“Deidre? Deidre—”
Her knees gave way. He uttered a curse as she collapsed and he caught her in his arms.
* * *
Nick watched her face anxiously as he carried Deidre down the hallway. Her eyelids fluttered, but she remained conscious. He’d nearly had a heart attack when he felt her legs give and she’d slumped in his arms. She was sick—weak—and he’d been barking at her like a rabid dog. He realized how upset she was at what she’d perceived to be a betrayal on his part. Nick had been wound up, as well. He’d been so caught up in trying to get her to understand his point of view that he’d remained utterly insensitive to the fact that she was about to faint.
He lowered her to the edge of the bed. She placed one hand on his shoulder and straightened into a sitting position.
“Lie down. I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No,” she said, sounding fatigued but firm. “It’s just low blood sugar. I haven’t been eating much over the past few days. And I’m a little tired.” Something about the defiant, if weary, tilt of her chin instinctively told him she wasn’t used to being the one receiving care. Deidre was usually the caregiver. She was the fighter. This couldn’t be easy for her. He understood her need for independence, but she’d better get used to some help, in the short term, anyway.
“I’ll be right back.”
He returned a moment later with a large glass of milk and a box of granola bars. “I called your sister at the Family Center. I figured she should know you weren’t feeling well. She says she’s coming by, but I told her you’d be resting. Eat a couple of these to get some fuel into you,” he directed, unwrapping a bar for her.
She seemed too tired to argue. Her petite frame slumped at the edge of the bed. She ate the food he gave her mechanically, swallowing it down with several gulps of milk. She shook her head weakly when he handed her the last of the second granola bar.
“Why don’t you lie down? Do you want some tea?”
She shook her head and managed a weak smile. “You’re a regular Florence Nightingale.” Some color was returning to her cheeks.
In fact, too much color.
“Are you all right?” he asked, noticing the light sheen of sweat on her forehead.
She nodded. “I’m hot,” she whispered. “It’s one of the symptoms of low blood sugar. It’ll pass in a minute, now that I’ve eaten.”
He matter-of-factly reached for the bottom of her sweater and drew it over her head. She looked a little stunned when he tossed the garment on the end of the bed, but apparently the cool air on her skin felt too good—or she was too exhausted—to protest. He knelt and removed her leather boots, forcing his gaze to remain on his task. A few seconds later, he stood and lifted the sheets, easing her limp form beneath them. Her eyelids grew heavy the second her cheek hit the pillow.
“You need a nice, long nap,” he said, tucking the sheet around her shoulders and drawing the comforter to her waist. “I knew you’d hardly been eating while you were at The Pines, but I had no idea you’d been wearing yourself out like this. I should have guessed. The staff told me you hardly left Linc’s side in the days before he died.”
“It was where I wanted to be,” she whispered. Her gaze flickered up to meet his. He abruptly stilled. She, too, looked frozen, unable to glance away. Staring down into Deidre’s eyes could make a man feel like he was sinking...falling. The seconds stretched. He felt his body sway slightly, as though he were being drawn to her like a magnet.
“Go to sleep, Deidre,” he said gruffly.
She rolled on her side, her back to him. He stood next to the bed, watching her long after her breath became even and peaceful.
He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him carefully. One hand remained on the knob. He stretched his arm and palmed the frame above the door. He leaned there, unmoving.
“Nick?”
He blinked. Colleen Kavanaugh and a tall, dark man stood in the hallway. How long had he been leaning there, lost in thought? He hadn’t even heard them enter the cottage.
“She ate a couple granola bars and drank some milk. She’s sleeping soundly,” he said, straightening.
“Are you all right?” Colleen asked him, a strange look on her face.
“Yeah. Of course,” Nick replied. He walked past the concerned-looking couple to the kitchen. He didn’t want their voices to wake Deidre. He automatically shook Eric Reyes’s hand when Colleen introduced them.
He wondered what Colleen had witnessed on his face as he stood there at Deidre’s door. She couldn’t possibly know he’d been reliving the moment when he’d whisked Deidre’s sweater over her head, exposing inches and inches of flawless, smooth skin and graceful, sloping shoulders. The vision of her naked, lithesome arms had made him want to do something crazy. The bra she’d worn beneath the simple sweater had surprised him a little, it was so feminine and pretty. Deidre was the epitome of feminine and pretty, granted, but she was so no-nonsense, he’d have pegged her for being the practical-lingerie type.
Instead, black lace had encased small, thrusting, firm breasts. When Colleen had called out to him, he’d been fantasizing what it’d feel like to run his mouth along the edge of that lace and feel the warm, sweet swell of flesh against his lips.
He shook his head as if to clear it.
“You’re a doctor?” Nick asked Eric, who nodded.