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Sofie absently touched her wrist where the man had gripped her two days ago. She could still feel those long fingers...her skin had tingled for a long time afterwards. Long after she’d rung the bell and nurses and doctors had come running.
She’d gladly stepped back and let them take over, slipping out of the room before anyone could think to question why she’d been there.
Had she done that? Had her illicit kiss woken him up?
Sofie shook her head. Crazy. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She finished buttoning up her uniform, sighing when she caught the reflection of herself in a mirror in the changing room.
She was too pale, and her dark hair didn’t help. Even though it was the height of summer in Scotland, there was little chance of getting a tan. Sofie had never been anywhere in her life that had the kind of heat she’d read about in books or seen in movies. She couldn’t imagine it.
The shirt of her uniform strained over her chest. She sighed again, and tried to adjust it so that it sat better. She’d often thought that if she could stretch herself a few more inches above her five foot four her curves might actually make sense and fit her body better. But unfortunately she’d inherited her beloved Granny Morag’s diminutive and well-endowed figure. Not to mention her hips. And there was nothing she could do about it.
She closed the door of her locker and tried not to let her mind go to him. Even though as soon as she’d walked into the hospital just a short time before the whole place had been buzzing with whispers about the mystery man, who had apparently lost his memory. He had no idea who he was. And neither did anyone else. He hadn’t been reported missing, and it didn’t appear as if he’d been travelling with anyone else.
But apart from the memory loss and a superficial bump on the head he was in perfect health. Sofie blushed when she thought of how healthy he’d looked. And felt. Under her mouth.
The door to the changing room opened abruptly and Sofie looked around, feeling inordinately guilty. It was a friend of hers—a nurse called Claire. ‘They need you in the private room, Sofe. Someone knocked over a vase of flowers and it needs cleaning.’
Sofie gulped. ‘The room where that patient is...?’
Claire rolled her eyes. ‘That’ll be the one. Our one and only private room.’
‘He’s still here, then?’
Her friend frowned at her. ‘Yes, he’s still here. What’s up with you?’
Sofie clamped down on the panic she felt at the thought of seeing him again. ‘Nothing—nothing at all. I’ll go right away.’
Sofie gathered a few things and made her way to the room. When she got to the door she heard voices and hesitated, but then the door opened fully and a harried-looking matron saw her and said, ‘Oh, good, Sofie. Come in and clean up this mess before someone slips and breaks an ankle.’
Sofie wanted to run in the opposite direction but she couldn’t. So she stepped over the threshold. She didn’t immediately see the man, as there was a doctor in the room, along with the hospital director, and they stood between her and the bed.
They were talking in low voices, but then someone moved and suddenly the man was revealed. He was sitting up in bed, no longer bare-chested. Wearing a hospital gown. Alert and awake. His impact on Sofie was like a punch to the gut, driving the air out of her lungs.
He was looking right at her with those incredible green eyes. His skin looked darker. His hair longer and more unruly, as if he’d been running a hand through it. The unshaved growth of beard made him look even more masculine. And that mouth...it was in a grim line now. Not soft. She remembered how firm it had felt under the cushiony softness of her lips.
‘Sofie?’
Sofie blinked and saw that the hospital director and the doctor were looking at her. The matron said impatiently, ‘The broken vase is on the other side of the bed.’
Face flaming, she ducked her head and hurried around to where water, flowers and broken glass lay strewn on the floor.
The dark-haired woman who had just appeared in the room was familiar, and because nothing else was familiar the man’s attention was piqued. She pierced through the fog blurring his consciousness like a shaft of light. The stubborn haze in his head suddenly didn’t seem so frustratingly pervasive.
He watched as she hurried around to the side of the bed with a mop, brushes and a bucket.
He wanted to look at her more than he wanted to keep listening to the interminable conversation he was being subjected to. He wanted to tell her to come closer so he could inspect her. But she was picking up bits of glass, putting them carefully into a bag. Her uniform shirt gaped when she bent over, and he caught a glimpse of an abundance of pale flesh encased in lace.
When she straightened again he could fully appreciate the fact that she had the figure of a lush pint-sized goddess. Generous breasts and womanly hips. A tiny waist. Silky jet-black hair, tied back, and pale skin. She’d looked at him with wide eyes a few moments ago as if she’d never seen a man before. Huge dark blue eyes—they were the colour of dark violets. Unusual.
But how could he know that when she wasn’t close enough for him to see them? Had he seen her before? Why was she familiar? His head throbbed with the mental effort he was exerting.
He willed her to look at him—but her gaze stayed resolutely down, fixed on her task. A sense of irritation caught him unawares, as if he wasn’t used to any woman avoiding his eye. He had a sense that it was usually the other way around. Her cheeks were pink. And suddenly he felt a surge of awareness in his lower body. A thrum of blood. Excitement. Sexual.
The doctor cleared his throat pointedly and he had to reluctantly take his gaze off the intriguing woman and move it back to the trio of people who were making his head hurt with their endless questions.
The doctor said, ‘We have no reason to keep you here in the hospital, but obviously you can’t just leave when you have nowhere to go and don’t even know your own name...’
The man felt a sense of frustration. These people were offering him problems, not solutions.
They started to talk amongst themselves. The director of the hospital said, ‘All the hotels and B&Bs are booked this time of year...’
The doctor: ‘I would offer to take him in myself, but we’ve got a full house...’
The matron: ‘My mother is coming...’
‘What about the Simmonds family? They always have a spare room or two...’
‘They’ve rented out their house for the summer while they visit family down south...’
‘Oh, really? I didn’t know they’d gone. Julie was working on a new quilt for the community arts and craft shop, but if she’s not even here—’
The man put up a hand, stopping their incessant babble. He looked at the girl who was now mopping the floor, the long coil of her silky black ponytail curling over one shoulder, almost long enough to touch her breast. He pointed at her. ‘I’ll stay with her.’
Everyone stopped at the audacity of his statement. Including the girl. Slowly, she looked up and saw him pointing at her. Those eyes widened again. Dark blue. Definitely dark blue. And suddenly he remembered something.
He spoke without thinking. ‘You were in the room when I woke up. It was you.’
Her face went bright pink. Fascinating reaction. Her eyes were even bigger now.
‘I... Yes, I was here when you woke. I went and got the doctors and nurses.’
He felt as if there was something else. He remembered the sensation of a tiny wrist in his hand. Cool skin. Soft skin. But the rest eluded him.
Someone cleared their throat. The matron. Sounding very officious, she said, ‘I’m afraid that staying with Sofie is not an appropriate suggestion.’
Sofie. It suited her. Soft. Like her curves. But then she looked back at him and he had an impression of something much steelier than soft. He gritted his jaw. It was not helping to curb his arousal.
He couldn’t look away from her. He ignored what the matron had said and asked, ‘Can I stay with you?’
She blinked. He noticed that she had long black lashes. She wore practically no make-up, yet her skin was like porcelain. Showing every fleeting emotion under the delicate surface.
His blood surged again and he put his hand down over his lap. He didn’t usually respond like this in public. The assertion flitted through his head.
