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He gives me a questioning look, his smile fading a little. ‘Did you say something?’
I clutch my glass with both hands and shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Your lips moved.’
‘I was praying for resistance.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t touch you, and when you’re there like that, it’s really hard, Theo. It’s hard all of the time.’
When I expect him to look smug, he surprises me and drops his eyes to the floor, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ I rush to soothe him, trying to locate something in my head to counteract the playful statement that’s injured him. ‘Don’t be sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’ I, too, drop my head, annoyed with myself. I don’t ever want him to be sorry for being who he is. Because every single thing that makes him Theo Kane is why I’m standing here in his lounge making my silent confessions.
I hear a soft sigh, and then soon after see his bare feet in my downcast vision. ‘Here.’ He takes my glass from my hand and places it on a nearby table before claiming my hands. I look up through my lashes as he negotiates my arms around his shoulders, flattening my palms on his nape. The softness of his hair there calls for me to stroke and feel, so I flex my fingers gently until Theo releases. I exhale deeply and caress him tenderly as he shuts his eyes and hums. It’s so strange that such a big, formidable man needs to be handled with such care. ‘That feels good,’ he murmurs dreamily, moving in and taking my hips. His heat radiates through the thick material of my robe and penetrates me to my soul.
Shifting one palm to my nape, he pushes my face into the crook of his neck, forcing me on to my tiptoes. I smile into his skin. Even our cuddles are carefully controlled.
‘Come lie down on the bed with me.’ He lifts me from my feet and carries me into his bedroom, settling me gently on the colossal bed. ‘Comfy?’ he asks with a crooked smile, sinking into the covers beside me, pulling at my hip to face him.
Comfy doesn’t cut it. I could be floating on clouds. ‘So-so.’ I shrug, resting my head into the squishy pillow.
His smile is a vision, and we lie there for a while, facing each other, our noses just a few millimetres apart. I spend the time running continuous circuits of his face, reaching forward to feel the bristle of his jaw.
‘Tell me who that man was,’ he says, breaking the silence.
‘At the hospital?’
‘Yes.’
‘I did tell you. He’s the son of a patient.’
‘I thought you might have been lying.’
‘I wasn’t,’ I reply, a little injured. I wonder for a moment if Theo thought Percy’s son was someone else – like the man I’ve run from. Part of me wishes he were. Part of me wishes he’d found me, because I could guarantee he wouldn’t come near me again after encountering Theo Kane.
A frown that vanishes from his brow as quickly as it appears leads me to believe I was right. ‘Then why did he attack you?’
‘His father died today.’
‘He attacked you because his father died?’
‘He was looking for someone to blame, as any grieving relative might do. It’s happened before, though not to that extent. We get shouted at, accused of incompetence, but it’s all part of the job.’ I shrug.
His eyes narrow a little. He doesn’t understand. ‘You heal people.’
‘I try to help them get better, yes.’
Theo falls quiet, seeming to think deeply about something. The sight is fascinating, the giant man quiet and contemplating. ‘Why did you decide to become a nurse?’ His hand moves to my neck, to the place Frank left his claw marks.
I look out the corner of my eye to his hand touching my skin softly. ‘Because hospitals are safe places,’ I whisper mindlessly under the amazing feeling of his touch.
‘Safe?’ he questions. ‘Izzy, in the short time I’ve known you, an old man has tried to strangle you and a pissed-off relative tried to . . .’ His words fade, and he shakes away his obvious dread.
‘I was handling myself just fine,’ I argue softly, dragging the pad of my thumb across his bottom lip. My fear isn’t of physical pain; I can handle pain. It’s more psychological. The feeling of complete helplessness. Of being weak. Vulnerable. But I wouldn’t expect Theo to understand. Neither do I want to tell him. So I say nothing more, because I don’t know what to say. I’m not up for laying bare my nasty history. Besides, Theo is keeping the reasons for his phobia to himself. It might be childish, but I’m not comfortable with him having more on me than I have on him. Yet if this thing between us is serious, are we really going to hold back our secrets from each other? Can we do that? Should we do that? I breathe in deep, close my eyes, and remember my mother’s happy face. Her joy. Her spirit. But just as quickly, that lovely image vanishes, replaced by her sad, empty eyes. She would love to know there was someone in my life to look after me. She’d take comfort in that, I know it. How many times did I wonder if she was looking down on me, shouting at me for the decision I made? How many times did she turn in her grave when I . . .?
