by Regina Cole
“What does he mean, I’ve ‘been served’?”
Rob took the paper from her nerveless fingers and steered her toward the living room. “Come on. You need to get off that leg.”
She sank down onto the couch, and he moved the coffee table over to prop her foot on top of it. Then he opened the envelope and handed her the papers. They shook a little as she read them. He didn’t ask any questions, just moved into the kitchen, keeping an eye on her as he poured her a glass of water. On his way back, she looked up.
“I’m being sued. The guy who hit me, he’s coming after me for the damage to his car, for his injuries, everything. How could he have gotten this together so quickly?”
Rob took the papers and laid them on the table by her foot, then he grabbed her hands and looked directly into her wide, blue-eyed stare.
“Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“How? He blows through a red light, he nearly kills me, but I’m the one who’s supposed to pay for all this? How is this even fair!”
“Stacey, come on. This has no chance of going anywhere. The police report will show that he was in the wrong, and—”
“But that cop last night thought I was on my cell phone. That’s why they’re doing this, isn’t it? They’re trying to pin all this on me, when I didn’t do anything wrong!”
He’d thought she was about to cry, but he’d been very, very wrong. Her cheeks were bright with anger, and her jaw was tight. Her brows had lowered to a dangerous level, and he began to feel very sorry for the punk who’d decided that Stacey Hough was a good target. He had no reason to be proud. After all, they weren’t really anything other than trainer and client to one another. Well, maybe at this point, “friend” would be closer to the truth. Potential lover? Maybe once she’d healed, if he could convince her that her “practice” idea was crap.
“Where’s my cell? I need to make some phone calls.”
“You know it’s after eight, right?”
She snapped a look at the wall, looking for a clock. He pointed helpfully at the opposite wall.
“Damn. A list. I need pen and paper.”
He rose without a word and grabbed what she needed from the front bedroom he used as an office.
With the clipboard he’d handed her, Stacey began scribbling furiously atop the paper. He watched for a moment as a numbered list appeared.
Not wanting to snoop, he moved toward the kitchen.
“I’ll find you something for dinner, okay?”
She didn’t respond, wholly absorbed in her angry, driven scribbling.
He gave a wry smile as he pulled open the refrigerator. Angry Stacey, driven Stacey, Stacey with a cause and a plan, was much sexier than a woman on crutches had any right to be.
Chapter 17
Stacey had a love affair with lists. Her projects at work lived and died by her lists. She had about seven to-do-list apps on her phone that she relied on every week. But as nice as the technology was, nothing beat her old, tried-and-true, trusty lined paper and pen.
She’d been working on this particular list for quite a while now, but something was missing. Nibbling on the end of the pen, Stacey read over it for what seemed like the tenth time.
Number one—Call lawyer. Number two—Set up meeting and plan strategy. Number three—
“Hey, dinner’s ready. Can you take a long enough break to eat?”
Stacey looked up and her heart was suddenly in her throat.
Rob stood there, in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing an apron. An honest-to-God apron. He was still wearing his T-shirt, cut tight enough to show off his ridiculous shoulder and arm muscles, but for some reason the domestic addition amped up his sexiness to eleven. His hair was more tousled than usual, he was holding a wooden spoon, and unless he was offering her a nice, healthy bite of him, she wasn’t sure whether she could tear her eyes away long enough to eat.
He gave her a quizzical look. Oh God, had she made a face at him? Her breath caught in her throat, almost feeling solid, and she coughed. Damn, that didn’t feel good to her ribs.
“Sorry. Yes, that would be awesome.”
“Sit right there, I’ll bring you a bowl.”
Rob disappeared back into the kitchen, and Stacey took advantage of the moment to look up at the ceiling and pray.
“Listen, I know I owe you for the whole not-dying-in-the-accident thing. And I appreciate that more than I can say. But if you’ve got any leftover goodwill for me, can you please help me not to make a giant ass of myself in front of Rob? He’s incredible, and I can’t stand the thought of him thinking I’m some desperate loser.”
There was no answering clap of thunder, so Stacey figured she and the higher power must be okay enough.
“Something smells good,” she remarked when Rob reappeared. He’d shed the apron, sadly, but he was carrying a tray. He set it down on the end of the coffee table that wasn’t propping up her bum leg.
“Just a quick chicken and rice soup. They say that chicken soup has medicinal properties.” He handed over her bottle of medication and waited while she took her dose with a sip of water.
“How’s the pain?”
She shrugged. “Not as bad as it could be.”
He leaned toward her, his hand hovering over the edge of her splint. “May I?”
Curious, she nodded.
His fingers descended and gently probed her thigh at the edge of the brace. A shiver went through her, but she fought it as best she could. She didn’t want him to know just how much his touch affected her, not after their eventful “nap” from earlier. He set up a gentle massage, and she leaned her head back against the couch, closing her eyes.
He found the knotted places, the tenseness in her muscles from the awkward way she’d been holding her leg all day. Then his hands moved to her other leg, and with long, smooth strokes, he soothed the tiredness there, too.
She wasn’t sure if it was the power of his touch or the medication kicking in that sent her brain reeling. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was the fact that his hands roamed her body freely that made her imagination run wild.
She’d love it if there were no clothes between them. No injuries to hinder their desire. Just him, and her, and this couch. His hands moved higher, up to her hip. She moaned aloud as he found a particularly intense knot.
“Too much?”
“No,” she hissed between her teeth. “Ah, it hurts so good.”
“You’re all knotted up from the difference in your gait. The medication will help, but this will too.”
She imagined that his voice was a little too low, a little too gravelly to be normal. In her fantasy, he wasn’t as unaffected by this as he’d pretended to be. She smiled, keeping her eyes closed as Rob’s strong hands roamed to her other hip, echoing the same ministrations there.
Too soon, much too soon, a light scratching on her arm signaled that he was done.
“You should eat before it gets cold.”
“I’m a big ball of mush right now, and you expect me to chew?”
At his chuckle, she cracked one eyelid open. He was stirring one of the bowls of soup on the tray.
“You won’t have to chew much. Come on, you need nutrients to heal.”
She took the bowl from him with a word of thanks, and as she spooned up her first bite she watched him.
There was a lot she’d done wrong with him. Being too bold, being too honest, being too forward. She’d tried so hard with him, and she kept falling on her face. Any other guy would probably have run for the hills by now.
She took a bite. So unfair that a man so gorgeous could cook, too.
But Rob? Rob . . . He’d stepped up for her in a way that was shocking, honestly. Even her friends wouldn’t have dropped everything to care for her the way he had. Hell, her parents didn’t even know about the accident yet. Of course, Sabrina would have—
Shit. Bree was going to kill her.
“Too cold? I can reheat it for you.”
“No, it’s good,” Stacey said, stirring her soup with a frown. “I just thought about how dead I’m going to be when my cousin Sabrina finds out that I didn’t call her right away.”
“Do you need to use my phone?”
“No, mine still works okay. I just didn’t want to bother her on her honeymoon.” Soup dripped from the end of Stacey’s spoon, and she sighed. “I nearly ruined her wedding ten days ago with a trip to the emergency room, I don’t want to do the same with her honeymoon.”
“Wait, you were just in the emergency room ten days ago?”
“Twelve,” she corrected, realizing exactly how little difference it made. But the semantics mattered to her. “It was a stupid incident and it’s all over with. I was fine, no real injury.”
Rob set his own bowl on the coffee table and pinned her with a stern look. “What happened? And did you bother to tell the ER doctor that you’d so recently been injured?”
Well, shit. So much for a peaceful night.
* * *
Rob killed the call with a heavy breath.
Stacey had tried to assure him that her trip to the ER last week had been a nonevent, but her description of it made it clear that the doctor should have known what had happened. Since she hadn’t been able to talk about it when she came in, it had flown under the radar.
The nurse he’d spoken to had told him that Dr. Calhoun was coming in soon, and that she would pass along the message.
Of course, the fact that she’d had a suspected concussion so recently would be clinically significant. He just hoped that the second injury hadn’t done her more permanent damage.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
He turned. Going to the guest room to make the call had seemed like the best idea, so that he wouldn’t worry Stacey, but she’d followed him, obviously unable to stand the wait.
“I told the nurse, and she’s going to contact the doctor when he comes in. It’s just another piece of the puzzle, that’s all.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know much about brain injuries, Stacey.” He kept his voice pitched low, gentle. She leaned against the doorjamb, her head making a soft thump as it connected.
“But you know a little bit more than I do. We don’t deal with brain trauma much in the city planning department.”
“All I can tell you is what I think. I think the doctor needs to know. And I think we have to watch you more carefully. But as far as it changing anything for your diagnosis or prognosis? I can’t say.”
Stacey stood upright again, adjusting her crutches beneath her arms. “I guess worrying about it won’t change anything. I need to call some people myself. First, I guess I need a lawyer. I don’t know anyone who’d be good for this kind of thing, so I guess hitting the Internet is my only option.”
An idea bloomed, and Rob held up a finger. “Maybe not. I’ve got a client who’s a lawyer, and he’s pretty good. I could call him up in the morning if you want.”
Her half smile, wan, but honest, warmed him slightly. “Really? You don’t mind?”
He shook his head. For her? He wasn’t sure why, but he’d do more than a simple phone call. Hell, he already had. “Nope, don’t mind at all. Tony’s been a regular at the gym almost since we opened. I’m sure he could give some advice, even if he can’t take the case.”
The cell phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at it. Unfamiliar number, but it looked like the ones from Charter Memorial. He looked back at Stacey. “I think this is the hospital. Sit down, okay?” He gestured to the bed and answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Rob Liston, please.” The deep, almost brusque voice was easy to recognize.
“Dr. Calhoun, this is Rob.” Rob sank down on the edge of the bed beside Stacey and put the phone on speaker. “I’ve got you on the speakerphone, and Stacey’s right beside me.”
“I’m glad you called back. This is definitely information that changes things. Do I have permission to speak about your care to Mr. Liston now, Miss Hough?”
“Yes,” Stacey said, glancing over at Rob. He held the phone a little closer to her. The heat from her body kissed his arm, and he tried not to think about it. She was either nervous, or cold, because she shook, just a little. Putting his arm around her might be what he wanted to do, but he didn’t, for her sake. No need to muddy the already-turbulent waters.
As Stacey recounted her fall and trip to the Hawaiian ER, Rob stayed silent. What was he doing here, really? As soon as she’d walked through those gym doors the other day, he’d been tied up in her, to the exclusion of all else. His gym, his paperwork, hell, he hadn’t even called his dad back to grill him about the cardiologist appointment. What was it about this woman that drew him in, made him want to help her, protect her, hell, just be near her?
She was pretty, but not beautiful. She was funny, but too self-deprecating. She had drive, but she was fearful. All in all, it wasn’t like she was perfect.
But neither was he.
He’d worked hard, but he did it to bury his feelings of inadequacy. He was pursuing his dream, but he was still fighting against his family’s expectations. He had a life he loved, but he’d never met anyone he’d be willing to share it with long-term. Even Rebecca, whom everyone had thought was his perfect match, hadn’t worked out.
Maybe that was why. Maybe somehow, this funny, sad, energetic, wounded woman matched up with the parts of him that were missing something. Maybe she’d been onto something when she’d flirted with him.
He liked her. Really liked her. Custard snorted at his feet, and he patted her hip to shush her.
“All in all, I think the prognosis is still pretty good. But I do recommend some further precautions. I want you under someone’s supervision for the next couple of weeks. No driving. For the next three days you need to be awakened every four hours. Mr. Liston?”
“Yes,” Rob said.
“She’ll need to answer some questions for you, and make sure to check her pupils. You’ve got the discharge instructions with the warning signs. If you see any of those, she needs to come back in immediately. As it is, I do want to run another CT scan in a week to make sure there aren’t any changes. I’ll transfer you to the nurse for that appointment.”
Rob thanked the doctor, then waited while the call was put on hold.
There was quiet between them in the room.
Two weeks. Another two weeks of Stacey in the house with him, of her constantly near him. The idea was a little bit like a giant dessert that he’d hate himself for eating. She tempted him, but was it really the best idea to pursue her, with her in such a vulnerable position?
Of course, she might run screaming to someone else’s house. Two weeks was a long time. Her family might come down, or another of her friends might insist on putting her up.
“Two weeks?” She said it aloud, breaking the silence. “What am I going to do?”
He reached over and took her hand. “Don’t worry—” he began, but the nurse picked up right then. Any more reassurance would have to wait.
Chapter 18
The ball thumped against the hardwood floor, and Custard lazily trotted after it.
Stacey sighed as she watched the big brown dog set herself down on her plush doughnut-shaped bed and gnaw on the unsuspecting green tennis ball. The TV was on, some random reality show that Stacey hadn’t really been watching. The clock on the mantle ticked lazily.
This was torture.
The vast majority of her normal life was spent at work, or thinking about work, or planning for what to do next at work. Her job was something she felt confident in, and she did it really well. But convalescing? Staring at the TV for hours on end, scrolling through Facebook, talking to the dog? This was stuff she didn’t know how to handle.
Her brain was screaming for something positive to do, something productive. But all that was impossible for the moment.
For four days now she’d been trapped, for lack of a better term, in Rob’s house. After that
conversation with Dr. Calhoun, he’d been less of a paramour and more of a nurse/warden. He’d awakened her every four hours, as promised. He constantly checked her pupils. He asked her her name, what day it was, all the typical questions. She’d started answering them incorrectly just to get a rise out of him. His growls were fun, but his kisses were “funner.”
Stacey sighed again. “Funner” wasn’t a concept for her right now. All of that had gone right out the window. He hadn’t so much as held her hand in the days since their afternoon encounter in his bed. She’d begun to believe that she’d dreamed it up.
After all, it was unbelievable on the surface. She wasn’t the kind of girl that a man like Rob would pursue. It had been a one-off event—even though it had happened twice. She was sure of it now. He might have put her up in his bed, but he wasn’t interested in her.
“Serves me right for wondering, doesn’t it, girl?”
Custard thumped her tail at Stacey’s question, a line of drool connecting her mouth with the ball between her front paws.
At least her leg wasn’t broken, and she’d been cleared to walk on it now. Those crutches had been a literal pain.
The faint thump of a car door closing met Stacey’s ears, and she glanced toward the front windows.
Rob. He was back from the grocery store. He opened the trunk and began loading bags onto his forearms.
Her stomach tightened as she watched the breadth of his shoulders shifting with his movements. He was such a pipe dream. She’d been insane ever to think something could really happen between them.
But he had invited her into his home. He’d taken care of her tirelessly over the past several days. Hell, he’d given up his bed for her. She frowned, picking at the edge of the throw pillow on her lap. He’d met Hannah at her apartment, watered her plants, picked up her clothes.
The sound of the key in the lock interrupted her mental list.
“Just me,” Rob said as the front door swung inward. Stacey pressed the POWER button on the TV remote to kill the screen, sitting forward as she watched Rob set the grocery bags down on the floor of the foyer.