"If you don't cooperate and put this thermometer under
your tongue, I'll be forced to take your temperature the
old-fashioned way."
Logan Phillips obligingly opened his mouth, then clamped
his lips around the offending plastic-covered device.
Frustration mingled with irritation when he realized the
bandages around his eyes prevented the graduate from the
Attila the Hun School of Nursing from seeing his glare. He
didn't belong in the hospital β he had a business to run
and a daughter to take care of. They couldn't keep him
here....
The electronic thermometer beeped, indicating it had taken
his temperature. "There. Was that so bad?" The instrument
was pulled from his mouth. "In a little while, I'll send
someone in to give you a nice sponge bath, Mr. Phillips."
Sponge bath? He rose up on one elbow and addressed the
general direction from which he'd last heard her
voice. "Just wait a minute, Nurse whatever-your-name-is.
You can't expect me to...hell, I'm a grown man, and there
isn't any way that...are you listening to me?"
Murmured conversations from the hall and the overloud
ticking of a wall clock were the only responses. Perfect,
Logan thought as he settled back on the pillow. First the
accident, then an eye infection. He'd thought he'd reached
bottom when his doctor had forced him into the hospital,
but he'd been wrong. They'd poked and probed his sore eyes
and ignored his very reasonable demands. Now they were
sending in a strange nurse to wash his body. With his
luck, they'd probably assign some green first-year student
and the poor girl would get a lesson that hadn't been
covered in Anatomy 101. Where the hell was his doctor? He
had to get out of here.
Under his eyelids, the insistent throbbing began again,
like miniature jackhammers at work. He didn't know what
time the night nurse had given him his last dose of
painkiller, but it was starting to wear off.
Logan reached a hand over to the small table beside his
bed. His fingers brushed against something that felt like
the call switch, then the plastic square slipped out of
his grasp and fell. He couldn't find the cord to pull it
back up, and his attempts sent the water jug flying off
the stand, as well. It crashed to the floor and bounced
twice. There was the sound of ice settling, then silence.
He swore under his breath.
Just as he found the thick ribbon of tape that connected
to the call button, he heard the click of feminine
footsteps on the linoleum.
"Where were you when I needed you?" he asked as he
retrieved the small box. "And if you're here about the
sponge bath, you can just forget it."
There was only silence. Logan located the switch to raise
the bed so that he was in a sitting position. There were
two more footsteps and then more silence.
"How very disappointing," the woman said finally. "I
hadn't hoped for more than a handshake on our first
meeting, Mr. Phillips, but then I've been out of town for
quite some time. Are sponge baths now a popular form of
introduction?"
Logan felt heat creep up his face. "You're not here to
bathe me?" He wasn't really asking a question, it was more
a form of self-torture to verify how big a fool he'd just
made of himself.
"I can be, if it's that important to you."
Despite his lack of vision, he could almost see her
smiling.
"I think I'll pass."
"Only if you're sure." The woman's voice was low. Not at
all masculine, it was more of a combination of smoky
sounds, with long slow vowels. Not Southern, exactly, but
definitely intriguing. The way his day was going, she was
about eighty...and bald.
He shifted on the bed. "If you're not here to bathe me or
draw blood, then what can I do for you, Ms...?"
"Melissa VanFleet, Mr. Phillips. But please call me
Melissa."
She moved again. Her voice was right beside him and he
instinctively looked up. There was only darkness. The
subtle scent of her perfume drifted by his face. The
fragrance was unfamiliar, floral but with a hint of spice,
almost like magnolias. His eyes had only been bandaged two
days, but already his other senses seemed heightened.
"You keep saying my name, so I guess you know I'm Logan
Phillips?"
"I did assume that, yes."
"What can I do for you, Melissa?"
"I'm here about the job."
Melissa stared at the man in the hospital bed. She'd been
working with the ill and injured since she was eighteen,
and Logan had to be one of the healthiest specimens she'd
seen since a pro football player had come into emergency
with a broken leg.
Even with the bandages covering his eyes, he was handsome.
His tanned skin and dark hair contrasted with the white
gauze wrappings. Angry red streaks across the lower half
of his face highlighted the strong lines of his jaw. The
hospital gown stretched tight across his shoulders; the
thin cotton clung to the broad expanse of his chest.
His large, powerful hands toyed with the light blanket;
the restless movements were the only indication of unease.
No doubt Logan Phillips was as comfortable in the bedroom
as the boardroom.
She looked back at his face. His mouth was curving into a
half smile.
"I don't know what my office told you, but I'm not really
prepared to conduct interviews, Melissa, let alone look at
a building design. Perhaps you could contact my secretary
and set up an appointment."
Was he kidding? "I'm a practical nurse, Mr. Phillips, not
an architect. Your boss wants to hire me to look after you
for the next three weeks."
"I don't need a nurse," he said flatly.
Melissa pulled the plastic chair in the corner closer to
the bed and sat down. "Really? How are you going to get
home?"
"Call a cab."
"Who's going to change your bandages?"
"I'll do it myself."
"I believe that's what landed you in the hospital in the
first place. Untreated corneal abrasions can easily get
infected."
"Maybe I learned my lesson."
She shook her head. The man was completely pigheaded.
"What about cooking dinner, going to the grocery store,
driving to the doctor's office...."
"Enough," he growled.
"Your boss and my boss are in-laws, Mr. Phillips. I need a
break from my usual assignments and you need a nurse/
housekeeper/personal slave." His mouth quirked up at the
corner, but she decided not to let her hopes go too
high. "This seemed a way to solve both our problems."
Logan's jaw tightened in what she could only assume was
his tycoon-in-action expression. "Very well, Ms. VanFleet,
you've made your point. What are your qualifications? You
said you were a practical nurse. I assume that means you
have some knowledge of..."
He was impressive, she thought as he went on with
questions about her schooling and years of experience. A
far cry from her last patient. Bobby had been only six
years old. His idea of an interview had been to ask what
her favorite flavor of ice cream was and if she'd mind if
he watched cartoons in the afternoon.
"Mr. Phillips," she interrupted.
"Logan."
"Logan, I don't think you understand the process going on
here."
He sighed. "But you're about to fill me in on the details?"
"Yes." Melissa cleared her throat and glanced away, before
she remembered he couldn't see her amusement. "I didn't
explain myself before. Your boss is hiring me, but I'm the
one who makes the decision about whether or not I want to
take the job. I guess, in a way, I'm interviewing you."
"I see."
If the grim set of his lips was anything to go by, he did
indeed see and was very much less than pleased. Even
sitting in a hospital bed, Logan Phillips looked like the
kind of man who got things done in a hurry and his way.
Melissa knew that without the bandages, his eyes would be
holding her captive. No doubt they were dark and
formidable and could have intimidated her into retreat,
but today they were safely hidden.
She'd always heard wild animals were most dangerous when
injured. The barely controlled specimen in front of her
did nothing to disprove the theory. He made her want to
bolt for cover. "I don't think..." He rubbed his temple.
She recognized the involuntary sign of discomfort and
sprang up to move to the edge of the bed. "When was your
last painkiller?"
"I'm not sure. I haven't been issued my braille watch yet."
"I'll be right back."
She walked into the hall and saw the nurse carrying the
medicine tray. After identifying herself, she collected
Logan's medication and returned to his side.
"I've got your pills right here. Let me get you water
and..." Her foot hit something and she glanced down. A
plastic jug rested next to the table. "What were you
doing? There's water all over the floor."
"I was looking for the call button, but I couldn't find
it." Melissa went into the bathroom and came back with
several towels. After tossing them onto the spill, she
filled up his glass and pressed it into his hand. "Here."
The pills were next.
"Open."
"I'm perfectly capable of..."
"I'm strong and burly, Logan. I could take you out with
one punch. Now open." She grabbed his jaw and placed the
pills on his tongue. "Drink," she ordered.
He sipped the water. "Do they send you all to boot camp
before giving you the starched hats?"
"No. I've just had a lot of practice dealing with
difficult patients."
"A mental hospital?"
"I usually work with children."
"Are you trying to tell me I'm being childish, Ms. Van-
Fleet?" One side of his mouth quirked up, then the other.
That grin should be declared a lethal weapon, she thought
as she looked at him. He finished the water and handed her
the glass. For a moment, their fingers brushed. Now that
she wasn't trying to get him to do something he didn't
want to do, she had a chance to notice small things. Like
the way his touch sent her heart flying up into her throat
and then down into her stomach. Must have been the
breakfast she'd eaten downstairs in the cafeteria.
Hospitals were notorious for questionable cuisine.
"I'm just trying to decide if I can work for you, Mr.
Phillips."
One eyebrow raised above the bandage. "I'm sure my boss
told you I was very charming."
"Something like that." Melissa remembered Mr. Anderson's
promise that Logan Phillips could be stubborn and
difficult. The sum he was paying was large enough to let
her take the rest of the summer off, so she'd told the
senior partner at Logan's architectural firm that she was
sure she'd be able to deal with him. It was herself she
was worried about. Why were her palms suddenly damp? Maybe
she needed to get out more.
"Have I passed inspection?" he asked.
"Almost. I understand you have a daughter."
"Yes." He smiled at her. Obvious pride and warmth at the
mention of his child made her like him even more. The
flash of white teeth and the single dimple that appeared
on his right cheek caused her to catch her
breath. "Wendi's twelve. In fact, the mother of one of her
friends should be dropping her off here soon."
"Good. I need to meet her before I make my final decision.
It's important that all the family members accept my
presence in the house."
She didn't mention that she knew he was divorced, and he
didn't volunteer any information about there being a
girlfriend to contend with. That bridge could be crossed,
if and when she came to it. After all, the job was only
for three weeks. Changing bandages once a day and helping
Logan stay quiet until he healed was a cushy assignment.
"The ward nurse will point Wendi out to me when she
arrives," Melissa said. She saw one of the licensed
vocational nurses pushing in a cart. "I see Mrs. Roberts
is here for your sponge bath, so I'll just leave you two
alone."
She patted Logan's arm, but he grabbed at her hand. His
grip was like steel. Instinctively she stepped closer and
leaned down. "What is it?"
"What does she look like?" he whispered.
Melissa glanced at the pretty young woman unashamedly
listening to their conversation and winked. "She's fifty-
five years old and about two hundred pounds. Oh, and
there's a wart on her chin."
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