’ll be safe there?’
She smiled. ‘Of course. This is Skye.’ Although she did understand his reticence, his classic Harley must be worth a fortune.
He nodded. ‘I’ll call in on my lunch-hour tomorrow.’
‘There’s no need to start straight away,’ she protested. They could cope for a bit. ‘You should take a few days off, James, we’ll manage. Your leg should be elevated as much as possible initially.’
‘I’ll keep it up all tonight. I promise.’
He turned on the crutches to face her and she tried not to think about the unintended double meaning behind his words. But he was dressed only in his black T-shirt and a pair of black cotton boxer shorts that came to mid-thigh and left nothing to the imagination.
He looked like he could have modelled for them. He would have been perfect in a glossy magazine somewhere with his full pouting mouth and brooding dark looks. She could almost picture him clad only in his undies, his magnificent turquoise eyes making love to the camera. Maybe even straddling a gleaming chrome Harley. James Remington had clearly missed his calling.
She blinked and then swallowed. Hard. For goodness’ sake, she was a nurse, not some swooning teenager. She’d seen plenty of completely naked men. It made no sense to be affected by someone who was practically fully clothed. Hell, she’d seen more male skin exposed on a beach.
‘Right, then, I’ll bring you some clothes. Hang tight.’ And she fled from the room.
‘Hang tight’ seemed to be a favoured expression of hers. Again, as he looked down at his attire, he wondered just where the hell she imagined he would go in his underwear.
James was surprised to find on the way home that he would be living with the very capable Helen Franklin for the duration of his time in Skye. The agency had assured him accommodation was provided so the details hadn’t mattered at the time. For someone who’d spent a good part of his life between jobs camped out in a swag on the ground, any roof over his head was welcome.
But as she helped him out of the car and the smell of roses enveloped him again he felt a tug in his groin. The memory of her light touch on his toes earlier returned to him, as did the look she’d given him when he’d stood before her. The amber flecks in her eyes had glowed with warmth, hinting at passion, but she’d also looked a bit like a rabbit caught in headlights.
He could tell she was attracted to him. But he could also tell she didn’t want to be. A fact he understood perfectly. He was most definitely attracted to her. Who could resist being plucked out of the bush by pink lace and ponytails? But, like her, he didn’t want to be either.
He’d had his share of casual flings on his travels but always with women who’d known the score. Helen Franklin sent up a big red flag in his head. Warning bells were ringing loudly. Some women were best left alone—and she was one of them.
‘So this is it,’ Helen said, dumping her bag on the hall-stand and holding the door open for him. He brushed past her on the crutches and her breath hitched in her throat. ‘Your bags are in your room, through there.’
Helen pointed to one of the three bedrooms that ran off the main living area and tried not to blush at the memory of going through his bags to find the clothes he was now wearing. There had been a lot of boxers in his luggage and she felt as if she knew him more intimately than she’d ever known a complete stranger.
‘Kitchen through that door and dining room beside it.’ Helen could feel his gaze on her. ‘I have a casserole from last night I plan on heating up, if you’d like some.’
James nodded, his stomach