Illegal Use of Hands

by Desiree Holt

  Setting her drink down, she picked up the menu and tried to study it.

  “Kaitlyn?” Ryan’s fingers closed over her hand but this time in a much gentler way. “Look at me. Please.”

  She lifted her gaze to his face, where now instead of the severe look he’d worn a few moments ago she saw only embarrassment and apology.

  She wet her lips. “I’m looking.”

  “I overreacted before, and I’m sorry.” A distant look came into his eyes. “I’m dealing with some personal challenges at the moment, and I can’t have my picture show up anywhere.”

  ”As long as it’s not a wife or the law, I’m good with it.” She dug up a smile. “So. Should we ask the waiter what their specialties are here?”

  By the time they’d each had a second drink and consumed most of a delicious but filling lunch, the earlier tension was all but forgotten. As they split a very fattening dessert, they were back to joking with each other and teasing, taking their time over the remnants of the meal. It was midafternoon by the time they finished eating.

  “I’m stuffed,” Kaitlyn said, rubbing her tummy.

  “Me, too.” Ryan took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So we’re all good now?”

  She gave him an answering squeeze. “We’re good.”

  “After that meal I don’t know if I’m up for a swim this afternoon. Want to walk a bit and check out the shops? We really haven’t done any of that.”

  “Sure. Maybe I can find an addition to my collection of very bad and stupid T-shirts.”

  Ryan laughed, a warm, full-throated sound. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. Most of the T-shirts I’ve ever seen would fit nicely in that category.”

  People crammed the shops and the sidewalks, so movement was slow, but they weren’t in any hurry. Aside from that one tense moment, Kaitlyn was happy to be hanging out with Ryan. It took her mind off her devastating career situation and made her think of other things.

  By the time they headed back to their cottages, they’d each bought a crazy T-shirt. Hers read, Having a beach of a time and Ryan’s bore the legend, Florida Wild Hog with a picture of the animal on it. She also bought a pair of flip-flops with a crazy colorful design on the soles.

  “My friends will think I’ve gone crazy when they see these shoes.” She held them up to let the sunlight enhance them.

  “I take it you don’t live in Florida.”

  “Nope. Not a sun, sand, and sea gal. At least for now.”

  “Oh?” He looked over at her before starting the car. “Planning to make a change in your life?”

  She shrugged, reminding herself not to let any more hints drop. “You never really know what’s around the corner for you, do you?”

  He blew out a breath. “Lord, that’s the damn truth.”

  So there was something. Well, she wasn’t about to go digging around for it. Then she’d have to share hers and— Nope. Not doing it.

  “I thought I’d make dinner tonight.” His voice and his words startled her out of her thoughts.

  “Really? You cook?”

  “You think I’m some kind of Neanderthal?” He stopped at a light on a crosswalk. “I think I’m insulted.”

  She had to laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your manly feelings. It’s just that—”

  “That the men you know don’t cook?” he finished for her. “You obviously hang out with the wrong men.”

  Boy, wasn’t that the damn truth.

  “So what are you planning to make tonight? Does it require more than a microwave?”

  He chuckled. “I can actually use a stove and an oven, smartass. A friend stocked the place for me and I checked this morning. I’m going to make you my mother’s famous rosemary chicken with new potatoes and peas.”

  “Wow! Now I really am impressed. Especially that you know rosemary is a spice.”

  He turned onto their street. “I’m going to make you eat those words, along with the chicken and potatoes.”

  “We’ll see.” She swallowed a smile. “How about if I bring a salad? I want to contribute something.”

  “Sure. Salad is good.” He pulled into the parking space in front of his cottage, shut off the engine, and checked his watch. “How about eight o’clock? That give you enough time to digest that humongous lunch we ate?”

  “It will. Actually, I think I might go for a late run. Two big meals in one day and I might turn into a blimp.”

  He raked his gaze over her, the look in his eyes telling her he didn’t think that was possible. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, but go. You’ll work up an appetite.”

  Should she tell him her appetite was for more than chicken?

  “I’ll do that. And see you around eight o’clock. With a salad.”

  Inside her cottage, she closed the door and leaned against it. Today had been a lot of fun, except for that one little blip. She couldn’t recall having such a good time out with a man in a very long time. Obviously she was choosing the wrong men. This thing with Ryan couldn’t go anywhere but she wasn’t going to overthink it. She’d enjoy it for as long as she stayed here. And forget about the fact that he, too, was hiding something.

  She thought about checking her email before she went for her run, but it would probably be nothing but more depressing messages. They could wait for another time. For the rest of the day and night she was going to put everything out of her mind and enjoy herself. Tomorrow was soon enough to get mad and depressed again.

  Looking at her watch, she decided she’d better get going if she wanted to get her run in and everything else done before dinner tonight.

  At eight o’clock, exhilarated from her run, she showered, lotioned, perfumed her body then dressed in her jeans shorts and the funky T-shirt she’d bought today. At the last minute she decided to slip on the psychedelic flip-flops, also. She picked up the bowl of salad she’d made and headed out. After setting the code on the lock for the door, she balanced the salad bowl in one hand and used the other to steady herself as she started down the stairs.

  Afterwards she thought if it wasn’t for the damn stupid flip-flops nothing would have happened. But on the third step the sandal on her right foot slid a little and caught on a rough spot on the wood. She tilted forward trying to right herself and grabbed for the railing. But what with the salad bowl and all she was too off balance. In seconds she went flying down the stairs to land on the concrete strip below. Her right foot twisted beneath her and pain shot from her ankle up to her knee. She didn’t even realize she was screaming until Ryan’s door opened and he raced down his stairs.

  Ryan had turned the oven down to warm when he heard Kaitlyn’s scream outside. Panicked, he raced outside to see her lying on the ground, vegetables all over her, salad bowl in splinters and her right ankle already swelling.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered, as she tried to get up. “Let me take a look here.”

  “But— Ouch!” Her face contorted in pain as she tried to get up.

  “I said don’t move,” he ordered. He swept aside the remnants of the salad and the bowl and crouched on the ground beside her. “Let me see what we’ve got here.”

  The ankle was already red and swelling. He prodded it very gently with his fingertips, relieved that nothing seemed broken,

  "I don’t think anything's broken," he told her, “but you also should not be walking on it.”

  . He lifted her in his arms and carried her up the short flight of stairs to his cottage, placing her on the couch by the big window. There were two throw pillows on one end so he took one of them to prop up her foot.

  “Sit,” he ordered. “Don’t move. I want to turn off the oven and make sure the burners are off.”

  “Aren’t we going to eat?”

  But the tone of her voice told him that was the last thing she wanted.

  “After,” he told her.

  “After what?”

  “After we get your ankle x-rayed and make sure you didn’t break something. Ha
ng on.”

  He decided to turn the oven completely off, just in case. Scrounging in the freezer he found some bags of frozen vegetables—and who the hell had Walt told to stock this place who would think of that? Hurrying back to the living room, he gently molded the sack of vegetables around her ankle.

  “Ow.” She sucked in a breath.

  “I know it hurts, honey. We’re gonna get it taken care of.”

  He pulled out his phone then realized he had no idea where to find anything in this town. But everything was out there on the World Wide Web so he punched in what he was looking for.

  “Okay,” he told her, “we’re in luck. There’s an urgent care center right down the road on Estero Boulevard that’s open until ten. Let’s go.”

  Kaitlyn shook her head. “I’ll be fine. If I stay off it for a few minutes, and ice it, I’ll be okay.”

  Ryan ground his teeth. “Trust me on this. You need an x-ray to be sure it’s not broken—”

  “But you said it wasn’t,” she interrupted.

  He blew out a breath of exasperation. “I’m not a doctor. We’re going to get this checked if I have to tie you up.”

  Was that a little flash of heat in her eyes at the idea of him tying her up? No. He had to be mistaken. She was in pain. That’s what he saw.

  “Is this your big Neanderthal act?” she asked.

  He dipped his head once. “If it has to be.”

  She shifted a little on the couch, even that slight movement eliciting a groan from her.

  “See? That does it. We’re going now.”

  “Wait.” She held up a hand. “I need my purse. It’s got my insurance card in it.”

  “I’ll get it. Tell me your code and where the purse is.”

  He grabbed his ball cap from the coffee table and shoved it low on his head. He’d discovered people seldom looked at the face below the brim. Then he had her in his car, her purse tucked in next to her, the sofa throw pillows on the floor for her to rest her foot on. Barely ten minutes later they pulled up in front of the urgent care center he’d found.

  “I feel like an idiot,” she said, when he lifted her out of the car and carried her inside. “A Class A clumsy idiot.”

  He tightened his grip slightly. “Gives me a good excuse to hold onto you.”

  Although holding her made his body do things he didn’t need right now. The fragrant scent of flowers and vanilla tantalized his nose and sent a message of need straight to his cock. Driving here he’d caught the faint aroma, but holding her like this he caught it full force. With great care he shifted her enough in his arms so she wouldn’t be aware of how badly he wanted her.

  She’s injured, dumbass. Get your head out of your pants.

  When he walked in the door, he breathed a sigh of relief that the waiting area was empty. The thought that he’d be in a place where people could look at him and possibly recognize him hadn’t occurred to him. Where the hell was his brain? Walt would kill him. He hoped he didn’t have to give his name for any reason. Maybe he could just stick with his first name. Maybe no one there would be a football fan. Maybe—

  Jesus, Ryan. Get the poor woman’s ankle fixed and stop worrying about saving your own ass.

  “Broken or sprained?” the receptionist asked, leaning over the counter.

  “We think it’s a sprain,” Ryan told her.

  “I think it’s nothing,” Kaitlyn said in a raised voice.

  The receptionist grinned at him. “They never think it’s anything until they need major surgery.”

  “Major surgery?” Kaitlyn squeaked behind him. “All I did was twist my ankle.”

  “And we’re making sure it’s nothing more. I need your insurance card.”

  Kaitlyn clutched her purse to her breasts. “I’ll give it to her myself.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Kaitlyn, you can’t stand on that foot. Give it here.”

  She shook her head and tightened her grip on the purse even more. “I can hobble over there.”

  Ryan crouched down beside her. “Why can’t I have the card? Is your insurance information a big secret?”

  Then it dawned on him. She didn’t want to give him her last name. They’d accepted the first name situation without any hassle, but now he wondered if she was hiding from something the way he was. In any event, this wasn’t the place to hassle it out. Biting back his frustration, he lifted her and carried her to the counter where she took out her card and handed it over.

  The receptionist lifted an eyebrow? “You a super spy of some kind, honey? Maybe on the run from the police?” She winked at Ryan. “Should I call the cops, just in case?”

  Ryan shook his head. “She’s harmless. Really. But I guess she’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat her name out loud.”

  He was sure this woman thought they were crazy, but if she got Kaitlyn’s ankle taken care of, he figured he could put up with it. After all, he was in hiding, too. Right?

  The receptionist shook her head and entered all the information into the computer. When Kaitlyn had her insurance card back, he sat down in the chair, this time holding her on his lap.

  “I can sit in a chair by myself,” she protested, her body stiff against his.

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

  Before she could argue with him any more, the door to the clinic proper opened and a man in scrubs waved them back. Again, Ryan ignored her protests and carried her down the short hall to a treatment room where he settled Kaitlyn on the examining table.

  The man didn’t look old enough to be a doctor, Ryan thought, so he was a little startled when he introduced himself.

  “I’m Doctor Morgan.” He smiled and held out his hand.

  Ryan shook it, still not sure if he trusted this guy to diagnose the problem.

  Morgan laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. I get the look all the time. I’m older than you think. Been practicing for three years now.”

  “Good to know.” But he’d still reserve judgment. If he had to, he’d cart Kaitlyn to the closest hospital emergency room to make sure.

  But as he listened to Morgan talk to Kaitlyn and watched his examination of her foot, he breathed a little easier. The guy really did seem to know what he was doing. After a few minutes he fetched a wheelchair and trundled Kaitlyn to another room to get her ankle x-rayed. Then back to the treatment room where Morgan pulled the x-rays up on a laptop computer.

  “No break,” he confirmed. “Not even a bad sprain. You were lucky.”

  Kaitlyn turned to him. “See? I told you it was nothing.”

  Dr. Morgan chuckled. “I wouldn’t say it was nothing. You still need to take care of it.”

  “See?” Ryan mimicked her. “I told you it needed to be taken care of.”

  The doctor laughed. “Nice to see you both agree about this.” He took an elastic wrap bandage from a cabinet against the wall. “I’ll wrap it for you because it needs to be compressed. Watch how I do it because when you shower you’ll want to take it off and then replace it. Keep the foot elevated and keep ice on it, twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off. And stay off that foot for at least three days. Come back then and I’ll check it again.”

  “I’ll make sure she follows instructions,” he assured the doctor.

  “I can take care of myself.” There was that feistiness he was coming to really be addicted to.

  “We’ll get it done,” he assured Dr. Morgan.

  Another few minutes for Kaitlyn to sign some papers and take the list of instructions Dr. Morgan gave her. Then Ryan simply lifted her again and carried her out the front door. Two people were in the waiting room, but again he had his hat pulled low and most of his face was hidden by Kaitlyn.

  “I can take care of myself,” was the first thing she said when they were back in the car.

  “You have to stay off that foot,” he reminded her.

  “We’ll see,” she grumbled. “Just get me home and I’ll be fine.”

  Well, he
knew that wasn’t the damn truth. But one thing at a time. When they got to their houses he parked and carried her up the stairs to her place and parked her on the couch. He checked her freezer, found a bag of frozen lima—lima beans?—and placed it gently on her ankle.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. “Give me a minute and I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed a wastebasket bag from her kitchen and jogged back down the stairs.

  He cleaned up the mess from the salad and broken dish and tossed the bag in his big trash bin. Then he was back upstairs, standing next to Kaitlyn, trying not to laugh at the grumpy look on her face.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he told her.

  “Oh. Yeah?” She frowned up at him. “Explain.”

  “I’m not leaving you here alone. You’ll insist on moving around and doing stuff and probably fall and injure yourself again.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No. Just ornery. Anyway, I do the same thing myself so I know what can happen.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you been injured?”

  Shit. He hadn’t meant to let that slip.

  “A time or two,” he said as casually as he could. “It never pays. So. Don’t move. I’ll be back in five minutes or less.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he hurried back to his place. He knew she’d never let him bring her there so he’d have to move in with her. At once, erotic images began to dance in his mind and he had to shut them off with deliberate force. Nice, asshole. She’s hurt and you want to get her naked. Asshole.

  It took him a few minutes to gather the few things he’d need for an overnight and toss them into his gym bag. Then he grabbed the roaster with the chicken and potatoes, locked his door, and took the stairs three at a time back to Kaitlyn’s. He blew out a relieved breath when he saw she was still where he’d left her.