The woman’s lips tightened, but she nodded. “What’s her name?”
An hour later, Frankie stood with Cal in the doorway of a hospital room. Ramon’s mother was lying on the bed closest to them, an IV in her right arm to pump in antibiotics. Her infected, grotesquely swollen left arm was scarred with needle tracks and ugly red-and-purple streaks.
She’d been very close to septicemia.
Emma Sloane was sitting in a chair off to the side. She’d assured Frankie she’d take care of Ramon. And she would. Emma was as good as her word.
“Thank you, Emma,” Frankie said.
She nodded. “Glad you called. Ramon will be safe tonight.”
“Ramon?” Frankie said softly.
The boy looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“You can trust Emma. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”
He shrugged, then turned back to his mother.
Cal slung an arm over Frankie’s shoulders and steered her down the long corridor. The scent of disinfectant hung in the air, doing little to mask the smell of illness. Soft beeps bled out of several rooms, along with the sounds of quiet sobbing.
Frankie walked faster.
Cal tucked her closer. She should have shrugged off his arm, but it was oddly comforting. Reassuring.
Once they were in the elevator, she moved away. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
For not asking me again what was wrong. “For getting Yolanda in to see a doctor so quickly.” She should have objected to getting bumped to the head of the line, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t wanted Cal to stay in that waiting room, watched by so many strangers.
He shrugged. “There are benefits to being a celebrity.”
That’s what he’d meant when he’d said he might be helpful. “You knew that would happen, down in the waiting room.”
“People in Chicago love their football.”
“Does that happen everywhere you go? The people looking for autographs? Asking intrusive questions?”
“It’s no big deal, Frankie. It comes with the territory.”
“It can’t be fun.” Her skin had been crawling in that waiting room, and they weren’t even looking at her.
“I get paid a lot of money to do what I do. It doesn’t take much effort to smile and be nice to the fans.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a quiet ping. As they left the building, cars flew by, going too fast. She and Cal walked down a dirty sidewalk and into a dim parking garage. Their footsteps echoed in the harshly lit stairwell, which smelled faintly of urine and stale beer. Cal’s knuckles were white as he gripped the handrail.
“We should have taken the elevator,” she said.
“For two floors?” He raised his eyebrows. “Wimp.” The sunglasses were gone, but he was still all celebrity—charming and remote.
As remote as she had been earlier.
“I hate hospitals,” she said abruptly. “That’s why I was freaking out in the waiting room.”
He paused on the steps and looked at her. “How come, Frankie?”
“My parents were killed in a car accident when I was thirteen. Every time I’m in a hospital, I remember being there with my brothers, waiting for the doctors to talk to us. To let us know if they were alive.”
His hand slipped into hers, warm and comforting. Protecting her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet. Real. The celebrity was gone. “That’s awful.”
“It was horrible, but I survived,” she said. Barely. She’d gone wild afterward, eventually running away from home.
She’d ended up in juvie.
They stepped onto the landing, and Cal turned to face her. “Kids shouldn’t have to survive the loss of their parents,” he said, still holding her hand.
“No one promised that life would be fair.”
“But you try to change that, don’t you?” he murmured. “That’s why you opened FreeZone.”
“That’s part of it, I suppose.” She took a deep breath. “It’s more about my experiences as a runaway.”
His hand tightened on hers. “That’s what you almost said earlier, wasn’t it? That you’d been on the streets.”
“Yes.” She searched his gaze, but didn’t see any censure there. Any disgust. “I know what a lot of my kids face.”
“Frankie is such a hard name,” he murmured, edging closer. “But you’re not hard at all, are you?” He dropped her hand and cupped her face. “You’re soft, Francesca.”
His hands, slightly callused, were warm on her skin. But when he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, she shivered. Swallowed. “Cal…”
“What?” he whispered.
“What are we doing?” She gripped his wrists, but wasn’t sure if it was to push him away or to hold him still.
“I don’t know,” he said, and his eyes gleamed with hunger. Desire. “Let’s find out.”
He lowered his head to hers, infinitely slowly. As if waiting for her to object.
Instead, she pulled him close and pressed her mouth to his.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN CAL’S MOUTH TOUCHED HERS, Frankie lost her nerve. She tried to back away, but he followed, his lips clinging to hers. She bumped into the wall and braced her hands on his chest.
He didn’t try to overwhelm her. Instead, he nibbled at her lower lip, giving her a chance to get comfortable. She flexed her fingers into the hard muscle beneath his shirt, and his shudder vibrated through her palms.
Had all that passion, that smoldering need, been hidden by his laid-back, take-nothing-seriously exterior all along?
The cold wall chilled her back, but Frankie was suddenly overheated. She wanted to believe it was Cal, that his body was warming her, but she knew better.
She was generating plenty of heat on her own.
He drew away, watched her, waited for her to decide. His fingers lingered on her face, but she wanted to feel the power and strength of his body against hers. She wanted to kiss him again.
She slid her hands to his back and pulled him closer. He groaned as he lowered his mouth, and she opened for him.
Instead of deepening the kiss, he slid his tongue along her lower lip, as if he wanted to savor every taste. Learn every texture of her mouth, study every nuance of her response. She hadn’t known a simple kiss could be so seductive. A small, helpless sound blossomed deep in her throat.
He wrapped his arms around her and fitted her against him, her chest to his, his hard thighs pressing into hers. His hands traced the bumps of her spine, drifted over her ribs, then dipped lower to palm her rear. And the whole time, he kissed her. His tongue danced over hers, tasting of the coffee he’d gulped in the E.R. and the Snickers bar he’d shared with her.
He stroked her tongue, moved in and out of her mouth, flexed his hips against hers. Desire swept through her, obliterating any caution, any hesitation. She’d never been so aroused by just a kiss.
Wrapping one leg around his, she yanked his shirt out of his jeans and slid her hands across his hard, muscled abdomen. He sucked in a breath, then bent his head to her neck. As he sucked lightly, his hands burrowed beneath her sweater.
In the stairwell below them, a door banged open. The landing vibrated with the force of several feet, and she and Cal froze. He let her go, smoothed her sweater back into place and hurried her into the parking area.
He held her to his side as they walked, his hand caressing her upper arm. His Escalade was a beacon of white in the darkness.
He pressed her more tightly against him as they reached the truck. The faint click of the locks echoed hollowly in the silence. But instead of getting in, he swung her around and kissed her.
Heat shot up her spin
e again as Cal’s mouth moved over hers with frantic need. He moaned against her mouth, or maybe that was her. Her hands roamed over him, testing the muscle in his back, his rear end, his chest. She was entering unfamiliar territory, where nothing existed besides the next kiss, the next touch. Nothing mattered besides feeling his body against hers.
His hand fumbled for the handle behind her and he pulled her forward when he found it. And then she was falling backward onto the seat. Cal stepped between her legs and reached for the hem of her sweater. Cool air touched the heated skin of her belly, followed by his hot mouth. Her muscles quivered under his lips, and she wrapped her legs around him.
He lifted his head and stared down at her. “You’re killing me,” he groaned as he thumbed the tiny navel ring she wore.
Memories rushed through her, and she froze.
This was Cal, she reminded herself. She was safe. But it was too late. The moment was gone, and reason took over.
She put one hand between them and grabbed his arm. “Stop, Cal.” She swallowed. “I can’t… This isn’t the place.”
His hands stilled on the buttons of her pants and he lifted his head. Desire glittered in his eyes, darkening them, and his neck was splotched red.
She’d done that, she realized. Oh, God. They had been minutes away from making love. They were in public, in a dirty, smelly parking garage, and she’d been too wrapped up in him to care.
Her hands shook as she tugged her sweater back into place. He straightened, but not completely, staying partially hunched over. Her gaze dropped to his zipper, then slid away.
He braced both hands against the roof of the truck, his breath sawing in and out. He stayed that way, his eyes closed, until his breathing slowed.
“Sorry.” His voice was hoarse as he straightened. “I don’t know what we were thinking.”
His eyes opened and his mouth curved up. “No, that’s not true. I know what we were thinking. But it was damn stupid to be thinking it here.”
He helped her sit up, then went around and slid into the driver’s seat next to her. “My place is ten minutes away.” The tires squealed as he backed out of the parking spot. “I can be there in five.”
“Cal, wait.” Frankie’s sanity was returning, and with it a faint edge of panic. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” He concentrated on the curving ramp, taking it faster than she would have thought possible.
“You know why not. I’m supposed to be supervising you.”
“That’s okay,” he said. He glanced over at her with a tiny smile. “You can supervise me all you want. You can tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
“I’m serious,” she said, although his words made her quiver. “This would be a big mistake.”
His smile faded. “So, what? You want to ignore what just happened?”
“We should.” She closed her eyes, her body still throbbing.
“You had your hands on my ass and your tongue in my mouth. A few more seconds and we would have been doing a lot more than that. Can’t put that genie back in the bottle.”
“No, we can’t.” Suddenly chilly, she wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers clutching her heavy sweater. “But we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“You can ignore this? You have that much self-control? Really, Francesca?”
He had no idea. “Don’t call me that.”
He slanted her a look. “Why not? I want Francesca. She was the one in the stairwell with me. Frankie would never have kissed me like she would die if she couldn’t.”
Her heart stuttered, and she almost reached for him. “Come on, Cal. We were both a little raw. Emotional about Ramon and his mom.” She’d revealed a part of herself to him, something she rarely did. “It was a natural reaction. But that doesn’t mean it was smart. Or right.”
The truck bounced as Cal jammed on the brakes at the payment booth. He shoved a handful of bills at the parking attendant, then accelerated the moment the gate came up.
“Felt pretty right to me,” he said, once they were on Lake Shore Drive. On their left, the lights of the city glittered beneath a black velvet sky. On their right, the lake was dark and choppy. He skimmed one hand over her thigh, and she closed her eyes again. “But I get your point. If I was a big disappointment in bed, things might be awkward for the next three weeks.”
“I don’t think you’d be a disappointment,” she said, then snapped her mouth closed. He’d laid the trap, and she’d walked right in. “Take me home, Cal.”
He drove too fast the rest of the way to her apartment, neither of them speaking again. The truck had barely stopped when she jumped out. “Good night, Cal. Thanks for all your help with Ramon and Yolanda.”
He nodded but didn’t answer. The truck rumbled at the curb as she hurried up to her apartment. As soon as she turned on the light, she heard him drive away.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, dizzy with weariness, Frankie yanked the white box of cupcakes out of her trunk. Walking into FreeZone exhausted was not a good idea. She needed to be able to focus on the kids and their problems.
Not on what had happened last night with Cal.
After an almost sleepless night, she knew sending him home had been the right decision. Though she still quivered when she thought about their kiss, they couldn’t get involved.
Besides the fact that she was his supervisor, she had too many other things to worry about right now.
As she walked toward FreeZone, she saw a crowd of people on the sidewalk. Reporters. She recognized some of them from a few weeks ago. Today, the group was bigger.
She pushed through the throng, ignoring the shouted questions and the microphones shoved in her face. After setting the cupcakes inside, she turned to face them.
“What’s going on?” she asked. Her heart pounded. Had something happened to Cal? “What are you doing here?”
“Did Cal Stewart hurt his knee again?” someone from the back of the mob shouted.
“No.” She gave the reporter a puzzled look. “Why would you think that?”
“He was at Cook County Hospital last night.” A reporter close to her held out a microphone. “Are you sure his knee is okay?”
Oh, my God. She hadn’t even considered this. But Cal had expected it. As soon as the first kid had approached him, as soon as the cell phones had come out, he had to know what people were going to think.
“He wasn’t there for himself.” She let her eyes meet every one of the reporters she could see.
“Who was he there for?” a woman asked. “You?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So he did hurt his knee again,” one of them called. It sounded like satisfaction in his voice.
“I heard he limped into the E.R.” She couldn’t see the speaker, but could hear his smirk.
“Does he need more surgery?”
“Will he be able to play this year?”
“You’re wrong,” Frankie shouted, but no one paid any attention. The reporters pressed closer and their voices beat at her in waves, breaking down her composure. She wanted to scream at them to go away, to stop harassing her and Cal.
“Knock it off, guys.” Cal shoved his way through the crowd to her side and glared at the reporters in front of him. “From now on, you’ll leave Ms. Devereux alone. She’s not used to sharks like you. If you have questions about my recovery, you can ask me yourself.”
She put her hand on his arm and felt the tension in his muscles. “It’s okay, Cal,” she murmured.
His eyes blazed. “No. It’s not. Ms. Devereux and I took some friends to the hospital last night. That’s all it was. My knee is fine.” He jumped up and down a few times, lifted his knee and flexed it. Frankie was sure no one else noticed his almost imperceptible
wince. She raised her hand to reach for him again, then let it drop.
“Trust me, that was not about my knee. Hell, it’s not even where my orthopedic surgeon practices. No story here. All right?”
While the reporters shouted questions at him, he ushered Frankie into the center. As soon as they were out of sight of the crowd, she turned and grasped his arm.
“You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?”
“That the reporters would show up?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not surprised. They’ve been here before.”
“That’s not what I mean. When they found out you’d been spotted at County, you knew they’d assume you’d hurt your knee again. It’s probably in the papers today, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “There might have been a few comments in the gossip columns.”
“I shouldn’t have let you come with me.” She released him and began to pace. “I’m sorry, Cal. I should have realized something like that would happen.”
He grabbed her elbow to stop the pacing. “I make my own choices. Sure, I knew what might happen. But getting Yolanda to the hospital was more important.” His hand dropped away. “Making sure you didn’t have to handle that on your own was more important.”
Everything inside her softened. “I should have insisted.”
“You think I would have paid any attention? It was after hours.” He watched her steadily. “Everything that happened last night was off the clock.”
Her cheeks heated, but she wasn’t going to be distracted by a mention of their kiss. “Why did you do it, Cal? You knew what they’d assume.”
“I wanted to help you.” He drew her closer. “And I’m glad I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have kissed you. At least not for another day or two.”
“We agreed to forget about that.”
“I didn’t agree, Francesca.”
Her name sounded intimate when he said it like that. The way a lover would. Her belly tightened as she remembered the way he’d touched her, the way he’d kissed her. Nuzzled her neck and told her how soft she was.
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