He didn’t seem to notice her irritation. He was supposed to be buying food, not looking for dating opportunities, and what about the woman? Didn’t it occur to her that, as he was shopping with her, they might be a couple?
Clearly not. She ground her teeth as they made their way to the front of the store. Admittedly, they didn’t look lovey-dovey like the couple she’d been staring at earlier, but still…who was to know what their relationship might be?
At the checkout, she was still fuming as she unloaded the items onto the belt, while Aaron went through to the other end to collect the filled bags. Even though she was occupied, she couldn’t help noticing that the young woman operating the neighboring checkout was checking Aaron out too.
Suddenly she understood what it must be like to be one of his girlfriends. An ego boost. The thrill of having what other women wanted. She would never work out their willingness to be short-term entertainment only to him, but she could see that it would be good for their self-esteem to be the chosen one while the role lasted.
Whether the other women envied her or hated her for being the lucky one, they had no right to act as though she didn’t exist. She wasn’t jealous. Heck, she knew she had no right to be jealous—it wasn’t as if they were together—but it just wasn’t right that her presence didn’t matter to these women. Seized by an uncharacteristic desire to be seen and heard, she pushed the empty trolley through to Aaron with a fake, adoring smile. “Honey, do you need the trolley? Or will you carry the bags?”
Startled, he said, “I can manage. Thanks, sugar puff,” he added with a grin.
She turned to face the check-out girl. “He’s so strong,” she said, louder than necessary, and added a conspiratorial smile. “I’m so lucky that he’s all mine.”
…
Outside the supermarket, Aaron nudged her as they made their way to the car. “Not that I object, you know, but what was that all about?”
Jasmine was already grimacing. “God, I have no idea. I don’t know what came over me. I was just so annoyed at the way those women in there were eyeing you up.”
“You were overcome by the need to claim me?”
“No.” She shot him a look of disgust. “They couldn’t know that we weren’t a couple, could they? What right did they have to behave as if I wasn’t there? If we had been together, I wouldn’t have liked it at all. But,” she added, “I probably shouldn’t have done it.”
“Hey, no need to apologize. I enjoyed it.”
And he had, it was true—which was weird, because Jasmine’s words had made it sound like he belonged to her, and he didn’t belong to anybody. Never would, and never wanted to hear anyone say so. Staying away from long-term relationships was a conscious decision and one he had no intention of changing. Even so, her words had warmed him right through. Yeah, that was definitely weird, since he’d known that she was only mucking around too.
“Well,” he added with a grin, “it made a change from the way you normally talk to me, Sugar Puff.”
She held up a hand as they reached the car. “That’s the last time you get away with calling me Sugar Puff. Be warned.”
“Oh, but it suits you.” He grinned.
“Yeah, right.” She swapped her bags into one hand while she unlocked the car. “I’m just sweetness through and through. Put those in the backseat.”
He reached past her with the bags, then took hers and loaded them into the car as well. “I think you might surprise yourself. In fact, I think,” he said slowly, “that there might be a lot of sweetness beneath that crunchy coating, and if you ever let it out…well, when you do, he’s going to be one very lucky man.”
It was just a pity that it wouldn’t be him.
The thought stopped him in his tracks. No, it definitely wouldn’t be him. Hadn’t he decided earlier today that he was going to stay away from her?
Chapter Seven
As she pulled on the camouflage-printed, full-body overalls, Jasmine thought of her conversation with Sasha and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. It was a very good thing this wasn’t a date, because such an unflattering outfit would be a poor choice indeed. The industrial-strength fabric billowed around her, making her feel like a toddler in a romper suit. She glanced across at Aaron, who still managed to look lean and commanding in his overalls. She squashed the sigh that welled up and deliberately looked away from him, turning to her right where the five girls in her team were suiting up.
When Aaron had asked her to do this, she hadn’t really thought about what leading the team would mean. Watching over the girls, keeping them safe, for sure, but she hadn’t considered that she would be required to strategize, to come up with the tactics that would enable them to capture the opposing team’s base while protecting their own. Not only once, either—it was the best of three games. The girls were already looking to her for guidance and the game hadn’t even started yet.
She picked up the team’s so-called flag—really just a piece of pipe—and smiled at the girls, determined to look confident even if she didn’t feel it. “Ready?”
Aaron grinned as she led her team past him. “Good luck!”
“We won’t need luck,” she said with bravado. “Prepare to be a loser. I’m going to enjoy the victory.”
He laughed, then picked up his mask. “This should be good.”
The first game was frantic. The indoor battleground had been filled with urban-style scenery, and cover for the players was provided by gutted cars, sandbag bunkers, and forty-four-gallon drums. Both teams were shooting paintballs, and the floor soon became slippery with paint. When the boys’ team won the first game by sending out a single runner to snatch their flag while the others provided a distraction, Jasmine called the girls together and invited suggestions for the next game. Between them they came up with a plan, and it was a good one, she felt sure.
“We can do this, girls,” she said. “It will take tactics. And imagination. We have that in bucket-loads, don’t we?”
The girls yelled their agreement, and Jasmine grinned. This was fun.
She raised her voice. “We’re not going to let the boys beat us, are we?”
“No!”
“No, because we’re as strong as they are. Just remember that, girls. We’re strong and we’re brave. We can do anything they can do. We. Are. Not. Weak.” She was enjoying herself more than she had for a long time. “Okay, let’s go.” She jumped up and her team followed.
The second game went to Jasmine’s group, and she led the girls in a victory dance while Aaron looked on, laughing his head off.
The third game was closer. The boys had worked out how to counter their tactics, and one by one the girls were eliminated until Jasmine was the only player left. She felt bad for the girls, but when she realized that Aaron was also the last man standing, she dredged up a renewed determination to win.
She forgot about staying safe. In a complete contrast to her working life, she started to take risks. Not major risks; it was only a game after all, but still, abandoning her habitual caution was a thrill.
From her hiding place in a sandbag bunker, she darted toward a car body that had been propped up on its side. She hadn’t quite made it there when in her peripheral vision, she spotted Aaron moving into position to splatter her. She made a desperate lunge for cover, landing in a puddle of paint. She went into a slide and couldn’t stop. Her foot made contact with the car body and she cried out before going down in a heap, eyes squeezed tight to shut out the pain.
Well, that served her right for taking a risk. She was bound to get hurt. She should have known better.
Voices crowded around her while she concentrated on trying to wiggle her toes, which had become a very difficult thing to do and not at all the natural reflex action it was supposed to be.
Then she heard Aaron’s voice urging her to look at him, and she did, right into his mask-free, concerned face. “I think I might have broken my ankle.”
“Don’t move.” He got to his feet and is
sued orders, snapping out instructions as if he was dealing with a fire crew, not a bunch of kids. He knelt beside her again. “Which ankle?”
“My left.” She tried to move her foot, but the sharp pain made her wince.
“Keep still.” Aaron’s lips pressed together in a grim line. He removed her helmet, then touched her cheek with his fingertips. “I’m so sorry that this happened.”
“Not your fault.”
One of the boys from his team ran up to him. “Everybody’s ready to go.”
“Okay, good. And thanks.” He looked down at her again. “I’m going to carry you to the minibus.”
“No, no. Just help me up. I can hop.”
“Forget it.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and cradled her against his chest.
Oh, God. Finding herself so physically close to him was causing all sorts of inner commotion. She couldn’t look at him in case he could tell what was going on inside her. He wasn’t carrying her because he wanted to, she reminded herself; he was just being practical.
After making an effort to stop her head rolling about, she gave in and rested it against his shoulder. Being carried had never been a fantasy of hers—it smacked too much of weakness for someone like her—but being in Aaron’s arms…the intimacy of being pressed against his solid chest, of feeling the play of muscles and tendons as he moved…well, if that hadn’t been a fantasy before, it would be from now on.
And being taken care of…well, that was a new experience too, and one that she couldn’t deny enjoying, just a little. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, but for once, she didn’t have to. It was just a pity that her ankle was throbbing, because she didn’t want the pain to spoil the memory.
When Jasmine left the treatment cubicle with a crutch, Aaron was waiting for her.
She frowned at him. “Shouldn’t you be driving the teams back to the center?”
“Already done. I’ve returned the minibus to the rental company too.”
“Well, you didn’t need to come back here for me.”
“Of course I did. What, did you think I’d leave you to find your own way home?”
He was acting as if he was responsible for her, which was more than a little disconcerting.
“What’s the diagnosis?”
“A sprain, thank goodness. No fracture.” She’d be healed and back at work in a much shorter time than she’d been anticipating.
“That must be a relief.” He opened the door for her, then followed her outside. “My car’s over there,” he said, pointing, before touching her back to guide her.
She swallowed a comment about not needing his help, and let him assist her into his car.
“You really don’t need to stay,” she said later when he’d seen her into the house, helped her to prop herself up on the sofa, and offered to make her a cup of tea.
“Well, that’s your opinion.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Look, it’s my fault this happened, and I want to do what I can to make things easier for you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident—I slipped on paint. It could have happened to anybody. It could have happened to you, believe it or not.”
His face serious, he said, “But it didn’t; it happened to you because you were there as a favor to me.”
She made an exasperated sound in her throat. “Even so, I could have stayed where I was in the bunker. I didn’t have to be so flipping competitive, did I? That’s my fault, not yours. And, by the way, I’m not happy about losing that game. We were so close.”
He smiled and perched on the arm of the chair opposite the sofa. “You didn’t lose. The referee called it a draw.”
“Good.” She nodded. “I felt bad about letting the girls down, but a draw I can handle.”
“They don’t feel let down. They’re concerned about you. When I dropped them off, they made me promise to let them know how you got on at the hospital.”
“That’s nice. I enjoyed spending the afternoon with them.”
“Yeah, they’re good kids. They’ve made mistakes in their lives, but most of them are grateful to be getting a second chance.”
He fell silent and stared at the floor. She watched him, wondering what was going on in his head. “What’s wrong? Didn’t that pretty nurse fall for your charm?”
He looked up. “Which one? Ah, the one at the desk,” he said with a cocky smile. “Of course she did, but I told her I was with you. Shall I put the kettle on?”
With her? “You didn’t let her think we were dating, did you?”
“I do have some sense of timing, you know. Even I wouldn’t try to pick up a date while you were being treated for an injury I’d caused.”
She sighed. “Again with the guilt?”
“Anyway, would you like tea or coffee?”
“What I’d really like is a shower.”
“Right. Well, while you do that, I’ll cook something for dinner.”
“You? Cook?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who left the plastic film on the lasagna the other day.”
She winced. “You promised not to mention that again.”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell Dave. That’s all. And I still regret agreeing to that. I wish I’d seen him trying to chew his way through it.” His face twisted in an attempted impression. “He’d never have let you live it down and definitely would have stuck a photo up on the wall of shame.” He grinned. “Anyway, I’m not as useless as you seem to think.”
Useless wasn’t the word that normally came to her mind around Aaron.
“I can just see you wearing an apron while you cook for your girlfriends.”
“Hell, no, that wouldn’t happen. Wouldn’t want to give them ideas.”
“Ideas?”
“About hanging around.”
He moved forward as she prepared to struggle up and took her hand, slipping his other hand beneath her right shoulder and supporting her to her feet. Then he handed her the crutch the hospital had lent her. “Will you be able to manage?”
“I’ll be fine.”
By the time she’d struggled to gather some clean clothes into a pile and had made her way into the bathroom with them, she knew that fine was an overstatement. She’d made it this far and she was desperate for a shower, so she wasn’t about to be deterred. But then she saw the dressing on her ankle and let out a heavy sigh.
Aaron was in the kitchen, chopping an onion, probably the only one she had. It was weird to see him there like that in her kitchen. She forgot what she’d come to say and just watched him. Watched his biceps flex with each stroke of the knife. Watched his brow crinkle in concentration. Watched his lips curve into a smile as he looked up and saw her there.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said. “The hospital told me not to take this bandage off for at least twenty-four hours, and I can’t get it wet in the shower or I’ll be sitting around in a soggy dressing.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“So, I wondered if you’d do something for me.”
“Anything. Take advantage of my guilt while it lasts.” He placed the knife on the chopping board and stepped sideways to stand at the sink, where he flicked the tap on and began to rinse his hands. “What do you need?”
She cleared her throat. “First, I’ll take off my jeans, and then I need you to wrap the dressing in plastic and stick it to my skin with waterproof tape.”
His hands stilled in the flow of water and he turned his head slowly to look at her.
She gave her head a small shake. “I can’t do it. I think I bruised my ribs when I fell and it hurts to reach that far.”
He stared for a moment, then looked away, flicked the tap off, and wiped the excess water from his hands on a dishtowel. “Do you want me to call Sasha to come and help you?”
“The thing is, Sasha’s away on a training course. She won’t be back till late tonight.”
“Leanne, then?”
“She and Michael
are still traveling. I wouldn’t ask you if there was an alternative,” she said with a crooked smile. “Please?” He tossed aside the towel he’d dried his hands on. “Okay. Where do you want to do this?”
“Here.” She hobbled over to a kitchen chair, leaned her crutch against the table. With her weight on her good foot, she flicked open the button at her waistband, and lowered the zip before slipping her fingers inside and pushing the denim down past her hips, all the while ignoring the heat that trickled through her—an involuntary reaction to undressing in front of Aaron. She plopped down on the chair. “Shame about the jeans.” He gestured at the scissor cut that the hospital had made.
“I don’t care. I’m just glad the ankle’s not broken. I couldn’t have handled taking that much time off work.”
“You’ll be able to make another pair of those sexy shorts to wear when you do your painting.” She sucked in a breath. “You think my shorts are sexy?”
“Well, duh.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
“But they’re just a scruffy, old pair of cutoff jeans.”
“It’s not the shorts, dummy. It’s you. And these legs of yours.”
He got down on one knee near her feet and her heart gave an extra-hard thump as his gaze traveled the length of her legs, sending a ripple of excitement through her. Crazy, she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself asking, “What about them?”
His eyes met hers and he hesitated before saying slowly, “They’re long…and lovely…and very, very sexy.”
They gazed at each other for a drawn-out moment, until the breath she’d been holding escaped as a sigh and jerked her out of the minitrance. She shook herself. It had been all too easy to get lost in the way he’d looked at her, and she’d been like a breathless teenager receiving her first taste of male flattery, looking for a deeper meaning behind the shared look when, in reality, it was nothing more.
He cautiously lifted what remained of her jeans over her ankle and pressed his lips together at the sight of the bruising that extended above the bandage. “Hell, I’m sorry.”
“Not this again. I told you, it wasn’t your fault.” He looked as if he was going to argue, so she said, “It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks, anyway. The doctor said the swelling will start to go down tomorrow, providing I keep the compression on till then.”
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