by Kylie Brant
His eyes widened, and his head snapped around. Throwing his door open, he shouted, “Addie!” She was halfway across the street when she looked up, then froze. Giving the speeding vehicle one wild look, she broke into a run. But she was wearing heels, and her strides were hampered by her skirt. “Dive!” he urged, running toward her, unmindful of the sound of brakes screeching, people shouting. “Dive and roll!”
The scene slowed down, took on movie-like slow motion. Her fingers released her grip on her briefcase…she threw her body forward…out of the path of the car…until it swerved at the last instant, its bumper catching her in the hip.
Dare sped across the street, dodging the cars that had parted for the runaway vehicle, his gaze fixed on the figure crumpled on the pavement. The impact of the car had sent her rolling almost to the curb. She lay crumpled in the gutter, amid the day’s debris. A siren sounded in the distance. He skidded to a halt beside her, dropping to his knees. “Addie!” His voice was urgent, a vise squeezing his chest. “Look at me, baby. Open your eyes.”
As if in response to his frantic command, her eyelids fluttered, then rose, but her gaze was unfocused. A river of relief ran through him, and reaction set in. “Don’t move. We’ll get an ambulance and take you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
As he spoke his hands were running gently, expertly over her body, checking for broken bones, watching her face carefully for a wince of pain.
“No…hospital. Help me…get up.”
“Not a chance.” He picked up her wrist, held it lover-like in his hand while he took her pulse. His brows drew together as he noted her dirty, bloody palms. There was no way he was going to move her. She could have a concussion, a back injury. He wasn’t taking any chances. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around her hand that had taken the brunt of her fall.
A voice sounded near his ear. “I called the cops as soon as I saw that guy driving like a lunatic. They ought to be here pretty quick.” As if to validate the words, the sound of the siren drew even closer.
Dare became aware for the first time of the crowd that had grown around them.
“Damn fool…idiot could have killed somebody…came out of nowhere and…” The disembodied voices ebbed and fell around them.
“Is this hers?”
Dare turned and took the briefcase that bore scuff marks from its contact with the pavement. Addie took advantage of his distraction and rose to a sitting position. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded when he turned around and saw what she’d done. “You might have a head injury…a broken bone. You need to be checked out by a doctor.”
The pallor in her cheeks was belied by the strength in her voice. “What I need is to get out of the street. I’m fine. Really.” She put a hand on his shoulder and struggled to her feet. He had to support her or risk having her crumple again. “The car just grazed me, that’s all.” Under his disapproving frown she stood, swayed a bit, then tried to shake free of his hands.
“Yeah, you look fine, sweetheart. You surely do.” The savage tone in his voice had her glancing at him warily. “But even given your superpowers, bullets bouncing off your chest and all that, you’re still getting examined by a doctor.”
The protest she would have made was interrupted when a police car wheeled around the corner and pulled to a stop beside them. Dare could see Addie draw herself up, shoulders straightening, hand smoothing her hair. It was amazing, really, the metamorphosis the woman could pull off in a matter of moments. And perhaps even more amazing when she was able to converse with the two patrolmen, stating the events in succinct terms, as if she wasn’t even now standing there bleeding.
Bleeding. His stomach lurched viciously. Not only were her palms scraped, but her knees and shins had been injured from her fall. She should have them tended to, and then she needed to have her hip and wrists examined. She’d taken the brunt of the impact on her hip, and broken her fall by extending her hands.
The second patrolman approached Dare for his statement but he’d been too concerned about seeing Addie in danger to note many details. All he could relate with any certainty was the color of the car and its make. From the resigned expression on the cop’s face, it was apparent the other bystanders had been of little more assistance.
He shifted away from the crowd that had collected around them and addressed the cop interviewing Addie. “I think you guys have gotten all you’re going to. Ms. Jacobs needs to get to a hospital.” He ignored the baleful gaze Addie threw his way and focused on the patrolman, who was nodding his head in agreement.
The officer addressed Addie. “You can call us tomorrow for an update. We’ve got what we need for now. The guy’s right. You should see a doc.”
“I’m fine. I was shaken up, but that’s all.”
Dare recognized the authoritative tone of her voice and prepared to do battle. “You could have internal injuries.”
With a simple lift of her brows she managed to convey her skepticism at the suggestion. He moved closer, lowered his voice. “Quit being so bullheaded and see reason, would you? You should have some X-rays.”
She concentrated on unwrapping the handkerchief from one palm and rewrapping it around the other. “I’m all right. Really.” Her eyes met his then and held. “I imagine I’ll have a chorus of aches and pains making themselves heard tomorrow, but there’s nothing broken.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“No doctors. No hospitals.”
Her words were edged with a hint of something that Dare would swear was panic if he didn’t know her so well. But he was too familiar with her stubbornness to give the possibility more than fleeting consideration. He folded his arms across his chest and surveyed her. “Just what are you planning to do? Waltz in to your office this way?” He saw by the shift of her gaze that she hadn’t planned that far. He pressed his advantage. “Or maybe you’ve decided to find a drugstore that’s running a special on pantyhose and Band-Aids. You could always clean up in the restroom of a fast-food restaurant.”
She reached for her briefcase, and he saw her wince as the handle connected with her raw flesh. “I’ll go home to change, of course.”
He clenched his jaw to stem his arguments. There was no point in noting that clasping a steering wheel would be torture when she couldn’t even hold her briefcase without pain. The whole thing really wasn’t his concern, anyway. Hadn’t they just agreed that their best strategy was to steer clear of each other? So it was completely self-destructive to say resignedly, “C’mon. I’ll drive you.”
The look she shot him was justifiably wary. “How do I know you won’t take me to a hospital instead?”
Because the thought had occurred, he kept his expression innocent. “No hospitals.” He clapped one palm to his chest and held up three fingers on the other. “Promise.”
If possible, her gaze became even more speculative. “Wrong hand, McKay.”
He shrugged easily and switched hands.
“Something tells me you were never a Boy Scout.”
“Not for long, anyway.” He took the case from her hand and began guiding her across the street to his car. “I got tripped up on parts of the Scout law—particularly the reverent bit.”
A.J. walked beside him, limping only slightly. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Probably because you have a totally misguided distrust of me.” He opened the car door, handed her gently inside. “You’ll be happy to know, though, I still believe in the Scout motto. I’m always prepared.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Warily, A.J. looked around the hallway as Dare opened the front door to his apartment. “It would have made a lot more sense if you’d just driven me to my place.”
Dare unlocked the door, swung it open and ushered her inside. “It would have taken twice as long. I assumed you wanted to get back to the office as soon as possible.”
Because he was right, she kept further protests to herself. But that didn’t mean they weren’t b
ouncing and colliding inside her. She preceded him into the apartment and stopped in the foyer, glancing around. Her first impression was one of neatness. The large living area before her looked comfortable and lived in, but there was little clutter. A pair of battered running shoes had been discarded in front of the couch, as if their owner had shed them to prop his feet on the coffee table. She looked at the kitchen to her side and felt a little better when she saw a few dishes stacked next to the sink. It looked homey and, more dangerously, a little intimate.
Dare appeared to be completely unaffected by the cozy atmosphere. He waved her to the couch. “You may as well get rid of those pantyhose. They’re ruined, and we have to treat your legs.” He disappeared into another room, but she could hear him nearby rummaging through drawers.
His suggestion was easier stated than carried out. Once A.J. slipped out of her shoes, she reached under her skirt and began to shimmy out of the nylons. When she got them to her knees however, they were stuck to the scraped skin, and freeing them was agony. Deciding that quick pain was preferable over slow torture, she yanked them the rest of the way down, biting hard on her lip to stifle her gasp of pain.
When Dare returned with an armful of first-aid supplies and a small bowl of water, she’d seated herself gingerly on the edge of the couch, the wadded up nylons clutched in her hand. He frowned when he saw her legs. “Guess we should have cut them off.”
She eyed the small mountain of items he’d piled on the table. “Are you always equipped to do major surgery?”
His mouth quirked. “I guess so, courtesy of my dad. It’s kind of an old joke between us.” He cupped the back of her calf in one hand and pressed a warm washcloth to her knee. Her breath hissed out before she could prevent it.
He glanced up. “Hurts, huh? Cleaning the wounds is always the worst part.” He continued to work with a quick efficiency that was at the same time curiously gentle. “Every birthday, Dad sends a first-aid package to remind me of all the patching up I used to require.”
Recognizing the distraction for what it was, A.J. seized it gratefully. “You were prone to accidents?”
“More prone to brawling. My dad was a disc jockey, and we did a lot of moving around. In a new neighborhood there’s always a few who like to try out the new guy.”
She was, in a horrified sort of way, fascinated. “You beat them up?”
“Got my ass whipped on a regular basis.”
The breezy admission unexpectedly made her laugh. “I know about tough neighborhoods.” Their homes had always reflected her father’s fortunes at any given moment. When he brought his paycheck home with some regularity, they’d lived in small houses that were fairly presentable. However, when booze and cards took their toll, their homes were more often apartment buildings much like Stillwell’s. The memory alone was enough to make her stomach clench. It was infinitely preferable to listen to Dare’s banter than to linger on memories better kept tucked away.
“I know it’s difficult to imagine, but I wasn’t always this studly male specimen you see before you. I was small for my age until I was about twelve.”
“Unfortunately,” A.J. noted dryly, “your modesty didn’t improve with age.” She barely noticed when he finished cleaning one leg and started on the other.
He didn’t disagree with her observation. “What can I say? I was the youngest of four, with three sisters. I was doted on throughout my entire childhood.”
Over his head she rolled her eyes. Somehow the acknowledgment didn’t surprise her. “Really? One would never guess it.”
His fingers squeezed the back of her calf in a quick warning. “Sarcasm is highly inadvisable when I hold your welfare in my hands. Literally.” He shifted back to the original subject. “It wasn’t as great as it sounds. There were definitely downfalls to having four females in the house. I can’t tell you how many times I had to play Barbies.”
She smiled imagining it. “Ever consider that might have been the reason you got beat up?”
“If so, it was worth it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed—” he looked up, flashed a grin “—but Barbie’s stacked.”
She resisted the urge to kick him with her free foot. “Something tells me you were a depraved child. Apparently some things can’t be outgrown.”
He chuckled, set aside the cloth. Applying generous amounts of ointment to the scraped areas, he reached for the bandages. “A few things have changed. I prefer my dolls to be talking and breathing, although—” he gave her a wicked look “—I still enjoy undressing them. There.” He rocked back on his heels, surveyed his handiwork. “Damn, I’m good. Is that a professional job or what?”
A.J. considered the leg he’d swathed. “Very nice. Why don’t you complete the job, and I could go to work dressed as a mummy?”
“Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered, already applying bandages to her other leg. In short order he had that one done and reached for her hands to repeat the process.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” She was thankful for his help, as uncomfortable as it made her to accept it. “I’m just not used to letting people do things for me.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up, but he didn’t raise his gaze. “Now there’s a surprise. Is that why you don’t like hospitals?”
“No.” She knew her answer was curt, but she was unwilling to expound on it. There were entirely too many memories associated with nameless hospitals, faceless nurses, somber social workers. The memories, like so many others from her childhood, were best avoided.
He didn’t say anything for several minutes, and, studying his bent head, she realized she’d offended him with her abruptness. She felt oddly ashamed, especially in light of all he’d done for her this afternoon.
The silence stretched, became awkward. She gazed around the room, her eyes lighting on the bookcases lined with books and pictures. And one award plaque that she could identify even from where she sat. “That’s your Pulitzer on the shelves there, isn’t it? Dennis mentioned you’d received two.”
He applied bandages to one of her palms, then switched to the other. “That’s the second one.” His voice was as short as hers had been earlier.
“Where’s the first?” He was silent so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Although she detected a rigid set to his shoulders, his touch remained gentle.
“I gave the first to my father.”
His brusque tone was as clear as a No Trespassing sign. It shouldn’t have felt like an affront. Not when she was so adept at posting those warnings herself.
It was with an unusual doggedness that she continued the conversation. “He must be very proud of you.”
His fingers stilled for a moment, before he finished applying the last bandage. “There.” He turned to pile up the supplies again. “You’re not exactly as good as new, but it’s an improvement.” He glanced at her bare legs a moment later and frowned. “I can’t say that I’ve got any spare pantyhose lying around for you.”
Earlier she would have seized the opening as an opportunity to fire a caustic remark. Then he would have laughed off her words and responded with an easy, immodest reply. But something had changed in the last several minutes, and she wasn’t certain how to counter it. “I can slip these shoes on without nylons. I just need to get rid of the worst of this dirt.”
He eyed her skirt as she indicated the stains and, giving a nod, he rose. “You can scrub it off in the bathroom. Washcloths are in the cupboard, and there’s a blow dryer in the top drawer.” He stopped, grimaced. “What am I saying? You can’t clean it without getting your bandages wet. C’mon.”
As she trailed after him, A.J. was distinctly aware that his reluctance mirrored her own. “I’m sure I can manage…” Her voice tapered off as he gestured for her to seat herself on the edge of the tub. Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, she did so. Glumly she realized that the bandages were going to attract a lot of attention that she would rather avoid, as well as hamper her work significantly. Not for the first time
since the mishap, she silently cursed the fool who had caused this whole situation.
Without a word Dare knelt before her with a warm washcloth and began scrubbing at the worst of the dirt. She tried to hold the skirt material taut, but he finally had to grasp the hem with one hand to keep it from bunching up.
She shifted uncomfortably. His knuckles brushed against her knee as he worked, branding her with each light touch. She was acutely aware that the only thing that separated his hand from the flesh on her thigh was two layers of fabric. Somehow the act seemed more intimate than his earlier ministrations.
Unbidden, images floated across her mind, teasing wisps from their lone weekend together. They’d showered together, in what had started out as a languorous interlude. But the steadily rising temperature had had nothing to do with the water. A.J. swallowed hard, willing the memories back to the pocket in her mind where she usually kept them. But it was too late. She could almost feel again the slide of wet skin against wet skin. Hands skating for purchase, fingers clutching at damp, heated flesh. The pounding of the water over them, echoed in the movement of their bodies moving together, riding passion to its explosive crest.
“You know, I think that’s good enough.” She jumped up from her perch, stepped by him carefully. “I can manage the blow dryer. Maybe you could call me a cab. I hate to think of having to drag you downtown again.”
If he was surprised by her barrage of words, his expression didn’t show it. He rose, as well, tucked the wet cloth on the towel rack to dry. “I’ll go make the call.”
When she reentered the living room, his back was to her, as he gazed out the window to the street below. He turned at her approach.
“Good timing. The cab should be here any minute.”
They looked at each other for an emotion-charged moment. “I appreciate all you’ve done.” A.J. gestured awkwardly at the supplies still piled on the table. “I’m sure you didn’t expect to have to play doctor this afternoon.” As soon as the words left her mouth she wanted to call them back. They were an open invitation for one of Dare’s famous double entendres.