Stanislaw was lying in bed on his back fast asleep and gently snoring. The bottom half of his body was hidden beneath sheets and blankets which had been tented over a metal frame to keep the weight off his stumps.

Danuta closed the door softly behind her and crept to the bedside chair. Sitting down, she noted how drawn and strangely vulnerable he looked. There was a series of drips attached to his arms, and there was a catheter tube and bag fixed to the base of the bed to monitor his urine output. It looked suspiciously cloudy, but she couldn’t see any blood in it which was a huge relief.

She settled back in the chair and watched him sleeping, only just resisting the urge to stroke back the dark curl of hair which was flopping over his brows, and struggling not to keep looking at his naked, muscled chest which rose and fell above the bedding. He was a lovely, vibrant bear of a man with such a vast capacity for love and life that it tore at her heart to see him like this.

Shocked by her reaction and the strong emotions that washed over her, she reached for one of the many books piled on the bedside cabinet and tried to concentrate on something else. But although the book was in Polish and the story was a familiar and much-loved one, her concentration kept slipping and she found herself gazing at his chest, wondering what that golden skin would feel like beneath her fingers.

The warmth in the room and the gentle rhythm of his snoring must have sent her to sleep, for she jolted awake to find he was leaning on his side watching her with great interest, the sheet now barely covering his hips.

‘Ah, so my sleeping beauty awakes,’ he said and smiled.

‘I didn’t mean to go to sleep,’ she protested, tearing her gaze from that flat belly and the line of hair tracing its way beneath the sheet. ‘But it’s warm and airless in here and it’s been a long morning.’

‘Of course, of course,’ he replied, nodding his great head and pulling the sheet up to his chest. ‘I will ask the nurse to bring us some tea.’

‘Only if you want some,’ she said, flustered.

His gaze captured her like a moth in a web, his eyes dark and so mesmeric she couldn’t look away. ‘We both have a thirst, little one,’ he murmured in Polish. ‘I have seen how you look at me when you think I am sleeping, and I wish very much to taste the nectar of your lips.’

She went scarlet and it took all her willpower to tear her gaze away. ‘Don’t talk such nonsense, Stanislaw,’ she retorted briskly. ‘You’re in no fit state to kiss anyone, and I’m in no mood for your … your shenanigans,’ she blustered.

He chuckled and she was sorely tempted to slap him.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she went on in rapid Polish. ‘Look what you’ve done to yourself, you silly man. Why can’t you behave yourself instead of causing so much worry and making yourself ill?’