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‘I’ll text you when Chris lets me loose.’
He chose to ignore the gleeful grins on his mates’ faces. They could get lost as well.
Stephanie was still looking stunned at what she’d agreed to. ‘What about your sister?’ she croaked. ‘We could ask her to help.’
Max cut her off. ‘Chantelle and medical dressings? Don’t go there. You’re it for as long as Mike needs you.’
Max had made that up about Chantelle. ‘Haven’t you got a game to go watch?’ Michael growled.
That got them moving. The clock was ticking, and in their haste to set him up they’d forgotten they had yet to confront the traffic that would be clogging the roads around Eden Park.
‘We’ve got a spare ticket to the rugby. Chris?’
‘Give me five and I’ll be right with you. I’m all done here for the rest of the night. Thanks, Stephanie. Word of warning: your services will be required for at least three days.’ He grinned. ‘Thanks for the ticket, Michael.’
Michael glared at his surgeon. ‘Any time you want to go let me know and I’ll find another axe to do some damage with.’
‘Is there a television on the ward?’ his new housemate wondered in the sudden silence that fell after the three wise asses had left.
‘There’ll be one in the lounge at the far end.’
Though the prospect of getting out of bed to go along there was not exciting him.
‘I could watch on my phone if I had it with me.’
It had been in his pocket when he’d chopped himself, which had saved him hauling his butt around the house looking for it to call for help. But where it had got to was anyone’s guess.
Pity, because he really wanted to watch the game from the comfort of this bed. Negotiating crutches or a wheelchair did not appeal now the codeine was lightening off. Taking another pill could wait until he was ready to sleep. Drugs were all very well, but they made him groggy and he preferred to go minimal where he could on that score.
‘That’d drive you bonkers, wouldn’t it? With such a tiny screen you’d struggle to see it clearly.’
She looked at him hard and saw his frustration.
‘You phoned for an ambulance, so I’m figuring you dropped the phone on your porch afterwards.’
‘Hope I haven’t had any unwanted visitors since then.’ Losing his phone would be more than a nuisance, with all the numbers he had stored.
‘I’ll go get it. Anything else you want? Clothes to go home in? Toothbrush?’
He nodded. ‘All of those. Jock dropped my keys on the bedside table.’
Thank goodness one of them had been alert. He hadn’t given it a thought. Anaesthetic brain had a lot to answer for.
‘Steph, I’m sorry to be a pain.’
She blinked. ‘It’s okay.’
He’d called her Steph. Letting go of another knot that kept her that little bit removed from him. Anaesthetic brain again.
‘You might want to bring my car when you come to collect me. I’m not likely to get this leg into your matchbox.’ It would really give him grief if he tried folding it up to his chin.
‘No problem. I’d better fly. Kick-off’s in forty.’
She snatched up his house keys and disappeared before he had time to answer. Everyone seemed to be leaving him in a hurry today.
CHAPTER SIX
TO WAKE HIM or not? The game started in five.
Steph eased onto the chair beside Michael’s hospital bed and gazed at his face, free of pain and tension in sleep. Still as handsome, still making her blood heat. Michael. How had she thought she could get over him? Despite the years since she’d last touched him her palms could still feel the sensation of that warm skin, of his hard muscles. More important, she still knew the hope he brought her for a future of love.
There was no answer as to why it was Michael over other men she’d known. It was what it was. Attraction, both physical and mental. So deep that hope was an integral part of her, and finally she understood that removing it would be as impossible as whipping out her liver or kidneys. No cure available.
But right now he wouldn’t thank her if he missed the game—even if he did need to sleep.
‘Michael,’ she called softly.
She needed to hand over his gear and get out of there to digest what she’d let herself in for. Days and nights with Michael, in his house, looking after him. How had that happened?
She’d been conned, that was how. By a smart guy looking out for his friend. She couldn’t argue with that, even when the arguments were stacking up in her head. It was exactly what Jill would’ve done for her.
‘Michael,’ she tried, a bit louder, keen to get away.
When he didn’t stir she leaned across and laid her hand on his upper arm, shook gently.
‘It’s kick-off time.’
‘What?’ His eyes opened, closed again.
‘The rugby, Michael.’
This time his eyelids lifted and stayed up. ‘You got my phone?’
‘And the other things you wanted. But I thought this would be better to watch the game.’ She passed over her tablet. ‘Larger screen.’
He reached for the tablet—with the wrong hand. His groan was deep, throaty, and the pain from that sprained wrist showed in his face.
‘Easy...’
Using only one arm made his shuffling upright an awkward struggle, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Steph plumped the pillows behind his back, gently pushed him into them before turning on the tablet and finding the game.
‘Want to stay and watch with me?’
Pardon? Was he serious? Or not thinking straight?
‘I don’t think we can both watch on that tiny screen.’
In other words, No, I do not. We’re going to be spending too much time together starting tomorrow.
‘We’ll manage.’ He slid sideways and patted the bed. ‘Here.’
You’re kidding, right?
How was she supposed to do that without getting in a fever? But it seemed her heart had taken charge, because she was soon parked beside him, staring at the screen. Not looking anywhere else, not breathing, not feeling his arm against hers. Totally unaware of him.
Pants on fire.
The game had started. ‘Go, you idiot, run!’ Michael almost shouted as one of the Auckland forwards stole the ball from the opposition. ‘Look out!’
‘Shh, you’re in a hospital ward,’ she nudged him. ‘Some people in here are sick.’
He totally ignored her. ‘What sort of pass was that?’
Steph went to close the door. This was not going to be a quiet eighty minutes, so she’d minimise the damage. Then the game pulled her in and she forgot where she was, and even who she was squashed up against—okay, that was an exaggeration—until, in frustration at a player’s move, Michael slapped his hand down on his thigh.
‘Ahhh!’
The sound of raw pain drowned out the commentators and the background noise of the shouting crowd.
Standing up, Steph lifted his hand away from his leg and checked the dressing. ‘Got to watch out.’
His breathing was shallow and rapid, his good hand a fist, his face white.
She gripped his hand in both hers, held him until the tension eased from his muscles and his eyes opened.
‘Don’t say a word,’ he growled. ‘I’ve got more than enough cuss words of my own.’
Focusing on the screen, he drew in long, soothing lungsful of air, hissing them out again over tight lips.
When Steph tried to free her hands from his he turned his hand to hold on to her. She went with it, as it was one way to prevent him doing anything so mindless again.
Sitting back on the bed, not so close as to be touching his arm, hip and thigh this time, she did some breathing exercises o
f her own to lessen the tension cramping her stomach, her chest...her sex. Being this close to him was hard, not touching him even more so—but extremely wise and safe.
But it might not be the case by the time she moved out of Michael’s house in a few days.
* * *
‘Come and get me, will you? Before Chris changes his mind. I’ve had enough of this place and people poking thermometers in my mouth and shining torches in my face all night long. How’s a bloke supposed to recover when they don’t let him sleep?’
Michael was grumpy.
‘And don’t forget to bring my car. I’m not tying myself in knots getting into that miniscule thing you drive.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Great. Steph sighed into her tea. The man was belligerent as all get out.
‘I’ll be about an hour.’
