A fractured hip, a mild concussion. She would be moved to a room right after she’d finished in Recovery. Her age made the break serious, but her health helped balance that. Sydney left both her office and home numbers with the doctor and the grandson, requesting to be kept informed of Mrs. Wolburg’s condition.

Unbearably weary in body and mind, Sydney walked out of the hospital.

“You need food,” Mikhail said.

“What? No, really, I’m just tired.”

Ignoring that, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down the street. “Why do you always say the opposite of what I say?”

“I don’t.”

“See, you did it again. You need meat.”

If she kept trying to drag her heels, he was going to pull her arm right out of the socket. Annoyed, she scrambled to keep pace. “What makes you think you know what I need?”

“Because I do.” He pulled up short at a light and she bumped into him. Before he could stop it, his hand had lifted to touch her face. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

While she blinked in surprise, he swore, scowled then dragged her into the street seconds before the light turned.

“Maybe I’m not happy with you,” he went on, muttering to himself. “Maybe I think you’re a nuisance, and a snob, and—”

“I am not a snob.”

He said something vaguely familiar in his native language. Sydney’s chin set when she recalled the translation. “It is not bull. You’re the snob if you think I am just because I come from a different background.”

He stopped, eyeing her with a mixture of distrust and interest. “Fine then, you won’t mind eating in here.” He yanked her into a noisy bar and grill. She found herself plopped down in a narrow booth with him, hip to hip.

There were scents of meat cooking, onions frying, spilled beer, all overlaid with grease. Her mouth watered. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“And I say you’re a snob, and a liar.”

The color that stung her cheeks pleased him, but it didn’t last long enough. She leaned forward. “And would you like to know what I think of you?”

Again he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. It was irresistible. “Yes, I would.”

She was saved from finding a description in her suddenly murky brain by the waitress.

“Two steaks, medium rare, and two of what you’ve got on tap.”

“I don’t like men to order for me,” Sydney said tightly.

“Then you can order for me next time and we’ll be even.” Making himself comfortable, he tossed his arm over the back of the booth and stretched out his legs. “Why don’t you take off your jacket, Hayward? You’re hot.”

“Stop telling me what I am. And stop that, too.”

“What?”

“Playing with my hair.”