Secrets of a Playboy

by Janice Maynard

  “Help me up,” Zachary said grimly.

  “Can you use that little tree there for leverage?” She couldn’t let him put weight on his left foot. It would be excruciating.

  “Yep.” With his right hand, he reached out and gripped the tree. It was a sapling, really. Nice and bendy.

  Frannie squatted. “Put your arm around my shoulders and hang on. I’ll stand up slowly. But give me the backpack.”

  He scowled. “I’m over six feet tall and two hundred ten pounds. I’ll carry the pack. It’s going to take everything you’ve got to support part of my weight.”

  She wanted to argue, but she sensed it was useless. An injured Zachary was like a wounded bear. Dangerous. “Okay. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  The next sixty seconds were rough. It was inevitable that his foot was going to make contact with the ground. When it did, Zachary cursed. He bit his bottom lip so hard, the small wound bled. If he had been pale before, he was ashen now.

  Frannie steadied him when they were upright, giving them both time to adjust. “You okay?” She knew better than to hover or offer too much sympathy.

  “I’ve been better.”

  The attempt at humor lightened the mood. “C’mon, Stone Man. I’ve seen you face worse odds than this. Remember the time you took Professor Gilbert’s sailboat without permission and got caught in a storm? Everyone on campus thought you had drowned. But somehow you made it back and showed up for dinner, ready to take your punishment.”

  They started walking slowly, every step a challenge.

  “I’d forgotten all about that,” he said. “I had to mop the lunchroom twice a day for a month.”

  “You deserved it,” she said. “Scared me—scared us to death.”

  “Were you worried about me, Bug? That’s sweet.”

  She hadn’t been worried. She’d been terrified. When he sauntered into the building, wet and windblown but unrepentant, she had wanted to smack him. Even now that memory made her stomach go hollow.

  Slowly, they developed a rhythm. For once, she was glad she was tall. Zachary leaned heavily on her, hopping on his one good foot. The pace was excruciatingly slow, but she knew they would make it out. Eventually.

  It was hard work. She wanted to shed her coat again, but she knew it wasn’t wise. The light was fading faster than she had anticipated, the cold deepening.

  The trail here was flatter and smoother than the hill where they had raced, but even so, she was probably going to have to use the flashlight on her phone for the last bit.

  They were forced to stop every fifteen minutes. After the first half hour, her legs were wobbly with fatigue.

  Zachary barely spoke. She had the impression he was concentrating all his energy on bracing against the pain. The silence suited her, because she didn’t know what to say, anyway. He wouldn’t appreciate sympathy.

  They were so close they breathed the same air. She felt every bit of him pressed up against her side. His muscular arm around her neck was heavy, but nice. He smelled of sweat and expensive aftershave.

  Eventually, she quit looking at her watch. It was too depressing. She could almost swear the hands on the dial were moving backward.

  As expected, darkness came. She turned on the flashlight app and shined the light at their feet. They couldn’t afford another mishap.

  Just when she was beginning to fear they had taken a wrong turn somewhere, Zachary sighed deeply. “Almost there.”

  “Thank God.”

  She had no idea how he knew. After sundown, everything in the woods looked the same to her. But he was right. At last, the house appeared. And when it did, the snow started, a light, beautiful fall of perfect flakes that caught in their hair and melted on their faces.

  Any other day or night, Frannie would have stopped to appreciate the hushed moment of wonder, but now was not the time. She was down to her last reserves of energy. She had no idea how Zachary was making it when his ankle must be killing him.

  Even though their ordeal was close to the end, the steps were another challenge. Zachary thrust out his chin and tackled them without complaint. When they stood at the front door, he blew out air in a heavy exhale. “The keys are in my right pocket.”

  She wanted to say get them yourself, but maybe he was right. If he tried to let go and fell again, they would be in worse shape.

  With her cheeks hot and her breathing suspiciously jerky, she awkwardly slid her left hand into his right pocket. It was a deep pocket. She had to reach and reach some more. At last, she felt the keys. She also touched his taut, warm thigh through the fabric of his pants, and maybe something else, but that was another story.

  “Got them,” she said. Zachary rested his weight against the house as Frannie struggled with the lock. “Easy now.” She got them over the threshold, into the living room, and closed the door without incident.

  Zachary dropped his head and sagged against her. “Thank you, sweet Jesus,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

  Tossing the keys on the table, she urged him forward one hop at a time. “Let’s get you settled on the sofa. I know I said I was a disaster in the kitchen, but we had a big lunch. I can whip up a grilled cheese and open a can of soup. Sound good to you?”

  She was talking too fast, practically babbling.

  When she eased him down onto the cushions, upright, he pulled her with him. Taking her face in both hands, he said, “Thank you, Frannie. From the bottom of my heart. You’re an amazing woman.”

  Then he kissed her deeply.

  Five

  Zachary was so relieved to be out of the cold and off his feet he barely knew what he was doing. At least, that was the rationalization he would use later for why he kissed Frannie. Her lips were soft and sweet beneath his. He tasted a remnant of chocolate from the granola bars they had eaten earlier.

  He was in a hell of a lot of pain. He couldn’t feel his fingers. Exhaustion weighted his limbs like concrete. Even so, every cell inside him perked up when his lips touched hers. Pressed. Lingered. Deepened the contact.

  He didn’t know if Frannie would have returned the kiss or not. Because when his brain processed what he was doing, he jerked back, embarrassed. Contrite. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I think I’m delirious.”

  Frannie didn’t say a word. She touched her lips with two fingers, shook her head slowly and stood. “I’ll turn up the heat and bring you a blanket before I start dinner. Should we try to take off your shoe?”

  Zachary was tough. He’d had broken bones, stitches and concussions. And lived to tell the tale. But the thought of anyone tugging on his ankle right now made his stomach heave. “Not until we have to... I don’t think the shoe is making it worse. But you could bring me a bag of peas from the freezer to ice down my foot.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

  Not long after that, he heard the furnace click on. Frannie appeared moments later with a thick wool afghan and the requested veggies. She put the frozen package gently on his ankle and spread the coverlet over him like he was ninety-five and she was his nurse. It was either funny or insulting or both.

  He grabbed her wrist when she was in reach. “I’m not near death, Bug. It’s only my foot. I can smooth out a blanket.”

  “Fine.” The word was barely audible. She spun on her heel, but not before he saw she had tears in her eyes.

  “Oh hell, Frannie. Did I upset you? I’m sorry. Really. Come here.”

  When he tugged her wrist, she lost her balance and sat down hard beside him. His foot was jostled in the process, but he swallowed the groan of pain. With his arm around her, he stroked her hair, feeling the way the silky black curls wound around his fingers. “It was a hell of a journey this afternoon, but we made it. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Frannie pulled back and glared at him. “Your ankle may be broken. It’s snowi
ng. And you don’t have any cheese.” That last bit came out as a wail. He tucked her face against his shoulder and pulled her close, feeling his body react to the woman in his arms, despite his compromised physical condition.

  His dear Bug was shaking. She had shed her coat already. In his arms, she felt soft and wonderful. He had an erection that was doomed to disappointment, but even so, he gave in to the hunger in his gut. No man ever died from unappeased lust, right? The bigger shock was that he had let himself be turned on by this woman. This voice from his past. This highly trained professional who was going to help Stone River Outdoors.

  Never had there been a worse moment for a man to crave a woman. As much as Zachary wanted to undress her and kiss her from head to toe, he knew he couldn’t go there.

  She sniffed and sat up, easing out of his embrace. “I’m sorry. Everything piled up on me. I’m okay. Really. Do you need anything before I work on dinner?”

  Her lashes were damp. A smudge of mascara did little to mar her beauty. Those periwinkle irises beckoned him. “Why don’t I help with the meal prep?” he said gruffly, stunned by the combination of desire and emotion clogging his throat. “I can lean against the counter.” His stomach growled loudly as if to emphasize the point.

  Frannie leaped to her feet. “Oh no,” she said. “Don’t you move. I can handle this, honestly. It was just a momentary meltdown, I swear.”

  She fled before he could convince her otherwise.

  With Frannie safely in the kitchen, he pulled up his pant leg and examined his foot. He’d really done it this time. He used his pocketknife to carefully slit the sock from the top edge to where the sock disappeared into his shoe. His ankle was swollen and puffy and sported a dozen shades of blue and purple.

  Was it broken? He honestly didn’t know. But he’d always heard that a bad sprain could be worse than a simple break, because the sprain took longer to heal.

  Frustration washed over him, exacerbated by pain and also worry about Frannie. He’d brought her up here to have fun, not wait on him hand and foot. The terrible pun hardly registered. He’d never been good at sitting on his ass. He wanted to be up, going and doing. What he really didn’t want was to have Frannie playing nurse.

  She was only trying to be kind and helpful. He knew that. But when she touched him, however innocently, his body went on high alert. It didn’t make sense. He’d had plenty of time when they were both teenagers at Glenderry to make a move on Frannie. They’d spent hours together back then.

  He’d had strong feelings about Frances Wickersham when they were in high school, but they hadn’t included wanting to have sex with her. Unless he had some sort of weird amnesia going on. Yet yesterday, when she walked back into his life, suddenly all he could think about was how soon he could get her naked.

  When she entered the living room half an hour later carrying food, his first impulse was to jump up and help her with the heavy tray. Damn it. He was stuck on his back like a turtle upside down on its shell.

  The feeling made him grouchy and even more frustrated.

  Frannie set the tray on the coffee table. “I didn’t know what you like to drink. I made decaf coffee. I’m afraid with your foot in such bad shape, you’ll have trouble sleeping as it is. No point in courting insomnia.”

  He had a sudden vision of Frannie in his bed, smiling and sexy, trying various ways to help him sleep.

  “Good idea,” he said, hoping she didn’t notice the hoarseness in his voice. “You didn’t have to do this, Frannie.”

  She gave him an odd look. “We both need to eat. That forced march expended a lot of calories. Since you didn’t have cheese, I found peanut butter in the cabinet. It’s hard to mess up a peanut butter sandwich.”

  The wry look she gave him made his heart twist. “Tell me really why you don’t know how to cook, Frannie. It doesn’t sound like you.”

  “You could let this go, Zach.”

  “Or you could tell me what happened.”

  “How do you know something happened?” Her expression was mutinous.

  “The Frannie I know would have checked eleven cookbooks out of the library and had them all memorized in forty-eight hours.”

  “Not everything in life can be learned from a book, Zach.”

  He stared at her. Heard the echoes of something in her voice. “Tell me,” he coaxed. “Please. I really want to know.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. It’s no big secret.” She sat down beside him and ate a potato chip. He thought she was trying to wait him out, but he was benched and had no place to go. “I had a boyfriend my senior year in college,” she said. “Things got pretty serious. Over spring break, his parents came to visit. They offered to take us out to a fancy restaurant, but I said I would cook for them.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I may have a slight problem being an overachiever.”

  He grinned. “I’m shocked.”

  “Smart-ass.” She said it with a smile, so maybe it was more a compliment than a criticism. “Our apartment was dismal. Tiny, and three floors up with no elevator. I was determined to impress our guests. So I bought flowers, put classy music on the stereo. And I made a shepherd’s pie from scratch.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

  “Just wait,” she said, the words glum. “When we sat down at the table to eat, my boyfriend cut into it—the shepherd’s pie, I mean. The crust was still raw underneath, and the chunks of meat were hard as a rock. To this day, I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Surely his parents were polite.”

  “Oh, they were,” she said. “His dad made a sweet joke, and his mother said I was too pretty to spend my time in the kitchen. But my boyfriend...” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with something that made Zach want to hit the college boyfriend.

  “What, Frannie? What did the jerk do?”

  “He yelled at me. In front of his parents. Said I always had my head stuck in a book, but I was too dumb to live life.”

  For several long seconds silence reigned. Zachary stomped down hard on his first reaction, which was to offer a few pithy descriptions of the college boyfriend. Instead, he touched Frannie’s hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Bug. And it’s not true. Please tell me you ditched the guy.”

  Finally, her expression lightened. “Oh yes. In fact, his mother helped me pack my things, and his dad helped me carry boxes down to the car. They apologized for their son, but the damage was done. I never really tried to cook again. Lame, right?”

  “Not lame at all. But I promise you this, Frannie, with any free time you have while you’re in Portland working for SRO, I’ll teach you the basics. It’s probably like riding a bike. You wrecked badly, and because you never got back out there, this whole thing has assumed nightmare proportions. You won’t fail in my kitchen. I won’t let it happen.”

  “Thank you,” she said, snitching another chip.

  He didn’t touch her, because he didn’t trust himself. But her story brought out every one of his latent protective instincts.

  Suddenly, he realized the tray held only one plate and one cup. “Where’s your food?” he asked, frowning.

  She hopped up, and he was helpless to stop her. “I’m going to eat while I clean the kitchen. Yell if you need anything.”

  Zachary ground his teeth. She had made two sandwiches and coffee. How dirty could the kitchen be? Frannie was skittish around him. Maybe she was picking up on his feelings and didn’t want to deal with them, or him.

  Well, that sucked. He ate his sandwich in silence. This house had always been an oasis for him. He had embraced the solitude and the quiet. So why was he now discontented with the situation?

  When he invited Frannie to his coastal home, he had anticipated that the two of them would get reacquainted. Spend some time outdoors. Maybe hang out by the fire and watch a movie...or reminisce.

  The level of
disappointment he now felt told him that he hadn’t been entirely honest with himself. Perhaps he’d been looking forward to more than a platonic weekend.

  Perhaps he’d been counting on coaxing Frannie into his bed.

  This stupid ankle thing could be a blessing in disguise. He had no business getting Frannie naked...or even contemplating it. Sex was something he used to keep women at a distance. No emotion. Just orgasms.

  But Frannie had always been able to see through him. She would never let him get by with mindless fooling around. With Frannie, sex would be real.

  That was too damn scary to contemplate.

  He finished his meal, brooding about today’s turn of events. “Frannie,” he hollered, suddenly unable to let her hide out any longer.

  She came running, hair flying, drying her hands on a dish towel. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  Every time he saw her, he was struck anew by how this confident, adult Frannie had blossomed from the girl who had barely been able to speak aloud in class.

  “Quinten spent a few days here after his accident. He had multiple walkers and crutches in the beginning. I think there’s still a pair in my closet. Will you please check?”

  “Of course.”

  After she disappeared up the staircase, he slumped back against the sofa cushions, wishing he could pummel something. He needed an exit strategy. From today’s debacle. From this not-going-to-happen romantic weekend. But mostly from his conflicted feelings about Frances Wickersham.

  She was about to do a great service for Stone River Outdoors. Ferreting out any possible corporate espionage had to be the first priority. Zachary had a contact list full of amenable women who would be happy to share his bed.

  Frannie was not for him. She needed a one-woman man. Zachary couldn’t give her what she needed. Even if he wanted to...

  * * *

  What did a rich man’s closet look like? If Frannie had ever wondered, now she had her answer. First of all, the closet was enormous. She could fit a small country in the space and have room to spare.