by Melody Anne
“Yes, sorry. The fall startled me, that’s all,” she began, putting on her most professional smile―the do-not-touch-me smile that had always worked so well for her. “I’m Chloe Reynolds, your physical therapist,” she said. She tugged on her arm again.
He didn’t let her go, but he also didn’t scowl at her like she’d been hoping. If he was irritated, he’d lose interest. Instead, her reaction seemed to amuse him. A brilliant smile lit up his lips as raindrops slid down the side of her face, making her think of entwined, sweating, naked bodies.
She was shocked by where her mind had wandered. She never thought this way. She was busy with her career and her family, two things she wanted this man to have nothing to do with. She didn’t have time for men, and she really didn’t have time for sex. So why would she be thinking of it with this particular man?
“You’re a whole lot better looking than the last couple of therapists sent my way,” he told her. Unexpectedly, the compliment made her glow just a little.
“I don’t appreciate that. I’m here because of my qualifications,” she said to him.
He smiled even more. “Uncle Sherman sent you, right?” he said, his eyes not straying from hers.
“Yes, Sherman Armstrong hired me for six weeks of intensive home care. He said you’re impatient to get back to work, that you’re a pain-in-the-ass patient―his words, not mine—and that if I can stick it out, I’ll get paid triple.”
She might as well let him know right up front this was about work. It was more than obvious the man was attracted to her, which should have made her angry instead of light-headed. It was better if she let him know nothing unprofessional was going to happen. At least, not the sexy kind of unprofessional . . . She wasn’t here for that.
“Hmm, sounds about right,” he told her. “Of course, you’re not off to a very good start. I’m injured and you just crashed down on my lap.” The smile in his voice took away any sympathy she might have felt for him.
“I apologize for that. Let me check to make sure you’re okay. Maybe we can go inside,” she pointed out. The rain was blowing right under the porch roof. He didn’t seem to even notice.
“Yes, of course. Please come in.”
He expertly backed his wheelchair up and spread a welcoming arm before him in a sweeping gesture. With reluctance she followed him inside his monstrous house. No one needed so much space, she thought as she looked around at the wide hallways and modern furniture. It appeared as if some of it had been rearranged―most likely to help him get around the place more efficiently.
Even though the rooms were open and large, Chloe felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Nick in a wheelchair was a force to be reckoned with. She couldn’t imagine what he’d be like in full health. It was a good thing he would be locked away in jail by the time that point came.
“I get you all to myself for a full six weeks,” Nick said, and Chloe whipped around to see he was far too close to her. She needed to nip this flirting in the bud right away.
She gave him a derisive look. “I’m not interested,” she told him in her sternest voice.
His smile grew as he stared at her, not at all intimidated by her remark. Chloe found that she again wanted to retreat. Dammit. This was going all wrong.
“You know what, Chloe Reynolds, I think I like you,” he said, his grin in place, his eyes darkening and his chest pushing out the slightest bit. Though he was affecting her in a way she didn’t want to be affected, she’d rather be flung into the ocean than admit to it.
“You don’t know me,” she pointed out.
“Maybe I’d like to rectify that,” he said with a wink.
A shudder passed through her, and she sent him her harshest glare. He didn’t wither as intended. In fact, he didn’t seem to be turned off even a little bit. Even though she was being her snarkiest, he didn’t seem to mind. It appeared there was one part of his body that hadn’t been injured in the crash.
“Have I given you even the slightest indication that I want that to happen?” she said, putting her most librarian tone into her voice.
He didn’t even blink.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Back off,” she told him. “I’m a professional and I’m here to do a job―without the flirting.”
“Maybe you need to loosen up a bit and enjoy life,” he said.
Her back stiffened as she tried to pull herself under control. The last half hour or so had been more draining than she ever could have imagined. It was time for that retreat.
“Can you just tell me where my room is, please?” She decided the best option was to ignore the flirting, try to get him to open up to her about the crash, and tend to his wounds. But not until she had a few minutes to herself.
“I’ll do better than that, I’ll personally show you,” he told her. She caught the twinkle in his eyes. She didn’t want the man anywhere near where she’d be sleeping. She’d fought like hell not to have to stay at his house, but Sherman had insisted the therapy would be an all-day thing. He’d also insisted on having someone there in case Nick had problems at night.
Chloe had pointed out that she wasn’t a nurse. Of course, he’d called her on that. She’d been a nurse before she’d decided to go into physical therapy. That’s when he’d offered to triple the pay for a job well done. And Chloe had a lot of school debt the job would help pay off.
“Let me go and get my bag first,” she said, then spun around and dashed back out the front door. She was soaked when she came back to a scowling Nick. She had no idea what she’d done now.
“What?” she finally asked.
“I’m just sick of being this incapable,” Nick said as he slammed his hand down against the arm of the chair.
“What do you mean?” Immediate concern filled her. After all, she was a therapist first.
“Never have I allowed a woman to carry her own bags before,” he grumbled.
His angry words made her smile, which shocked Chloe. She didn’t want to find an appealing trait about the man, but she couldn’t help it.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags,” she informed him.
He reached over and took the handle from her, pulling the large suitcase to the side of his chair.
“I’ve got it from here,” he said. “Though I should have had it from the car.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nick.” She tried getting the bag back. He wasn’t budging. They had a stare down until she was the one to break and look away.
His arm muscle bulging, he pushed the wheel of his chair, using his good leg to keep it straight while holding the handle of her bag with the other arm and tugging it beside him. She slowly trailed after him.
“Thank you.” It was sincere. Silence surrounded them then as she tried to force herself to move away from him. This was going to be a trying job. That was for sure. But the sooner she found what she needed, the faster she would get away from him.
Nick was almost at a loss as he led Chloe through his large home. The woman had shown up on his porch like a present from the gods. He wasn’t about to complain. Even with her uppity attitude, he was having more fun than he’d had in a while.
All it had taken was one look into Ms. Chloe Reynolds’s eyes, and he’d felt warmth invade him as his heartbeat elevated its pulse. He’d been turned on by women before―many, many times―but he’d never had that knee-weakening feeling that had been coursing through him from the second he’d opened his front door to find her standing there.
The spark between them was undeniable. She might be trying to act like it wasn’t there, but that only made Nick want to try that much harder to make her yield. She was guarded and stubborn all in one. She was a challenge.
Nick was a confident man―injured or healthy―and he certainly knew when a woman found him attractive. Chloe obviously did, whether she was willing to admit to that or not. It just made the game of cat and mouse that much more appealing.
Without the injury, he never would have
met the physical therapist, which would have been a shame. He found her intriguing. It had been a while since someone had piqued his interest so quickly.
Chloe scowled at him as he led her down the hallway. Was she really this standoffish or was it him? He couldn’t imagine it being him―he was a hell of a guy, and women didn’t typically hate him at first sight. And Nick never stuck around long enough to give them time to change their opinions.
“Your house is big,” she said when they turned a corner and moved down the wide hallway.
“I’m a big guy,” he told her with a wink. She frowned. He stopped at the guest bedroom but didn’t want her to leave yet so he blocked the entrance as he searched his brain for something to say.
“Why don’t you tell me what we’re going to be doing?” he finally asked.
It took her a moment to adjust to his change of subject, then her face lit up, and he could see he’d gone in the right direction this time. If he spoke about work, maybe she’d open up. He knew he loved talking about his job.
“I’m an RN, with a specialty in orthopedics. I decided to move into physical therapy because I’m intrigued by the idea of fixing, through manipulation, what most people think is impossible to mend via surgery. I’ve studied your injuries, and you’ve done really well with most of your body, but I’ve been told you aren’t taking proper care of your knee,” she told him.
“I’ve been doing what the doc has told me,” he pointed out.
She sent him a wry glance. “I don’t think so. I know the doctor told you to use your crutches sparingly until you’ve had therapy. Your uncle said you don’t go to the chair often enough. If you try to do this on your own, it can lead to permanent injury. For me to do my job properly, you’re going to have to trust and listen to me. If you aren’t willing to do those two things, then there’s really no point at all in my being here,” she said with a stern expression.
Nick laughed, and that made her eyes narrow on him. He held up his hand. It had been a while since he’d laughed. It felt pretty damn good, he had to admit.
“I will do anything you want of me, Doll,” he promised.
“It’s Chloe,” she pointed out.
“I like Doll better,” he said with a waggle of his brows. She sighed in frustration. The woman was far too easy to rile up, which only made Nick want to do it more and more. It might be boredom, it might be lust, but whatever it was, he was glad his therapy would take time―and to think, just that morning he’d been pissed about it.
“I don’t care, that’s not my name,” she pointed out.
“Gotcha,” he said. “You’ll get used to it, though.”
Her cheeks were growing a very appealing shade of pink in her frustration. He decided he liked the color a lot. He bet her entire body blushed with excitement when she was turned on. He most definitely was going to have to see that for himself―and he didn’t want to wait too long. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, and he was more than ready.
“Look, Nick, I’m not some doe-eyed young intern. I’m a professional and I’ve helped NFL athletes so they didn’t have to retire, hockey players get back on the ice, given baseball players many extra years, and other professional athletes,” she told him. He opened his mouth to speak, and she held up a hand. “Not only have I helped many men like you who don’t think they need my help, but then are always incredibly appreciative when they get to continue their careers, but I’ve also worked with other doctors, nurses, and professionals who need to be on their feet all day. You’re very lucky to have me here doing this for you. I would appreciate you giving me the respect I’ve earned.”
Damn, he liked her sass. He was seriously going to enjoy their time together. Nick was sure this would be one therapist he’d have no desire whatsoever of chase away. He wouldn’t mind chasing her to his bedroom, but he’d save that for another day.
“I have the utmost respect for you, but you have to realize, too, that I’m not your typical patient. I like to push myself, and I don’t want kid gloves while doing it. I’m only going to get better if I don’t cry every time something hurts a little,” he told her.
“I’m the one who will tell you how far you can take it. We need to get that very clear right now or this relationship isn’t going to work.”
“Relationship? I like the sound of that,” he said.
“Professional relationship, Mr. Armstrong,” she reprimanded. He laughed again, and she scowled at him.
“I’m up for any type of pairing you have in mind,” he told her.
For a brief moment, Nick thought back to the week before when he’d been uninterested in dating or sleeping with any women. How quickly his mind could be changed, he thought with a crooked smile.
It hadn’t been that he’d been uninterested. He realized he’d been waiting for that spark he’d needed to ignite a full-blown fire. Nick felt more himself while the two of them faced off in his hallway than he had in months. Even before the accident, he’d been feeling restless, uneasy, like he was missing something.
Maybe all along he’d been waiting for this particular woman to step into his life. She’d soon learn that when given an inch, it didn’t take long for Nick to go a yard. And it felt damn good to know that, even if his leg wasn’t working properly, at least his libido was. He’d take all the wins he possibly could right now.
Their gazes locked together, and he saw fear in her eyes. It wasn’t fear of him, he was sure of that. Chloe was afraid of the scorching attraction between the two of them, a smoldering burning that no amount of water was going to be able to put out.
Nick also knew when it was time to relent for a while. He moved back a bit and pushed open her bedroom door. The two of them stood in the hallway as she looked inside with an unreadable expression.
“Get settled in, and then we’ll continue our discussion,” Nick said as he scooted back, leaving her bag in the doorway and allowing her access to the room. He stayed close enough that she would have no way of getting past him without brushing against his leg, but she tried anyway―and failed.
Grabbing her bag, she pushed it inside, then turned and looked at him one last time before wordlessly shutting the door without saying anything else. Only then did he turn around to head back to the main part of the house, a big grin on his face. Let the healing begin.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning light was shining in Chloe’s window far too early for her liking. Normally she was very much a morning person, but on this day, she knew she was going to have to spend it with Nick, and she also knew he wasn’t going to make it easy on her. No matter how much she tried to keep a professional distance, she had an inkling that the man had no idea what that concept even meant.
It was six in the morning, and she only had an hour to herself before the long day began. She jumped from bed, put on her jogging clothes, and crept from her bedroom, grateful when she didn’t see any signs of Nick being up and about.
Stepping from the house, she stretched her sleepy muscles, then began a slow jog through the trails surrounding Nick’s property. It was an exploratory run to empty out her mind and wash sleep away. She wasn’t trying to set any records.
But this morning Chloe wasn’t finding the peace she so desperately needed as she moved through the lush foliage of the forest surrounding Nick’s property. Her mind was uneasy as she thought about what she was supposed to be doing.
Nick had been the pilot of the helicopter that had crashed―giving her brother a burial at sea that he’d been too young to have. His body hadn’t been recovered, and the pain she felt from his loss still ate at her.
When Chloe’s father had found out she’d been hired to be Nick’s therapist, the man had flown into a rage, trapping her against the wall as his spit spattered her face, making that terror she’d felt as a child come back to the surface.
After his rant had ended―taking nearly an hour―he’d then gotten a look in his eyes that had scared her far worse than his rage. It had been cun
ning and calculating. He’d given her a stare that told her she’d best not disappoint him. Her father had said they could use this opportunity to dig up the evidence on Nick Armstrong the judge would need to send his ass to prison.
Nick was already guilty in her father’s eyes. They just had to make sure he wasn’t going to somehow get out of it. Chloe didn’t trust her father, but another crewman had stepped forward to say he’d seen Nick drinking the night he’d flown that helicopter out into the storm. If that was the case, then Nick was guilty of his crew’s demise―and he should pay for their deaths.
Three good people had lost their lives while Nick had lived. Hadn’t she once heard that many drunk drivers survived because they were too wasted to tense up during an accident? It seemed to be the case with Nick.
But Chloe didn’t like to go into any situation blind, so she’d done her homework on the Armstrong family, had studied everything she’d been able to get her hands on―especially pertaining to Nick. She hadn’t found anything to back up her father’s convictions.
Guilt ate through Chloe. Guilt at losing her brother and not doing everything in her power to avenge his death, guilt at lying to a patient―even if that patient was guilty of murder, guilt at plotting the demise of a man―even if that man was not guilty of murder, guilt at doubting her father.
Chloe was torn. She hated that she felt attracted to this man who was supposed to be her enemy, and she hated that she had ulterior motives and that her oath to “do no harm” as a medical professional felt like a lie. She had to treat him as any other patient, had to leave him able to walk―even if he were doing so behind bars.
Chloe was so deep in thought, she nearly tripped over a branch when her phone rang, yanking her back to the present. Normally, she would ignore a call while she was exercising, as it cut off the music that helped motivate her to keep on moving, but that ring tone was her best friend, and Chloe needed to speak with her.