Marcus Hunt stood there, obviously surprised by Madeline’s dishevelled, almost wild appearance.
‘You look awful.’ His concern was mirrored in his blue eyes.
Actually, he thought, she looked pretty damn hot. Yes, she was obviously unwell but at this moment she looked wild, untamed. Her fiery red hair was loose and slightly mussed from the sleep he had obviously woken her from. He felt sure had Titian been alive today he would have killed to paint her hair.
She was wearing a plain grey T-shirt that moulded her breasts and grey cotton boy-leg knickers. He’s never seen so much of her flesh and a small fire ignited in his loins.
Hell, man! Pull yourself together, he admonished himself. She’s unwell, for God’s sake. The usual brilliant green glitter of her eyes had dulled to a lacklustre jade. He doubted that she would answer the door in next to nothing to anyone, especially him, had she been in her right mind.
Madeline stared at Marcus, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing here on her doorstep, but stopped when it became too painful. Her eyes hurt from the glare and not even his dazzling good looks eased the thumping.
‘Thank you for your brutal honesty,’ she snapped. ‘Now go away.’ Madeline swung the door closed but his quick reflexes caught it before it was half way shut. She sighed loudly and turned on her heel. She didn’t care what he did, her bed was calling.
Madeline made her way back to her room and collapsed on the bed, dragging the sheet up to cover her body.
‘Maddy?’ he called from the bedroom doorway.
She opened an eyelid and almost groaned out loud. ‘Are you still here?’
‘You’re not well.’
What a brilliant deduction! ‘Yeah, well, you’re not helping.’
‘Did you forget our date?’
Madeline sat up abruptly in bed, wincing as the sudden movement reverberated through her grey matter. ‘Date?’
‘You were going to show me the sights?’
‘Oh, God.’ She did groan this time. ‘I’m sorry — I forgot.’ The headache had obliterated everything.
‘That’s OK. We’ll do the date another time.’
‘It’s not a date,’ she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. ‘I was being polite. I wouldn’t date you if you were the only man on earth.’ Pain knifed into her skull again and she lay down quickly as a wave of nausea hit.
Marcus would have laughed but when Madeline clutched her head and collapsed backwards, he realised she was in a bad way.
‘Headache, Maddy?’ He moved into the room and sat beside her on her bed.
‘Madeline,’ she corrected him through gritted teeth.
‘When did it start?’ Reaching for her wrist, he felt for her pulse.
Madeline flinched at the contact, adding a few more beats to her already racing heart. She would have moved away from him had she not been gripping her shirt so tightly to stop from vomiting right here in front of him.
Marcus noted the vice-like grip turning her knuckles white.
‘Yesterday afternoon.’
‘Is this a regular occurrence?’
She shook her head, finding his fingers at her pulse quite soothing. ‘Once every few months.’ She relaxed her grip on her shirt as the nausea subsided.
‘What brings them on?’
‘Stress,’ she stated bluntly.
‘And what’s been stressing you lately?’ he asked innocently.
Yeah, right! Like he didn’t know! He was the main reason she had this wretched headache. If she hadn’t spent hours worrying about this stupid outing —
A fresh wave of nausea struck and she wriggled her hand away to stop her treacherous body betraying her. It was his fault she felt dreadful.
‘You are kidding, right?’ she said, opening one eye and fixing him with a glare.
Marcus smiled. He had given her the headache? Well, that was a first. He’d been known to cure them before...
‘Have you always had them?’
‘No, I got my first one about five years ago.’ About? Who was she kidding? Madeline remembered it as if it were yesterday. The afternoon of Abby’s funeral she’d been practically incapacitated.
‘Was that a particularly stressful time then?’
She shut her eyes, not wanting him to know just how awful it had been. ‘You could say that.’
Marcus watched as Madeline rolled onto her side, facing away from him. End of conversation. He rubbed his jaw absently as his gaze followed the slender curve of her back. In holistic medicine, knowing about stress triggers and what caused them was an important part of his diagnosis and treatment.
But it was clear he wasn’t going to find out at the moment and, whatever the deep-rooted cause, Madeline’s debilitating symptoms were of more pressing concern.
Maybe if he cured it, her opinion of him and his job would improve? Maybe he would gain some ground? Why it was so important that he did he didn’t want to analyse at the moment — she got to him. And he didn’t like to see anyone suffer.
‘Have you taken something for it?’
Madeline’s eyes drifted open as his voice reached out and joined the hammering in her head. ‘Several Mersyndol.’
Marcus shook his head. No wonder she was so spaced out. What she needed was a massage. To relieve the stress and tension. And lavender. He needed some lavender and other essential oils to induce relaxation.
He’d better get going. He had a lot to prove today. ‘Maddy? I’m going to leave you now.’
‘Hallelujah!’ she muttered.
He laughed. ‘Sorry to disappoint but I’m coming back. I’m just going to get some stuff for your headache.’
‘Don’t bother, Marcus, I don’t own a cauldron.’
Marcus laughed again. Even bedridden by a blinding headache, she could be as sharp as a tack. Would she ever miss an opportunity for a dig? ‘No hocus-pocus, Maddy, I promise.’
Whatever, Madeline thought as she shut her eyes and drifted away on her Mersyndol cloud. The little white pills did lessen the severity quite a bit but she knew that they mainly worked by altering her perception of the pain, which wasn’t quite the same as curing it. But it would run its twenty-four-hour course and the pills would help make it more bearable.
Forty-five minutes later, he was back, as promised. ‘Maddy?’ he murmured.
She opened her eyes and squeezed them shut again as she felt the mattress sink under his weight. Maybe if she lay very still he’d go away?
‘Madeline,’ he repeated, switching on the bedside lamp.
If her head hadn’t felt like it was about to fall off her shoulders, she would have yelled at him to go. But she just wasn’t capable of anything that excessive. She opened an eye and looked at him disparagingly.
Even in the dim light Marcus once again noted how dull her eyes were. Gone was the brilliant green of a highly polished emerald. Now they reminded him of the dull raw stone just plucked from the earth. He held up a bottle of oil that had just the right blend to restore their usual brilliance. ‘I have the perfect thing for headaches.’
She eyed him dubiously. ‘If six Mersyndol haven’t helped, I doubt very much that what’s in that bottle can. I’ll pass.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he tutted.