Straight from the Heart (2 page)

“Well,” he said, giving her a little smile, “I was certainly impressed.”

She merely stared at him. One thing hadn’t changed in seven years—the lady still had a look that could freeze the Equator.

Jace took a deep breath and forged onward. “That was why I asked Dr. Cornish if you could be my therapist for this knee business.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. Cooper,” she said in her most businesslike tone, ignoring the sudden jump her heart rate had taken at his rogue’s smile. “As director of the department, I have a great many administrative duties. My patient load is restricted to very special cases. I can assure you, you don’t qualify.”

Dr. Cornish leaned forward and offered Jace a lemon drop from the dish on Rebecca’s desk. He took one himself and popped it into his mouth, then directed his steady brown gaze at the recalcitrant therapist. “I’m certain we can arrange something.”

“And I’m certain we can’t,” Rebecca said. “I hope Mr. Cooper can understand that I have responsibilities I can’t simply walk away from.”

Jace barely managed to keep from wincing. Something else hadn’t changed in seven years—the lady still had a tongue that could draw blood. At least she wasn’t indifferent to him. He knew there was a fine line between anger and passion. If she still harbored one toward him, maybe she harbored the other as well. He was determined to find out one way or the other.

Just as Dr. Cornish opened his mouth to argue, the hospital page summoned him to the front desk. He hustled out of the office. Rebecca thought he must have taken all the air with him. She was suddenly alone with Jace the Ace, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Jace lifted a manila folder thick with medical records and held it out toward her. “Will you at least take a look at my file?”

Something in his expression tugged at her. She denied the feeling but went on looking at him. It wasn’t quite the face she remembered. At twenty-three he had been almost too handsome. He’d possessed the golden-boy looks to go along with his image. Now his face was a testimony to hard living. Age and experience had etched lines here and there. He had the same aquiline nose, the same stubborn chin and sensuously sculpted mouth, but the youthful bloom had faded, leaving him looking harder, more dangerous. Then there were his old-looking eyes. They seemed a little sad, a little tired.

Rebecca felt her resolve sway but told herself she was only giving in to him out of normal professional courtesy. She would look at his file and refer him to one of her other therapists, if she couldn’t get rid of him altogether.

She reached out for the file. Their fingertips brushed. Rebecca jerked back as if she’d just grabbed hold of an electric cattle prod. The file dropped to the floor and sent papers scattering. She swore under her breath as she stooped to scoop them up.

What was the matter with her? Jace Cooper had given up his right to have any effect on her long ago. She wanted to demonstrate that to him with her coolness. So far she’d managed to dump hardware all over the floor of the exercise room, and now she’d carpeted her office with his medical records. So much for being cool.

“Need any help?” Jace asked as he bent over, his face only inches from hers.

She stared, suddenly mesmerized by his beautifully shaped mouth. She didn’t remember his having that small scar angling away from his upper lip, but she could remember with startling clarity how that lip had tasted, how it had tempted her and teased her, how it had felt against her mouth, against her skin. Her breath grew short as her breasts grew heavy.

“No,” she said, a jagged edge of panic inching into her voice. She jerked away from him and slammed her head into the edge of her desk. “Ouch!”

Rubbing the sore spot with one hand, she clumsily scraped up the last of the papers. Cradling the pile in the crook of one arm, she retreated to the chair behind her desk. Dammit, she said to herself, if he didn’t leave soon, she was going to end up with a concussion.

Jace propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his hand across his mouth to hide his smile. He knew for a fact that Rebecca would not appreciate him seeing humor in the situation.

He remained quiet for a moment as he watched her. He could almost see her willing her composure back into place as she read over his file, her brilliant green eyes framed by a pair of large black-rimmed reading glasses. Even seven years before, she had worn a mantle of self-possession the way a queen would wear an ermine-trimmed cloak. The only trouble had been that Rebecca’s cloak had regularly slipped off one shoulder. She had never managed to be quite as aloof as she had wanted to be. She’d had too much warmth in her, too much caring to pull off the ice princess role. Then, too, there had been her penchant for dropping things and bumping into things when she got nervous. He still found that little quirk endearing.

It was damn good to see her again. The feeling was so strong, it almost startled him. Over the years he had never quite forgotten her, but it had been only since the accident that her image had become so clear in his mind. During his stay in the hospital he had begun to think of her often, to wonder what had become of her, to wonder if she ever thought of him.

In those weeks a lot of things had come into focus for him—the mistakes he’d made, the opportunities he had squandered, the precious treasure he’d once held in his hands and then casually tossed aside. The time had come to set some of those indiscretions to rights. Rebecca Bradshaw was where he needed to start.

He wanted to rebuild their relationship from the ground up. He needed to show her she could give her heart to him without fear of his breaking it again. Where the relationship would ultimately go, he wasn’t certain. Why it was so important to him it kept him awake at night, he couldn’t quite say. He only knew he had to connect his life to hers once again in a deep and basic way.

As she turned one page of his file over and studied the next, Jace studied her. Seven years ago she had been a lovely girl, tall and willowy with a sense of fragility lying just under the surface, a vulnerability she hadn’t quite been able to hide from him with her serious, studious expression. She had matured into a beautiful woman. A shock of black bangs was brushed up off her forehead, adding length to her rectangular face. Artfully applied makeup subtly emphasized her high cheekbones and the slight hollows beneath them.

A coat of sheer gloss drew his gaze to her mouth. It looked every bit as soft as he remembered, every bit as alluring. It was a very French mouth, something she had inherited from her mother. Her lips often fell into a sultry pout that was not in the least affected but was perfectly natural and incredibly sexy. He could remember the taste of that mouth, the texture, the way it had whispered his name in passion.

As arousal began to settle blood in his groin, Jace cleared his throat and asked, “How’s your father?”

Rebecca didn’t look up even though she wasn’t comprehending a bit of what she was staring at. “He’s fine.”

“And your sister—ah—Ellen, right?”

She hesitated, her fingers automatically clenching and unclenching the pen she held in her left hand. “Fine.” At least she hadn’t heard any differently.

“I’ve missed you,” Jace said, surprising himself. Where had that come from? Not that it mattered. Rebecca wasn’t about to believe it.

“Right,” she said, covering her vulnerability with a derisive laugh. “I read that between the lines in all those letters you never wrote me.”

Jace sucked in a long breath between his teeth and let it out slowly, wishing he had a cigarette.

With an effort Rebecca pushed all disturbing thoughts aside and forced herself to concentrate on her job. Her highly efficient, highly intelligent brain absorbed and processed the technical terms on the page in front of her. “So this wasn’t a sports’ injury?”

“No. Car accident.” He still couldn’t say those two words without feeling a stab of guilt and remorse.

“According to this, you were receiving excellent care in Chicago. Why change horses in the middle of the stream?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said, unable to keep some of the bitterness from his voice. “The Kings’ management sent me down here. I’ll be playing with the Mavericks once I get this old hinge working again. The sooner, the better. With a little luck and a lot of hard work, I’ll get called back to Chicago before the end of the season.”

“I see.” So he was planning his great escape from the rustic provinces already, and he hadn’t even been here a day yet. Same old Jace. He was no doubt champing at the bit to get back to the bright lights and big city. Rebecca told herself she was glad. The only thing that could have been better was if he hadn’t shown up at all.

“You’re head of the department already, huh?” he commented, glancing around her orderly white-walled office. Framed diplomas and award certificates hung on the wall behind her. A thriving English ivy plant trailed over the edge of its pot and crept down the side of a black cabinet. “You’ve done well for yourself, Becca.”

“Thank you.” She ignored the twinge his nickname for her caused and tried to focus on the notes his previous therapist had made.

“You cut your hair,” he said softly, mesmerized by the way the straight glossy mass swayed as she moved her head. He remembered when it had been so long, he’d had to nuzzle through the silky tresses to find her nipples. His voice dropped a note as he said, “I liked it long.”

Rebecca forced her heart down out of her throat as she tried to block out the memory of him lifting the curtain of black over her shoulder so he could kiss her breast. Why should she care whether he noticed her haircut or liked it or not? “Yes, well, you weren’t around for a consultation when I decided to cut it off.”

He let her sarcastic remark slide. “I like it. It makes you look very sophisticated.”

The comment was right on target, whether Jace realized it or not. She had parted with her long tresses just after Jace’s departure, partly for symbolic reasons. Idealistic, romantic girls had long hair. Practical, sophisticated women did not.

Rebecca heaved an impatient sigh and stabbed him with a pointed look. “Thank you, Vidal Sassoon. Now, can we please get on with the evaluation of your knee?”

He shrugged affably. “Sure.”

The injury to his knee had been serious, she noted. Cartilage had been torn and ligaments had been damaged. It had been severe enough to require major surgery rather than the more common arthroscopic surgery. It wasn’t so serious an injury that Jace would be left permanently crippled, but it was severe enough to make an athlete seriously consider retirement.

“According to what I’m reading here, you’ll have your work cut out to regain the kind of mobility you need to play major league baseball. The knee will always be susceptible to heavy stress, meaning it could go on you again if you don’t maintain a rigid exercise program or if you try to use it too soon.” She looked up from the papers with serious eyes. “You’re past your prime, athletically speaking. Why don’t you retire?”

He’d heard the same question from his other doctors and therapists. He’d heard it from teammates and the team management. Apparently no one believed he was capable of coming back. They couldn’t seem to understand his need to come back, his need to prove to himself that he had what it took to work for a dream instead of sitting back and waiting to have it dropped into his lap. He’d been that kind of man once, the kind who took his good fortune for granted—but those days were over.

“I need to prove something.”

“To your adoring fans?” Rebecca questioned, arching a black brow.

“To myself,” he said quietly. “Fans aren’t very adoring once you fall out of the limelight.”

He wasn’t the old Jace Cooper. Somehow the thought unnerved Rebecca. The Jace she remembered had had a boundless belief in his own popularity. He had been a horrible patient because he had believed he was entitled to a perfect body. He hadn’t wanted to work for it. He had been the type who floated through life on a wealth of charm and talent, but charm and talent wouldn’t help him now.

“Getting that knee into shape will require a great deal of hard work, sweat, and pain,” she declared.

Jace flashed her one of his patented smiles. “No pain, no gain. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about taking me on as a patient?”

“No. Even if I could work you into my schedule, I wouldn’t. I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to work together.”

Jace pushed himself out of his chair, braced his hands on Rebecca’s desktop, and leaned over her, a keen watchfulness lighting his dark blue eyes. “Are you saying that after nearly seven years, you’re still so angry with me that you can’t be objective enough to treat me?”

Rebecca bristled. “Of course not. I don’t feel anything for you.”

“Liar,” he said with a good-natured chuckle, not the least offended by her claim. It was a load of garbage. He was willing to bet his house on that—if he hadn’t already lost it to the tax man and if he hadn’t given up gambling. “Ever since I came through the front door, you’ve been as nervous as the proverbial cat in the room full of rocking chairs. Admit it, Becca.”

She shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Why did he have to get so darn close to her? The scent of his aftershave was having some weird kind of numbing effect on her brain and respiratory system. “I admit you caught me off balance. You’re the last person I expected to see walk into my therapy department.”

“So you’re saying what’s past is past? Then why won’t you work with me?”

“I told you,” she said, dodging his gaze and trying to take in oxygen without breathing in his clean male scent. “I can’t fit you into my schedule.”

“That’s it? That’s the only reason?”

Sick of his bullying, she glared up at him. “I don’t like you. That’s reason enough.”

“I’ll bet you don’t like a lot of your patients,” Jace speculated, trying not to let the sweet allure of her perfume distract him from the conversation. “You can hardly pick and choose the kind of people who get into accidents or develop debilitating diseases. I’m sure you get your share of jerks here.”