He looked up to see the corner parking lot light out.
How convenient.
He ran.
“Jena.”
“I’m he—”
Someone cut off her response.
Not smart.
Justin followed her voice. Quietly. He crept between two cars to the grassy edge of the parking lot and saw her shadowed form, on the ground with someone on their knees behind her, a hand covering her mouth.
An uneasy feeling ran a chilly sprint up his spine.
Two teens accompanied by an elderly man had entered the care center earlier. He scanned the area and behind him for the other two.
Jena began to struggle.
The person behind her jerked an arm around her throat.
Justin’s body tightened with rage. He would not allow that miscreant to hurt her, or worse, would not even entertain the possibility of his daughters growing up without their mom. And fueled by an emotion powerful enough to make him ignore proper police procedure and the good instincts that’d kept him safe over the years, Justin sprang to action. “Release her this second if you want to live.” He showed himself and stalked toward the attacker who didn’t move. “I can make it quick or I can make you die an excruciatingly slow and painful death.”
Jena tried to fight, twisting, gasping...
“Don’t—” Something struck the side of his head. A pipe? A bat? He held in a shout of pain. His vision blurred. Unable to stand he dropped and rolled onto his side, fought to remain conscious.
“Don’t hurt him,” Jena cried out. “What do you want?”
Money. Drugs. Her. Unacceptable. Justin struggled onto his knees, willed his head to stop spinning.
“Stay down,” a male voice yelled.
Another male voice, this one sounding panicked said, “Let’s go.”
Jena crawled over to him. “Are you okay?” She gently touched the side of his head. “You’re bleeding,” she cried out.
He put his arm around her, would not let them touch her.
The two men loomed over them.
“I told you this wouldn’t work,” one of the men said.
“If we show up—”
Justin chose their moment of conflict and inattention to jump—well stumble—to his feet and fight. His right fist connected with a nose, his elbow with a cheek. A siren sounded in the distance. Thank goodness because Justin felt seconds from collapsing to the ground.
The siren grew louder.
The men ran off. But Justin would make sure they were found.
He swayed. Jena caught him, maneuvered him up against the side of a minivan, and pressed her body to his to keep him upright.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled and made his headache even worse in the process.
“He said when they showed up without the prescriptions the drug dealer beat up his friend and he was scared to come in for treatment because you’d banned them from ever coming back. I’m so sorry.” She hugged him.
Damn she felt good. He reached down, grabbed her butt and pulled her hips flush with his.
She tilted her head up to him. “On account of you likely have a head injury I’m going to overlook this little display.”
“I want you, Jena.” He tried to nuzzle her ear, the movement throwing him off balance, tilting him forward.
“Now I know you’re not thinking clearly,” she joked, throwing her entire weight against him—which he liked a lot. “Stop moving around or I’m going to drop you.”
A car screeched into the parking lot. A siren echoed in his head. Loud. Make it stop. He clutched his hands over his ears. Lights blinded him. A car door slammed. He groaned but knew enough to reach for his badge in his front pocket and held it up. “Officer Justin Rangore. MVPD. Two men. One lured Jena into the parking lot.”
“One pretended to be injured. But once outside they tried to convince me to get them narcotics,” Jena explained. “Justin was working security. He came out to find me and they hit him in the head. He needs to go to the Emergency Room.”
“They fled on foot,” Justin added. “Heading north.”
The officer conveyed the information into the radio affixed to her shoulder. “That’s a pretty nasty cut,” she noted.
Yeah. Cut. He wanted to cut with the chit chat and take Jena to bed.
Someone said something, sounded far away.
“Stay with me.” Jena’s voice broke through the haze.
“I want to. I really do.” Again. At his place. In his bed. All night long. If he could just get rid of the pain in his head. “Let’s go home.”
Of course she didn’t let him go home until after he’d had an X-ray, a CT scan, a tetanus shot, and twelve stitches. None of which were all that bad since Jena stayed with him, holding his hand, talking quietly, the sweet melody of her voice relaxing him.
The best part of the entire night was the neurologist informing Jena and Ian that Justin had a concussion and would need to be woken up hourly until morning, and Jena insisting since she was responsible for his injury she be the one to do it.
After driving them home, Ian walked Justin up to his condo while Jena went to check on the twins, give Jaci an update and change out of her uniform.
Into something clingy and skimpy would be his preference.
“You going to be okay?” Ian asked. He’d been unusually quiet at the hospital, on the ride home, and in the elevator.
Justin plopped onto the couch. “Yeah. I promise I won’t die.” As soon as the words left his mouth Justin wanted to suck them back in. “Hey. I’m sorry.” Because Ian had lost four of his buddies in the explosion that’d left him with a permanent limp. Damn war. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Ian said. “You need help getting changed?”
“If I do I don’t want it from you.”
Ian smiled. “I guess that blow to the head hasn’t affected your sex drive any.”
If anything it’d made it even more powerful. Or maybe that’d been hours of close proximity to Jena.
“Take it easy on her,” Ian warned. “Jaci’s worried about Jena, says she hasn’t been herself since her return.”
Justin liked the changes.
“She’s been preoccupied, quiet and secretive,” Ian went on. “Jaci thinks it has something to do with Jerry the jerk.”
“I’m taking care of it,” was all he’d share. “Tell Jaci not to worry.”
Ian stiffened, looking ready for battle. “What’s going on?”
Justin yawned. “I’m taking care of it,” he repeated, feeling himself drifting off to sleep.
Jena’s voice woke him. “Help me get him up.”
Justin smiled.
But those weren’t Jena’s dainty hands pushing into his armpits and lifting him to a standing position.
“Let’s get him undressed,” she said.
“Yeah. Let’s,” Justin said, liking the idea of getting naked with Jena. “I can walk.” He twisted out of Ian’s hold. “Three’s a crowd. Good night, Ian.” He lifted his shirt over his head, forgetting about his stiches. “Yowza,” he yelled out when his collar rubbed along his sensitive suture line.
“Be careful.” Jena took him by the arm. “Come on. I’ll get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
“Call if you need me,” Ian said, from behind them.
“I will,” Jena said at the same time Justin said, “We won’t.” He had everything under control. Except for the dizziness. He leaned on Jena for balance. And the throbbing ache in his head. No chance a little headache, okay, a big headache, was going to keep him from having Jena. Again. Lots of agains.
CHAPTER FIVE
JENA led Justin into the bathroom, knowing his shirt was stained with blood and wo
uld have to be removed at some point, wishing he hadn’t chosen to expose so much of his delectable body before she’d had a chance to fully prepare herself to combat the overwhelming desire to touch it. She closed the lid to the toilet. “Sit.” He was a bit unsteady on his feet so she guided him down, which put his enticingly bare chest in full view, close enough to kiss.
Stop that, she chided herself for unprofessional thoughts. She was here as a nurse, nothing more.
Smooth skin covered exquisitely defined muscles. A dusting of hair up high and a line from his navel down...
He undid the top button of his slacks. “You like what you see?”
She most certainly did. What healthy, heterosexual woman wouldn’t? “You’ve seen one you’ve seen them all,” she said, belittling the fact men’s naked bodies varied greatly in their aesthetic qualities. And Justin’s earned a check plus in each box on her What I Like Most About Men’s Bodies wish list.
He cleared his throat. “You going to clean up my head or is there another reason you brought me in here?” He smiled a flirty all-you-have-to-do-is-ask smile, at least that’s how she chose to interpret it.
“How are you feeling?” Jena asked to remind herself he’d been struck in the head a few hours earlier, had been diagnosed with a concussion and received twelve stiches. Only a callous, self-centered woman would entertain sexual thoughts while providing care to a man who’d been injured trying to protect her, a man who was in no shape, neurologically or physically, to engage in the totally inappropriate acts circulating through her mind.
Bad Jena.
“I’m a little tired.” He smiled again. “But up for anything.”
Okay. Conversation not helping. So she focused on his suture line instead. The ER doc had done a nice job of bringing the wound edges together, the stitches relatively equidistant and coated with antibiotic ointment. “I want to clean some of this blood out of your hair. Where are your washcloths?”
“Under the sink.”
Jena retrieved a few and got to work. After a minute or two Justin sighed. “You have a very gentle touch.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t think I’d like this as much as I do,” he said.
She looked down at him. “Like what?”
He opened his eyes. “You taking care of me.”
She liked it, too.
At some point while she’d been concentrating on her task, rinsing and re-wetting the cloth, he’d shifted so now she stood between his spread thighs, his face pointed straight ahead at her breasts. She could almost feel his heated gaze. Her nipples went tingly and hard, the sensation divine. And one she would soon miss mightily. She fought back sorrow, needed to focus on the big picture. Life.
“You’re killing me,” he said.
Lost in thought she’d been too rough. “I’m sorry.” She stopped rubbing his head and went to step back.
He palmed her waist and pulled her close, dropped his forehead to rest just above her belly. “You smell so good, look so good. I want to touch you, undress you. Take those tight, aroused nipples into my mouth.”
Heaven help her she wanted the same things, especially to feel his mouth on her nipples. One last time.
“You have no idea what being this close to you is doing to me.”
Oh yes she did, because it was doing the same to her.
“What would you do if I touched you? Would you let me?”
Yes.
As if he’d heard her mental response he set a gentle hand on her right breast, ran his thumb across its peak which sent a jolt of pure potent arousal raging through her system. Wonderful yet worrisome. Without sensitive, responsive nipples, would she ever again feel this overwhelmingly extraordinary desire for a man?
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Not really. “But I think that whack to the head dislodged your impulse control.” The condition apparently contagious as Jena had a few impulses on the verge of slipping outside of her control, too. The impulse to lift her shirt, grab him by the ears and direct his mouth to where she wanted it. The impulse to press her lips to his, to slip her tongue into his mouth and taste him, devour him. The impulse to straddle his lap and rub herself shamelessly along the length of the erection gaining prominence behind his zipper. Seems he was physically capable after all. But...
Think nurse-patient relationship. Nothing more. “Your head is clean enough.” She tossed the washcloth into the sink. Distance would really help this situation. And sleep. “Where’s your acetaminophen?”
He didn’t answer.
She tried to step away. He held her close, not on board with the distance part of her plan. “Come on,” she said.
Nothing.
“Justin?”
“Don’t move,” he said. A moment later he added, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
And he was. Good thing she hadn’t listened when he’d told her not to move. “That’s two for two.” When he was finished she handed him a clean dampened cloth to wash his face. “Two times in your condo during which you’ve had your hands on my body. Two times you drop to your knees and heave up the contents of your stomach as a result. Is it my perfume? My shampoo? Me?”
He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, looking miserable. “First time,” he held up his index finger, “hangover. Second time,” he added his middle finger, “concussion. It’s not you.”
Although tonight’s injury and subsequent GI distress could be directly attributed to her stupidity in running out into the parking lot alone with someone Justin had told her to be cautious of.
He reached for the towel bar and started to pull himself up. “You think I like you seeing me at my worst?”
She rushed to help him. “Let me help you.” She tugged on his arm. But really he did most of the work himself. “You still nauseous?” If he vomited again she’d be on the phone, calling the doctor.
“I’m fine,” he said not looking or sounding fine. “Let’s go to bed.”
Time to firm up the sleeping arrangements. “During your little impromptu nap a few minutes ago Ian said I could sleep in his bed.”
“Did he have a big smile on his face when he said it?”
Come to think of it, yes.
“You’re sleeping with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her to his cave. Very me man you woman you do what man say.
A big apology to feminists worldwide, but she kind of liked it. Although, “It’s a bad idea, Justin. We can’t—”
“You promised the ER doc you’d keep an eye on me through the night.”
Yes, she had.
“How are you going to do that when you’re in another room?”
“I’ll set the alarm on my phone. I’ll come in to wake you every hour.”
“Not good enough.” He dragged her into his room without turning on the light. “The more I argue, the more my head hurts.”
“Let me get you some—” Before she could name a pain reliever he said, “You’re all I need.”
How could a women argue with that?
He released her hand, unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. “Would you undo my shoes?”
Of course. That’s the reason she was here. To take care of him. Caring for others is what Jena did best.
Naked except for a pair of cotton boxer briefs—the room too dark for her to see anything more than the basic outline of his body, darn it all—he lifted the covers and slid into the middle
of his queen-sized bed where he laid down on his side, held up the covers, and waited for her.
She removed her phone from the pocket of her lounge pants, pressed the buttons necessary to set the alarm for one hour, and placed it on the bedside table. Just for tonight. She climbed in beside him. Because of his head injury. She turned on her side facing away from him. Definitely not because she wanted to be there just as much as he wanted her there.
He cuddled in behind her, like he’d done the last time she’d spent the night in his bed, his chin resting on the top of her head, his anterior in full contact with her posterior and his powerful arm draped over her ribs with his hand cupping her breast.
“Thank you,” he said on a deep sigh.
No. Thank you. Jena closed her eyes and savored the feel of him. Just. For. Tonight. Her body relaxed, indulged in a closeness that would never be repeated.
Jena woke to darkness, her phone alarm going off. She lifted it to check the time—four o’clock—and stop the ringing. She listened for the twins, thrilled to hear nothing but quiet, thankful the noise hadn’t set them off. So warm. She closed her eyes.
Someone moved behind her.
She sucked in a breath.
“What?” a male voice asked, pulling her close.
Justin. It all came back. His head wound. Stiches. A concussion. Hourly neurological checks. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Do you often wake up unsure who you’re in bed with?” he mumbled, teasing her. Back to normal.
“You’d think with the wild, party-girl lifestyle I lead, I’d be used to it by now,” she quipped.
He squeezed her. “Wise ass.”
Only with him, probably because so many of their interactions over the years had occurred while she’d been pretending to be Jaci whose personality lent itself to sarcasm and playfulness. “I was checking to see your level of orientation or if I need to drag you back to the hospital.”
Secrets of a Shy Socialite Page 8
