All Fired Up (Kate Meader) (25 page)

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“You need to ice it and keep it immobilized,” Doctor Max said as he walked Shane back to the sidelines. “Can someone help you get home?”

“Lili can take him,” Jack said behind them. “Where’s your stuff?”

Shane pointed to where he’d parked his bike and stashed his tracksuit and backpack.

“Jack Kilroy, do not even think about riding that bike,” Lili said. “You don’t know how.”

“Sure, I do. Been taking out Tad’s Harley for spins every now and then.” He ran a muddy finger along her jaw. “And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been doing it as well after I told you I didn’t approve.”

Lili looked affectionately bored, and then shot Shane a sly smile.

Shane’s heart turned over, revealing its underbelly. Lately, he had realized he had a major problem, apart from the Cara situation. Not only did Shane like his brother, but he was foolishly letting his mind wander to a future with the whole stinking lot of them.

More than once, Lili and Jules stopped by with Evan for family meal at Sarriette, and Shane had to tamp down his excitement at being part of something bigger than himself. Lili continued to invite him over to her parents’, though he’d made his excuses. There was something off about breaking bread with the in-laws who hadn’t a clue about his true relationship with Cara.

Of course, a future that involved Cara’s family but not Cara was a place his mind didn’t want to visit.

Doctor Max was still talking. “It’ll be a couple of weeks of pain. Best to check in with your doctor on Monday. I’ll write you a script for ibuprofen—the good stuff, not the drug store candy.”

“Thanks.” The pain was fading to a dull ache now so maybe he wouldn’t need the pills or the doctor. Doctors had never been on his Christmas card list.

“How’re you feeling?”

He turned to find a chalky-faced Cara, her jeans mud blotched. Those dirty knees cheered the hell out of him. “I’ll live, but it might be a while before I dance again.”

That pulled a smile from her. A luminous one that tuned up his pain with the realization that he couldn’t have her. It was good to be reminded of it.

“Think I might need to skip work tonight, but I’ll call Mona and make sure she’s good to go,” Shane said to Jack, who had returned with his backpack. He fished for the key to the bike and handed it over.

“Take all the time you need.” A muscle twitched in Jack’s jaw. “That Napier was bang out of order.”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” Cara said quickly, and Shane tried not to get too annoyed that she was defending that piece of crap.

“Whatever, it was a dick move.” Jack opened the door to his SUV and handed the keys off to Lili.

“I’ll drive him,” Cara said, taking his backpack from Lili. Three sets of eyes fell on her, and she flushed to the roots of her golden hair. “He lives across the hall. It’s on my way.”

“Cara, he’s going to need help,” Lili said, darting a sharp look at Jack.

“No, I won’t,” Shane muttered to no one in particular.

“You will,” Jack said. “You’re not going to be able to take that shirt off without assistance.”

“I’m not completely useless. Come on, Shane,” Cara said, pulling his bad arm.

He let out a growl as a hot poker of pain streaked through every muscle and tendon.

“Oh, sorry,” Cara said.

“Are you sure?” Lili looked at her sister, concern etched on her face.

“I can do it,” Cara replied emphatically.

Shane tried to grasp the undertone here but honestly, he was in so much pain that he didn’t care who drove him.

Fifteen minutes later, they were home after a quick pit stop to pick up drugs and an unwinnable argument about the necessity for a sling. (I don’t need it. Yes, you do. Repeat.) He hovered outside his door.

“Thanks for the lift. I just need my clothes.” He gestured to his backpack clenched in her hands.

“I’m going to clean you up.”

“I’m fine. I can take it from here.” Irritation mounted in his throat. He felt stupid and embarrassed and not a little annoyed at the lot of them because he liked them and they were being kind.

“Shane, you go in. I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned away to her own door.

In the bathroom mirror, he assessed the damage. A goose egg that still had some growing to do shaded his right eye. At least it had stopped bleeding. The skin over his ribs—what he realized now with every tortured breath were likely cracked ribs—felt tight and raw like it had been scrubbed with a wire brush. Just the mere idea of taking off his shirt sent him into a paroxysm of pain. After an embarrassing struggle with the childproof lids of the prescription meds, he knocked back a couple of pain pills.

The bathroom door nudged open a couple of inches and Vegas, that treacherous little bastard, poked his head around the door. Or a very different version of Vegas. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the cat looked sleek and groomed and, fuck almighty, pretty. Around his neck, a pink—
pink!
—leather collar encrusted with sparkling jewels pronounced him the newest member of the sissy-kitty club.

Sucking in an agonizing breath, Shane scooped up the scrawny bag of bones with his good arm. “Where’d you come from and what did they do to you?”

“I thought the patient could do with a visitor. Rupert’s missed you.” At the sound of Cara’s voice, the disloyal bundle made a fuss to be free.

“Who’s Rupert?”

“Roo for short.” She shot a sly glance at the cat, now playing figure eights with her bare legs. She had swapped out the needs-laundering jeans for a pair of skimpy shorts that revealed almost every sexy inch of her golden thighs. Clearly trying to send him to an early grave.

He scooted his mind back a step. “Roo?”

A soft tickle of a laugh escaped her lips. “Just kidding, Potato Head, but I sure had you going.”

She was making jokes now? He looked down at Rupert-slash-Vegas for an explanation. Shane had heard of this. Animal therapy for people who needed to lighten up. Maybe a couple of days with a fluffy critter had removed that stick up her very fine arse.

She picked up Vegas and stroked him. “The cat beautician tried her best to work with the rough patches. Came out well, didn’t he?”

He grunted noncommittally. Something had most definitely changed. She seemed easier, lighter, and while he liked edgy could-lose-the-plot-any-minute Cara, he also loved this side of her. His wife was a very complicated woman and that turned him on big time.

The image of a sheaf of annulment papers sitting on his dresser flashed through his brain.

Yep, still turned on.

“Sit,” she said, dropping the cat to the floor. He did. So did the cat.

She grabbed a face cloth and soaked it in the sink. Starting with his forehead, she wiped gently at the mud and grime, also wiping away any hopes he had of pushing her from his thoughts. Methodically, she worked on his exposed skin above the neckline of his shirt, before kneeling to remove his boots and socks.

The sight of her bent in supplication sent his body into a predictable turn of events. Zero to rock hard in two seconds flat. Must be some sort of record. The soft, wet warmth of the washcloth felt marvelous on his calf, though he could get just as clean in the shower. Cleaner. Because if she continued in this vein, the whole situation was heading for filthy.

“So that guy who decked me said he knew you. Charity work or something.”

“Mason’s mother is the woman I told you about, the business I want to get for the restaurant. I also do some volunteer work with her foundation.”

“What kind of volunteer work?”

Color stole up her neck. “I help organize some of their fund-raisers. Charity runs. Other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“Just reading to kids at the children’s hospital,” she said softly, her gaze no longer meeting his.

Well, well, well, you could have knocked him over with a pastry brush. Just when he thought he had this woman figured out she threw him another curveball. What should he say to that?
Well done, you?

Instead he said the doucheiest thing he could think of.

“That Napier bloke wants to fuck you.”

She didn’t even break her rhythm. “He said that?”

“Pretty much. Apparently he has friends who want to fuck you, too.”

“Maybe he was just thinking of a way to distract you so you’d lose your focus on the game.”

The pain in his shoulder turned sharp with the knowledge that Cara was right. That shit head had read Shane’s interest in Cara and played him like a fiddle.

Feeling like more of an idiot by the minute, he asked, “So he’s not your type then?”

“God, no. The man probably calls his own name when he comes.”

That pulled a deep laugh from him and he sucked up the pain because it was worth it. Cara could be so serious but when she said something outrageous it was usually the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

The warm cloth over his thigh sent sensuous shivers through his body. He stilled her hand, clamping down on his tongue at the stab of pain that rocketed through him. If she went any farther he was going to do something stupid, like wrestle her to the floor and break a couple more ribs in the process. “Cara, you don’t have to do this. If you help me with my shirt, I can take a shower.”

Looking up, her eyes read soft and pure, yet determined. She wiped his knee with the warm, wet cloth, and his thigh clenched. His imagination journeyed to her losing the scrap and moving her fingers as high as they would go. His dick stiffened in readiness for the hand…that dropped back to his calf.

Silence stretched between them while he searched for something to say. It had been nowhere near this difficult before they went sheet diving.

“What was all that about with Jack and Lili?”

She halted her ministrations. “All what?”

“They were making weird faces like mimes when you volunteered to take me home.”

“I’m not really nursemaid material. They were probably worried I was going to dislocate your other shoulder getting you here.”

“Seems a bit extreme.”

She got up to start the shower and though it hurt to turn, he did it anyway because he was a man and what felt like a couple of cracked ribs wasn’t going to stop him ogling her peachy behind.

“They have good reasons,” she said. “I haven’t been around much when people need me.”

“What people?” He practically growled the words.

“My mother. She got sick a couple of years back and I ran for cover. Lili stepped up, so she’s understandably suspicious of my ability to take care of anyone other than myself.” The bitterness in her voice surprised him.

“You seem to be doing a good job so far with me.”

Ignoring that, she pulled off her sweater, revealing a white, stretchy top with straps that were thinner than the lilac bra cupping her perfect breasts.

“So you’re feeling better?” she asked.

He started laughing, though it hurt like a heart attack because the timing of her question was so perfect.
It’s gettin’ hot in here. Oops, there goes my sweater. You feelin’ better now, baby?

She made one of those
you’re incorrigible
noises. “I didn’t mean that, perv.”

“Yeah, but that’s where my mind went. I’d feel better if you took that skimpy top off. Do the sexy-nurse bit right.”

She traced a lazy finger along his jaw. “This isn’t happening, Shane.”

He couldn’t help dropping his gaze to his lap. “Oh, I beg to differ, gorgeous.”

Her laugh bounced off the tile, full and musical. That sweet, sexy scent she wore amplified in the heat from her body and the room. He toyed with the idea of pulling her hair out of its coil or palming the swell of her breast fighting for containment in that white top, but his hands were wet and he had already dirtied up her jeans. Really, he just wanted to get her wet in every place wetness felt good.

“This isn’t happening,” she repeated as she inclined her head closer. She moistened her lips, lips that were so close to his mouth he could tip forward and—

Get a wet washcloth in the face. She was a little rough, too, but she made up for it by combing her fingers through his steam-dampened hair, setting his scalp on fire with that gentlest of caresses. The painkillers were doing their job, dulling his ache to a low-grade throb. A throbbing of a much higher intensity was making itself known farther down, a burning ball of pressure that unfurled and flooded his groin.

He felt her breath like a whisper on his neck as she lifted his muddy shirt at the hem.

“If we get it off your good side first, it’ll probably be easier.”

They managed to pull it off with a minimum of fuss and less pain than he expected. Cue the shrieking.

“Shane, this is awful!”

A sidelong glance in the mirror revealed dark red splotches across his torso, though the burn scar that covered his right side had these new brands beat in the ugly stakes.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, he-man. You need to see a doctor.”

“No doctors.” The idea of sitting in the ER chilled him to the marrow. He had already wasted too much of his childhood in hospital waiting rooms, lying about why he was there. Children are marvelously adept at keeping secrets, and Shane had honed that skill into an Olympic sport.