Praise for SUSAN MALLERY

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“A gifted storyteller, Ms. Mallery fills the pages with multi-faceted characters, solid plotting and passion that is both tender and sizzling.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“If you haven’t read Susan Mallery, you must!”

—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster

SUSAN MALLERY is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over eighty books and has been a recipient of countless awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. Her combination of humor, emotion and downright sexiness has made her a reader favorite. She makes her home in Southern California with her husband, her very dignified cat and her not-so-dignified dog. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.

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Tender Loving Care

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“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—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. VanFleet?” 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.”

Logan sighed with relief. “Thanks, Melissa.”

“Anytime. I’ll be back when I’ve spoken with your daughter.”

Melissa automatically waved goodbye as she left the room, then laughed when she realized he couldn’t see her. Just as well. If he could, he’d find out what Mrs. Roberts really looked like and they’d probably have a full-scale riot on their hands. A straightforward man like Logan Phillips wouldn’t take kindly to deception, however well-intentioned, or confinement, however necessary.

She walked over to the nurses’ station and chatted with the two women sitting there. In about fifteen minutes, the elevator doors opened and a young girl stepped out. She was slim and pretty, with none of the gawkiness usually associated with preteen girls.

“Wendi?” she asked.

The girl stopped in the hall. Green eyes met Melissa’s and she wondered if Logan’s were the same color. “Yes.”

At twelve, Wendi was already as tall as Melissa. Her hair was the same color as Logan’s, a rich dark brown that reflected the light. Whereas his had curled around his ears and would have barely brushed a shirt collar, hers tumbled down her back in an artfully arranged display.

“Hi, I’m Melissa VanFleet. I’m a nurse and I may be taking care of your dad for a few weeks.”

Wendi smiled. The impish grin was pure Logan. “Great. I was afraid I’d have to look after him and it would be totally like gross. I mean, what if there was blood? Yuk.”

Melissa laughed. “No blood, I promise. You won’t mind then?”

“Nah.” She glanced at Melissa’s tailored pants and plain cotton blouse. “You won’t wear a uniform, will you?”

“Never.”

“Good.” Wendi glanced down the hall to see if they were alone, then leaned forward and whispered, “I mean they’re totally uncool. And the shoes.”

“I know, they’re like combat boots.” She remembered Logan’s boot-camp remark.

“So when’s my dad coming home?”

Despite her trendy clothes and air of sophistication, Wendi suddenly looked like a scared little girl. The fear in her eyes convinced Melissa to take the job. She knew kids, and this one needed reassurance that her father would be fine. “He’ll be home later today. I’m going to find the doctor and make the arrangements, then I’ll need to go to the house and check on food and that sort of thing. Can you show me where you live?”

“No problem. I’ll just say hi, then we can get going.”

Wendi went down the hall, and Melissa turned back to the nurses’ station.

After speaking with Logan’s physician, she headed toward his room to pick up Wendi. As she walked through the doorway, Logan was speaking.

“So this Melissa person is okay?” he asked.

Wendi looked up and saw her, then smiled. “Yeah. She seems nice.”

Melissa bit back a chuckle. Not a bad endorsement from a twelve-year-old.

“What does she look like?”

Logan’s question seemed casual enough, but Melissa felt her humor fade. Here it comes, she thought.

Wendi studied her thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Dad. Nothing like Mom. She’s at least thirty.”

Melissa put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows.

“Or younger,” Wendi hastily amended.

“And?” he prompted.

“Blondish. Not very tall.” Wendi shrugged and looked away. “Jeez, Dad, this is embarrassing.”

Logan laughed. “I should know better than to ask a girl whose idea of high fashion is anything from MTV.”

Melissa forced a smile. She knew why Wendi was uncomfortable. What was the girl supposed to say? It wasn’t as though she didn’t know she was…plain. She saw the proof every day in the mirror. Wasn’t her mother always telling her that beauty came from within? Just once, though, she’d like to be pretty enough that no one had to look deeply to notice.

She listened a few more minutes, but the conversation had moved on to another topic. Taking a deep breath, she walked closer to the bed.

“Hi.”

Logan wasn’t sure if he recognized the voice first or the scent. “Melissa?”

“Very good. I’ll tell the staff that you won’t be needing that guide dog after all.”

“Thanks. I just want to go home. What’s the verdict? Did I pass inspection?”

“Was that a note of pleading I heard in your voice?”

He laughed. “At this point, I’ll do anything to get out of here.”

There was a rustling noise and the sound of her heels on the floor. When she next spoke, he could feel her soft breath tickling his ear. “How was the sponge bath?”

“I got by.” With her help, he thought. Knowing the nurse was old and unattractive combined with him mentally reciting all the states and their capitals had kept him relaxed.

“Here’s the deal. I’ll work for you for three weeks. While your eyes are bandaged, I’ll help with day-to-day living. After the dressings come off, I’ll be around to make sure you follow the doctor’s orders. Can you live with that?”

He nodded. “I’m yours to command.”

“Yeah, right. And pigs fly. You’re the type of patient that gives nurses nightmares, Logan.”

He tapped his chest in an expression of innocence. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I’ve cleared your discharge with the doctor. He’ll be by in an hour to check your eyes one last time, then you can leave. Wendi’s going to take me to the house, now. I’ll make sure there aren’t any hazards waiting to trip you, and stock up on groceries.”

She sounded cool and competent. Wendi’s description was clear in his mind, but he still didn’t have a clue as to what Melissa looked like. Blondish and not very tall from a twelve-year-old could mean anything. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on his eyes to tell him about a person. For now, he had no choice but to trust his instincts. And his gut said Melissa was okay. He had to like someone who could match him quip for quip and even come out on top.

“I’ll be waiting for you to rescue me,” he said. “Wendi, come give your old man a kiss.”

He heard Melissa step back and Wendi move forward. “Bye, Dad. I’m going to spend the afternoon at Kelly’s house and have dinner there. The number’s on the counter in the kitchen.”

“Fine. But be home by eight, kitten.”

“Yes, Dad.” She sighed with bored resignation and planted a kiss on his cheek. He was still smiling when Nurse Attila walked in, her rubber soles squeaking on the linoleum. “Do we need to use the bedpan, Mr. Phillips?”

Melissa pulled the red Volvo station wagon up to the curb by the hospital entrance. She’d wanted to bring her own small car, but Wendi had told her that Logan’s long legs would never have fit. Watching him being wheeled out the door, she had to concede that his daughter might have been right.

Even in the wheelchair, with the white bandages covering his eyes, Logan exuded an air of power. He was a man on the move. The fact that he was wearing jeans and a cotton long-sleeved blue shirt didn’t lessen the impact of his presence. If anything, the casual attire clinging to his masculine body emphasized the strength. After six years of dealing with children, a virile, adult male was going to take some getting used to. But she’d better keep her misgivings to herself. Once he sensed her fear, he’d pounce and show no mercy.

Melissa shook her head and grinned. Get a life, girl, she told herself. He’s just a guy, like a million others. The fact that her heart was racing and her palms felt sweaty was a problem she’d deal with another time—like the year 2000.

She stepped out and moved to the sidewalk. “Ready to go home, Logan?”

He smiled gratefully. There were lines of tension and pain bracketing his mouth. “Yeah. The doctor gave me a very thorough exam before I left. If you were looking for a way to keep me in line, it worked.” The red marks on his face had been treated with a clear ointment that made them seem more raw.

Melissa patted his arm sympathetically. Logan’s corneal abrasion was quite severe. He’d ignored his physician’s orders and now had an infection to deal with, as well. Just the thought of someone probing his already painful eyes and lids was enough to make her shudder.

“Let’s get you home and in bed.”

“Not tonight, dear, I have a headache,” he joked as she helped him to his feet. He towered above her—six feet of injured, frustrated male. “But it’s a hell of a generous offer. I…” He clenched his teeth and drew in a slow breath. “When did the earth start spinning so fast?”

“Hold on to me.” She nodded for the orderly to take Logan’s other side and then turned him toward the car. “You’ve been flat on your back for two days. It takes a second to get your balance. Put your hand out in front of you and feel for the car. There. I’m going to put my hand on the top of your head, so you don’t bump yourself while you get in. Slowly.”

He lowered himself onto the seat and sighed. “Is this the Volvo?”

Melissa closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I recognized the smell.”

She reached across him and grabbed the shoulder belt. His skin had paled to an unhealthy shade of gray, and his lips were pulled into a tight line of pain. After snapping the buckle, she gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “Wendi said my car wasn’t big enough for you. Besides, it’s a cheap model and I don’t think she wanted the neighbors watching it pull in and out of the driveway.”

Her attempt at humor was rewarded with a slight smile. “That’s my girl, always worrying about what the neighbors will think. She gets it from her mother.” He fumbled on the far side of the seat, then lowered the back down. “Home, James.”

“Yes, sir.”

Melissa started the engine and carefully put the car into drive. After easing out of the hospital parking lot, she turned onto the canyon road that would take them to Logan’s place.

The house wasn’t that far from the bustling west side of Los Angeles, but once in the hills the only hints of the large city were the occasional glimpses of high rises that flashed through the trees. Houses were set back from the street, with heavy gates and thick, tall trees standing guard.

She watched for the correct turn. Logan lived on a long cul-de-sac, third house from the corner. Although slightly more modest than its neighbors, his house was still impressive. The used-brick facade was elegant. A circular driveway curved in front, then veered off toward a three-car garage.

He probably paid more in property taxes than she’d earned all last year, she thought as she slowed the car to a stop. Maybe she should have gone into a different line of work.

“We’re here, Logan.”

He sat up slowly and opened the car door. She half expected him to go barreling off toward the house, but he seemed to have learned his lesson at the hospital. He swung his legs out, then waited impatiently on the seat.

Logan inhaled and smelled the roses in the front yard. He remembered fighting Fiona about the color so many years before, but he’d never noticed the scent. Once the yard was finished, it had ceased to demand his attention. Today the heavy perfume filled the air. There was the sound of a car going down the street and a dog barking in the distance. His world had been reduced to blackness, intruded upon only by sound and touch and smell. He felt alone and isolated.

“It’s about fifteen feet to the front door and there’s one step. I’ll tell you before we get there. Now stand up slowly and lean on the car. When you’ve got your balance, put your arm around my shoulders.”

Logan thought about arguing. He disliked being told what to do, by anyone. But the dizziness he’d experienced before, combined with the pain in his eyes, was enough to dull his natural charge-ahead instinct. Most of all, he hated the helplessness.

He rose and gripped the top of the car. The world lurched a couple of times and settled into still blackness.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded. As she slipped his arm around her shoulder, he recalled Wendi’s description. Melissa was short; he had to lean down to let her help him. Her hand held on to his side, providing him with a surprising amount of support for a small person. The gentle round flesh pressing against his ribs could only be her breast. He grinned. His daughter had neglected to mention that Melissa was curvy. Something inside rumbled as if to remind him he’d been alone for too long.

Soft strands of hair brushed against his bare forearm, swaying back and forth with each step. It was like being tickled with silky feathers. He would have teased her about the sensation or wondered about the tingling in his groin if he hadn’t tripped on an uneven flagstone.

The sense of falling into nothing jerked him back to reality. He felt Melissa throw both of her arms around him, in an effort to steady him. Her petite body pressed next to his. From chest to knee, flesh warmed flesh.

“Who the hell designed this walkway?” she asked.

He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the indignation in her voice made him smile. Heaven forbid that anything should threaten her patient. He moved his hands over her back, then up to her face. She was warm and soft and ready to go to battle for him. He hadn’t known he liked that in a woman.

Tilting her chin so that she was looking at him, he spoke. “I did.”

“Figures. Concentrate on your footing, Logan. There will be plenty of time for woolgathering when I get you in bed.”

She moved back to his side and they began to walk again.

“Step now.”

He raised his foot and felt the higher level. “The door should be right in front of us.”

“It is. Stay still. I’ll go open it.”

He heard the sound of metal against metal, then the lock turning. Melissa stepped back and placed her arm at his waist. “Let’s try and get through the house without breaking anything.”

By the time they reached his bedroom, Logan was covered with sweat. The pain in his head made every inch of the journey painful, and negotiating the furniture and turns had stretched his nerves tight.

He sat on the bed. “Just let me lie down for a couple of minutes. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t move a muscle until I get back.” Melissa ran into the bathroom and dampened a couple of cloths. When she returned, he was sitting exactly where she’d left him. “Come on, Logan. Let’s get you out of these clothes and then you can sleep the rest of the day.”

“You seem awfully anxious to get me into bed. Is that all you nurses think about?”

Not until today. Just the thought of undressing his powerful body was enough to send sparks skittering through her, but he was her patient and he was in pain. There’d be time to remember the look and feel of his body when she was at her next assignment.

“No. We also think about ways to torture innocent people. I need you to cooperate.”

He nodded wearily.

Biting her lower lip, Melissa leaned forward and started unfastening his shirt. As she worked the small buttons, she could feel his breath on her face. Each puff of air made her fingers stumble slightly before resuming their task. The fabric parted obligingly and exposed a well-muscled chest covered with rich dark hair. The pattern continued down his flat stomach, only to disappear into the waistband of his jeans.

When she finished with the buttons, he shrugged out of the shirt, then untied his athletic shoes, pulled them off and afterward, the socks.

“Can you stand?” she asked.

“I think so.” He pushed up from the bed. She put out a hand to steady him and he grabbed the support. “Thanks. Maybe I should do the jeans myself.”

She eyed the button fly. “Good idea.”

Don’t stare, she told herself. He mustn’t know you’re at all interested. But then she remembered that Logan couldn’t see her.

Her gaze was drawn to his well-formed hands. Long fingers quickly popped the buttons through the denim. He pushed the jeans past his hips, then sat on the bed. Melissa tried not to look at the tight-fitting white briefs.

“Lie down,” she said softly. She took one of the damp cloths and brushed it across his face and chest. He shivered as the compress cooled his skin and washed away the film of perspiration.

On her tour of the house, she’d left several bottles of pills on the nightstand. She opened one container and shook out two painkillers. After he’d swallowed the medication, she pulled the sheet and blanket up to his shoulders and brushed the hair away from his forehead. The welts on his face could wait for treatment.

“Try to sleep now, Logan. I’ll check in at regular intervals. Wendi said I could take the room next door. Is that all right with you?”

“That’s fine.”

She pulled her hand away, but he caught her wrist. His thumb brushed back and forth against the sensitive inner flesh.

“I could get used to this kind of treatment, Melissa.”

She tried to laugh, but the only sound that came out was a slight croak. She cleared her throat. “That’s what they all say, the first day. I’ll be a holy terror by the end of the week.”

The medicine was beginning to work, and she saw the muscles in his face relax. “Yeah, sure. I’m really scared,” he murmured, then released her hand.

Long after she’d left the room, the inside of her wrist tingled from his touch.

Chapter Two

Three hours later, Melissa crept back into Logan’s room. The past few times she’d checked on him he’d been sleeping soundly, but now it seemed as though he were starting to get restless.

The bedroom was large, with stark white walls and a deep blue carpet. Massive pieces of furniture, from the four-poster bed to the two matching armoires, proclaimed the territory as belonging to a man. A chair rail, in the same rich mahogany as the rest of the furniture, bisected the walls. Opposite the door was a white brick fireplace, flanked by two leather wing chairs. The only incongruous note was the French Impressionist paintings hanging on the walls.

The armoire to the left of the bed contained stereo equipment. She glanced at the CDs scattered on the table and picked up the sound track to The Phantom of the Opera. When the opening bars of music began to softly fill the room, Melissa moved to the bed.

Logan stirred, then rolled onto his back.

“Hi,” she said, stepping closer to him. “How do you feel?”

“You don’t want to know.” He touched his fingers to the bandage around his eyes. His color was no longer gray.

She perched on the edge of the mattress and pulled his hand into her lap. The literature she’d been reading about the newly blind had said that they need a lot of physical contact with the world around them. Feelings of panic and disorientation weren’t uncommon. Even though Logan’s eyesight would be fine once the bandages were off, it was her job to deal with his emotional well-being. She clasped the strong fingers within her own.

The contact felt nice…too nice. It’s just a job, she reminded herself.

“Are you in pain?”

“Not if you don’t count anything above the shoulders.” Logan pulled his hand away and raised himself to a sitting position. The sheet fell to his waist, exposing the expanse of his chest. Dark hair, curling across well-formed muscles cried out to be touched, or at the very least, admired. His fingers returned, tentatively searching for hers.

Melissa swallowed and tried to think of something to say. “Are you hungry?” The staff nurse had told her he hadn’t eaten any lunch and very little breakfast.

“I think so, but I’d like to wash up. I can still smell the hospital.”

“No problem. Only it’s too soon for a bath or shower. You mustn’t get the bandages wet.”

“You are bossy, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to think of myself as having well-developed leadership qualities.”

He grinned. The overhead light cast shadows on the hollows of his cheeks. “Like I said. Bossy.”

She pulled back the sheets, then waited until he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He was very masculine…and virtually naked. Long legs stretched on forever; the lean muscles were covered by hair as dark as that clinging to his chest. The tight briefs around his middle only outlined the…uh…maleness below. Why did he have to be so damned good-looking?

“I think I might be able to find my way,” Logan said, turning toward the hall. “I occasionally make this journey in the dark.”

“Suit yourself.” She let him walk two steps and bang his shin on the end of the bed.

“Ow. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Would you have listened?” she asked, filling her voice with as much sweetness as possible.

He bent down and rubbed his leg. “I will from now on. Lead the way.”

Melissa put his hand on her arm and counted out the steps to the bathroom. When they reached the door, she flipped on the light.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Turn on the light. Are you planning to watch?”

The outrage in his voice started her lips twitching. “It’s just this weird thing I do. When I walk into a dark room I reach for the light. Call me crazy. And as for watching…honey, you haven’t got anything I ain’t seen.”

“We’ll discuss that another time. Just give me a shove in the general direction and leave me in peace.”

“Two steps forward. The sink is to the right. I’ve left out your toothbrush, with toothpaste, and there’s a towel next to it.”

He turned to her. “Is there anything you haven’t thought of?”

The subtle praise of her efficiency caused her stomach to flip-flop a couple of times. “Just call me Florence,” she said, and pulled the door shut.

What was wrong with her? she wondered. Had she spent too much time working with kids and not enough time dating? If she wasn’t so sure she was really twenty-eight, she’d swear she was back in high school with a major hormonal crush on the football captain.

Later, when he was asleep, she was going to have to give herself a stern talking-to. She’d always prided herself on being competent, disciplined and, above all, professional. Logan was making her feel like a new recruit. None of her other patients had made her think about touching and kissing and…not even once.

Maybe it was just the position of the moon or something, and these feelings would go away by themselves. Until then, she’d have to keep a tight rein on her reactions and be the soul of propriety.

By the time Logan stepped out of the bathroom, she had most of herself under control. She led him back to the bed and plumped up the pillows on the headboard. “I’ll be right back with your dinner. Don’t try anything foolish while I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.”

His expression was shameless. She was sure that if his eyes hadn’t been bandaged, he would have been batting his eyelashes at her, like a Southern belle.

Melissa walked down the hall and across the large living room. Once in the kitchen, she poured the soup she’d been simmering into a cup and set the china onto the tray. She hesitated over coffee and decided against it. The caffeine would only interfere with his sleep, and that was the last thing he or she needed. She’d be up checking on him most of the night, anyway.

When she entered the bedroom, she paused. Logan was resting, with his head leaning against the pillow. The lines of his face were clenched tight, and his hands were balled into fists.

“Melissa?”

His voice startled her. “Yes. How did you know I was here?”

“I thought I smelled food. What’s for dinner?”

She set the tray across his lap. “Spaghetti.”

His mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t eat…”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He lifted his head toward her voice.

“Yes, I’m kidding. Here’s a cup of soup. Careful, it’s still hot. Then we have broiled chicken, sliced and chilled, and steamed vegetables, also sliced and chilled.” She moved his hand to the small dish on the side of the plate. “A light honey-mustard dressing you can use for dipping. And for dessert…strawberries.”

Logan felt the bumpy texture of the fruit as Melissa touched his fingers to the plate. The nurse at the hospital had brought him a regular meal and had then spent fifteen minutes telling him that his plate was like a clock. In theory the idea worked, but as soon as she’d left, he’d forgotten if his peas were at nine or noon. In the end, it had been easier to go hungry.

“I’m going to put a napkin on you, Logan.” Melissa’s voice was quickly followed by the pressure of her hands smoothing a linen square across his chest. “Eat up, or I’m going to make good on my threat to serve you spaghetti.”

He chuckled. “Are you going to join me? Or don’t nurses eat?”

He sensed her hesitation. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

After she’d left, Logan searched for and found a chunk of chicken. He took a bite and chewed slowly. The taste of the food seemed exaggerated, yet he wasn’t sure he would have known what it was if he hadn’t been told. He wanted to throw the tray across the room and shout his frustration.

He’d been alone before; he’d even been scared before. But nothing compared with the black void that was now his world. The simplest task, like brushing his teeth, took on herculean proportions, now that he couldn’t see. And he would only be blind for a week.

“You’re not eating, Logan. Don’t you like my cooking?”

“It’s great.” He grabbed one of the vegetables and took a bite. “Yum, thanks.”

“Okay. You’ve made your point.”

Her voice got farther away, then he heard several grunts. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to move this…chair. What’s it made of? Lead?”

“Just wood. I thought you were big and burly, Melissa.”

“I lied.”

“Come on.” He patted the bed invitingly. “It’s a king-size mattress. I’m willing to share.”

“I…I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. I’m your nurse.”

He moved his head as if looking for intruders. “I don’t see anyone here but us chickens.”

“Well, they’re here just the same. My professor from nursing school is right there in the corner, glaring at me.”

“Come on. I could use the company.”

“I don’t think…”

He could feel her weakening and grinned. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re…chicken?”

“Give me a break.” There was a slight dipping as she took a seat. Then he felt her lean forward and place something on his tray. “Your water. Don’t spill it.”

“Yes, Mom.” He found the glass and took a sip. “Do you always cook for your patients?”

“No. I work with children, and their parents usually take care of that. Sometimes, I’ll be alone with the kids for the day and then I’ll fix lunch, or we’ll go out for hamburgers.”

She kept her tone light, but he could hear traces of pain behind the words. “You sound sad.”

“I’m fine, really.”

He didn’t believe her for a minute. “Do you miss the kids when they get better and don’t need you?”

“They don’t get better. I work with terminally ill children.” She made the statement casually.

“You sound very calm. Doesn’t it ever get to you?”

“It’s my job to be calm, Logan. And of course it gets to me.”

He heard the catch in her voice and knew that if he could see her, there’d be tears in her eyes. Cursing his lack of sight, he picked up the cup of soup.

“Tell me what you look like.”

Melissa glanced at the man watching her with his covered eyes. If his daughter was anything to go by, his ex-wife was stunning. What should she say? That she wasn’t even pretty? Not that her looks really mattered. Even if she did find him handsome and sexy and interesting and very male, he’d only see her as an employee.

“I’m kind of medium,” she said finally.

“Medium?”

“Yes. Medium height, medium-brown eyes, medium-blond hair. I wear it short, just past my ears, with bangs. I’m the middle child and I got average grades in school.” Boring.

“You don’t sound medium. You have a lovely voice.”

“Thanks.” His compliment pleased her. In a social situation, he wouldn’t have looked at her twice, but here, in the safety of his bedroom, she allowed herself a brief moment of fantasy. When the bandages came off and he returned to his regular life, he’d forget all about his nurse. But she’d remember him.

Logan pushed the tray away. “I can’t eat another bite.”

She finished her last strawberry, then moved the dirty dishes to the table by the fireplace. “I need to change your bandages. Just let me go wash my hands first.”

He nodded. The tension returned to his jaw.

Melissa quickly washed her hands, then hurried back to his room. She picked up the scissors from the nightstand and carefully cut through the gauze.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw a naked man?”

Logan felt his mouth drop open. “Excuse me?”

“When I was about sixteen, I had this crush on a guy named Steve. He was on the swim team. We had a social studies class together. I’d spend the entire hour staring worshipfully at the back of his head and wishing that just once, he’d notice me.”

Logan smiled as he pictured the scene. Melissa knelt beside him on the bed and he moved over to give her room.

“One day, the teacher had us debate an issue. I don’t even remember what it was. Anyway, he and I really got into it. We were arguing back and forth.”

The pads were gently removed from his lids. He saw light and tried to open his eyes.

“Keep them shut, Logan. I’m going to put in the cream, then patch you up again. After class, we continued our argument. About halfway down the hall, he put his arm around me. I thought I was going to die. Hold these against your lids.”

He held the circles in place while she started wrapping the gauze around his head.

“The next thing I knew, we’d stopped walking. I looked around and realized I was in the boys’ locker room. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me, Steve, or the naked guys milling around and ducking for cover. I ran out of there as fast as I could and never spoke to him again. Actually, that was the first time I thought about going into nursing.”

Logan laughed. “You made that story up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“It took your mind off the pain when I changed the bandages.”

She began to smooth salve over the wounds on his face. He grabbed her wrist and held her still. Search as he might, there was no way to penetrate the thick coverings and study her face. She’d said she was medium, but he didn’t know what that meant.

Her breath fanned his face. He could smell the strawberries she’d eaten and the scent of her subtle perfume. He was still holding one hand, and her other pressed against his shoulder for balance. Her fingers felt small yet sure, as if the power to heal and comfort was captured within her delicate touch.

She was very close. Her breasts must be a scant inch from his chest. He remembered the curves pressing into his ribs when she’d helped him into the house. But there was no way to know the exact weight and contour of the feminine flesh.

A hunger started deep within him. He’d been without a woman for far too long, and this sweet creature catering to his every need was a temptation hard to resist. If it wasn’t for the lessons in his past, he would have pulled her next to him and shown her that a man without eyes was still a man in every other sense of the word.

He let her go.

“Tell me about the accident.” The husky sound of her speech rubbed against his skin.

“I had it out with a sandblasting machine. The machine won.”

She continued to smooth the ointment onto his injured flesh. “I guess that’s how you got these burns.”

He nodded. “The hose ripped and the guy holding it got pinned down. Like a fool, I raced in and pulled him free.”

“Sounds brave to me.”

He drew his lips together. “Maybe. But the construction worker was wearing goggles and a protective jacket. I was in a business suit. The hose shot me right in the face.”

“And then you didn’t follow the doctor’s orders and landed in the hospital.” She finished her work and moved away.

“Something like that.”

He heard her walking around the room. Was she going to leave him? Being alone with the blackness wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

“You must be pretty tired,” he said.

Melissa looked up. Logan was sitting against the headboard, but there wasn’t anything relaxed about his pose. He’d suffered her changing his dressings without a fuss, but she knew he’d felt discomfort. The best thing for him would be to sleep through the night. Yet she didn’t want to leave him, and if her hunch was right, he didn’t want her to go.

“Let me take the dishes to the kitchen, then I can come back and read to you.”

The phone rang before he could respond.

She picked up the receiver. “Phillips residence.”

“Oh, totally cool, Melissa. I love the way you answer the phone. If a boy calls for me, could you call me Miss Wendi?”

Melissa laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. You want to speak to your father?”

“Yeah. Is he…okay?”

“He’s fine. Here.”

She handed Logan the phone and picked up the tray.

“Hi, Wendi. I’m feeling great….”

Melissa was still smiling when she returned to his room. “Everything all right?”

“Wendi’s spending the night at her friend’s house. I think she’s scared I’m going to die in my sleep or something and she’d rather not be the one to find the body.”

Melissa looked over the books resting on the floor by the nightstand. “I’ll reassure her in the morning. Don’t you have anything fun to read?”

Logan turned toward her. “I read lots of fun books. Maybe you have no taste.”

She read a title. “Architectural Morés in Ancient Byzantium? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you’d prefer one of Wendi’s rock star magazines.”

Melissa plopped down on the floor and glared at him. A useless gesture but satisfying all the same. “Aren’t you just filled with wit and charm. Give a man a little food for his belly and suddenly he rules the world. Got any romances?”

“Nope. Maybe there’s a science fiction.”

“Ray guns and slimy monsters? Thanks, but no thanks. Here we go. The Macbeth Murders. I love a good mystery. That way if my patients really bug me, I can learn new and creative ways to bump them off.”

“I like you, Melissa VanFleet.” He grinned at her. “You’re good at your job without making me feel like an invalid.”

“What had you imagined a nurse to be? Someone in a starched uniform with a no-nonsense attitude?”

“I never thought you’d have a sense of humor.”

She tossed the book onto the bed and began measuring out his evening medicine. “They tried beating it out of me, unsuccessfully I might add. Here. These should help you sleep.”

Logan took the pills without comment and downed them with a single gulp of water. “You could be poisoning me and I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re perfectly safe.” Melissa walked around the bed and sat down on the far side of the mattress.

“Why?”

“I haven’t been paid yet.”

“If I weren’t blind right now, I’d…”

She pushed up a pillow behind her back and smiled at him. “Yes? What would you do.”

He sighed. “I give. Just read, woman.”

She opened the book. “Chapter one. It was a dark and stormy night….”

Logan turned with a swiftness she hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t know if it was the perfume she wore or her voice or the fact that she was a woman and he had an unerring sense of direction, but even without the benefit of sight he managed to roll onto his side and pull the book from her fingers.

“You’re pushing it, Melissa,” he growled playfully.

The sheet had become twisted in his legs, leaving his chest bare. He didn’t move back. She was close enough to see the individual whiskers forming the darkness shading his jaw. After making a mental note that he’d need to be shaved in the morning, she stared at his mouth. Firm lips, curving in a slight smile, called out to be touched. Thank God, he couldn’t see what she was looking at. How could she have ever thought of his bedroom as safe?

“Ah, is this your way of saying you want to do the reading?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice level.

“No, it’s my way of saying you’re less in control than you think.”

Logan was close to her. Even without seeing her, he could feel the warmth of her body next to his. They were alone in the house…stretched out on his bed. Now he knew why she’d resisted joining him there. It would be easy to…

He shifted back to rest on his pillow. What was he thinking of? He didn’t know the first thing about Melissa. She might be uninterested or attached or…

“Are you married?” he asked.

“What?” She sounded startled by the question.

“Are you married?”

“No. Why?” The mattress dipped as she slid away.

He shrugged, ignoring the unusual sensation of relief. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other, he told himself. He knew her type and she didn’t belong in his life, or—however tempting the prospect—his bed. “I was just thinking that if you were, your husband must hate you being gone so much.”

“Well, I’m not, so it isn’t a problem. Now do you want me to read or is it time for a credit check?”

“Temper, temper.” He handed her the book. “You may begin now.”

She laughed. “Someone left you in charge for too long. It’s gone to your head.”

“Read,” he commanded.

She read.

Melissa broke two more eggs into the bowl and began to beat the mixture. The big bay window overlooking the circular driveway let the morning light into the large rectangular kitchen. Blue-and-white French tiles blended with the white appliances and pine cabinets to create an elegant yet calming work area. If she added the eating nook and laundry room off to the side, she was pretty sure it was bigger than her whole apartment. Melissa shook her head in disgust and continued to hum along with the rock station playing in the background.

She set the bowl on the counter and headed down the hall. “How many strips of bacon do you want?” she asked as she entered Logan’s bedroom.

Sitting in one of the wing chairs, staring sightlessly at the television, Logan wore a dark blue robe she’d found in his closet.

“Damn fool economists,” he muttered. “Thinking that we’re heading into a recession. Three, please. Extra crisp.”

“Coming right up.” Melissa returned to the kitchen. But before she could begin working, she heard the sound of a key in the front door. She glanced at the clock; it was barely past eight. Logan had said that Wendi wouldn’t be home until noon. Did he give keys to the women in his life? She looked out the window. Hers was the only car in the driveway. Why hadn’t she bothered to get dressed? She moved into the foyer. It was too late now.

“Hi.” Wendi walked in and shut the door behind her. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Smudges under her bright green eyes told of a restless night. Her expression was troubled, and traces of tears clung to her smooth cheeks. “Is my dad…” Her voice broke.

Melissa stepped forward and smiled. “He’s fine, Wendi. He was up a couple of times in the night, but he’s doing great.”

“Really?” She sniffed, fresh tears ran down her face. “I was so worried. I should have stayed home, but I was scared.”

“He’ll be back to normal before you know it.” Melissa gave her an impulsive hug. They were the same height, but Wendi was all long lines and lean limbs. The girl returned her embrace, then stepped back and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Can I go see him?”

“Sure. He’s drinking coffee and arguing with the morning news show.”

Wendi looked at Melissa, her eyebrows raised in outrage. “You went in my dad’s bedroom dressed like that?”

Melissa glanced down at the long robe covering her oversize pink T-shirt she’d worn to bed and laughed. “Wendi, he’s got bandages over his eyes. He can’t see me.”

“Oh.” Logan’s daughter dropped her overnight case onto the floor. “Then I guess it’s okay. I’m going to check on him. I’ll be right back.”

She shot off down the hall and Melissa went back into the kitchen. The girl returned in about five minutes.

Melissa looked up from the oranges she was squeezing and smiled. “I’m making French toast and bacon for breakfast. Do you want some?”

“Yeah.” Wendi walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t feel like eating any dinner. Wow, you can really cook.”

“Most people can. Why are you surprised?”

She shrugged. “My dad barbecues about once a year and we usually have to call the fire department. Mrs. Dupuis does all our cooking. She’s the housekeeper.”

Melissa peeled off three more strips of bacon. “Where is she now?”

Wendi sat on the stool in the corner and started braiding her long hair. “France. She’s got a ton of relatives. I went with her last year, but this summer Dad’s sending me to some dumb day camp. Don’t you think I’m way too mature for camp?”

Melissa glanced at the preteen; the path of the tears was clearly defined on her face. Despite her height and air of sophistication, she looked like a scared little girl. “Sounds like fun to me. Do you go every day?”

“Nah. Three days a week. It’s computers and math and stuff. Dad wants me to be an architect or an engineer.”

“And what do you want to be?”

Wendi shrugged. “Maybe a model, or an astronaut. I haven’t decided. Wanna see my room?”

The swift shift in conversation caused Melissa to stop squeezing the juice. If Wendi wanted to be friends, who was she to argue? “Ah, sure. I haven’t started cooking yet.”

Melissa followed the girl out of the kitchen. She hadn’t had a chance to explore the rest of the house. Logan’s room was to the right of the living room. Wendi moved toward a door on the left side of the kitchen. They passed through the formal dining room, complete with a built-in hutch and buffet and a pair of French doors that looked out onto the patio and pool. A vague sense of unease began to nibble at her confidence. Melissa tugged on the belt of her robe. She suddenly felt dowdy and underdressed.

Wendi pointed down the short hall. “That’s Mrs. Dupuis’s room. Normally she keeps an eye on me, but this summer I get to play my music really loud.”

Her grin eased Melissa’s feeling of apprehension. But when Wendi pushed open her bedroom door, the knot returned to Melissa’s stomach.

She had a vague impression of delicate furniture and lace draperies, but her attention was caught by a stunning portrait hanging on the opposite wall. The woman in the painting was young, not quite thirty, and dressed in a formfitting gown. Dark hair fell in a smooth line of satin all the way to the middle of her back. Wide almond-shaped eyes, the exact color of the emeralds clinging to her neck, seemed to stare into Melissa’s soul and find her wanting. The high cheekbones and haughty curve of her mouth were familiar…and incredibly beautiful.

“What a lovely picture,” Melissa said. “But I can’t help thinking I’ve seen her before. Who is she?”

“She’s the spokesperson for Fire perfume and the star of the daytime soap, The Proud and the Powerful.” The pride in her voice was evident.

“I don’t watch much TV, but I’m sure I’ve caught her a few times.” She moved closer. There was something about the eyes that…

Wendi began to giggle. “Didn’t Dad tell you?”

Melissa swallowed, guessing what the girl was going to say. “No.”

“Fiona Phillips is my mom.”

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