Sanctuary

the sweat crawling down his back and focused on the watercolor print of wild lilies. “This is the perfect time for you to make some snotty comment.”
    “I worked in ER. Saw more blood during that year than a layman does in three lifetimes. Gunshots, knifings, car wrecks. I never panicked. The closest I’ve ever come to panicking was just now, when I saw your blood dripping onto my kitchen floor.”
    He looked away from the print and into her eyes. “I’ll mop it up for you.”
    “Don’t be an idiot.” She grabbed a swatch of surgical paper to make a sterile field, then paused when he touched his hand to hers.
    “I care too.” He waited until she looked at him again. “I care a lot. How the hell did this happen?”
    “I don’t know. What do you think we should do about it?”
    “It’s probably not going to work, you know. You and me.”
    “No.” She picked up the suture. “Probably not. Keep your hand still, Brian.”
    He glanced down, saw her slide the suturing needle under his skin. His stomach rolled. Taking another deep breath, he looked back at the painting. “Don’t worry about making it neat. Just make it fast.”
    “I’m famous for my ladylike little stitches. Just relax and keep breathing.”
    Since he figured it would be more humiliation than he could stand to pass out on her, he tried to obey. “I’m not afraid of needles. I just don’t like them.”
    “It’s a common phobia.”
    “I don’t have a phobia. I just don’t like people sticking needles in me.”
    She kept her head bent so he wouldn’t see her smile. “Perfectly understandable. What was Lexy pestering you about?”
    “The usual. Everything.” He tried to ignore the slight tug as she drew the edges of the wound together. “I’m insensitive. I don’t care about her—or anyone else, for that matter. I don’t understand her. No one does. If I was a real brother, I’d lend her five thousand dollars so she could go back to New York and be a star.”
    “I thought she’d decided to stay here through the summer.”
    “She had some sort of go-round with Giff. Since he hasn’t come crawling after her, she’s gone from the sulky stage—which was our big treat yesterday—to the nasty stage. Are you almost done?”
    “Halfway,” she said patiently.
    “Half. Great. Wonderful.” His stomach rolled again. Okay, think about something else. “Who was the beach bum?”
    “Hmm? Oh, the burn. Tussle with a coffeepot. Says he’s an artist, on his way to the Keys. He may be over at the campground for a while. I never did get his name.”
    “What kind of an artist?”
    “A painter, I think. He wanted me to pose for him. Damn it, be still,” she said when his hand jerked.
    “What did you tell him?”
    “That I was flattered, thank you very much, but didn’t have time. He made me nervous.”
    Brian’s free hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, making her curse. “Only a couple more,” she began.
    “Did he touch you?”
    “What?” No, it wasn’t fear or pain in his eyes, she realized. It was fury. And that was wonderfully satisfying. “Why, yes, of course, Brian. One-handed, he wrestled me to the floor in a wild burst of lust and ripped off my clothes.”
    Brian’s fingers dug in. “I want a straight answer. Did he put his hands on you?”
    “No, of course he didn’t. I just got nervous for a minute because the office was empty and he seemed overly interested. Then it turned out he just wanted to sketch my hands.” She fluttered the fingers of her left one. “Angel hands. Now be still before you ruin my work and end up with a nasty scar. Not that your jealousy isn’t flattering.”
    “I’m not jealous.” He removed his hand and willed the green haze over his vision to subside. “I just don’t want some beach bum hassling you.”
    “He didn’t hassle me, and if he had I could have handled it. One more now.” She tugged, knotted, snipped, then examined the neat line of stitches carefully. “A lovely job, if I do say so myself.” She rose to prepare his tetanus shot.
    “How would you have handled it?”
    “Handled what? Oh, we’re still on that, are we? With a polite rebuff.”
    “And if that hadn’t worked?”
    “One good squeeze on that burn and he’d have been on the floor screaming in pain.”
    When she turned back, careful to keep the hypo behind her back, she saw Brian smiling. “You would have too.”
    “Absolutely. I once cooled the ardor of an oversexed patient by