Best of Three (Counting on Love) (6 page)

“A hot young woman dressed like
that
but using a cane is not exactly inconspicuous, Emma.”

She huffed out a breath. “I tweaked my hip in class this morning,” she said. “I don’t usually use the cane unless I’m walking long distances. But it’s been hurting today.”

He stood on the sidewalk staring at the woman who stirred up more feelings than any woman had in a very long time. She was usually making him grit his teeth because he was trying
not
to notice her or react to her when he did notice. She also made him grit his teeth when she didn’t react the way he wanted her to. But there were moments since her accident where he felt something new—if he didn’t know better he’d say it was protective.

He’d been there the night she and her sisters had been in the car accident. Their whole group of friends and all of Emma’s sisters had been together earlier that evening. Nate and Cody had needed to pull their friends Conner and Shane apart after an argument and take them home, so they’d split up. The girls had stayed behind at the bar.

When Nate had gotten the call about the accident and that Emma was going into surgery, he’d gone directly to the hospital like everyone else. But where everyone else congregated in the waiting room, Nate had headed straight for the OR. He’d taken over her case and had done the surgery he’d performed a hundred times before almost on autopilot, holding back his emotions and not letting the realization that it was Emma on his table sink in until he’d closed her up.

As they’d wheeled her to recovery, he’d gone to the showers and let the sweating and shaking take over.

Her injury had been severe. He’d placed a lot of pins to hold her together. And he was damned good at his job.

But he couldn’t stand the idea that the sassy, mischievous, vivacious woman he’d known and been resisting could be vulnerable—in any way. Watching her sweat through rehab had sucked too. Fortunately, she’d bitched and moaned and he’d been able to tease her and push her. That had saved his sanity as much as it had hers.

Like now. Her hip hurt. She wasn’t fully recovered. No matter how much he’d love to tell them both that it was no big deal, it still jabbed him in the chest to think that he couldn’t snap his fingers and command her to be better.

The common mantra to patients was “it takes time” and “keep up with the rehab”. The poor physical therapists had to deal with the whining and pep talks.

Except that Emma was right here. In front of him, looking fine and sounding fine and being…not quite fine. And he wanted her to be fine. More than fine.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked her, putting a touch of exasperation in his tone.

He knew that he drove her crazy. Of course he knew that. And he’d noticed that no one could get thirty more reps of her exercises out of her as easily as he could, so he’d visited her rehab sessions more often than he did with any other patient.

She looked up at him. Slowly her mouth curled. “Over your shoulder with my ass in the air or Scarlett-O’Hara style?”

Both images made him think about climbing the stairs in his house to his bedroom.

“How about piggy back?”

“Oh, I get it. You want my legs wrapped around you. You don’t have to pretend to be concerned. Just ask.”

And there was the feistiness he hated—and couldn’t seem to get enough of. Damned right he wanted her legs wrapped around him.

“Just ask—that’s all a guy needs to do, huh? No romance needed? No sweet talk?”

She smiled. “I said that’s all
you
need to do.”

He didn’t respond to that. That was the best approach. That was almost always the best approach when it came to him and Emma. It was not the one he always used, but it was almost always the best one.

He took the cane from her fingers and tossed it into the backseat of the truck. “Let’s go.”

She opened her mouth to say something and he held out his elbow. “I’ll help.”

She closed her mouth, looked from his arm to his eyes. Then she stepped close, looped her arm through his, leaned into him slightly, and they headed for the theater.

It cost sixty bucks each to get them in, and when he balked at reaching for his wallet, Emma elbowed him in the side.

He handed over the cash, let the twenty-something—who was definitely pulling off the bored look—loop a bright blue band around his wrist and then followed Emma through the doors, up the three steps and through a set of interior double doors.

As they stepped into the dark on the other side of the doors, he felt Emma’s hand slip into his. One of the two big guys on either side said, “Bracelets.”

Emma lifted their joined hands, showing off the glow-in-the-dark blue bands.

“Have fun.”

The guy stepped back to let Emma by, but Nate didn’t miss the way both guys checked her out. The one closest to him met Nate’s gaze and gave him a nod.

Nate felt a stupid surge of
hell yeah she’s with me
.

She wasn’t. Still, it didn’t feel
bad
knowing those guys thought so.

The deep bump of the bass grew as they walked down a short hallway lit by soft sconces on the walls until they came to yet another set of doors.

“You ready?” Emma asked, her hand still in his.

“I’ve gotta see what’s worth sixty bucks a head,” Nate said.

She laughed and pulled the tall, heavy door open.

The noise hit him first. His eyes were already accustomed to the dark, so he could see that the room was about the size of a small gymnasium, with the same high ceiling and tall arched windows about three-fourths of the way up the walls. The windows were covered with black drapes at the moment, and an elaborate lighting set hung from the ceiling in front of them, pointing at the stage on the opposite end of the room, spotlighting the band. There was also a second floor with a balcony that ran the length of three of the walls. People stood, leaning on the railing, watching the band and the people below them. There were no chairs, no bleachers, no theater seats on either level. The main room had a big, hardwood floor and the crowd stood, dancing, singing, and shouting to be heard over the music.

They moved fully into the room, Emma still by his side, and as he took in the details of the crowd, he admitted she was right. He definitely didn’t fit in.

There was a mix of ages and styles—some in blue jeans and T-shirts, some in black leather. He saw a cluster of girls that couldn’t have been more than fourteen and a group of guys and girls who were holding beers and hard lemonades. As they moved further into the crowd, Nate noticed that he wasn’t the only thirty-something in attendance. There were a few even older, drinking and seemingly enjoying the music.

Emma stopped about a third of the way across the floor and turned to him. She had to get her mouth near his ear to be heard, but his body didn’t care
why
she was pressed up against him. Without thinking, he moved his hand to her butt and leaned in so he could hear her. And smell her. And brush his lips very lightly over the skin of her neck. It would seem accidental to her, but getting even a small taste was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

She shivered and he smiled a smug smile that she, thankfully, couldn’t see.

“We should go up to the balcony. We can see better from there.”

God, she smelled good.

“Fine. I’m with you,” he said.

It took her a moment to step back and when she did, she met his eyes and licked her lips again.

He simply waited for her to move.

Finally, she turned and started for what he assumed to be the stairs to the balcony. There was a moment’s reprieve from the noise as they stepped out of the main room into the stairwell and climbed, but neither of them said anything. Emma kept hold of his hand. He followed, unable to keep from noticing that she looked as great from behind as she did from the front, especially with the way the soft knit of her skirt molded to her curves.

They stepped out onto the second level after only sixteen steps. The second floor had other rooms as well, likely offices by the looks of them, but the huge arched doorway that led to the balcony was immediately to their left.

“Over there.” She pointed to a space at the railing and started in that direction. She dropped his hand as she wove through the crowd but he kept his gaze on her.

She was halfway across the balcony when a guy turned suddenly and caught her shoulder with his elbow. His drink sloshed over the edge of his glass and he scowled at her, but Emma didn’t notice as she was trying to catch her balance on her stupid high heels. Nate pushed around the guy in front of him and grabbed her, keeping her upright with one hand on her upper arm and one on her low back. With a sigh, he turned and steered her three steps until her back was against the balcony railing.

“You’re an incident waiting to happen, aren’t you?” he asked near her ear because of the noise level.

“Don’t you mean accident?” she asked.

He pulled in a deep breath of her scent before saying, “Accidents are unintentional. And Emma, you are nothing if not intentional.”

“You like women who are more subtle?”

“All women are more subtle than you,” he told her.

“Meaning?”

The lighting up here was better than down on the floor and standing this close, he could see her face clearly. She braced her hands behind her on the railing and watched him carefully, like she was very interested in his answer.

“Meaning you say what you think, do what you want, and don’t think more than two minutes into the future when it comes to consequences.”

“Seems that you’ve given that—
me
—a lot of thought.”

He chuckled. “I think everyone knows that about you.”

“But I don’t know many people who are so
annoyed
by it.”

He looked at her for a long moment, debating whether to end the conversation there or to go ahead with it.

But he
was
annoyed by it. He was turned on by and drawn to her sassy nature. That who-cares-I’ll-deal-with-the-fallout-later thing she did. He was jealous of it, honestly, and wanted it for himself.

She owned her own business, but it was a small yoga and exercise studio that’s hours of operation revolved entirely around how Emma felt. She could stay out late and party because she didn’t have classes starting until ten a.m. and that was only Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

He had a kid, a business and a surgery schedule. Surgery. He cut people open for a living. He couldn’t say “fuck it” and do two more shots at the bar whenever he felt like it.

“Why do you care if I’m annoyed by it?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’d like to evoke an emotion other than irritation in you.”

Oh, if she only knew.

“You annoy other people too,” he pointed out.

She nodded. “I know. But I guess I don’t want them to feel anything else for me.”

He blinked at her. This was beyond stupid. This was why they didn’t have more conversations alone.

“Enough.” He turned her so her belly was against the railing and caged her in by placing his hands on the railing on either side of her. “Look for Michael and Shannon.”

They stood like that, not moving, scanning the crowd for a few minutes. Eventually, she shifted off of her right leg, leaning onto her left.

He resisted the urge to put his hand on her hip, to rub it or…something. “You’re that sore?”

“Stiff.”

He barely heard her over the music and crowd. He put his mouth close to her ear. “What were you doing this morning that hurt it?”

She turned her face so her mouth was closer to his. “Trying some advanced yoga poses.”

“You need to be careful not to push too fast.” He had no problem with yoga. Emma’s physical condition prior to the accident and surgery had given her the potential for full recovery. But some things simply took time.

“I’d be happy to show you what I was trying and you can tell me if it’s too much.”

There was something in her voice, even with the music thumping and the crowd noise rumbling around them that made his body react. He was sure Emma demonstrating
any
yoga poses would be too much—of something.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Chicken.”

Very likely.

They didn’t try to talk for a couple of minutes. Then he felt compelled to say, “It’s normal, you know. To still be stiff and sore at times. And you’re trying high level stuff.” It was normal. And it was good for him to remember that too. He hadn’t failed her. He’d put her back together and had done a hell of a job. She was healing. She was getting better. She was going to be fine.

He saw dozens of people every week in her same—and worse—condition. Their lingering aches and pains never bothered him.

But it bugged the hell out of him to think of Emma hurting.

“I know that, Nate.” She sounded frustrated. “That doesn’t make it not hurt. You say that to me all the time, and I’ll bet you say it fifty times a day to other people. And then you don’t see us for six weeks and by then it
is
better and you feel all great about yourself and what you did. But living with it day to day is different. So…shut up, okay?”