Runaway Groom (4 page)

He nailed her with his penetrating gaze. “Is that a long way from where you’re sleeping?”

“Yes.”

He raised his glass to her with a smile. “That sounds perfect.”

* * *

Amy retrieved her car, driving it closer to the house before grabbing Ben’s backpack from where he’d dropped it. Slinging it over her shoulder, she carried it and her suitcases into the great room and saw that Ben had relocated to another couch, closer to the flat-screen television. He’d taken the whiskey bottle with him.

He was watching the sports channel and muttering something about football not being football. He didn’t speak to her when she passed by on her way upstairs and that suited her just fine. She wasn’t up for chitchat. All she wanted to do was end this atrocious day by collapsing into that phenomenally comfortable bed.

She explored the east wing and bypassed the first two bedrooms with kids’ bunk beds and kept looking until she found one with a double bed. She pulled down the quilt and was relieved to find it was already made up and she didn’t have to go searching for the linen. She walked back along the catwalk and downstairs thinking as she went how fit she was going to get living here.

As she hit the bottom stair she called out, “Ben, your room’s ready.”

The only reply was the sports commentator telling her that the Green Bay Packers had to seriously think about game strategy if they wanted to end the season with a place in the play-offs.

She walked around the couch to find him asleep. “Ben?”

His head shot up and he stared at her out of heavy and unfocused eyes. “That’s me.”

“How’s the pain?”

He blinked at her. “Gone.”

Really?
Every time she thought of his scream of pain when she’d been pulling his shoulder back into position, it made her feel ill. “Well, that’s good. Look, it’s late and I want to go to bed so I’ll show you where your room is.”

“Okay.” He stood up and swayed.

“Whoa, steady there.” She grabbed his uninjured arm as he slumped against her. She immediately widened her stance to stop from falling over.

She glanced at the whiskey bottle and saw the level of liquid was now significantly lower.
Just fabulous.
No wonder he didn’t have any pain. She could picture a thousand ways he could hurt himself even more than she’d hurt him and she didn’t want to be responsible for that. “How about I help you up the stairs?”

A spark flared in his eyes and he shook away her arm. “No. I’ve got this.” He started weaving an unsteady path to the stairs.

She hurried after him but to her surprise and relief, he made his way up without mishap although it was the slowest trip ever.

“Here you go.” She opened the door to his room.

He stared at the canopied cedar-log bed with its acorn carvings and bear paw quilt. He turned back to look at her. “Good to know some netting’s going to protect me from a bear attack.”

She found herself smiling. “It’s probably more interested in the fish that’s mounted on the wall.”

“Hmm.” He walked in, sat down on the bed, swung his legs up and lay back against the bank of pillows. Less than a second later, his eyes closed.

Her hand stalled on the door handle. “Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

A gentle snore was his only reply.

Just leave him.
But the thought of him sleeping the night fully clothed seemed wrong because he’d sweat and wouldn’t be comfortable. The least she could do was remove his boots. Gripping the heel, she tugged. Nothing moved. She put some muscle into it and pulled with all she had. The boot shifted and she shot back across the room. She returned and repeated the process. She drew the line at removing his socks.

Now you can go.

She worried her bottom lip as she stared at his leather jacket. If she’d thought, she would have taken it off him before putting on the sling. Only, thinking clearly around Ben Armytage seemed difficult. She sighed and picked up the wide tab at the top of the jacket’s zipper, carefully pulling it down under his injured arm. When he didn’t stir, she decided to try easing his good arm out of the sleeve. As she pushed the leather back, solid biceps greeted her, bulging out of a T-shirt that read, Beware of Drop Bears.

Before she’d thought it through, she found her fingers tracing a line along his arm, following a thick, blue vein. His heat warmed her and she could feel the strength of the toned muscle underneath. Of the very limited number of men she’d dated, none of them had arms like this.

He gave a soft groan and she pulled her hand back fast.

“Ben?” He didn’t look very awake.

“Hmm.”

“Do you want to take your jacket all the way off?”

Using his left arm to hold his right tight to his body, he leaned forward and then his head unexpectedly dropped onto her shoulder.

He smelled of whiskey and sweat and she wrinkled her nose, welcoming the evidence that he was drunk and therefore not remotely attractive to her. Then his hair filled her face and the scent of mint hit her, mocking her with its fresh and clean but oh-so-masculine tang, making her want to breathe deeply.

“Okay then,” she said out loud more to rally herself than anything else. She quickly pushed the jacket away from his back and eased him onto the pillows. “Just get the job done, Amy.” She moved his good arm so it supported the injured one from the elbow to the wrist. “Ben, hold your arm here.”

Without opening his eyes, he followed the instructions and she undid the sling. He gave a long, low moan as she took off the jacket and she flinched, quickly retying the sling as fast as possible. She stepped back, trying hard not to notice how well his chest filled the thin, cotton T-shirt. “Now you’re out of your jacket, that should help you sleep.”

He murmured something unintelligible that sounded like,
Red
, and then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

He was six feet two inches of lurching unpredictability and she rushed back, closing the gap between them. “What are you doing?”

“Tight.” He put his hand on the snap of his pants and undid them. A moment later they were midthigh.

She could just imagine the disaster of him trying to kick off his pants or taking them down one-handed when he was semiconscious. He’d more than likely fall face-first and fracture his skull. “Let me help.”

She sat him back on the bed and then kneeled between his legs. As she pulled the leathers down, she noticed the hairs on his legs were the same sun-kissed honey-brown as his hair.
Not relevant
,
no need to look.

“That better?” she said, pulling her gaze away and glancing up at him as she spoke. She came face-to-face with a pair of black low-rise boxer briefs, whose stretch-cotton technically covered the contents but in reality, hid nothing.

Oh.
My.
God.

She closed her eyes and then immediately opened them for another look at the impressive outline, justifying that it wasn’t voyeurism because he’d seen far more of her earlier in the evening.

With a grunt, he suddenly swung his legs back toward the bed and she had to duck to avoid being hit. He seemed to fall instantly asleep.

She quickly pulled the quilt up and over him, tucking it under his chin. If it didn’t risk suffocation, she would have pulled it over his head so she didn’t have to be tempted to look at any part of his buff, toned body. No one should look that gorgeous in briefs and a T-shirt. She knew she certainly didn’t.

She wrenched open the door. “I’m going now,” she said firmly as if she was the one needing the instruction to leave.

He didn’t reply.

Just as she was closing the door she heard, “Night, Red.”

Chapter Four

The full impact of what Amy had done to him hit Ben at six o’clock the following morning when he tried to put on his pants. It had fast been followed by the realization that if he couldn’t even get his trousers on, he sure as hell couldn’t ride the chopper and leave.

“Shit.” He rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the stubble scraping his palm. The idea of a shower taunted him. He knew he’d be hard-pressed to get his T-shirt off on his own, let alone manage the rest.

His head throbbed after last night’s self-medication. He couldn’t remember getting into bed but obviously he had because his pants were missing. The only person who could have removed them was Amy.

Amy with the face of a cherub and a Rubenesque body that said,
baby
,
I’m all lush woman
,
bury yourself here
, but had the disapproving tartness of a skinny puritan. She looked good until she opened her mouth and then the illusion was shattered. No way was he asking her for any more help.

He’d made a pact with himself nine months ago that he was never asking another woman for anything, and right up until last night he’d honored it. Now it seemed the gods were taunting his recent success in the cruelest of ways.

He rubbed his cheek. He needed a plan.

He glanced down at his bare legs. Step 1. Put on his pants. Step 2. Check the bathroom for ibuprofen. Step 3. Hitch a ride into Whitetail.

He hated that step one was probably going to be the hardest thing on the list.

* * *

The low hum of an engine behind him made Ben smile with hope and he turned and stuck out his thumb. The car came to a halt and the driver wound down the window. Ben’s hopes immediately turned to dust.

“You’re hitchhiking?” Amy said, staring at him incredulously. “I thought you were back at the house fast asleep.”

Her accusatory words provided the only heat in the chilly morning air. Ben couldn’t believe that the only car to pass by on this quiet road had to belong to the one person he didn’t want to see.

He kept walking. “You’re up early for someone on vacation.”

She drove slowly alongside him. “I’m on my way to buy breakfast and then I was going to drive you to the hospital.” She sounded cross that he hadn’t fallen in adroitly with her plans.

“I wasn’t hungry.” His stomach growled in mocking protest and the drugs he’d taken were making him feel nauseous.

“Get in the car.”

“Given what happened last night, I think it’s safer if I walk.”

Guilt streaked across her face. “Please get in the car before you freeze.”

He’d stuck his good arm into his jacket and pulled the right side over his shoulder but he couldn’t do it up so the cold was eating easily through his thin T-shirt. Still, was being warm really worth getting into the car with her? He glanced down the road, willing some traffic to appear but it was empty in both directions.

You didn’t ask her.
She offered.

He knew it was semantics but with an hour’s walk ahead of him, he’d take it. He slid into the seat and for the first time noticed what she was wearing. Again, it screamed corporate office wear but this time it wasn’t crushed and soiled. From what he’d seen of Whitetail, and when he added in the fact she was visiting her family’s vacation house, her clothes seemed very out of place. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code for the E.R.”

A flicker of what may have been awkwardness crossed her rosy cheeks, although knowing Amy, it was probably disapproval. She flicked a look at his unkempt appearance and quickly looked away. “One of us has to look presentable.”

Granted, he looked a wreck but she was partly to blame for his lack of a shower and a shave, and he was on vacation so he had no need of a suit. Come to think of it, he rarely had need of a suit. His work clothes back in Australia had only involved a jacket and tie when he was visiting the head office, but he’d been raised right and he knew all about dressing in appropriate clothing to fit the occasion.

Perhaps it was Amy’s scratchy and uptight demeanor but he had the overwhelming need to press her buttons. “Most women—” he ignored the thought of Lexie, “—are more interested in getting my clothes off me than admiring them on me.” He grinned at her. “You’d know all about that.”

Her sharp intake of breath sounded loud in the confines of the car and her knuckles whitened on the wheel. Predictably, she pursed her lovely lips. “I should have let you sweat under the quilt in those damn leather pants.”

He laughed and settled back into his seat, happy to let the rest of the trip pass in relative silence listening to the local radio. Apparently it was time to harvest soybeans.

Amy delivered him to the outside of the E.R. The moment he got out of her car, she drove off without a backward glance, which suited him perfectly. He was therefore completely surprised, some thirty minutes later, when he came back from being x-rayed to find her in the waiting area with coffee and doughnuts.

“Breakfast,” she said without preamble as she placed coffee on the table in front of him with some sugar packets and a stirring stick on the cup’s lid. “Any news?”

“They’re studying the film now.” He usually ate muesli and fruit for breakfast and avoided all the sweet, sugary offerings, but with hunger eating through his stomach lining, he bit greedily into an iced doughnut. The sugar rush hit him with addictive vigor.

She sipped her coffee but her gaze kept flicking between the door and his chest. Finally she said, “What’s a drop bear?”

He stifled the desire to smile. He’d won the T-shirt as part of an advertising promotion for Australia’s most popular rum and every time he wore it someone asked him the same question. “They’re related to the koala.”

Her face lit up and her dimples danced. “Koala bears always look so cute in photos. Why do you have to beware of drop bears?”

He kept his voice serious. “Because they’re Australia’s most dangerous and vicious marsupial.”

As her eyes became gray pools of surprise, he warmed to his tall tale, loving how whenever he spun this yarn to the Americans he met, they always believed him. “They kill their prey by dropping out of trees and landing on them before mauling them to death.”

She shuddered. “Can they kill humans?”

“There’s never been a human death reported. Not yet anyway, but they give a really nasty bite. I reckon if your immune system was weak, the venom could take you out. Bush walkers have to be really careful.”

Her cheeks pinked up with horror. “I had no idea.”

“And that’s the problem,” he nodded gravely, trying not to laugh. “Australia’s a dangerous place and tourists die every single year.”

He felt a smile trying to break across his face and he dropped his head to hide it. Reaching toward the table, he concentrated on trying to pop the lid off the coffee with one hand so he could add the sugar.

“Mr. Armytage, good news,” the doctor said, reappearing and holding up the X-ray. “No broken bones so you’re good to go. Be sure to do those exercises we discussed to strengthen the surrounding muscles.”

“Will do,” Ben said. “How long until I can ride my bike?”

The doctor signed his chart. “I’d give it four weeks.”

“Four weeks?” He heard his voice sounding overly loud in the quiet waiting area but he couldn’t believe he was going to be stuck in this town for twenty-eight days. “Surely it won’t be that long?”

The doctor looked skeptical. “You must avoid anything strenuous that risks popping your shoulder out again.” Without skipping a beat, he turned to Amy. “He’s going to be sore for a few days so no matter what he says, he must wear the sling. Don’t let him do anything arduous with that arm.”

“I doubt he’ll listen to me,” Amy said, sounding like the injured party. “He isn’t very good at doing what he’s told. I wanted him to come to the hospital last night.”

“No need to be a hero, Ben,” the doctor said kindly. “Now’s the time to sit back and let this lovely young woman pamper you.”

Amy made a choking sound.

“I don’t need pampering,” Ben spluttered, horrified at the thought. He jerked at the recalcitrant coffee lid. Brown liquid spilled, burning the back of his hand and streaming across the table. “Damn it.”

The doctor raised one brow. “Ben, you can’t even get the lid off of your coffee so how are you planning on showering, dressing and cooking?”

“I’ll...” But he came up blank. He couldn’t sleep in the tent because he couldn’t pitch it and he couldn’t even lie down flat yet without it hurting like hell. He couldn’t ride his bike or drive a car and he’d be hard-pressed to open a can of beans. Jeez, he’d even avoided a shower this morning because he didn’t want to ask Amy for help to take his clothes off. God, he really didn’t have a choice.

“Thought so,” the doctor said, giving Ben a man-to-man wink. “I say enjoy being taken care of while you can.”

“We’re not really together,” Amy heard herself squeak, forcing the words out against a tight throat. Every part of her was aghast at where this was conversation was irrevocably heading. “And I’m on vacation so...”

Her voice trailed off as the doctor glared at her, making her feel like a disobedient child. His expression reminded her of her father’s reaction when she’d done something he disapproved of or when she hadn’t done something he believed she should have.

“You were enjoying being together last night when he slammed into the doorjamb, weren’t you?” he asked, folding his arms across his white coat.

Doorjamb?
She blinked. Why hadn’t Ben told him that she’d been the one to hit him with a flashlight? She caught Ben’s eye and he tilted his head as if to say,
just agree.
“Ah, I guess.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” the doctor said. “These things happen but as I told Ben, his arm’s not going to be strong enough for sex up against a wall for quite some time.”

She stared slack-jawed at the doctor, but he kept right on talking.

“Casual sex is all very well but we have to take responsibility for our actions. You were both involved in this accident and this isn’t Chicago or New York,” he said, giving her business suit a scorching look. “We’re not self-centered out here in the country and we look after each other. You’re on vacation so you have the time to take care of Ben and he’s a foreigner who needs your help. Think of it as your contribution to international community service.”

Up against all of that, she had nothing. As much as she hated it, she’d just got served.

* * *

Somehow, Amy managed to hold on to her temper until she and Ben were out on the street and then a mixture of incredulousness and anger burst out of her. “You told the doctor we had sex?”

Ben’s good shoulder rose and fell. “He asked me how I injured my shoulder. Did you really want me to tell him I was attacked by you? That would have meant he’d have called the police and they’d start asking a lot of awkward questions. Besides, I thought lawyers avoided scandal like cats avoid swimming.”

Scandal.
She thought about what Jonathon had said to her yesterday before he’d fired her and she shivered. “Yes, but—”

“You’re welcome.” The facets of green in his eyes sparkled. “Personally, I thought it was a pretty inventive story.”

A picture formed in her head—one of her having her legs wrapped around his waist and being held up against a wall by his strong and work-toned arms. Her knees wobbled.

She locked them hard. “Of course you thought it was a good idea. It sounded so much more macho than ‘a girl hit me.’”

His leather jacket squared up on his left side and his T-shirt stretched even more tightly across his chest. He looked one hundred percent raw male and as grumpy as hell. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll go back and ask them to amend the records.”

No.
She couldn’t risk any hint of impropriety outside of her career given what had just happened inside it. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate that you didn’t tell them what really happened even if it means I can never go to the Whitetail E.R.”

“Why not?”

“I’d die of embarrassment. I’ll be known as the overweight woman who broke your shoulder.”

He frowned. “You’re not overweight.”

Yeah
,
right.
You’ve seen me naked and you said I’m not your type.

“Did it ever occur to you, Amy, that perhaps the staff were impressed by what we did?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Her hands shot out in front of her as every lawyerly instinct craved the facts. God, they were talking about fictitious sex, the sort of in-the-moment sex she’d never experienced once in her life, and yet she had crazy sensations dancing between her thighs.

He shot her a withering look. “Next time you do something stupid and I have to make up a story to save your butt, I’ll be certain it involves you being uptight and puritanical. Hell, I won’t even have to lie.”

I’m not uptight
, she wanted yell. She wanted to be anywhere but here arguing with the most frustrating guy she’d ever met. The only companionable conversation they’d had was when he was talking about drop bears. She made a mental note to talk to him about Australia as much as possible.

“Look,” she said, appealing for a truce. “I think we’re both agreed that we don’t have to like each other, but we do have to get by until you’re able to ride that god-awful noisy motorcycle out of here. Then we never have to see each other again.”

“You won’t get an argument from me on that.”

“Well, that would be a first.”

He smiled and just as she’d predicted last night, deep creases scored his thickening stubble and then raced to his eyes. Even unshaven and unwashed, he radiated a charisma that made her feel out of control and equally inexperienced. She hated that. She’d spent years fighting these sort feelings and she refused to allow him or anyone else to make her feel this way. Her life was ordered, planned and goal-oriented.

Right now your entire life is way out of control and all your plans are shredded.

No.
It.
Is.
Not.
Taking charge, she pulled a pen and notebook from her purse. “I think we need to set some ground rules.”