by Jill Shalvis
off toward the bar and grill in that dress and those heels, both his greatest fantasy and his biggest nightmare.
Halfway to the lobby she slowed.
He had no idea if she wanted to apologize or kill him. It could go either way.
Still not looking at him, she let out a long, unsteady breath. “AJ?”
He braced himself and schooled his features. “Yeah?”
“You really did save my life.”
That was just about the last thing he’d expected her to say. She flashed him a quick, unreadable look. “But that changes nothing about how little I want to be here with you.”
He nodded. “Understood.”
The truce was over. He got that. He was going to just hope for the best. His potential grant partner was Trent Gibson, a genius IT guy who’d sold his software company several years ago for a staggering amount of money, more money than “my grandchildren’s grandchildren could ever spend” as he’d told AJ.
The guy was fifty-five, self-made, and on top of his world. Or had been until his second wife had been terribly burned in a car accident. Physical therapy had saved her life.
Trent claimed that without his substantial wealth she never would have gotten the extended care she’d needed. As a result, she’d talked Trent into giving money to help others less fortunate than she. Trent’s only stipulation had been that he got to personally meet and approve the physical therapists he awarded grant money to.
AJ had contacts throughout the country, good friends in the business, and he’d been mentioned to Trent several times over. He and Trent had spoken on the phone and via e-mail, and though Trent came off a little full of himself, no one could fault the guy’s philanthropic spirit.
As for whether AJ’s program would get to benefit from it, that all rode on tonight.
And on Darcy, the woman who’d just given him a hardon in an elevator.
So his head wasn’t exactly on straight as the three of them ordered drinks and dinner. In fact, his head was seriously fucked up. Darcy had him spinning. For one thing he had no idea what would’ve happened if the elevator doors hadn’t opened when they had.
And for another, was this a random thing for Darcy, or had she felt it, too?
And while he sat there half lost in his own remembered lust, something shocking happened. Darcy carried the conversation. She held Trent’s interest and … well, was the opposite of her usual snarky self. She laughed at the guy’s jokes, smiled sweetly when he rambled on and on about how much money he’d made and the expensive colleges he planned on sending his kids from his first marriage. She asked questions as he pulled out his iPhone and flipped through hundreds of pictures of their lives on yachts and exotic islands and the like. In short, she was sweet and charming and wonderfully genuine—all while managing not to look at AJ or address him once.
Still, she kept her end of the bargain, and on top of that, it was a whole other side to her that she hadn’t let him see before.
This didn’t help him get his head on straight in the slightest.
And then dinner was cleared and in a lull of the conversation, Trent said to Darcy, “Tell me about your accident.”
Oh Jesus. This was it. AJ held his breath because Darcy didn’t talk about her accident, ever. It was a taboo subject and he got that. He really did.
It wasn’t an easy subject for her.
Hell, it wasn’t an easy subject for him. He’d been with Wyatt when the call had come in. He’d held a sobbing Zoe at the hospital while they’d waited for news from the trauma team that had worked on Darcy for twelve straight hours.
He’d watched Wyatt completely lose it in the ER parking lot, and AJ had done his best to pick up the pieces and hold on to them all until both Wyatt and Zoe could get it together.
Which hadn’t happened until the surgeon had come out and told them she’d survived and that if she woke up in the next twelve hours, her chances were twenty-five percent.
Darcy had woken up eleven hours and fifty-five minutes later.
Stubborn as always.
But shockingly, Darcy didn’t freeze up at Trent’s question. She did however dodge it and skipped right to her physical therapy. She told Trent in great detail how she believed AJ had single-handedly gotten her walking again. How the insurance money had cut off after four months but that she’d still been in a wheelchair at that point. How AJ had continued to work with her on his own dime, and that if he hadn’t, she’d still be in the chair.
Trent soaked up every single word, clearly fascinated, clearly impressed with her. “Remarkable,” he said, unknowingly using the same word Darcy had flung at AJ earlier.
For the first time all night, Darcy looked right at AJ.
And, oh shit, there was a storm of trouble brewing in her eyes.
“You clearly have a deep bond,” Trent said, clueless to the weather change.
Darcy nodded and reached for AJ. It was only years of soldiering that kept him from flinching, as he was pretty sure she meant to kill him.
Instead she squeezed his hand and … leaned in to kiss him gently on the mouth. “You’re right,” she said to Trent. “AJ is remarkable.” Her gaze still locked on AJ, her eyes filled with trouble. “Utterly remarkable.”
AJ held his breath. Surely Trent could see right through this ridiculous display of made-up affection.
But Trent seemed surprisingly touched. “Love it,” he said. “You remind me of myself and my wife, the two of you are so obviously connected in spite of all the challenges you’ve faced. Amazing, really.”
Darcy leaned back with a demure agreement. “Amazing,” she said.
As if she had a single demure bone in her body.
The elevator ride back up to Darcy’s room was entirely different than the one on the way down. For one thing, she was in it alone.
For another, she was exhausted.
She’d done her best, and yeah, she’d gone over the top, but there’d been a method to her madness. Trent loved only one thing more than himself and his money, and that was his wife. Darcy had gotten the idea to appeal to that softer side of him by using her relationship with AJ.
Her fantasy relationship with AJ, that is.
The two men had gone on to talk in great detail about some of AJ’s other patients. By the time the waitress had cleared their plates and offered dessert, Darcy couldn’t keep her eyes open.
AJ had noticed immediately and had started to excuse them to Trent, but she’d insisted she could go up to the room alone and get herself to bed.
She figured they were all safest that way. And by all, she meant herself.
Before the elevator opened she had her heels off and dangling from her fingers as she limped to her room. The second she shut her hotel room door, she dropped the heels to the floor. Halfway to the bathroom, she let the black dress fall as well.
With a whimper of relief, she picked up the hotel room phone. She hadn’t eaten much at dinner and was still hungry. She ordered her standard comfort food—mac and cheese.
Then she practically crawled into the shower. She stood there beneath the hot spray until her locked muscles loosened slightly. Then, too tired to stand any longer, she turned off the water, barely managed to dry herself off, and staggered naked out of the bathroom, her only plan to drop into bed and pass out.
She took one step into the room and stopped short at the sight of AJ sprawled out on her bed, still fully dressed, his arms up behind his head, his feet casually crossed. His tie was gone, his collar open. He’d taken his sexy Mr. CEO look from day to night and her heart took the same leap.
Swearing, she whirled back to the bathroom, slamming the door, which she barely heard over the thundering of her heart in her own ears.
Eleven
AJ had broken into Darcy’s room for a most excellent reason, but hell if he could remember it now as she came out of the bathroom bare-ass naked.
And Darcy naked was the distraction of a lifetime. Steam from her shower swirled around he
r willowy, toned body, a body that could make a grown man sink to his knees and beg.
Had he thought her dress heart-attack inducing? Because her dress had nothing on the sight of her without it.
“Get out,” she yelled through the bathroom door.
Ah yes, now he remembered why he was here. She’d lied to Trent, made him think things that weren’t true, things that couldn’t possibly ever be true. “So you don’t want to sleep with the man you find remarkable?”
“Okay, so maybe I took that a little further than I meant to,” she said through the door.
“You mean you lied.”
Silence, and then a rustling, and then the bathroom door opened and she reemerged wearing a towel wrapped around her body, tucked in between her breasts. “Look,” she said, “it worked, right? He wanted us to have the kind of relationship he and his wife have, and I gave him that.”
Her hair was loose and still wet enough to be sending little rivulets of water down her shoulders and chest, soaking into her towel. Not that he was noticing, or counting each and every single drop as it vanished.
“We have a problem,” he said.
Her eyes zeroed in on his crotch, and the unmistakable bulge there. “Again?”
“Not that,” he said, and rose off the bed.
“Oh, no you don’t. Stay away. I mean it,” she said and pointed at him. “You stay right over there and don’t even think about coming any closer. Your lips might fall on mine again.”
True story, although her lips had been right with him the first time—not that he was stupid enough to point that out.
“You need to go,” she said.
“You were limping when you left dinner.”
“I always limp.”
“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said.
“You ever hear of texting?”
“You ignore my texts,” he said. “Maybe I should sext.”
“Look at you with all the funny lately.” She turned away. “I’m fine. I did what you asked. Now let yourself out.”
“Damn,” he said. “You’re really good at that.”
“At what?”
“Pushing people away.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Room service!”
AJ opened up, signed for the delivery, and kicked the door closed. “Didn’t we just eat?”
“Sometimes a girl just needs mac and cheese.” She took the tray, lifted off the cover, and still in nothing but a towel, scooped a big bite. And then another. “Oh my God,” she moaned in that voice she used in his dreams, like Yum, AJ, I want to eat you up …
After a few bites, she looked over at him. “You’re still here why?”
“At dinner you mentioned the view from this floor,” he said, “and Trent mentioned he was on the same floor as you.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So after we finished tonight, we hit the elevator together.”
“Uh-huh. Still not getting why you’re here being a perv.”
He inhaled slow and deep. It didn’t help. “You pretended to be in love with me.”
“Yeah. And I pretended to love kissing you, too. So what?”
He met her gaze, trying to work out the best way to deal with this. He could leave her alone the way she so clearly wanted. His bruised ego could certainly use the break from her. But something was telling him to stay, that she needed him.
Which was ridiculous. She didn’t need anyone. “First of all, he expected me to be sharing a room with you, and second …” Don’t do it … But he did. “There was nothing pretend about that damn kiss,” he said. “Not tonight, and not the first time we kissed, either.”
She sucked in a breath. “We agreed to never discuss that.”
“Actually, I never agreed to any such thing.”
“No?” she asked, her voice glacial. “Well, clearly it sucked so bad that you didn’t want to discuss it.”
Since her tone didn’t match her words it took him a minute to catch up. She couldn’t actually believe that, could she? It didn’t make sense. It was so past time to bail on this conversation before they went down a path he didn’t intend to travel. Ever. “We’re not doing this now,” he said.
“Of course not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means whatever you say goes,” she snapped.
“If only that were true.”
Her eyes were lit and her body language screamed that she was spoiling for a fight, and damn if it didn’t turn him on—which was not the appropriate response, he told himself. But his self wasn’t listening. “Lie facedown on the bed,” he said.
She choked out a laugh and crossed her arms, which plumped up her perfect breasts to mouth-watering proportions. “In your dreams.”
“You’re limping,” he said. “You’re holding yourself in a way that says you’re in pain. We both know I can help with that.”
She stared at him for a long beat and finally moved to the bed—which spoke volumes on how bad she must hurt. She lay flat, head on her arms, eyes closed.
He drew a deep breath and sat at her hip. Her hair fanned away from her face, wet and silky. Her face was drawn, her mouth a little pinched.
Yeah. She was in bad shape.
He began to slowly massage her spinal cord over her towel, very purposely keeping her covered. “What the hell was tonight really about?” he finally asked.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
The towel kept rising up the backs of her gorgeous thighs. He kept tugging it down. “You pretending we were a couple.”
“I told you, I was trying to help you.”
“I’m a little fuzzy on how lying to Trent helps me,” he said.
“Look, if it’s a problem for your high moral standards, then tell him I’ve got some condition where I speak out of turn, like Tourette’s.”
He decided to drop it. For now. Mostly because with his hands on her like they were, he was afraid he might be tempted to wrap them around her throat and strangle her.
Twenty minutes later she finally let out a shuddery sigh and relaxed. “Thanks,” she murmured and rose, heading to the minibar. “Make sure you bill me in full for that, no more pro bono.”
He ignored that. “You know they charge you a mint just to open that thing.”
“Take it off my pay.” She perused her choices and settled on a mini bottle of scotch.
“You already had two drinks at dinner.”
She turned and gave him a deceptively bland look. The wild cat before the strike. “And?”
“And alcohol and pain meds don’t mix, Darcy.”
Her easy expression vanished. “I knew you’d get to it.”
“To what?”
“To pissing me off.” She pointed to the door. “Get out, AJ.”
He didn’t move as she took a long pull on the bottle. “Why are you still here?” she asked. “I asked you to go.”
“You didn’t ask,” he said.
“Fine. Get out—please.”
His smile was as grim as her tone. “Better. But I’m still not going anywhere.”
She just stared at him. “You know, most people run from me,” she said. “As fast as they can.”