Page 44 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I bit back a laugh. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in the store room.”

I gestured to him to remain seated and went to fetch the first-aid kit. I hurried back with it towards Xander, who remained seated and grumbling to himself. His right hand was still placed on his forehead.

I put the red plastic box – a gift from Mum – on the counter and unfastened it. I let out a snort of laughter. Was Mum expecting me to undertake open-heart surgery? There was everything inside it, from waterproof plasters and bandages to safety pins, disinfectant, insect repellent and arnica cream.

“Once you’ve quite finished perusing the contents, Ms Harkness, I wouldn’t mind some attention here?”

I felt my cheeks redden. I reached for a pack of the cold compresses Mum had bought from the chemists and wrapped one in one of the small hand towels she had also placed in the bottom tray. Did she think I was going to deliver someone’s baby? “Here,” I said, guiding Xander’s hand away from his forehead. “Place this on it.”

“Thanks.”

As the cold hit his skin, he winced.

I moved in a little closer and received a wave of his aftershave, which reminded me of salty, crashing waves. His lashes were long and furling. I focused on his forehead. “I think you might have a bit of a bump there later.”

“No! Really? Whatever makes you think that?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic. I’m trying to help.”

“What would have helped is if you hadn’t left that death trap hanging there.”

“And if you had been more careful where you were going, you wouldn’t have done that!”

Xander opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it and clamped it into a flat line.

“Here,” I murmured, picking out the tube of arnica cream. “Put some of this on it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s cyanide,” I ground out. “What do you think it is?”

His eyes blazed. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Oh, good grief! “It’s arnica cream. It’s very good for bumps and bruises.” I eyed him. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Like an utter dick. Now, do you have that cream there, please?”

So, concussion looks unlikely then, I thought to myself.

I took the tube and squeezed the end of it. “Give me your other hand and I’ll put some arnica cream on your finger.”

Xander removed the cold compress for a second. His handsome but stony face examined mine. “It might have escaped your notice, but I’m not a cyclops. I’m struggling to see what I’m doing.” He flicked his eyes away from me for a second. “Would you mind putting some of that on my massive, melon-sized lump, please?”

I planted one hand on my hip. “I can assure you that there is no melon there – well, apart from the one sitting on the stool.”

Xander pulled a sarcastic face. “Very droll.”

I asked him to lower the bright blue compress from his forehead. If there was a bump there, it was tiny. The area was red and beginning to morph into fetching shades of claret and purple. “Here. Sit still, please.”

Xander angled his chin upwards and I tried not to stare at his square-jawed profile and the way his crisp, dark waves fell over each other. I cleared my throat and smoothed some of the cream over the bruising.

My fingers shifted over Xander’s skin, rubbing in the arnica cream in small, deliberate circles. He gave a tiny flinch. “If you’re a good boy, you might get a sticker.”

Xander raised his eyes to me.

An odd sensation shifted through me, making me snap my fingers away, as though I’d been plugged into a set of jump leads.

I turned away, snatched up the tube of arnica and fiddled for a few seconds with the lid. For goodness’ sake, Sophie! What is the matter with you?