Where There's Smoke.... Barbara McCauley
floor felt steady under her, solid. Not so bad, she thought, even though her legs did feel a bit shaky and her head a little fuzzy. She was certain she could manage a few steps, stretch a few muscles, then slip back under the covers.
She made it to the end of the bed and her success made her a little too smug. She turned—or at least she thought she was turning.
Instead, her knees buckled.
She was a split second away from meeting the floor when a strong pair of arms scooped her up.
“Whoa.” Shane lifted her, held her firmly against his chest. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I—I just wanted to stretch my legs.”
And what great legs they were, Shane thought, letting his gaze sweep down the long length of slender curves to her soft-pink-painted toes. The white cotton hospital gown that covered her from neck to mid-thigh was as far from sexy as it got, but that didn’t seem to matter. His blood stirred at the sight of her, and his pulse quickened.
It was the second time he’d held her in his arms. The first time had been professional; he’d had a job to do and he’d been completely focused on getting her safely out of the building. This time he felt anything but professional and his focus was not on his job, but on Emily herself.
“Is this a habit of yours, Mr. Cummings?” she asked. “Rescuing maidens in distress?”
“I was just passing by.” She weighed next to nothing, he thought. Quickly he realized that was what she was wearing, as well. Her skin was soft and silky. Warm. He really should put her down, he told himself. He really should.
“Just passing by my room?” she asked.
“The hospital. The doc thought I should have my lungs looked at today.”
Which was true. Dr. Tuscano had told him to have someone look at his lungs. But he could have gone to any number of clinics or over to Carney Hospital, which was much closer to the marina. Instead, he’d come back to Brookline.
“How are they?”
Damn, but she was pretty, he thought. Not like a supermodel. Just pretty. Delicate and soft. “How are what?”
“Your lungs.”
“Oh. Right. Fine.”
“Shane.” Her thick lashes dropped and a blush rose on her pale cheeks. “I’m all right now. You can put me down.”
Reluctantly, he laid her back in bed, then stepped away. “So, how are you doing?”
“Not so bad now.” On a sigh, she drew the covers up over her legs. “Though when I first woke up I was wondering if you’d thrown me out of that window last night rather than carried me. Is that for me?”
Shane glanced at the single red rosebud lying on the foot of her bed. When he’d walked into the room and seen her falling, he’d tossed it there. Now that he saw the two enormous bouquets she already had in her room, he felt more than foolish he’d brought it to her.
“There’s a stand downstairs that sells them,” he said with a shrug, and handed the flower to her. “The profits go to the children’s ward. For toys and games.”
“It’s beautiful.” Lifting the flower to her nose, she breathed in. “Thank you.”
The deep red of the rose against her smooth, creamy skin made his throat go dry. Dammit, anyway. What the hell was he doing here? It wasn’t as if this could go anywhere. He knew who the Barones were. Hell, anyone who lived in Boston had heard of them. What he made in six months was pocket money to Emily’s family.
“I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving my life.” She smiled at him, then extended her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Like the rest of her, Emily’s hands were fine-boned and graceful. Her fingers were long and slender, nails neat and short. Her skin soft and cool.
The jolt of lust that shot through him had Shane quickly releasing her hand. “I should let you rest.”
“No, please stay.” Looking suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so needy. It’s just that I…that you’re the only person who’s familiar to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“You still can’t remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Just what my parents told me. The doctor was hoping they might be able to help me by telling me about myself, that I worked as a secretary at Baronessa Gelati for my brother Derrick, that my mother and I had gone to lunch and shopping for my father’s birthday only a few days ago. That I live in an apartment in Brookline not too far from the plant. I like pasta and chocolate éclairs, and my nickname is Em.”
Closing her eyes, she laid her head back against her pillow. “It just made my head hurt.”
“So stop thinking.” He turned the chair beside her bed, then straddled it. “Just let your mind go somewhere else you’d rather be.”
“Like where?”
“How ’bout a quiet cove somewhere? No, keep your eyes closed,” he told her when she started to open them. “Or maybe an island in the Caribbean.”
“An island would be nice.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she shut her eyes again. “What does it look like?”
“Lots of tall palm trees. You can hear the fronds rustle in the balmy breeze and the waves lap on the shore. The water is so clear you can see a school of small yellow fish darting back and forth right off the shoreline. The sky is deep, deep blue.”
“There’s a puffy white cloud overhead.” Emily furrowed her brow in thought. “It’s in the shape of a butterfly.”
He watched her shoulders relax, the slow rise and fall of her breaths, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The sand is soft and warm against your back. There’s no one around for miles and miles.”
“You’re there.” Her voice was a little breathless. “You’re swimming.”
The thought of being alone on an island with Emily made his blood heat up. “The water feels great,” he murmured. “Maybe you should come in and join me.”
“I don’t know if I can swim. I—I can’t remember.”
“I’ll teach you if you—”
“Emily?”
Ripped from her island fantasy, Emily opened her eyes and watched as a young woman pushed open the door. When she hurried forward, Shane quickly stood and moved out of the way.
“Emily, thank God you’re all right.” The woman reached for Emily’s hand. “I’ve been so worried since Mama called. Daniel’s here, too, but I made him drop me off downstairs before he parked his car. Oh, sweetheart, you’re so pale.”
Her eyes were the same deep blue as the silk suit jacket and skirt she wore, Emily noted. Tall and slender, probably in her late twenties. She’d pulled back her mass of blond hair in a clip on top of her head, but several thick strands escaped in a riot of loose curls around her strikingly beautiful face.
A man entered the room then, around six foot, with brown hair and the same blue eyes as the woman’s. She knew this man was her other brother’s twin, but they were obviously too different in appearance to be identical. Though his clothes were casual—black slacks and a white polo shirt—he had an air of old money about him.
“Hey, Em.” His tone was easy, but there was concern in his steady gaze. “How’s the head?”
It was starting to throb again. “It’s all right.”
“Do you know who I am?” he asked carefully.
“You’re my brother. Daniel.” Emily