And despite her prejudices about men and how messy they were, Zachary’s closet was meticulously organized. One entire wall was sporting equipment. Skis. Helmets. Canoe paddles. There was a fortune in this room alone.
She assumed most of his business suits and formal wear lived in his condo in Portland, though she spotted one or two dressy items here, as well. Most of the clothes were übermasculine shirts and vests and jackets and pants that an outdoorsman would wear. And much of it, though not all, carried the SRO tag.
Should she resist the urge to sniff a T-shirt? Or maybe snitch one for sleeping? Zachary would never know.
Laughing silently at her own absurd thoughts, she set to work locating the crutches. You’d think such a task would be easy, but she had to dig through all sorts of stuff. Finally, she located what she wanted deep in a corner behind a collection of high-end wet suits and kiteboarding equipment. Did Zach wear anything underneath when he donned one of those skintight shells? The thought of his naked body dried her mouth.
Focus, Frannie.
She extricated the crutches and exited the closet, closing the door behind her. Now, even more temptation beckoned. Zachary was stuck on the sofa. He wasn’t going to walk in and catch her snooping.
His bedroom was fascinating. She’d seen it during the tour, of course, but now she took her time exploring. His feather pillows were expensive and plump. The sheets, when she turned back the covers, were incredibly soft.
The only personal note in the entire room was a small five-by-seven framed photograph resting on his nightstand. The picture had captured the three Stone brothers at a perfect moment. They were standing together—arms around each other’s waists—near a ski lift, lifting their poles skyward with huge grins on their faces. The joy in the image made her smile.
The picture was likely taken before Quin’s accident. She didn’t think he had been able to ski last winter. From what Frannie had ascertained online and from the Stone family in person, the past two years had been grim at times and very hard at others. The siblings had gone from pursuing their own interests to being plunged into the high-octane environment of running a multinational company.
It couldn’t have been easy.
Frannie sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, testing the mattress.
Though she was no expert when it came to the male sex, she was now fairly certain that Zachary was interested in sleeping with her. Too bad for him that she wasn’t fluent in the kind of physical transactions between men and women where the only parameters that mattered were whether both parties enjoyed the venture.
Other than her cooking-disaster boyfriend, she’d had only two other semiserious connections with men. One lasted six months, the most recent one only three.
It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy having a man in her life, but those relationships had been a lot of work. Being around Zachary again reminded her how much fun it could be when you knew another person really well and actually liked them.
Was it going to be up to her to draw a line in the sand? To keep the boundaries crystal clear? And what if she wanted to do something wildly impractical? What if she decided that sleeping with Zach was on her bucket list?
What then?
Under other circumstances, this two-day getaway might have played out very differently. Now, because Zachary was injured, sex was off the table.
She should be relieved. Really, she should.
But instead, she found herself wistful. How wonderful would it be to have a man like Zachary make her the center of his world? She’d spent her entire life wanting to be accepted and loved for who she was. Was it possible to find that person?
There was not a single doubt in her mind that sex with Zachary Stone would be epic. She couldn’t imagine the man being tepid about anything. He lived life on a grand scale.
But she doubted if anyone knew him well. He was closed off emotionally...coasting by on his looks and his charm. Keeping people at a distance.
Across the room, a large mirror captured her reflection as she sat on her host’s bed. She made a face at herself.
Zachary had told her he didn’t bring his romantic partners here. Only friends and family. She believed him. Why would he lie about something like that?
Yet he had brought Frannie. Should she be honored? Or was it depressing that he never considered Frances Wickersham as someone for the girlfriend category?
Back in high school she had crushed on him so hard, it was a wonder he never noticed. That long-ago crush had been safe. Because there was absolutely zero chance the teenage Zach would have dated her.
They had been close, very close. Close enough to share hopes and dreams. Close enough to argue and squabble and eventually make up, but without the kissing part. To outsiders, they might have seemed like siblings. But even though Zach had zero interest in Frannie romantically, their relationship had never been brother-sister in nature.
Maybe she couldn’t define exactly what it was, but it wasn’t that.
A glance at her watch told her she had dawdled up here long enough. Poor Zach was as helpless as a baby at the moment. She needed to get back downstairs.
When she returned to the living room, he shot her a glance that encompassed every bit of his frustration, even if it wasn’t technically aimed at her. And for some reason, he didn’t look helpless at all. He looked downright dangerous.
She gave the sofa a wide berth. “Found them,” she said.
“I thought maybe you had gotten lost. How long does it take to locate a damn pair of crutches? My house isn’t all that big.” His expression and his words were stormy.
“Don’t you snap at me, Zach. I’m the only person standing between you and starvation. Not to mention the fact that you can’t make it to the bathroom on your own.”
As she eyed him warily, his hands fisted, then gradually relaxed. His smile was rueful. “I am in a piss-poor mood. I apologize.”
Frannie shrugged. “You’re entitled, I guess. I turned on the porch light when I was upstairs. It looks like we have a couple of inches of snow already. Shouldn’t we be calling for help? Under the circumstances?”
“It’s my left ankle. I’m sure I can drive us back tomorrow.”
She gaped at him until she realized he was kidding. “Very funny. But now that you mention it, do you have an actual plan?”
“I’ll call Quinten in a little while. Hopefully, he’ll be able to bring his four-wheel drive and rescue us. If he’s got a conflict, Farrell is next on the list.”
“It’s not as easy as simply getting home. You need medical attention. Broken bones have to be set.”
“We don’t know that it’s broken.”
“And we don’t know that it’s not.” She held out the crutches. “Here. Be careful, please. I’ll refreeze those peas. How is the swelling?”
He shrugged. “See for yourself.”
She got down on her knees beside the sofa and carefully shimmied his pant leg up his calf. “Oh, Zach.” The ankle looked dreadful. Puffy. Discolored. She touched it with a single fingertip and looked up at him. “Do you have any prescription painkillers? I think you’ll need them to sleep.” The stupid man hadn’t even asked for an aspirin yet, though she should probably have thought to offer.
“I’ll be fine.” His voice sounded funny. “I don’t remember your hair being so curly,” he said quietly. When he took one strand and let it twine around his finger, she froze.
“I used to straighten it,” she croaked. “When we were in high school. This is the real me.”
He played with the curl absently, as if he didn’t actually realize what he was doing. “Your hair was pretty back then,” he said. “But I’m a fan of this real Frannie. Your curls are like bouncy silk.” His words were husky. Intimate.
She swallowed hard. A man could have sex with only one good ankle...right? “Um...thank you?”
He took several more strands in his hand, playing with them. “You’re a beautiful woman, Frannie. I’m sorry I never noticed that before. I was a dumb kid, I guess. Too immature to look beyond the surface.”
“You dated cheerleaders and majorettes and beauty queens. I never judged you for the choices you made. Any other adolescent boy would have done the same.”
“Maybe. But I wonder about all the quieter, sweeter, less flashy girls I missed along the way.”
Several responses sprang to mind immediately. To be honest, she didn’t care about all the girls he didn’t date. She was just sorry he had never gone out with her.
Her cheek rested against his knee. When had that happened? Her head was practically in his lap. The gentle motion of his hand in her hair was both soothing and arousing.
She made herself stand up. “I’ll take those peas now. And don’t you want to visit the facilities?”
His wry, self-mocking smile told her he knew she was escaping the unexpected intimacy of the moment. “I’m going.”
When he used one crutch to pull himself up, she offered an arm to steady him and then handed over the second crutch. “Are you light-headed?”
“Nope. Don’t fuss, Frannie. The ankle hurts, but I’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t sure about that. Even the strain of rising from his comfy spot on the sofa had made him lose color again. He was a stubborn, thickheaded man. It would have been a lot easier if he had let her help him.
As she watched, wincing, he made his way down the hall toward the powder room. In some homes that kind of half bath was tiny. At least Zachary’s guest bath was roomy. He’d be able to maneuver.
She picked up his empty plate and the thawed bag of peas and carried them back to the kitchen. Maybe dessert would sweeten his grumpy mood. She found candy bars in his pantry. After selecting three different varieties, she returned to the living room.
Still no Zachary.
Stealthily, she tiptoed down the hall. He might have a concussion. What if he had passed out while she was in the kitchen?
The minutes ticked by. She listened intently. Was that water running in the sink? If so, she needed to vacate the hallway ASAP, so he wouldn’t know she had been spying on him. Before she could move, a crash from the bathroom shook the wall beside her.
Zach!
A string of creative, high-volume profanity assailed her ears.
“I’m coming, Zach. Hold on...”
Six
There were times in a man’s life when he had to swallow his pride. Whether he wanted to or not. Zachary knew what he must look like sprawled on the floor. His dignity was nowhere to be found. Before he could yell for Frannie, the bathroom door burst open, nearly smashing his skull.
His nemesis fell to her knees and crouched over him. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. What did you do?”
He pointed balefully at the small gray area rug. “One of the crutches...” He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “I caught the edge of the mat on one of my crutches, and it slid out from under me.” He had hit his ankle on the way down and nearly passed out from the jolt of fiery pain. Every bone in his body vibrated.
She ran her hands over his extremities—like the cutest TV doctor ever—and lingered at the abrasion on his forearm. Then she leaned over him on hands and knees and pulled up one of his eyelids. “Your pupils look dilated.”
“Frannie...” Now he was wheezing for a whole different reason.
“Be still,” she said. “We need to make sure you haven’t damaged anything else.” She pulled up his other eyelid. “Does your head hurt? Tell me where.”
“Frannie...” Despite his considerable physical distress, his libido was hanging in there. And rising to the occasion. “Frannie...” He said her name with more force.
She frowned. “What?”
“Your boo—” He stopped short. “Your breast is in my face. And to be clear, I did not hit my head.”
“Oh.” Her face flamed. She sat back on her heels so fast she nearly toppled over. “What did you hit?”
“I fell on my butt. My elbow caught the counter. All things considered, it could have been worse.”
She bit her lip, not saying a word. And Frannie usually had plenty to say.
“What?” he asked, aggrieved that she was no longer smothering him with worry. “What are you thinking?”
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m not thinking anything. I’m trying not to laugh.”
He stared at her, outraged. “I could be dead,” he said. “And you’re laughing?”
Frannie’s eyes watered. Her shoulders shook. And then the giggles came. My God, she was adorable when she giggled.
He lay there watching her, partly because it was fun to watch her, but also because he was calculating whether or not he could get up without help.
She gasped, wiping her cheeks. “Oh, Zach, I’m sorry. I really am. But I wish I had a video of the whole thing.”
“Your concern is touching,” he said dryly.
“I’m honestly worried about you.”
“Oh, I can tell. I feel better already.”
She smiled at him. “You swear you didn’t hit your head?”
“I swear. Do you want to see the bruise on my ass?”
“Um, no.” She looked around the small bathroom as if searching for a way out. It was so easy to disconcert her.
He stroked her arm. “I know you’ve heard stories about me, Frannie. But they’re not all true.”
“Why are you saying that now?”
“Because you seem jumpy around me.”
“Even if only half of the gossip is true, you’re a...” She trailed off, her look of uneasiness probably warranted.
“Playboy? Womanizer? Hound dog?”
“You could at least pretend to be penitent,” she muttered.
“I’ve lived my life the way I wanted to live it, Frannie. I’ve never been dishonest with a woman, and I’ve always treated my partners with dignity and respect. I’m generous with my companions, and to my knowledge, I’m on good terms with everyone who has ever shared my...life.”
“All of them?”
He sighed. “How many do you think there are?”
She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t know. Fifty?”
“Good Lord, Frannie. No.”
Their eyes met, her gaze hesitant. “It would be okay if the number was fifty,” she said. “I’m not shocked. You’re a sexy, desirable man of thirty, almost thirty-one years. I can do the math. It’s not a crime. Having sex, I mean.”
His heart turned over in his chest. He’d always heard the expression and assumed it was a euphemism. But swear to God, he felt that organ bounce around painfully inside his rib cage. She was so damned brilliant and yet she seemed like a fawn in a wolf-laden forest. Somebody had to look out for her.
He cleared his throat. “We can circle back to this conversation. If the time is ever appropriate. But for now, let’s agree that our friendship has stood the test of time. I’m happy about that, Frannie. Are you?”
She nodded slowly. “You seem the same, only different. Good different,” she said quickly. “Maybe it’s serendipitous that Stone River Outdoors hired me. You and I can enjoy our own reunion for two.”
“Indeed.” He rolled to his hip. “I’m going to stand up now. You might want to give me a wide berth.”
“Put your arm around me. I’ll help lift you.”
“No.” He shook his head, having decided this was a solo effort. “If we try that, there’s a good chance we might both end up on the floor. Just hold my crutches, please. Until I’m ready for them.”
With two hands on the counter and the bathroom sink, he balanced on his good knee and pulled himself upright. It was slow, and it wasn’t pretty, but he made it without bumping his ankle. The effort winded h
im. His forehead was damp. He held out a hand. “I can take them now.”
Frannie handed over the crutches one at a time. “You’re very strong, aren’t you? To pull yourself up like that. I don’t have much upper-body strength.”
“Many women don’t. I could show you a few exercises.”
It was a perfectly normal, nonsexual offer. But Frannie blushed again. Which made Zachary’s thoughts land on sex again. Which made his—He stopped himself short. None of that. He’d promised himself.
In the living room, he glanced at his watch and saw that it was not even eight o’clock yet. Far too early for bed. “Are you interested in a movie, Frannie? An evening by the fire? There’s microwave popcorn in the pantry.”
Her face lightened. “That sounds fun. I’ll go do the snacks.”
He flipped through his streaming app and found something he thought she would like. The movie starred Colin Firth and was set in the English countryside. A double winner. It wasn’t Zachary’s type of flick. But making Frannie happy made him happy.
When Frannie came back with the popcorn and a newly frozen bag of medicinal peas, he patted the sofa beside him. “Join me.”
She set the popcorn bowls on the coffee table. “No. You need to elevate your ankle. Lie down, and I’ll ice it again. I’ll be gentle.”
“Promises, promises.”
As she carefully draped the bag of frozen peas on his abused ankle, she shook her head slowly. “Is flirting your default?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Was that flirting? Maybe so. I meant it as a joke.” Hadn’t he?
“Ah. So you weren’t referencing a mythical moment in the future when I might be torturing you? For fun?”
Because he had already put a handful of warm popcorn in his mouth, he almost needed the Heimlich maneuver. Which meant he didn’t have the oxygen to answer.
Frannie pushed a glass of cola in his direction and sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa, close enough to touch, but farther away than he wanted her to be.
She tilted her head to one side and examined him like an insect under a microscope. “Out of curiosity, Zach, is that the kind of woman you like?” she asked. “One who’s a little wild in the bedroom?”
Secrets of a Playboy Page 7