‘Where is he?’ he demanded brusquely.
A bit shaken by his attitude, ‘In—in the living room,’ she responded, and he brushed past her into the apartment.
‘Marco is also a physician,’ Gio explained dryly as he too stepped past her.
And the brother’s brusque manner began to make sense. The argument between the two brothers down in the foyer must have been about Sandro’s blackout at the restaurant. Someone must have called Marco to meet his brother here but Sandro had sent him away.
Following the two men into the living room, Cassie lowered herself into a chair to watch helplessly as both men went down on their knees beside Sandro. Her heart was pumping very slowly now and she had a vague suspicion that she might be going into shock because she couldn’t seem to feel anything else at all.
Even when Sandro showed signs of coming round she still didn’t feel anything. Eventually he sat up, holding his head in his hands. His brother was murmuring something to him and Sandro was answering in low, thick Italian. All three men seemed to understand what had happened, which left only Cassie without a clue. A severe shock could make a woman faint, she knew that. It could make a man black out. But she knew that what she had witnessed with Sandro was much more than that.
Then she heard Marco murmur in English, ‘We need to get you to bed, Alessandro.’
And she came alive like a phoenix rising up from the ashes of numbed senses. Without saying a word she just leapt up and ran out of the living room and into Sandro’s bedroom, then began rushing around it, madly trying to tidy the evidence of their recent activities in there before the others came in and saw it and guessed what had been going on.
She found her stockings and Sandro’s socks then remembered with a sharp jolt that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Gio and his brother had to be curious as to why he wasn’t, which meant…
Oh, shut up! she slammed at the riddling squirm of her own guilty conscience and was just straightening the rumpled blue coverlet when a sound by the door made her look up then go perfectly still.
Sandro was leaning heavily against the doorframe. ‘I see we are both on the same wavelength, which makes a change…’ he drawled, glancing around the hastily tidied bedroom.
‘You look dreadful,’ Cassie breathed, slowly straightening up.
‘I feel it.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. Did I scare you again?’
Her throat felt so thick she couldn’t get any words out, so she swallowed tensely and nodded. Then because he looked as if he was going to keel over again she went and slid her arm around his waist.
‘Y-you need to be in bed.’
One of his arms arrived heavy across her shoulders. ‘So I do,’ he agreed.
‘Let me call your brother and Gio to come and help you—’
‘You can’t. I sent them packing.’
‘But—why?’ Cassie gasped out.
‘Their presence here embarrassed you.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’ She flashed a sharp green look at him. ‘Your health is more important than my embarrassment. Not five minutes ago you were lying unconscious—again!’
‘Now I’m not,’ he responded with cool logic, ‘though I cannot guarantee to remain upright for much longer, so if you think you could…’
‘Oh.’ Cassie tightened her grip on his waist. ‘Let’s get you to bed, then.’
‘Best invitation I’ve had all day—’
‘Don’t you dare make a joke of it!’ she choked out. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like to watch you drop like that? I thought you were dead! I thought you’d suffered a m-massive heart attack or s-something and I…’
‘OK—OK,’ Sandro cut in soothingly. ‘Don’t start weeping on me, brave Cassie. Just help me across the room so I can fall on that bed.’
Pinning her trembling lips together, she did as he bade her. Brave Cassie indeed. She hadn’t felt brave while she’d sat beside him. She’d felt helpless and useless and scared.
As they reached the bed Sandro swung his arm off her shoulders and sat down heavily, then just keeled over like a drunk.
Still without allowing herself to say another word, Cassie busied herself doing the mothering thing and placed a knee on the bed so she could reach across to the other side of him and catch up the cover so she could flip it over his length.
‘I’m not cold,’ he told her, his ink-dark eyes fixed on her pale profile.