200 Harley Street: The Tortured Hero. Amy Andrews

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СКАЧАТЬ the echo of memories. He’d been meaning to check up on her over the years, but military life had been full-on and there’d always been an excuse not to.

      And then he’d met Aaliyah.

      Olivia watched him a little longer, the kneading of his long fingers hypnotic. Part of her wanted to take over—the Olivia of ten years ago would have.

      This Olivia curled her hands into fists by her sides and said, ‘What are your injuries?’

      Ethan sighed, lifting his head off the lounge again. ‘Legs shot to hell. Right knee and ankle torn up by shrapnel.’

      ‘Have they been reconstructed?’

      He nodded. ‘As best they could. They’re never going to be the same again, though.’

      ‘Do you have some kind of physio regime, because your legs don’t seem to be very strong. I’d have thought you’d need some kind of a walking aid—a stick or something?’ She frowned, thinking back to the articles she’d read. ‘It’s been about a year, right?’

      Ethan grunted. ‘Yes,’ he said tersely. ‘And, yes, I have a regime.’

      It took Olivia a second or two to realise she’d asked the wrong question. ‘Do you follow it?’ She folded her arms. ‘Religiously?’

      Ethan glared at her. God, she sounded like Lizzie. And Leo. And a lot of well-meaning other people who didn’t have a freaking clue about the realities of his injuries.

      ‘It’s none of your damn business,’ he growled.

      ‘It is my damn business if you’re going to collapse on the floor in the middle of operating on Ama.’

      Ethan bristled at the implication, and at the unflinching demand he saw in her eyes. She was calling him on his professionalism and leaving him in no doubt that she was holding him to account. It rankled. But still, it was preferable to the pity he usually saw reflected in other people’s eyes.

      The poor you look that got under his skin like an army of marching ants.

      She didn’t seem to give a damn about the fact of his injuries or even how he’d got them—just that he could do his job. She was being a doctor. And it was in equal parts satisfying and irritating

      ‘I’m not going to be collapsing on anyone,’ he snapped. ‘I just stood for an extraordinary amount of time today.’

      ‘Which shouldn’t matter if you’d been diligent with your physio,’ Olivia said.

      She knew Ethan. She knew he wouldn’t respond to her empathy. God knew, the empathy and protection Leo had tried to force upon him all those years ago had driven a huge wedge between the brothers and she’d been just one of the casualties.

      She knew he wouldn’t let her massage his legs or talk about what had happened. But, having worked out in the field herself, in places no one should have to live, she did know that military men responded best to tough love.

      ‘I’ve been a little busy trying to establish the humanitarian side of the clinic,’ he snapped. ‘I do what I can when I can.’

      Olivia drummed her fingers against her biceps. ‘Well, it looks like it’s not enough. You should be stronger than this by now.’

      Ethan knew she was right, but … it had been an unusual day. He let his head flop back again.

      He needed to make time to get stronger in his legs. He’d gone from two months in hospital and multiple surgeries to home and feeling sorry for himself to throwing everything he had into his new role at the Hunter Clinic—none of which had been conducive to the hard yards he needed to do.

      As Olivia watched he seemed to melt into the couch, exhaustion in every line of his body, and part of her wanted to lay her cheek on his nearby knee and just sit with him in silence. She was surprised to feel such tenderness for him after what had happened. But then the heat in her belly had been a surprise too, after all these years.

      She nudged his knee with her shoulder. ‘Have you got a stick you should be using?’

      Ethan lifted a hand off his thigh and massaged his forehead with it. He wished she’d just be quiet, already—she was like Jiminy freaking Cricket. ‘Yes …’ he said on a sigh.

      ‘And the reason you don’t appear to have it with you is …?’

      Ethan lifted his head. ‘I hate the damn thing,’ he muttered.

      Olivia raised an eyebrow. Did he realise how much he sounded like a petulant child? ‘Does it affect your tough guy image, Ethan? I wouldn’t have thought you so vain.’

      Ethan snorted. Did she really think this was about vanity? ‘No, it’s just …’ He shook his head, shut his eyes, rested his head back again as he realised he was about to admit the truth. ‘It … invites conversations I just don’t want to have.’

      The heaviness in his voice reached right inside her gut and squeezed. Hard. She knew all too well how hard rehashing things could be—talking about stuff that sometimes you just didn’t want to talk about. Especially with people who had no connection to you.

      So many people had wanted to talk to her after what had happened to her parents, had wanted to reminisce, lament, vent. And she’d spent an awful lot of time avoiding them.

      Without thinking about it she slid a hand onto his knee. The fine wool of his trousers was soft against her palm, the contours of his knee hard.

      ‘Ethan …’

      Ethan lifted his head again as her touch caused a riot of sensations up his aching leg. Good sensations. She was barely touching him at all, but still it felt as if she’d injected pop rocks into his thigh. He looked at her neat fingernails and remembered how good they’d felt on other parts of his body. How good they’d been together. How much they’d sizzled.

      How insatiable they’d been.

      His reasons for being with Olivia might not have been exactly altruistic, but they’d been amazingly compatible in the bedroom.

      Which reminded him how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. A year.

      Not since Aaliyah.

      He dragged his eyes off her hand and looked up. Their gazes locked. The worst thing about her touch was how familiar it felt. Here in this clinic, with this woman from his past looking at him with patience and compassion, it would be so easy to grab hold and travel back to a time when he’d been able to lose himself in her and have everything else fade to black.

      But it felt … disloyal. To Aaliyah. And he despised himself just a little bit more.

      ‘Just go, Olivia.’

      Go before I kiss you. Before I haul you up on the couch beside me. Before I beg you to stay.

      Before I use you one more time.

      Olivia’s belly clenched at the flare of heat that fired Ethan’s dull gaze. She’d seen that look before. СКАЧАТЬ