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CHAPTER FIVE
CELIATOOKHERtime with a bath. She had a couple of hours to kill before heading right back down to the kitchen and she intended to kill them on her own, getting her thoughts in order so that when she faced Leandro later on, she would be in control.
She dreaded the thought of him wandering the house like a lost soul without his Internet connection to the rest of the world. They had shared something back there in the kitchen and, whatever it was, it had wreaked havoc with her composure.
It was a little after six by the time she made it down to a silent kitchen. There was no Leandro waiting to send her nervous system into freefall, and for an hour or so Celia enjoyed the peace, even though she had one ear out for his footsteps and an eye on the kitchen door for when he pushed it open.
She was puzzled when, at a little before seven, there was still no sign of him. He usually enjoyed the relaxation of cooking but now, fancying that he had maybe become wrapped up in something work-related that didn’t require an Internet connection, she began preparing some dinner for them both.
She switched the radio on. It was the one old-fashioned gadget in the uber-modern kitchen and she hummed along to old tunes as she tackled the larder, pulling out rice and beans and some tuna and wondering how creative she could get with the ingredients.
It was only when the eight o’clock news came on that it dawned on her that Leandro wasn’t going to show up.
Bitter disappointment swamped any feelings of relief that she wouldn’t have to face him.
Shewantedto see him, wanted to feel the fizz of excitement coursing through her. Why pretend that he didn’t excite her? He did.
But maybe he had had time to regret the fact that they had bridged a gap. Maybe he had stopped to think that encouraging anything with her would be stupid because, as he had told her from the beginning, she wasn’t his type. He didn’t go for the romantic sort. Had he got a little spooked at the idea that she might start getting feelings for him?
Celia burned with embarrassment when she thought about that but what if it was true?
Deflated, she made the most of the meal she cooked. Relaxing on her own no longer seemed to have any appeal. She headed up to her suite, slowing her steps as she passed his bedroom. She didn’t want to knock but the impulse was so strong. Shehadto find out for herself whether he was avoiding her for all the wrong reasons. She was inno dangerof letting her guard slip around him! She had no idea how she could manoeuvre the conversation in a direction whereby she could make that perfectly clear but somehow it felt vital that she do so.
Her hand hovering in front of the door, her mouth dry, the decision was taken out of her hands when she heard a crash and then she didn’t bother to knock at all.
Celia pushed the door open and stepped into a darkened room. She had to blink for her eyes to adjust.
Leandro was in the process of pulling himself up onto the bed and, without thinking, she raced towards him, heart beating a mile a minute.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
There was panic in her voice. She circled his waist with her arm, helping him up and then straightening the bedside table, which had crashed to the ground under the impact of his weight.
The feel of him, his skin against hers, burnt into her as she leapt back to look at him with mounting alarm.
He had flopped back onto the bed, half propping himself up on the pillows. He loosely draped a dark-coloured duvet over his body but, save for a pair of boxers, he was completely naked and while she did her utmost not to look, she couldn’t help herself.
He was all shadows and angles and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. In repose, he was a work of art, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, a vision of beauty and strength.
She hovered by the side of the bed and flinched when he switched on the lamp, which she had repositioned on the bedside table.
‘I feel like crap,’ he rasped hoarsely, opening one baleful eye.
‘When? How? You were fine earlier...’
‘Got up here, had a shower, had a sudden urge to climb into bed and fell asleep.’ He groaned. ‘Woke up with a splitting headache, started getting out of bed and that’s when you heard me. I reached for the table but ended up toppling it over.’
‘You’re burning up.’ Hand on his forehead, Celia went from being agonisinglyawareof him to briskly recognising that she had a patient on her hands who would need taking care of.
The distinction was a blessing. She could deal with being Florence Nightingale. It was a lot less stressful than trying to work out how she could convince him whatever effect he had on her was all in his mind!
‘Do you have a first-aid kit?’
‘Bathroom.’
‘Take these.’ This when she had returned with some water in a glass she had found on one of the inset shelves by the huge, swimming-pool-sized bath.
‘I don’t do tablets.’
