“Oh, that.” She turned her attention back to the road and it was a damn good thing, too, because she just about clipped a black cat that had darted out in front to them. Katie hit the brakes and the SUV began fishtailing. A grinding sound echoed from beneath the car, and they began to pull out of the slide as a high-pitched beeping sounded inside the cab.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, grabbing the oh-shit bar beside his head. Katie steered out of the slide and then kept on going as if it hadn’t happened. If he could somehow manage to dislodge his heart from his throat, that would be real fucking swell.
“It’s my traction control. I suppose you don’t have much use for that in Vegas. No snow, huh?”
“No. This is a first for me. Can’t say I’m a big fan of it yet. And what’s ‘Oh, that’ supposed to mean?” He wasn’t letting her off the hook that easily.
“Who said I was scared?”
“Please . . . I’ve seen that look in the cage a hundred times, Katie.”
“What look?”
She was going to hold on to to this façade right up until the bitter end, wasn’t she? “Like you just got punched in the gut and you’re about to puke. That look,” he bluntly said, calling her out. “Your parents have no idea—”
“—and I don’t want them to, either,” she cut in, stalemating him with a don’t you even think about talking to my mother glare. “They have enough on their plate right now without worrying about me.”
“Should they be?”
“Should they be what?” she snapped.
“Worried about you?”
“I’m done talking about this. Now let it go,” she said, throwing his words from yesterday right back at him. “I have some time between one and two to start your therapy.” She didn’t even try to be subtle about changing the subject. “You might want to take something an hour before we start. It’s probably going to be painful.”
“Like what? I’m not on anything.”
She shot him a surprised glance, and considering they just about creamed a cat the last time, he wished she’d keep her eyes on the road. It had snowed overnight. Only an inch, but apparently that was enough to make the roads plenty slick.
“Really? You’re not taking anything at all?”
“Katie, I’m a fighter. If I popped a pill every time I was in pain, I’d be a drug addict.” As they reached Main Street, Cole turned his attention out the side window, making note of the stores they passed and looking for one in particular.
“Well, you should at least be on Relafen or something. The NSAID will help with the swelling in your spine and you’ll regain sensation faster. It’ll also help take the edge off the pain. It’s not addictive, but it can be a little hard on your kidneys with long-term use, so drink plenty of water when you’re on it. When we get to the hospital, I’ll see if Dr. Wilcox can work you in and get you a prescription.”
There it was, Studio Fleurette. The same place whose name had been stamped on that flower card. They turned onto Church Hill Road and headed south. “I’ll see him if you want me to, but I really don’t think it’s necessary. I’m used to pain.”
“You say that now. But just wait until I get my hands on you.” If she’d meant that to sound intimidating, it was an epic fail. There was a particular part of his body he wouldn’t mind her getting ahold of. And her threat had the damn thing rising up to volunteer as tribute. He shot her an arched-brow glance, wondering if she realized how bad that sounded. She must have, because a blush stained her cheeks.
“I mean, for PT,” she clarified with an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s painful and I’m going to work you hard.”
Oh, for crissake, she was killing him. He bit his tongue to hold back the slew of inappropriate comments running through his mind.
“I mean, the physical therapy is strenuous.”
“You can stop now,” he said, holding up his hand. His poor cock was thoroughly hard and aching. “I get the gist. You’re only making it worse.” Damn, he couldn’t remember the last time he actually looked forward to a PT session.
Fuck! This hurt!
“You doing okay?”
“Uh-huh . . .” His back was on holy fire, and the pain shooting down his legs was nothing short of excruciating.
“You were right. You do have amazing flexibility. I was wondering if you’d be getting contracted in the months since your surgery, but I’m not feeling any of that. Your hips are nice and loose.” Katie bent his knee and brought it toward his chest, using her weight to lean into his stretch. “The first time is always the worst. I need to find your limits so I know how hard to push you. After we finish your range of motion, you can rest while I test sensation and motor, then we’ll finish with strength. I’ll tailor a therapy plan for you after that. I’m thinking twice-a-day sessions. I know it’s intense, but I want to maximize your gain. The first nine months after a serious injury are critical. You think you can handle it?”
“I can handle it,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, wondering if that wasn’t a big fucking lie. But he’d do whatever it took to get back in that cage again—the sooner the better. So if that meant he’d have to gut out some painful sessions with the world’s hottest slave driver, then so be it. He was thankful the pain was so intense, because that was the only thing keeping a leash on his cock right now. Having Katie this close to him, touching him, was pure torture. Her lavender scent infused his senses, a blessed distraction from the torturous grind she was putting him through.
Seeing Katie in her element—strong, confident, and in control—was hot as hell. She stoked the alpha in him that wanted more than anything to pull some serious jujitsu on her and take this woman to the mat. Just the thought of trapping her petite five-four, hundred-twenty-pound body beneath his six-four, two-hundred-pound frame heated the blood in his veins until his body was coated in a light sheen of sweat. A tortured groan escaped his throat.
“We’re almost done,” she encouraged, mistaking his source of pain and coaxing him to hold on a minute longer. Hell, if he caught another whiff of the light floral scent, or if her breasts brushed his thigh one more time, they’d both be done. He swore to the Almighty he’d be pulling full guard on her so damn fast . . .
Cole fixed his gaze on the water-stained ceiling tiles, counting each of them to the cadence of Katie’s soft, melodic voice—anything to get his mind off the feeling of her hands on his thigh and the fire in his spine.
“How did your appointment with Dr. Wilcox go?”
She straightened out his leg and tucked his knee against her ribs. The side of her breast fit perfectly against the indent near his patella as she wrapped her arm around his thigh and leaned back, stretching another set of muscles.
“Fine,” he ground out between gritted teeth.
“Did you take the Relafen?”
“Not yet. I couldn’t get the script filled. The pharmacy wasn’t open.”
Her face pinched into a concerned scowl and she took the pressure off the stretch. “Cole, you should have said something. This has got to be killing you.”
She was killing him. Being this close to her, cocooned in her scent while her hands were all over his body . . . Holy hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman more. And the fact that Katie was hands-off certainly didn’t make him want her any less. Human nature sure was a pisser sometimes—always making us want what we can’t have the most.
“I’m good,” he grunted, turning his attention back to the ceiling tiles as she folded his left leg into a butterfly stretch. They were in the lower level of the hospital, down the hall from radiology. PT shared a gym with cardiac rehab. It was a large, well-equipped space, but not very private. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any afternoon rehabs scheduled, so they had the place to themselves. He didn’t relish the idea of doing this with an audience.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine . . . Fuck. “Katie, stop.” He pulled her hand off his upper thigh, but damn if he couldn’t seem to ma
ke himself let her go. Her wrist was so small, so fragile in his strong grip. Instead of pushing her a step back, like he’d intended, he pulled her closer. God would surely damn him a liar, because not even four hours ago he’d sat across the table from this woman’s mother and told her he wasn’t interested in her daughter.
With his other hand, he tugged his T-shirt over his crotch. It was so not cool, getting hard over your PT during therapy. He had to be violating some code of ethics here.
“What’s the matter, Cole? Is it too hard?”
Oh, it was hard, all right. Thank God she was too worried about hurting him to notice. “Can we take five?” And a cold shower?
“Of course.”
She moved to step back, but didn’t get very far with him holding onto her. Katie’s gaze flickered to his hand and then back to meet his unwavering stare. Uncertainty hedged in her beautiful face; her skittishness reminded him of a cornered hare—frozen in fear and tensed to bolt at any moment. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a nervous habit that, no lie, was sexy as hell.
He wanted to kiss her—to pull her into his arms and trap that lush bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted to feel her hammering pulse beating against his tongue as he tasted that spot below her ear, drowning himself in lavender. He wanted to fist his hands into that pale, silky hair and never let go. He wanted her—which was a hell of problem, since she wasn’t his to have.
But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Despite all the reasons he kept telling himself to keep his hands off her, Cole tugged Katie another step closer and reached up to brush his thumb across that plump bottom lip he thirsted for like a man who’d been lost in the desert. Somehow, overnight, this slip of a woman had become his oasis. His career—his future—hinged on this woman’s ability to heal him. But looking into Katie’s eyes made him forget his problems. She gave him hope he hadn’t felt in months, and damn if that didn’t endear her to him.
He brushed his hand over her cheek and slipped his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head and drawing her closer. Her lips parted on a surprised gasp, as if she’d just now realized what he was going to do. A moment before their lips connected, Katie pulled her head back and planted her palm in the center of his chest for leverage.
“This isn’t a good idea, Cole.”
No shit. It was a fucking horrible idea. But he wasn’t about to let that stop him. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this, Kat. I saw the way you were looking at me this morning.” The pet name slipped off his tongue like a velvety caress—husky and intimate.
Her brows tightened to a scowl. “And I heard what you said about me this morning,” she challenged back.
Now she pulled back in earnest, wresting from his grip. He had no choice but to relent or risk hurting her. Muttering a curse, he dragged his hand through his sweat-dampened hair, leaving it to stand on end. “You heard that?”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
So the little minx had been eavesdropping on him. “What the hell was I supposed to say? That you make me so fucking hard I could split granite? I’m sure that would do wonders endearing your mother to me.”
Surprise briefly registered on her lovely face, and he could practically hear her unspoken question: Do I really? To which he was sorely tempted to answer her by grabbing her wrist and sliding her hand down to his crotch. But before he could act on the impulse, she swiftly shut down all emotion, freezing him out.
Squaring her shoulders, she tartly replied, “There’s no need to be vulgar, Cole. And you said it yourself—your lifestyle leaves no room for a relationship. And I certainly don’t need mine any more complicated than it already is. You, uhh . . . caught me off guard this morning, that’s all, and if I gave you the wrong idea when I was in your bedroom, then I sincerely apologize.”
Before he could respond, she turned and headed toward her office. “Why don’t you rest a few minutes, shake it off, and I’ll grab you some ibuprofen.”
Shake it off? What the fuck? That was exactly what Marcus had said to him when he’d taken a misplaced side kick to the nads—and the ache in his balls wasn’t any more pleasant this time around.
Katie’s hands shook as she struggled to pop the lid off the ibuprofen bottle. This was so not what she’d signed up for when she agreed to help Uncle Marcus get his fighter back on his feet. Despite his disability, Cole radiated vitality and masculine prowess of the likes she’d never seen before—and it was hell on her defenses.
It embarrassed her to discover she’d been so transparent this morning, letting him see the depth of her need, the arousal that had swept upon her with the force of a hurricane, catching her totally off guard when she’d found him naked in that bed. There was absolutely no denying it—Cole was without a doubt the most handsome, well-formed man she’d ever crossed paths with, but being gorgeous didn’t change the facts: (a) he was an athlete, (b) she was finished with men, which equaled (c) this was so not happening.
If she didn’t draw the line now, it was only going to get worse. Already the sexual tension brewing between them hovered in the air like an impending storm. For the briefest moment in that gym, when Cole had slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her toward him, she’d been oh-so-tempted to just go with it. Her pulse had spiked, anxiety warring with desire and a healthy dose of curiosity to discover what it felt like to be kissed by Cole Easton. No doubt it’d be a heady experience. To be had by a man like this would be an all-consuming, overwhelming possession—a thought that both thrilled and terrified her, especially after everything she’d endured at Carter’s cruel hands. She might as well face it—there was a part of her that would forever be broken, and not even this sexy Vegas fighter could make her whole again.
She kept wrestling with the cap until it finally popped loose. She shook her head in frustration. Cole was so out of her league it was ridiculous. As Katie had worked him through the stretching routine, she’d sensed a restlessness churning deep inside him, an undercurrent of power reverberating just beneath his surface. He’d been fighting to contain it—to hold it back, but little by little his resolve was slipping. She didn’t have to ask him about his recovery of sensation. It was obvious in his reaction. By the twitching of taut muscles, and the lines of tension bracketing his mouth, she knew exactly where he felt her touching him.
At the time, she’d thought it was a response to pain, because there was no way that it wasn’t hurting like hell. But then she’d met his eyes and the cerulean began darkening to slate, reminding her of a late-summer storm rolling in, causing an uncomfortable awareness to stir deep inside her. Her skin had grown flushed and tingly, her nipples hardening to taut peaks as she’d suddenly become aware that her breast was pressed against the crook of his knee and her hands had migrated up his thigh, scant inches from his crotch. Accidentally or subconsciously—she wasn’t sure, because there was a part of her that wanted to touch Cole badly—and under the guise of therapy, they were on a different playing field, one that operated by her rules.
“You got that Motrin?”
A startled yelp escaped her throat and she jumped, sending the ibuprofen pills flying into the air. They pattered onto her desk, scattering across her stacks of charts and rolling onto the floor. Her gaze darted up to find Cole hovering in the doorway—on crutches! “You can walk?”
“I’d hardly call it that,” he scoffed, leaning heavily on the aluminum braces propped beneath his arms.
“What do you mean? It’s a great start,” she chided, shaking a few remaining pills into her palm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were walking?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t ask. I thought you knew.”
Realizing her mistake, Katie’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She hadn’t asked, had she? She’d just assumed, since he’d been in the chair, that he couldn’t walk. Of course he’d need the chair to travel. It was a stupid mistake, and one that as a professional PT she should never have made. Then again, Marcus hadn’t told her Cole could walk, either. An
important piece of information he’d left out. But why? He’d led her to believe Cole was much less advanced in his recovery than he obviously was. Had he done it to play on her sympathy? Had he known she would have refused him otherwise? No doubt, the bugger!
Uncle Marcus was the only person who had any idea what she’d been through, hence her subsequent aversion to men. She’d done her damn best to tell him as little as possible. But he was a smart man, and he had put it together easily enough when she’d called him from a bus stop in Michigan with nothing more than the clothes on her back, asking him to wire her money. Carter had taken control of all their accounts; her income had been tied up with his—another mistake she berated herself for making. Along with her dignity, he’d stripped her of her financial independence, making it that much harder to get away.
She and Uncle Marcus had always been close growing up. It’d broken her heart when the man who’d taught her to swim, ice fish, and hunt had moved to Vegas when she was twelve. Hell, he’d even given her her first beer (which her parents still didn’t know about). At discovering she was in trouble, he’d wired her fifty grand—way more money than she’d asked for—with no questions. And in doing so, Uncle Marcus had saved her life.
It’d taken months before she could sleep through the night. The nightmares still came, but not as often as they used to. She still couldn’t go out in public without constantly looking over her shoulder. She’d cut herself out of the social network, severed all contact with friends and family—except her parents and uncle. She’d finally achieved a glimmer of hope that she could have a fresh start and put the past behind her, when disaster struck.
Her father had suffered a massive stroke, and the doctors couldn’t be certain he’d survive. By the grace of God he lived, but with a profound right-side deficit that would take months of intense rehab to correct, if at all. She’d had no choice but to return home. When Marcus had discovered she was coming back to Wisconsin to help her dad, he’d expressed concern about Carter finding her again. A fear she silently shared, but it was a risk she had to take. Her dad needed her.
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