Second Chance Summer

by Jill Shalvis

  The truth was, she had no idea. Her pride was cracked in half, and possibly her ass as well. She tried to sit up but he stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “Give yourself a minute. That was a bad wipeout.”

  She groaned. Great.

  “Anything feel broken?” he asked.

  “No.” She didn’t care if that was a lie, she wanted to get up on her feet, preferably with no witnesses. Pushing Lenny’s hands away, she sat up and looked down at herself.

  Dirty but surprisingly very little blood. With various aches and pains already starting to make themselves known, she staggered to her feet.

  “Hey, wait,” Lenny said. “You’re not supposed to move. If you broke your neck, your head could fall off.”

  She gave him a long look.

  “I saw it on CSI once,” he said.

  “I didn’t break my neck.”

  “Just let me call for help.”

  “Honestly, it’s not necessary. I’m perfectly fine.” If not completely mortified. She waved at him and then with him watching her, she forced herself not to limp back up the stairs and into her place.

  In the privacy of her own apartment, she immediately sagged and whimpered as she slowly limped to her bed.

  Her knees and palms were torn up, and she suspected her hind end had suffered a similar fate, but she wasn’t ready to look. Nope. She was going back to bed and staying there until the day went away. And maybe tomorrow too. She stripped out of her dress and pulled a big T-shirt over her head.

  She’d just crawled beneath the sheets when she heard her front door open. Normally she’d jump up, grab a baseball bat from beneath her bed, and kung-fu her way into the living room to kick some ass.

  But she was too sore.

  So instead of playing Superwoman, she tried to become invisible and pulled the covers over her head. She was still huddled there hoping she wasn’t about to star in her very own horror flick when the covers were yanked down.

  She squeaked and opened one eye.

  Not Freddy Krueger.

  It was Aidan, face impassive, gaze sharp as he ran it down her body.

  And damn if her nipples didn’t pretend to be cold.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, pushing herself up with a wrist, which sent an immediate bolt of fire up her arm. She gasped and fell back.

  Aidan bent over the bed, a hand planted on either side of her body, effectively holding her down.

  “Hey,” she said indignantly, ignoring the tears burning her eyes.

  So did he, which was a relief.

  “Lenny called,” he said. “Told me you need …”

  “What? A rescue?” She laughed humorlessly, one part astonished and one part annoyed that he was doing it again and this thankfully chased her tears away. “In San Diego I could’ve fallen down my stairs and laid there dead for a year and no one would have even noticed.”

  “You’re not in San Diego,” he said.

  “No kidding.” She blew out a breath. “I’m starting to remember just how small this place is.”

  “Admit it, you just missed me. But you don’t have to try so hard to get my attention, babe, you’ve already got it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good to know.”

  “How did you fall?” he asked.

  “Backward. Fast,” she quipped, not about to admit she’d been startled by a bunny. A baby bunny.

  “Smart-ass.” He began to check her over. As in he put his hands all over her and ran them over her body. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “I’ll buy you new sheets.”

  “Shut up.” He frowned at her wrist and found another problem at her ankle, all while she attempted to keep her T-shirt covering as much of her as possible.

  Then he pointed to her shirt. “Lose it.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Later,” he said. “I want to see your ribs.”

  “How about my foot up your ass?”

  He met her gaze, his own stubborn and unbending. “Me or a doctor, Lily.”

  He’d do it, too, she had no doubt. He’d drag her kicking and screaming out of here if need be. So she sighed and very carefully lifted the T-shirt to just beneath her breasts. “See? I’m fine—”

  She broke off, the air backing up in her lungs when he ran his hands very lightly over her rib cage, stopping when she managed to suck in a breath.

  “Bruised, not broken I don’t think,” he said, his voice quiet and calm and clinically dispassionate, in direct opposition to his eyes. “Turn over.”

  She bit out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, that’s going to happen nev—”

  He rolled her over and pinned her there with a hand low on her back.

  She sputtered and fought him, but then went utterly still when he ran his fingers up the back of one thigh, scooping the edge of her boy-cut panties up a cheek.

  “Also bruised,” he said.

  “That’s where I landed. No worries, I’m padded nicely.”

  “Nicely is right,” he said, and he removed his hands from her.

  She leapt off the bed, tugged down her shirt, and had to tighten her lips not to whimper at the fast movement. “Okay, thanks. Be sure to lock the door on your way—”

  “Did you hit your head or lose consciousness at any time?”

  “No!” She didn’t want to need his help, wanted to lick her wounds in private rather than get turned on by his gentle touch. But she was stupid light-headed from getting up too fast and knew she wasn’t in the greatest shape.

  And as much as she didn’t want to like it, she did like how he always seemed to be there for her, even if her brain kept telling her heart she didn’t want him to be.

  He still wasn’t leaving. “Tell me what really happened.”

  “I loaded up some wood and was making my way up the stairs when”—she broke off and grimaced—“something popped out of the wood. I nearly had heart failure and fell down the stairs. The end.”

  He never took his eyes off of her. “What popped out at you?”

  “A spider,” she said, because hey, that could’ve totally happened. Just because she’d freaked out over the baby bunny didn’t mean that there wasn’t also a spider. Maybe she’d been so busy falling down the stairs she just hadn’t seen the spider.

  “A spider made you fall down the stairs?” he asked in disbelief.

  “A big one.” She lifted her hands so that they were about a foot apart.

  His lips twitched.

  Her hands spread apart even wider. “It might have been a mutant spider.”

  “Or a baby bunny,” he said.

  She stared at him while he grinned wide.

  “You knew the whole time,” she accused.

  “Yep. Lenny told me.”

  “Well isn’t that just like a man,” she said in disgust.

  Aidan tipped his head back and laughed out loud.

  “Fine. Whatever,” she said. “I’m taking a shower. Alone.”

  “Make it lukewarm, not hot,” he said. “I’m going to the truck for my first-aid kit.”

  “Aidan, I’m so not in the mood to play doctor.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll play doctor and you play the nice, sweet, passive patient.”

  She opened her mouth to retort to this but he was gone. Argh. She limped/hobbled after him and hit the lock. Proud of herself, she limped/hobbled to the bathroom and locked that door as well.

  And then she crawled into the shower, where she had herself a nice, private cry. When she was done, she turned off the water and stared at herself in the mirror. She was bruising from head to toe, her damn hands hurt, and her knees hurt and so did her butt. She was still staring at herself when someone clicked open the bathroom door and made her jump nearly right out of her towel.

  Aidan.

  “Hey, I locked my front door!”

  He set a red duffel bag on the counter. It had a white cross on it and read: first aid.

  “And the bathroom door,” she added.

  He narro
wed his eyes. “Were you crying?”

  “No.”

  Looking pained, he let her have the lie as he gestured to the closed commode. “Sit.”

  She instantly put her hands to her backside. No way was she going to be sitting. Maybe not ever again.

  He stared at her, clearly trying to decide whether to force her or not. And maybe also worried she’d start crying again. She was tempted.

  Instead of waiting for him to figure it all out, she brushed past him, nose high. “I’m busy.”

  “Yeah, busy healing. Now if you won’t sit, then lie down.” He dropped his bag on the bed.

  She decided to put up with his annoying boorish behavior, because she figured he had Band-Aids in his bag and she didn’t have any.

  So she very carefully sat on the bed, sucked in a breath at the pressure on her sore butt, and came to the conclusion that he was right. Lying down seemed like the way to go. She lay back.

  Without another word, Aidan perched a hip on the bed and went to work, doctoring up both knees first.

  She hissed out a breath when he sprayed antiseptic over the abraded skin. “Hurts.”

  He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You fell down the stairs without a peep, but this hurts?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “How about the baby bunny?” he asked. “You want to talk about that?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let’s talk about why you’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said. Lied. But there was no way she’d explain that the anger was really self-directed and came from wanting him again. And not just a silly crush want, either, but much, much more. She couldn’t have that conversation because the wanting was mutual, she knew that much. Just as she knew it couldn’t go anywhere. Aidan and his lifestyle—putting his neck out on the mountain daily—would kill her.

  He shook his head, but he bent over and kissed the Band-Aids over her knees, one after the other.

  She didn’t say a word, couldn’t because the breath had backed up in her throat again. How the hell was she supposed to hold on to her mad if he was going to be sweet?

  Then he went to work on her palms. After he finished the first one he brought it up to his mouth and gently pressed his lips to the bandage there, too, and damn if she didn’t feel all her defenses crumbling down. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice annoyingly breathless.

  “Kissing it and making it better.” A wicked light came into his eyes and she began to realize that “sweet” might be the wrong adjective, and when he spoke, she knew it for sure.

  “Now turn over,” he said.

  Chapter 19

  Aidan watched Lily sputter with indignation and anger, and both looked good on her. A damn sight better than the misery and pain of a few minutes before.

  Or the sadness from the other day. Yeah, that one had nearly killed him. He didn’t know exactly when or where or how but one thing was clear—he was no longer guarding himself against her.

  Not good.

  But if he’d softened, Lily had actually seemed to go the opposite route. The closer they got, the more she pushed him away.

  “I’m happy to have you kiss my ass,” she said, eyes still flashing. “Theoretically.”

  “I prefer literally,” he said.

  She let out a low laugh and tipped her head up, staring at the ceiling. “What are you doing here, Aidan?”

  “Told you. Lenny called me.”

  “And so you came running to the rescue.”

  “It’s what I do,” he said.

  “Right. Your job.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm,” he said.

  “And irritation,” she said. “Don’t forget that one.”

  “Look, I get that you don’t like the idea of being just a job to me,” he said, “but we both know you don’t want to be anything more either.”

  At that, she rolled off the bed. Hugging her towel to herself, she limped to the closet. And though it was the size of a pea she shut herself in there.

  Rustling sounds came from within and then a thump—an elbow hitting the wall?—and a muffled “Dammit!”

  Picturing her in there, possibly dropping her towel, struggling naked in that small space, had his amusement fading, replaced by something far more difficult to ignore. “Tell me something,” he said to the door. “Rescue aside, why are you mad at me?”

  The rustling stopped.

  Everything stopped. It seemed as if she was not even breathing in there. “Lily?”

  The closet door opened slowly. She’d ditched the towel for a sundress, this one peach with a snug bodice and filmy, loose skirt that fell to midthigh. She strode toward him, her bandaged hands on her breasts holding the bodice in place.

  He sucked in a breath, staring down at her as time switched to slow-mo. She licked her lips and they parted … and he couldn’t believe it. She was coming at him, half dressed, her eyes soft, her mouth … God, that mouth. He wanted it on him. He wanted that more than he wanted anything in the world … And then that mouth started moving. She was talking, and he had to force himself to tune in to her words.

  “—zip me.”

  The slow-mo screeched to a complete halt and then it was real time again. She’d turned her back and was looking at him over her shoulder like he was a half-wit.

  He shook himself and zipped her, covering up the creamy, smooth skin of her back, which was the opposite of what he wanted to do. The dress still bared her shoulders, however, and he stared down at the delicate tat of an infinity sign, unable to stop himself from running his finger slowly over it.

  She shivered and he turned her to face him. “Lily, I—”

  “I want to be done talking now,” she said.

  Yeah, him too. But this was important. He felt like they were teetering on the edge, flirting with something deep. There were two choices here, two very different options—ignore what was happening and just sleep together, or take the plunge.

  And then sleep together.

  His body voted for whatever option got her naked the fastest, because damn she looked hot, and he knew with one kiss that she would melt for him.

  But his brain … it wouldn’t shut up. He needed to know what her problem was so that he could fix it, once and for all. “This is too important to ignore,” he managed.

  She dropped her head to his chest.

  He lifted her chin. “You’re too important. What we’re working on here is too important.”