Runaway Groom (3 page)

“Probably, but this will end the pain faster. You can follow instructions, right?”

She pursed her lips at the implication she was dim-witted. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll tell you what to do.”

She bit her knuckle, feeling squeamish. “Won’t it hurt?”

The left side of his mouth drew down. “Don’t worry. It’s only going to hurt me.”

A surge of resentment pierced her guilt. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re going to have to come closer to me to do it and I’d appreciate it if you put down the lethal weapon first.”

“Right, of course.” She placed the flashlight on the coffee table, tugged the towel super tight across her breasts and walked over.

His cheeks were pale under his tan but the pain seemed to have made his vivid green eyes even brighter. There was something about his direct and uncompromising gaze that made her feel— What, exactly? Intimidated? No, that wasn’t it. She was no longer scared of him, but whatever it was, it definitely made her feel uneasy.

“Hold my right hand and lift up my arm,” he said.

His hand was wide, warm and calloused. The slight roughness of it surprised her and she realized she’d become used to the soft touch of men whose jobs meant their hands only worked with phones and computers. Men who paid for other men to do the chores that coarsened hands. For some reason, as she gripped his, she remembered her father’s hands. Just like her dad’s, this guy’s hands dwarfed hers.

The moment she raised his arm, the skin around his lips blanched and she hated that she was causing him more pain. “You should take something first...” she thought about the Westerns she’d watched as a kid, “...a slug of whiskey?”

“No.” His eyes glazed over and he closed them for a second. Surprisingly long, chocolate-brown lashes brushed his cheeks. “Just put your foot in my armpit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your foot. My armpit. Now.” He ground out the instructions, each word hitting her with the velocity of a bullet. “Listen,” he continued after her foot was in place, “no matter how loud I yell, keep pushing down with your foot and pulling my arm toward you. Use your entire body weight.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “At least I lucked out there.”

His jibe at her weight bit hard, lessening her sympathy. It was only her guilt that she’d injured him that kept her from dropping his arm and telling him where to go.

“Push. Pull. I got it. Ready?”

“Not really. I know what’s coming.” His eyes fluttered closed again. “Just do it.”

She breathed in. “One, two, three.” She hauled as hard as she could while at the same time pressing her foot deep into his armpit.

His roar of visceral pain exploded around her, gaining volume and echoing back off the high ceiling before spiraling through her, carrying both culpability and blame. As much as he’d ticked her off, it felt so wrong to be hurting him so much. She had to work hard against the overwhelming desire to stop.

Just when she thought she couldn’t bear his pain a moment longer, she heard a pop and the tension suddenly changed.

“You can stop now,” he said, panting hard.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s back in place.”

Relief swept through her. “Thank goodness.”

He stared up at her silently, his face impassive and his intriguing chocolate-fringed eyes devoid of any readable emotion.

A prickle of sensation started at her spine and spread outward until it raced all over her, leaving her hot, bothered and confused. If the circumstances had been totally different she might have said she was aroused, but she knew that given everything that had happened to her today, including the past ten minutes, that was utterly impossible.

Feeling rattled, she broke the silence. “What?” she said more curtly than she intended.

His nostrils flared. “You might want to go and put some clothes on.”

His quietly spoken words rocked through her and she wanted to die on the spot. Her body burned with embarrassment as she realized that the way she was standing gave him a completely unobstructed view of everything nestled between her legs. Everything she rarely showed anyone, let alone a complete stranger. She’d never felt so exposed in her life.

She jerked her foot away fast, desperate to leave. “I...um...I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take your time,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s what worried her.

Chapter Three

Ben heard her retreating footsteps and blew out a breath. Screaming pain combined with an uninterrupted view of a curvaceous naked woman with curly red hair both on her head and on her map of Tasmania, had his body so confused he couldn’t see straight. Let alone think. How was it possible to be in absolute agony and aroused at the same time? It must be some sort of nervous system overload-meltdown thing, because getting hard hadn’t happened in months. Hell, he’d been the only guy in the strip club in Vegas not to see stars when a woman sat on his lap, grinding herself against him and rubbing her boobs in his face.

The fact that he’d just got hard didn’t bother him as much as the fact it had happened because of a woman who’d attacked him and won. He shuddered as he thought about the hit his masculinity had taken and hated that he’d still got aroused. He didn’t want to be one of those sick bastards who got off on being dominated. It wasn’t him. Never had been and never would be. No, he was chalking it up as a pain-induced aberration. Thank God he was a long way from home and his brothers wouldn’t hear that he’d been flattened by a girl who was shorter and weighed less than him. He’d never live it down.

So what if they did find out?
This is nothing compared with what Lexie did to you and you’re never going to live that down.

For months he’d done a good job not thinking about Lexie and now, twice in a few hours, she’d invaded his thoughts. It had to stop.

Holding his right arm close to his body, he managed to sit up and rest against the back of the couch. The scent of expensive leather surrounded him. Over the past nine months there’d been times when he’d found himself in some real fleabag dives but not once had he ever been attacked. Obviously luxury was dangerous.

He wanted to stand up but his head spun and he didn’t want to risk falling over. He hurt like hell already without causing another injury, or even worse, more humiliation. Whatever-her-name-was, she sure knew how to inflict some damage. It hadn’t escaped his notice that first Red had given him a hard time and now a redheaded woman had added injury to the list. From the start, he should have known that a town that celebrated weddings had to mean trouble.

As if the act of thinking about her had summoned her, she reappeared. Her tight, spiral curls played around her peaches-and-cream face, giving her an innocent if slightly deranged look—a kind of Shirley Temple on meth. It wasn’t helped by her crumpled black skirt and soiled blouse, which she’d mis-buttoned to cover what he knew to be deliciously ample breasts.
Shame.

He reminded his wayward body that not only was he on a hiatus from all women, she’d done a number on him and seriously dented not only his ego but his shoulder. “Did you miss laundry day?”

She jerked her chin up and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve had an extremely difficult day, a very long drive, and although it’s nothing to do with you, my clothes are still in my car.”

Even in his befuddled state her clipped words didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense. “So you celebrated your arrival here by running around the house naked?”

“No, of course not,” she snapped, her plump lips flattening into a disapproving line. “I was in the tub when I heard you arrive.” She shot him an accusatory glance. “You gave me the fright of my life.”

“Oh, right, and you didn’t scare me one little bit?” His brain ached. “Why would you have a bath before you unpacked?”

“None of this is relevant,” she said in a tone that hinted she was used to quickly dispatching things she didn’t want to discuss. “I looked up dislocated shoulders on my phone and you need a sling. I thought we could use this pillowcase.”

“Thanks.” The automatic response came out despite him not wanting to be anywhere close to being grateful to her. After all, she’d created the need for a sling. “Do you know how to put it on?”

“How hard can it be?” She kneeled down next to him and leaned in, her spiral curls brushing his face as she pressed the cut material against his chest.

The sweet and exotic smell of ripe, luscious mangoes rushed him, instantly taking him back to his childhood in Queensland and the taste of sweet decadence. He and his brothers would climb the mango trees in the backyard, pluck the ripe fruit straight from the branch and bite into them. The juice would dribble down his chin and the velvety pulp would float on his tongue before sliding down his throat and filling him with bliss. It was his first erotic experience and it had happened years before he had any idea that the taste and feel of a woman was even better.

He found himself taking a deep, deep breath. His tongue flicked out over his lips.

What are you doing?

Shocked, he stopped himself millimeters away from licking her ear.

Her hands fumbled with the makeshift sling and she bumped his shoulder.

Pain flared. “Shit. Be careful.”

She stiffened. “I’m doing my best but I never said I had any medical training.”

A small part of him conceded that but most of him was still pissed that she’d attacked him. Even more of him was pissed at his reaction to her.
Keep your distance.
“So what do you do when you’re not dislocating shoulders?”

“I’m a...” she seemed to hesitate, “...I’m a lawyer.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t sound very certain.”

With a jerk, she tightened the knot she’d just tied at his neck and said with equal crispness, “Does that feel better?”

The material took the weight of his arm and it made a surprising difference to his level of pain. “It does,” he said grudgingly.

“You’re welcome.” She leaned back and studied him with a wary and serious gaze. “I’m Amy, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.

He flicked his gaze from her round face and intense gray eyes, down to her hand and back again. “Ben Armytage. Forgive me but I won’t be shaking your hand.”

Her brow creased in an insulted frown and then a bright red flush started at her pale throat and rushed her cheeks. Her hand shot back by her side. “Sorry. Automatic action. Where are you from, Ben?”

“Australia.”

“Oh, wow. You’re a long way from home.”

For the first time since he’d met her, her voice didn’t sound quite so clipped. She even smiled.

“When I was a kid,” she continued, “there was this advertisement on the television with some Aussie guy on a beach saying, ‘I’ll throw another shrimp on the barbie.’ His accent always made me and my sisters laugh. Ever since then, I’ve always wanted to visit Australia.”

The dimples in her cheeks gave her a look of utter ingenuousness which was at odds with her obvious skills of ball busting. “I’m sure they’d give you a job in homeland security keeping out the undesirables.”

“Very funny,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You may not believe me but I don’t make a habit of hitting people. You’re the first.”

“Lucky me,” he muttered.

With a quick and decisive movement, she stood up and extended her left hand. “I’ll help you up.”

He’d never wanted anyone’s help and he didn’t intend to start now. “I’d pull you over.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “I doubt that.”

He didn’t know what she meant but her tone made him wary. “I’ll be fine but I’ll take that offer of whiskey now.”

“Oh...right.” She did a slow turn, paused and then quickly crossed the room to the liquor cabinet.

He rolled to his knees, his breathing hissing as his shoulder objected to the movement. If he hurt this much now, he hated to think how he’d feel in the morning. Hauling himself up onto the couch, he called out, “Bring the bottle.”

She returned with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of top-shelf whiskey in the other. It was a brand he’d only ever seen in a store behind glass and tagged at a price he’d never been prepared to pay. Perhaps there were some advantages to being injured in a rich woman’s house after all.

She generously filled the glasses and handed him one.

“Cheers.” He drained it in one hit, the heat hitting his stomach and spreading through his veins like molasses. He held the glass out toward her. “Again.”

Her eyes opened so wide they looked like two silvery gray moons and her back straightened. “Do you think that’s wise?”

He’d never seen a woman with such huge eyes but he was familiar with the sort of disapproval that burned there. Although she’d phrased it as a question, what she’d actually said was, “Don’t do it.”

He’d never responded all that well to being told what to do. “I think it’s going to anesthetize my shoulder, and right now that’s all I care about.”

Amy didn’t like the challenging look in Ben’s eyes and she clutched the bottle determined to be in control of the situation. Taking control and making hard decisions was what she’d forged a career on.

Until today.

She shut out the voice and firmed up her resolve to finish the most out of control day of her life on top. “I’m going to drive you to the emergency room.”
And leave you there.

Even with one arm out of action, Ben Armytage unnerved her. There was something about him that made it impossible for her to relax and that was enough of a reason to want him gone.

He sighed. “No, you’re not. All they’d do is x-ray my shoulder and put it in a sling. Half the job is done and the rest can wait until morning.”

Morning?
No, no, no. He had to leave tonight. “How do you know that? Are you a doctor?”

“It’s an old sporting injury. It’s happened before.”

“Even so,” she said in her best take-charge voice, “you need it all checked out tonight and documented in case it causes you problems in the future.”

He slowly put down his glass on the coffee table and turned to face her with one eyebrow quirked. “That sounds a lot like lawyer talk. Worried I’m going to sue you?”

The thought had crossed her mind when she was upstairs pulling on her dirty clothes and checking out the first-aid instructions. She pressed her sweaty palms against her skirt and smoothed it down. “I think we’ve established it was all a misunderstanding,” she said in the exact tone she used in mediation.

“A misunderstanding?” He leaned in toward her, his mouth tilted and his green eyes shimmering and hypnotic.

Leather, whiskey and the scent of something essentially male swirled around her, intoxicatingly dangerous and utterly compelling. Instead of automatically leaning back to reestablish her personal space, she had to force herself not to lean forward.

“Yes.” Just when she wanted to sound firm and look like she was the one calling the shots, a wayward curl fell into her eyes. She whooshed out a breath to blow the hair away.

“That’s a very interesting way of describing it.” The tips of his fingers brushed her hair behind her ear and the touch sent tingling cascades shimmering through her.

This is not happening.
But her body relaxed in mockery of her protest and her hand loosened on the bottle of whiskey.

She cleared her throat. “It’s accurate.”

He crossed his left hand over his body, and it brushed her thigh on the way. She gasped as the tingles turned into a ball of heat.

His gaze suddenly became calculating. “Is that your apology, Amy?”

The word
apology
kick-started her brain half a second too late. His hand had already snatched the whiskey bottle out of her limp grip.
Damn it.
“It’s a statement of fact.”

He gave a bark of laugher as he poured another large glass. “You really are a lawyer.” He didn’t make it sound like a good thing.

“Of course I’m a lawyer,” she snapped as indignation rushed her. She couldn’t tell if it was because of his jibe at her profession or the fact that on his way to stealing the whiskey, he’d turned her into mush. Either way, her annoyance doused the irrational sparks of attraction and for that she was extremely grateful. She didn’t have time for nonsense like this, especially given the fallout of the last time she’d given in to her emotions. That should be enough to have her avoiding men for the rest of her life.

He took a small sip of his drink. “Where do you work?”

“In Chicago and this is the first day of
my
vacation.” The lie sounded so loud in her head she almost put her hands over her ears.

She hated the way he was looking at her—a long, lazy snakelike look that brushed her from head to toe saying,
I’ve seen you naked.
She swallowed and frantically tried to think of a way to wrestle back control of the conversation and of the situation. She could hardly get him into the car if he didn’t want to go, although the thought of dragging him by the hair had some appeal.

Giving him her best penetrating stare, she asked, “Why do you have a set of keys to the house?”

“Two hours ago I would have said by a stroke of good luck, given the town’s booked solid and I needed a place for the night. Now I think luck is stretching it somewhat.” His mouth twitched wryly. “Your mechanic said your family was in Chicago and I could stay here. Obviously no one told him you were back, otherwise I wouldn’t have come.”

My mechanic?
For a moment she wondered what he was talking about and then she remembered.
Yes!
He thought this was her house and in his mind she had the rights to the property. She had to stifle the whoop of joy that wanted to fly from her lips.

“Believe me,” he continued, “I’d leave right now if I could. I’ll make other arrangements in the morning.”

He wants to leave.
She relaxed for the very first time since he’d arrived. His declaration of departure plans was a balm to her desire to get him out of the house as soon as possible. He was leaving in the morning so the least she could do was let him stay the night. It would appease her guilt at having attacked an innocent man, and come noon tomorrow, she’d have the house to herself and the space she needed to sort out her life. It was win-win all round.

She rose to her feet, assuming the mantle of someone who was utterly familiar with the house despite the fact she had no clue where the kitchen was located. Or for that matter the layout of the entire downstairs area apart from this room. She thought about upstairs. “I’ll prepare a room for you in the east wing, shall I?”