‘You didn’t,’ she gritted.
‘I didn’t?’ The thin white line around his mouth relaxed as he took another look. ‘No, of course not—the bruising is too advanced for this to have happened in the last few hours. But if it was like this last night—I might have overlooked it because the lighting in here bruised everything with shadows, but I certainly would have noticed at the dinner table—’
He stopped, his eyes jerking to her bloodless face. ‘Except that you were wearing gloves...’ he said slowly. ‘I thought it was odd, but then your whole outfit was bizarrely out of character and it threw me off. Was that the plan, Jane? Did you hide this from me because you were afraid to let me see that you were weak and wounded?’
He saw too much. He always had. ‘I’m not weak.’ she mumbled hopelessly, in no fit state for another bout of verbal fencing.
‘No, you’re stupidly self-willed and too stubborn for your own good.’ He picked up the cordless telephone by the bed.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t know when it happened or how, but that hand obviously needs medical attention,’ he said grimly, punching in a set of numbers.
‘It’s had medical attention,’ she cried. ‘I’m not stupid—’ Her father had called her that, whenever she’d proposed an idea that went against his wishes.
He ignored her. ‘Carl? Ryan—I need your help.’ He rose to his feet and paced across the room to scoop up his clothes.
Jane rolled carefully onto her side, fulminating against the pain as she strained to hear his low-voiced conversation. ‘What are you doing? I told you, I don’t need a doctor—’ Her mouth snapped shut as Ryan casually shed his towel, tucking the phone into his neck so that he could continue to talk as he stepped into a pair of thin white bikin
i briefs. His buttocks were as hard and muscular as the rest of him, flexing as he bent, revealing the fine dusting of hair that disappeared into the intriguing crease between his legs. He turned to face her as he pulled up his trousers, affording her a brief glimpse of the silky pouch cupping his bulging manhood.
He punched off the phone and dropped it back onto the table, shouldering into his blue shirt.
‘I have a doctor. I’m not going to see another one—’
‘You don’t have to go anywhere. He’s coming to see you.’
‘The hotel doctor?’ She was horrified. The management would slap on a surcharge. And weren’t large hotels hotbeds of gossip? If it became known she had spent a night at a hotel with Ryan Blair her life would become even more of a scandal than it was already. Jane gingerly put a foot to the floor, trying to cradle her hand and still maintain a grip on her modesty.
‘No. Mine. Dr Graham Frey. You’ll find he’s extremely competent...and discreet.’
‘You called your own doctor?’ Her agitation increased as she watched him bundle up her clothes and place them on the chair behind him, out of reach. ‘I won’t see him!’
Ten minutes later her blustering had weakened to a sullen whine and she was still crouched on the edge of the bed clutching the sheet around her. And he’d called her stubborn!
‘At least let me put on my clothes—’
‘For goodness’ sake, he’s a doctor. He’s used to seeing naked women—’
For some reason that made her blush. ‘If he comes in and sees me like this with you here, he’ll think...he’ll think—’
‘That we’ve just spent a night of hot and heavy sex?’
She closed her eyes to shut out his mocking truth.
‘If he sees you in that trashy little evening number at seven o’clock in the morning he’s going to come to the same conclusion anyway,’ he pointed out in an aggravatingly reasonable voice. ‘There’s a hotel bathrobe in the wardrobe; how about you put that on for now?’
She wearily accepted the grudging concession, and when he brought it over she was forced to let him help her slide her arms into the long sleeves. Surprisingly, he made no sarcastic comments as she scrabbled to keep the sheet between them until she was completely covered by the robe. With the towelling safely belted around her, Jane decided she badly needed a shower, which led to another battle, interrupted by a knock on the door that made Jane stiffen in alarm. Surely it was too soon for the doctor? She caught Ryan’s solid forearm as he swung away.
‘If it’s Dan, I don’t want to see him—’
‘Are you pleading for my protection, Jane?’
She let go of his arm like a hot coal and scowled at him. To her shock he grinned, a sheet-lightning flicker of pure humour that illuminated his rakish features, making them look unbelievably boyish and innocent as he strolled to the door, buttoning up his shirt. There was a murmured conversation just out of her sight, and when he came back he was carrying a tray of covered silver dishes.
‘What’s that?’
‘Breakfast. I ordered it earlier.’ He set the tray down on the small desk on the other side of the bed and lifted off the silver covers, revealing bowls of cereal and fresh fruit, a rack of wholewheat toast and a cafetière of coffee.