‘Hello, Bitsy. Oh, you’re so cute! I definitely think we should get a Bichon Frisé, Andy,’ says Amber.
‘Over my dead body,’ mutters my brother.
‘But what’s wrong with her?’
Amber’s right—Bitsy is acting strangely, standing stock-still and trembling. She takes a step forward, plants her little feet, and lets out a volley of short sharp barks, then runs backwards and forwards in the doorway, growling menacingly, which is quite a feat for a Bichon Frisé.
We all stare in fascination, apart from Florence, who is cowering against me. I put my arm around her. ‘It’s OK, she sometimes goes a little nuts after she’s been shut away.’
Mum comes running in.
‘Bitsy! Stop that!’
She tries to grab her, but Bitsy scoots under the table.Seconds later, Florence lets out a piercing scream. I look down and can’t believe my eyes. Bitsy, who would never hurt a fly, has sunk her teeth into Florence’s leg and is snarling like a savage beast.
Chapter 13
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
Damian springs into action. He pries the crazed little dog’s jaw open, wrestles her off my leg, and whisks me into the family bathroom. I’m placed on the toilet seat lid, which has a fluffy peach cover, and my leg is propped on the edge of the bath.
‘My hero,’ I whisper as I lean back against the cistern, trying to keep a straight face as he kneels beside me, inspecting the damage. ‘Thank you for saving me. My leg was in danger of being gnawed off.’
He peers at my shin worriedly, and I suppose it looks a bit gruesome, but I consider it a minor flesh wound. I’ve had worse.
‘Now you see why I don’t like dogs,’ I joke, trying to make him laugh. But Damian’s still too concerned about me to crack a smile. He rootles through the vanity, looking for the first aid kit, and swears under his breath when he finds it.
‘There’s no fucking antiseptic wipes, only Savlon.’
‘Just bung a plaster on it,honestly.’
Anxiety and misery are rolling off him in waves, and I feel bad for him. After a sneak peek into his thoughts, I discover he’s stressing madly because he thinks I’m not going to like him after this.
‘Damian.’ I grasp his shoulder to reassure him that I’m perfectly OK. He stops fussing with the kit and looks at me.
‘What?’
‘I’m fine. It’s not life-threatening. It’s going to take a lot more than a tiny fluff ball to finish me off.’Or keep me away from you.
He frowns, unconvinced.
‘Honestly, it looks worse than it is. Dogs always go for me. I must have been a cat in a former life.’
He smiles briefly at my joke, but then his face is back to serious mode.
‘I’ll do what I can for now,’ he says. ‘But you should make an appointment with your doctor to get it checked out—you might need antibiotics or a tetanus shot.’
‘You can give me an injection anytime, Dr Rhodes,’ I say huskily and get a half-hearted chuckle (finally). I stroke the back of his neck, attempting to soothe him as he washes away the blood, dabs Savlon gently on the wound, and opens a packet of plasters.
I’m quite enjoying him looking after me, and if my history is anything to go by, I do have a thing for hot doctors.
Damian carefully places a large beige plaster over the wound, and not a minute too soon, as the edges are already starting to knit together.
I move my hand up the back of his head, playing with the ends of his hair. He shudders, probably because my hand is cold.
‘All done.’ He pats my bare knee with his warm hand, and my pale skin tingles. ‘Is it sore?’
I shake my head, trying not to get too excited from his touch.
