picked up a bowl from the tray. He stiffened noticeably when she spooned a portion of cereal from the bowl and put the spoon to his lips.
“I’ll feed myself.”
Serena shifted an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Cole. Not the way your hands are shaking.”
He looked down at his long, well-groomed fingers, fingers that floated over the keys of a piano and strummed the strings of a guitar with a skill that had elicited chills and tears from those listening to his playing. They were trembling.
“The shaking should go away along with the headache, vertigo, and delirium in a few days.” What she didn’t tell David was that it would take a lot longer for the bruises over his eye to fade.
Curling his fingers into tight fists, he opened his mouth and closed his eyes, but just as quickly they opened again. The cereal was delicious. It had a sweet, nutty flavor. Within minutes he devoured the cereal.
He was nearly overcome by the warmth and scent of Serena’s body as she moved from the chair to sit down on the side of the bed. He wanted to move, yet couldn’t. Watching her intently, he saw her reach for a delicate china cup filled with a dark liquid.
“What is that?”
Leaning in closer, her shoulder nearly touching his bare chest, Serena said mysteriously, “A magic brew.”
David managed a lopsided, dimpled smile. “Will it turn me into a prince?”
Serena, stunned by the deep dimples in his leancheeks, held her breath, her gaze fixed on his wide, generous mouth. Even with one eye nearly closed and bruised and one half of his face scarred, David Cole was a beautiful man. His dark eyes, sun-browned, olive skin, and the heavy, silken hair covering his scalp added to his masculine beauty.
“You’re already a prince, David Cole,” she whispered, verbalizing her thoughts.
His smile vanished as he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. Her round eyes were unblinking, her slender body rigid. It was as if she were waiting—for what he didn’t know. He was also waiting, waiting for the spell she had woven to break.
“Frogs don’t become princes until they’re kissed by a princess,” he countered.
She blinked once. “I am not a princess.”
Reaching up with his right hand, he smoothed back a curl from her forehead. “Oh, but you are, Miss Morris.”
What he did not say was that all of the men in his family thought of beautiful women as royalty. And all of the men in his family had a penchant for beautiful women.
Serena put the cup to his lips, breaking the spell. “Drink.”
He took several swallows of Luz Maria’s tea, surprised at the flavor. It was unlike any tea he had had before. As a musician he had visited more countries than he could count on both hands and feet, sampling the cuisine in each of them. There were times when he discovered that the most unappetizing looking concoction was the most palatable. The other band members always teased him about experimenting whenever he ordered the unknown, saying he was going to comedown with ptomaine or dysentery. Much to their astonishment it never happened, while some of them did succumb to various intestinal maladies.
He took the cup from her hand, holding it tightly between his fingers, and emptied it. He handed it back to her, nothing in his expression revealing what he was feeling at that moment.
“What do they call you?”
Serena thought it odd that he would use that phrase to ask her her name. “Serena,” she replied before standing up.
“Any middle name?” She shook her head as she returned the cup to the tray. “Serena is a beautiful name for a princess.” Settling down on the pillows cradling his back, he smiled.
And it’s the perfect name for someone sent from heaven to give him back his life
, he mused, closing his eyes.
This time when he drifted off to sleep it wasn’t to escape from the pain. It was to sleep and heal. The tea had begun to work its magic.
Serena stared at her sleeping patient, a
“I’ll feed myself.”
Serena shifted an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Cole. Not the way your hands are shaking.”
He looked down at his long, well-groomed fingers, fingers that floated over the keys of a piano and strummed the strings of a guitar with a skill that had elicited chills and tears from those listening to his playing. They were trembling.
“The shaking should go away along with the headache, vertigo, and delirium in a few days.” What she didn’t tell David was that it would take a lot longer for the bruises over his eye to fade.
Curling his fingers into tight fists, he opened his mouth and closed his eyes, but just as quickly they opened again. The cereal was delicious. It had a sweet, nutty flavor. Within minutes he devoured the cereal.
He was nearly overcome by the warmth and scent of Serena’s body as she moved from the chair to sit down on the side of the bed. He wanted to move, yet couldn’t. Watching her intently, he saw her reach for a delicate china cup filled with a dark liquid.
“What is that?”
Leaning in closer, her shoulder nearly touching his bare chest, Serena said mysteriously, “A magic brew.”
David managed a lopsided, dimpled smile. “Will it turn me into a prince?”
Serena, stunned by the deep dimples in his leancheeks, held her breath, her gaze fixed on his wide, generous mouth. Even with one eye nearly closed and bruised and one half of his face scarred, David Cole was a beautiful man. His dark eyes, sun-browned, olive skin, and the heavy, silken hair covering his scalp added to his masculine beauty.
“You’re already a prince, David Cole,” she whispered, verbalizing her thoughts.
His smile vanished as he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. Her round eyes were unblinking, her slender body rigid. It was as if she were waiting—for what he didn’t know. He was also waiting, waiting for the spell she had woven to break.
“Frogs don’t become princes until they’re kissed by a princess,” he countered.
She blinked once. “I am not a princess.”
Reaching up with his right hand, he smoothed back a curl from her forehead. “Oh, but you are, Miss Morris.”
What he did not say was that all of the men in his family thought of beautiful women as royalty. And all of the men in his family had a penchant for beautiful women.
Serena put the cup to his lips, breaking the spell. “Drink.”
He took several swallows of Luz Maria’s tea, surprised at the flavor. It was unlike any tea he had had before. As a musician he had visited more countries than he could count on both hands and feet, sampling the cuisine in each of them. There were times when he discovered that the most unappetizing looking concoction was the most palatable. The other band members always teased him about experimenting whenever he ordered the unknown, saying he was going to comedown with ptomaine or dysentery. Much to their astonishment it never happened, while some of them did succumb to various intestinal maladies.
He took the cup from her hand, holding it tightly between his fingers, and emptied it. He handed it back to her, nothing in his expression revealing what he was feeling at that moment.
“What do they call you?”
Serena thought it odd that he would use that phrase to ask her her name. “Serena,” she replied before standing up.
“Any middle name?” She shook her head as she returned the cup to the tray. “Serena is a beautiful name for a princess.” Settling down on the pillows cradling his back, he smiled.
And it’s the perfect name for someone sent from heaven to give him back his life
, he mused, closing his eyes.
This time when he drifted off to sleep it wasn’t to escape from the pain. It was to sleep and heal. The tea had begun to work its magic.
Serena stared at her sleeping patient, a
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