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‘Hi.’
He swung round, looking surprised for a moment. And then pissed off.
Quelle surprise.
‘What do you want?’
She whipped the thermometer out of her back pocket like Harry Potter preparing to do the Expelliarmus Spell.
If only.
‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ she said. Time to go on the offensive. There was no point being a wimp around Art, because he would stomp all over her. So he was having his temperature taken now even if she had to shove her wand right up his bum.
He eyeballed the thermometer. ‘What’s the bad news?’
‘The bad news is I’m here on a mission from my mother to take your temperature.’
‘So, what’s the good news?’
‘You’re going to hate this even more than I do.’
*
I do not believe it!
Art stared at the thermometer – and wanted to punch a wall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, because one hand was throbbing like a rotten tooth and damaging the other one would leave him helpless.
Damn Dee for siccing her daughter on him. And damn Ellie for looking like she was enjoying this. ‘I don’t have a temperature.’
‘Tell that to my mum, she’s worried about you.’
‘Go back and tell her yourself.’
She stepped into the room and closed the door, making the space feel even more claustrophobic than usual. He could smell her, that fresh spicy scent that had enveloped him while he’d dozed off in the car on the way back from the clinic.
‘Unfortunately for both of us –’ she propped her bottom on the desk ‘– that’s not going to wash when you haven’t eaten a full meal in days.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ Like he was going to tell her the real reason he wasn’t eating. She’d probably crack a rib laughing.
She shook her head. ‘Nope, that won’t work either. Unless you’ve suddenly become a closet anorexic. And I’m afraid if you have that’s only going to make Dee worry more.’
‘She’s not my keeper and neither are you.’
‘Yes, I believe you said that already.’
‘So why aren’t you listening?’
She opened the leather case and dropped the glass tube into her palm. ‘What exactly is so terrifying about having your temperature taken?’
‘I don’t have a temperature.’ He grabbed her other hand and slapped it onto his forehead, to prove the point.
The feel of her palm, cool and soft, pressed to his skin didn’t help with the tugging sensation deep in his abdomen. He dropped her hand.
‘Satisfied?’ He cleared his throat, because the word had come out on a husky rumble.
Ellie pressed her palm into her jeans, and scrubbed it down her thigh.
‘I am. Dee won’t be.’ She wielded the thermometer like a lightsaber. ‘Unless I hand her conclusive proof, she’ll only harass you herself. So stop being a pain in the arse and stick this under your tongue for two minutes.’
