Chapter Eight
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why are you hiding behind those sunglasses?’
‘I’m not hiding, I have a headache.’
His brows lifted. ‘Take an aspirin.’
‘Empathy is one of your most endearing qualities,’ she muttered, her sarcasm wasted on his broad back as she followed him along the echoing corridor, refusing to be distracted by the mad light show she was seeing the world through.
Her brain foggy, she barely registered the network of rooms. She made a couple of grunting sounds when a response seemed to be indicated as she walked through open double doors.
Amy stayed where she was as Leo walked towards a figure sitting in a carved chair beside a window. Of course it was a window! Oh, God what was it with this place? Had no one told the architects that ancient castles were meant to be dark and gloomy?
Aware there was some uncharted swaying going on, Amy caught hold of the carved back of a chair to steady herself and waited, by this point not caring about what impression she made, like it mattered anyhow. She focused on what really mattered, which was not throwing up.
She caught snippets of the two men’s conversation, not that it made much difference.
They were speaking in Italian, which was perfectly natural and not part of some grand scheme to make her feel even more isolated, but the result was the same.
On the bright side, if there was one, the room was not built on such cavernous proportions as many she had seen, though cosy would have been pushing it.
As she stared across at the figure sitting on the throne-like chair—not that he needed accessories to look regal—through a haze of shimmering lights, the delicate Italian greyhound dancing at his feet suddenly peeled away and trotted towards her.
‘Good girl,’ Amy whispered to the creature. She trailed her fingers for the dog to lick. ‘I want to stroke you, I really do, but—’ But if she bent down now the consequences might not be pretty, she finished in her head.
She was genuinely curious about the man that she had built in her head to be a fearful monster.
She had anticipated he would be a big man but, unlike his grandson, he was smaller than average, almost slight, his dark hair heavily threaded with silver, his well-trimmed beard all silver.
The only similarity she could detect was the hawklike nose.
His eyes appeared to be far lighter than Leo’s and were set beneath grey-flecked, bushy brows. They swivelled her way and caught her staring.
He clicked his fingers and the dog at her feet ran, tail wagging, to his side…or was that click meant for her? Amy wondered.
‘Chef!’
She flinched and half-closed her eyes. Whilst he was a relatively small man, his voice was not small at all, and the volume increased the pain in her skull. She tilted her head in cautious acknowledgement of the imperious summons and felt the room spin.
‘The meal last night was quite acceptable. I go home tomorrow and, before I do, I wanted to thank you. My grandson is being quite mysterious about where he found you.’ He flashed a look at Leo, who simply raised an eyebrow in response.
Watching them face off, Amy struggled to work out what they reminded her of—before it came to her.
‘Like two silverbacks,’ she murmured, not really aware she had voiced her observation out loud until both men turned their heads to stare at her.
Whether they minded being compared to two gorillas minus the chest-beating was not a priority, because Amy’s priority was finding a bathroom.
‘Actually, could you point me in the direction of—’ Her hand clamped to her mouth, she looked around desperately.
Leo appeared to take in the situation at a glance. ‘This way.’
Hovering outside the bathroom door, Leo’s face twisted into a grimace of sympathy and concern as he listened to the sounds coming from inside. He had never seen anyone look as pale as Amy had looked as he had half-carried her to the nearest bathroom.
The sounds seemed to have subsided and when he cautiously opened the door this time all he heard was running water.
No voice yelling, ‘Go away!’ like the two previous times he had attempted to invade the space.
Not that it would have mattered; he had already decided that enough was enough and he wasn’t going away.
He stepped inside the room, alarm shooting through him as he saw the small figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.
He switched off the tap that was still gushing water before he squatted down beside her.
She was grey now rather than white. He felt a pang inside his chest that hurt, even though he had long ago conquered the tender protectiveness she evoked in him.
She had done him a favour, actually. He could now enjoy sex with no emotional connection. Because it was not the sex that was dangerous, it was the emotions. That had been a life-changing discovery and he had Amy to thank for it.
‘Are you all right?’
Morning sickness. Out of nowhere, the thought took root in his head.
She couldn’t be pregnant.
Why shouldn’t she be?
The idea that Amy was carrying another man’s baby was not one he could contemplate. It was a rejection that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the irrational emotions he had banished from his life.
The same way Amy had banished him. Now she was back—and he had brought her back.
He had slept with her and the more contact they had, the less his reasons for bringing her here made sense.
He was meant to be congratulating himself on having escaped a weak, spineless creature, sure she would reveal her true self when the props were removed.
Well, that’s working out well for you, isn’t it? Leo mocked himself.
What Amy lacked in inches she more than made up for in guts and sheer determination, not to mention sheer bloody-mindedness.
When she gave no indication that she had heard him, he repeated his question. ‘Are you all right?’
Amy batted away his hand. For an intelligent man, he asked some very stupid questions. ‘No.’
‘Can you open your eyes?’
‘I could but I don’t want to,’ she mumbled through clenched teeth. ‘Will you just leave me alone with my splitting head and let me die in peace?’
He snorted. ‘You’re not going to die.’
She considered the response inhuman.
‘This is a headache?’ He couldn’t keep the doubt out of his voice.
‘No, it’s not a bloody headache, it’s a migraine. It’s a headache like a tornado is a gentle breeze.’
Listening to her response, at how Amy managed to pack an incredible amount of aggression and loathing into a whisper, Leo felt something painful break loose in his chest. She was so fragile and yet so tough.
‘I’ll take you to your room. Can you walk? Oh, I know you can, but you don’t have to.’
‘My balance goes.’
‘Not a problem.’ He bent down to scoop her up.
‘You can’t carry me,’ she whimpered as her head, which she couldn’t hold up, found the support of his shoulder, and she discovered another scent that did not make her feel queasy—Leo.
‘Actually, I can.’
And he did, although the journey was all a bit of a blur to Amy as they negotiated a myriad of corridors and passageways.
Lying on her bed in a blissfully dark room, she made objections when someone who she didn’t want to identify but knew was Leo unlaced her trainers.
She grunted and rolled into a foetal ball of misery.
‘The doctor will be here presently.’
‘I don’t need a doctor. I just need you to go away.’
‘You are a very bad patient.’
The unexpected tenderness in his voice made her eyes seep weak tears that ran silently and unchecked down her cheeks before blotting into the pillow.
‘Ah, here he is now. I will leave you.’
She wanted to yell Don’t go…but, ashamed of her weakness, she managed to stop herself. She was not so incapacitated that she had lost sight of the fact that safety was the last thing that Leo represented. Not to her, anyway.
The doctor was gentle and kind, he didn’t drag out the consultation and the only questions he asked were pertinent.
He told her he would arrange a prescription for her normal medication should this happen again.
The jab he gave her, he explained, would deal with her nausea, vomiting and pain.
‘You just need some quiet and to sleep.’
She didn’t really expect to sleep, but when the door closed and she was alone, able to lower her defences virtually immediately, she did fall into a deep sleep.
When she woke, her initial disorientation morphed into relief as she registered that the hammer inside her skull was now just faint background noise.
At the first little groan she emitted, Leo rose from his seat by the window and laid down his laptop. By the time he reached the bed, Amy was levering herself awkwardly into a sitting position.
‘Don’t—let me,’ he said, masking his concern under a layer of brusque irritation.
He recognised that his irritation was ridiculous, given that the entire object of this exercise had been—what?
Revenge? To make her feel vulnerable and uncomfortable?
But he’d never been aiming for torture, which was what her pain level had apparently been.
Of course, she could have simply admitted the problem, explain that she was unwell, but it seemed to him that this Amy admitted nothing, certainly not to him anyway.
She had looked so damned vulnerable and fragile as she’d slept, her dark lashes spread like butterflies’ wings on her scarily pale cheeks.
He had countered any feelings of irrational guilt on his part by focusing on the blindingly obvious. Which was that Amy was the author of this situation, simply by not owning up to a weakness and also not bringing essential medication with her.
Did it not occur to her that he had better things to do than keep a bedside vigil?
Nobody asked you to, the annoying voice in his head argued. You could have delegated.