Brice frowned and ran a hand through his wavy hair. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to scare you, not when you still had doubts about our relationship. I should have told you right away. I won't make that mistake again."
"You already have!" Janna burst out. "You've taken over my schedule, talked to my advisor, and now you want to dictate where I live! Don't you see, it's all the same thing. You can rearrange people's lives like pawns because you have the money and the influence. But some of us don't want to be pawns!"
"It's not like that!" She watched the color rise in his cheeks. "I just want what's best for you."
"What's best for me is not to be dragged into your warped lifestyle. I'm not cut out for it. I don't want to be in the news, on TV and blogs. I don't want to be called a gold digger, or have a security team watch my every move. I don't fit into your fancy fundraising parties, with bitches like Donna Goddard, and frenemies like Alex Drake. Not to mention your family members. It's not working for me!"
Brice shook his head, her words forcing him to close his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, at last, his look piercing her. "I wanted to show you that I'm not what you think, that my lifestyle isn't the mess that you think it is, and I well and truly failed. Spectacularly, it seems."
Janna bit her lip, her anger starting to seep out of her. The hurt look in his eyes echoed around her insides, making her heart squeeze tightly in her chest.
"But that doesn't mean I don't want to help you, even if you aren't interested in continuing a relationship with me."
"I'm not moving into your mansion."
"Understood," he said. "How about my beach house?"
Janna sighed. "Brice--"
He held up his hand to stop her. "Just hear me out. It's quiet, away from the press, a place where you'd be able to relax and rest, to heal. And I'd make sure to have someone there with you, 24-7, to fetch and carry, prepare your meals, and assist in your recovery."
"Brice, I don't need all of that. I don't think you understand--"
He interrupted her again, his features becoming fierce. "Please, let me do this. It's because of me that you're even in this condition. Let me at least make sure you're well again."
"It isn't your fault," she said, but he just scowled and shook his head.
"Please," he repeated, his eyes boring into hers, begging her to give in.
Janna took a deep breath. "If I agree, you realize that this doesn't mean we're getting back together."
He closed his eyes again for a moment. To hide the hurt? "I understand."
"Then I agree. You can hire someone to help me out, and..." Janna's words trailed off as she noticed another presence in her doorway.
"I didn't mean to interrupt you," a cheerful woman in a fuzzy blue sweater said with a smile. "But I'm glad to hear that you're making after-care arrangements. I'm Darla, the hospital administrator. I'm here with your discharge papers, and to talk to you about what happens next."
"Hello, Darla," Brice said, his smile back in place. He stood and walked over to shake the administrator's hand.
"Oh, hello," she said, her voice breathy. Brice had an effect on the opposite sex. Janna couldn't help a flash of jealousy. She rolled her eyes, more at herself than the easy way Brice charmed women. She'd just told the man she wasn't going to continue their romantic relationship, so she had no right to be jealous. She felt it just the same.
"I'm free to go?" Janna asked loudly, interrupting the mini-love fest between Brice and Darla.
"Oh." Darla dropped Brice's hand and turned back to the patient. "Of course. The nurse will be around shortly to help you gather your things. I have a few forms for you, and I'd like to find out about your after-care plans. But it seems as if this gentleman has it well in hand."
"Yes," Brice said. "She'll have around-the-clock care until she's well again."
"Yes," Janna mocked, her voice overly sweet. "And she'd like to know exactly how long she'll have to be wearing this." She lifted the arm in the sling slightly, then winced at the twinge of pain in her wrist. "And this," she said, pointing down at her boot.
Darla shuffled through the papers in her clipboard. "Let's see. According to the doctor's advice, the wrist should be held immobile for two weeks. The cast should stay on for four. And the stitches will dissolve on their own in a few weeks."
Janna sighed. A whole month. She glanced at Brice and didn't trust the smug look she found on his face.
"These papers will detail all the doctor's instructions for you. You should make an appointment for the follow-up soon."
"I'll make sure she does," Brice said.
Janna scowled at him.
"Great. Then all that is left is the bill." Darla handed her an invoice, which Janna scanned. "Your insurance is expected to cover this amount, which means your co-pay will be this amount, in red."
"I'll take care of that," Brice said, snatching the invoice away from her.
"Wonderful. Well, then, I wish you a speedy recovery."
"Thanks," Janna mumbled, shooting an evil glance at Brice.
When Darla had gone, he folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. "I'll go and make the arrangements. I've already asked a couple of your fellow co-op mates to pack your belongings, and Tony should have picked them up by now. I'll make sure they're sent over to the beach house."
Janna frowned. "Of course you did. No objections, right?"
"Right," he said, his frown mirroring her own. "I take responsibility for my actions, whether right or wrong. And your getting well has just become my top priority."
"Go, before I change my mind, you overbearing son of a bitch."
For some reason, Brice smiled, as if her cursing had been a term of endearment. He was still smiling as he walked off down the hall and toward the cashier's office.
* * *
The drive to the beach house was filled with disquiet. Chase had picked her up in the familiar black limousine, and she was surprised to find herself alone in the roomy interior. She'd expected Brice to be waiting for her in the back, and to have to put up with his smothering presence all the way to the coast. Instead, she was strangely disappointed to find him absent.
The miles rolled on as she sat, considering her predicament. She really did appreciate all the care Brice was showing her, and she didn't want to appear ungrateful. But the fact that he felt it was acceptable to dictate the conditions of her recovery riled her, and she didn't know how to let go of her anger. Although his daring rescue attempt made her insides burn with affection for him, even the memory of that moment, when he'd thrown down his weapons and been ready to sacrifice himself for her, wasn't enough to dispel her upset.
Janna wondered why his actions inspired such emotions. She was a capable, independent woman and didn't need looking after, right? Brice's treatment of her was another check mark for the "entitled elitist" column in the case she was building against her handsome millionaire.
All this time and she still couldn't decide if he fit the description or not. When he ordered a security team to follow her around, when he compelled her to spend her rehabilitation in circumstances of his choosing, it showed that he was used to getting his own way, no questions asked. But when he planned the perfect date, when he whispered passionate words in her ears during their lovemaking, she wavered. And when he'd risked his own life to save hers, that was not the action of your typical spoiled tycoon. Looks like the case wasn't as closed as she pretended it was.
She'd told him that her staying at his beach house didn't mean that they were resuming their relationship. And she wanted to stand by those words. But another part of her, the part that was tired of feeling inadequate, or worse, replaceable, the part that wanted to scream her desire from the rooftops, the part that wanted to spend every night in his talented arms, that part of her wanted to give him another try. Janna clamped down hard on that part of herself. She had to focus, to build up her armor because if Brice weren't here in the limo, he'd probably be waiting for her at the beach hous
e.
They pulled up the long drive in front of a breathtaking Victorian home, and Janna noticed immediately that 007's silver bullet was parked out front. Brice was here waiting for her. As the limo came to a stop, he appeared on the wrap-around porch and jogged down to the car, pulling open Janna's door before Chase could make his way around to do it.
Before Janna could attempt to climb out of the limo, Brice was already wrapping his arms around her limbs, picking her up and walking her toward the entrance.
"Brice, I can still walk, you know?"
"Duly noted, Miss Puchina," he replied, but he didn't set her down. Instead, he climbed the steps up the porch and entered the house. "Welcome to your aftercare," he said with a cheeky smile, carrying her down the hallway and into a sitting room. "Living room."
Janna scanned the small room full of overstuffed furniture. It looked comfortable, decorated in muted tones that contrasted nicely with the polished hardwood. Before she could finish taking in her surroundings, he carried her into the next room.
"Office." She peeked her head into a room paneled in mahogany, bookshelves lining the walls, and a large desk dominating the decor. Then he was moving down the hall, walking through another part of the house.
"Dining area," he said, moving swiftly past a heavy walnut dining table with matching chairs. "And in here's the kitchen." He swept her into a light and airy room full of modern appliances.
"Slow down!" she said with half-mocking indignation.
"Got to give you the full tour." He brought them into the hall and up a flight of stairs.
"Brice, you don't have to carry me everywhere."
"I know." His green eyes were serious when they met hers. "But I want to."
Janna sighed. He wasn't going to make the separation easy.
"Besides, it would tire you out to have to walk on crutches around the house. Just a few more stops, and then I'll sit you down." At the top of the stairs, Brice moved off to the left and into a large room that was painted blue and decorated in creams, with billowy drapes surrounding a bank of windows that overlooked the ocean.
"Studio," she heard Brice say, then gasped when she noticed the easel and watercolor supplies. Before she had a chance to explore, he pulled her into another room, this one containing a claw-foot tub. "Bathroom," he said, and Janna thought the light in here rivaled the studio room. A row of windows set high in the wall allowed the sunshine to reflect off the gleaming features She had time to notice a porcelain pedestal sink and a silver chaise lounge, and then they were moving on.
"Last stop. Bedroom." The western wall was floor-to-ceiling windows; the sheer white curtains pulled back to reveal a breathtaking view of the sea. Brice set her down on the pillow top mattress, and she immediately sank into the softness.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, and he sat down beside her and pulled her hand into his.
"It sure is," he said, staring into her eyes.
Janna blushed and pulled her hand away. "Thank you for inviting me to stay here. I'm truly grateful."
"No need." He stood up and headed over to the doorway to meet Chase, who was bringing up her bag and crutches. Brice took the items and brought them over to her bedside. "Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Would you like to rest until then?"
"Yes," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"Good." He started moving back toward the door.
"Wait."
He returned to the bedside. She wanted to say so much, to discuss their status, to try and explain how she felt, but as his deep green eyes met hers, all those words deserted her. "Will the caregiver be here in time for dinner?" she asked lamely.
Brice gave her a smile and bent down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Already here," he said. "Now rest, and I'll come and get you when dinner's ready." With that, he left. She heard his steps on the stairs, and then she was alone.
Janna scanned the room. It was large, the furniture was heavy wood, and the chairs scattered around seemed almost too fine to sit on. She bent to pick up her crutches. After being cooped up in the car, and before that the hospital, she had no desire to rest. Instead, she placed a crutch on either side of her. She tried to position one under the sling, but she couldn't move it around with her injured wrist. It would have to be one crutch or nothing.
With her able hand, she gripped the crutch tightly and attempted to stand. On her first attempt, she fell backward against the bed, her uninjured arm and leg refusing to cooperate with each other. After a deep breath she tried again, and this time she stood, wobbling slightly, but not falling.
"Okay, a piece of cake," she said, then began making her way slowly across the room to an old-fashioned chair, it's shiny satin covering alternating in cream and light blue stripes. The going was slower than she would have predicted. Janna was in excellent shape, with a runner's physique and stamina. But she felt like she was crawling across the room, the effort greater than she would have expected. Having one leg completely immobilized meant her weight had to be supported almost entirely by her other leg, despite the handy air boot. And the arm on that side was fastened tight to her chest by means of the sling, so her balance was thrown off. At last, she tottered close to the chair and let herself slide into it, breathing heavily.
The effort was exhausting, and she suddenly realized how grateful she was that Brice was offering to pay for a caregiver. Imagining how difficult it would be just to accomplish the usual activities of her day-to-day life for the next few weeks, she now saw why he had been so insistent on her not returning to the co-op. It would have been amazingly complicated, trying to get better on her own. Janna allowed her eyes to close as her breathing deepened. Maybe she could use a little rest...
* * *
A hand was in her hair, stroking gently. "Wake up, sweetheart," a warm voice cajoled.
Janna opened her eyes, her gaze taking in a familiar half-smile. "Time for dinner." Before she could speak, Brice bent down and picked her up, carrying her into the hall.
"Wait."
He stopped, looking down at her questioningly.
"I want my crutch. You won't be here to carry me around all the time."
Brice gave her an unusual grin, but he returned to the bedroom and bent low enough for her to grab the crutch and carry it with her, if awkwardly. Soon he was settling her into one of the chairs in the dining room. The table was set, and a few candles were burning in the candelabra, although the sun had yet to sink below the watery horizon.
There were only two place settings, she noticed. Brice had disappeared into the kitchen, and when he returned he was carrying a bowl of Caesar salad. He put a portion on her plate, then set the bowl down and turned back towards the kitchen.
"Brice," she said, but he shook his head.
"Hang on, just let me grab the rest of the stuff. Then we can talk."
Janna sat in silence as he headed back into the kitchen, then returned with a dish filled with roasted chicken and yellow potatoes. One more trip into the kitchen and he set a carafe of water on the table, then uncorked a bottle of white wine.
"Pinot noir?"
She shook her head. Her thinking needed to be clear. Besides, she was on pain meds and shouldn't mix them with alcohol.
Brice poured himself a glass as she reached for the water carafe and filled her own. He then waited while she helped herself to a portion of chicken and potatoes.
She took a bite of the chicken, then smiled in spite of herself. It wasn't the tastiest meal she'd ever had, but after hospital food, it was a welcome improvement. "Not bad."
"Thanks," he said, and she noticed a faint flush on his cheeks.
"Did the caregiver make it? Where is she?"
Brice laughed. "There is no 'she.'"
"You hired a male caregiver?" Janna's brows furrowed at the unexpected revelation. "How very...progressive of you." That caused the millionaire to snort. "Well," she said after he said nothing, "will he be joining us?"
Brice put down his fork and smiled then, his
full smile that revealed that adorable dimple. "He already is."
What? "I'm sorry, I don't understand," she said, although a disturbing thought began reverberating around her head.
"I didn't hire anyone."
Chapter Twenty-One
Janna inhaled sharply, as the thought she'd feared became truth. "You're kidding."
There was that smile again, although it was a tiny bit smaller this time around. "I'm not kidding."
"But you said--"
"I said I'd make sure you have round-the-clock care. And you will."
"Provided by you?"
Brice nodded his head, his gaze trained on her own. Janna wasn't sure how to respond. Was he so controlling that he wouldn't entrust her care to anyone else? She didn't think that was likely. Then why?
"Brice," she began, carefully choosing her words, "why don't you just hire someone? You're a busy man; you don't have time to follow me around for a month while my leg heals."
"Being your own boss has its benefits," he replied nonchalantly, picking up his fork and pushing around his potatoes. "I can take off as much time as I like."
"But why? What are you trying to prove?"
His green eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath before he answered. "Who says I'm trying to prove anything?" The serious tone of voice seemed to belie his easy words. "I feel responsible for what happened to you, and that makes me equally responsible for making sure you recover. It's that simple."
Janna sighed. "No, it's not, and you know it. You're not responsible for this, despite what you think. We both made mistakes, but it's your crazy cousin's fault I'm in this condition, not yours."
Brice shook his head and looked as if he would interrupt, but she raised a hand to silence him. "Even if you do feel responsible, that doesn't mean you couldn't hire someone as my caretaker. You don't need to do it yourself."
"Yes I do," he said in a quiet growl, meeting her eyes again. His look was fierce, and Janna inwardly shied away. "I know you don't want to continue our relationship, and although I don't agree, I respect your decision. However, my fucking family, coupled with my own foolish actions, caused you to get hurt."
Worth the Risk: (A Contemporary Bad Boy Romance) Page 47