by LuAnn McLane
One thing, though, Jimmy knew one thing for sure: he was damned tired of being afraid of falling in love. Neighbor or not, he was determined to pursue Maggie Murphy.
CHAPTER SIX
ALREADY GONE
After entering her condo, Maggie calmly removed Trixie’s leash, put it on the hook by the door, and then placed her purse in its usual spot next to the umbrella stand. Three umbrellas stood in the pink, petal-shaped stand, ready for action, but Maggie always forgot to pick one up as she left and ended up having to brave the frequent afternoon Florida downpours umbrellaless. And the rain usually came without warning: it would be sunshine one minute and then a deluge the next.
Maggie remained rooted to the spot, shivering a bit in the cool air-conditioning. She’d spent days avoiding Jimmy Heart, and now he was suddenly coming over for her to patch him up, meaning he would once again be shirtless, undeniably gorgeous, and difficult to resist. She sucked in a deep, shaky breath and did a face-palm.
And she’d promised to cook him dinner!
Mercy.
“What was I thinking?” she asked Trixie, who stood next to her, shivering violently. Trixie did the head-to-tail shaking thing until her damp fur started to dry and spike in all directions. After five sharp doggie sneezes, she scurried over to her fluffy round bed and curled into a shaky little ball.
Then, remembering that Jimmy would arrive any moment, Maggie dashed to her bedroom, shed her damp clothes, patted herself down with a towel, and then tugged on a pair of blue yoga pants and a white tank top. She gazed into the bathroom mirror and let out a tiny shriek. Tendrils of hair escaped her sloppy bun and clung to her neck, which, combined with her smudged mascara, gave her a wacky goth look. “Shit!” Galvanized into action, she repaired her makeup with he’ll-be-here-soon speed and then tried to tidy her unruly hair without much success. She’d just located her massive first aid kit when she heard bing-bong!
Oh boy …
Maggie swallowed hard and put a hand over her wildly beating heart. When the doorbell bing-bonged again, she hurried down the hallway to let Jimmy inside. Trixie clickity-clacked behind her, but when she saw Jimmy standing on the threshold, she trotted back over to her bed, as if bored.
“Well, I guess a dismissal is better than a bark,” Jimmy said with a grin.
“Hey there, come on in.” Maggie stepped back for Jimmy to enter, frowning a little bit when she noticed the raw scrapes on his upper torso. “Oh my goodness,” she said breathlessly, biting her bottom lip. Jimmy had her favorite male physique—muscular but not over-the-top bulky, and a nice dusting of hair on his chest that probably tapered to … Well, she wouldn’t think about it.
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked with a tilt of his damp head. He’d showered and smelled divine.
“I’m so sorry you’re scratched up,” Maggie said, glad she’d thought fast, but she still spoke the truth.
Jimmy shrugged those broad shoulders. “I grew up skim-boarding, windsurfing, and roughhousing with my brothers.” He pointed to his chest. “This is nothing.”
“Yeah, but—” she began, but he shushed her with a raised eyebrow and a damned sexy grin that made fluttery things happen in her stomach. Inviting him in might not be the best decision, but he’d saved Trixie! She took a breath. She needed to keep a level head on her shoulders and not melt each time he smiled. And then she remembered she was going to be bending over him, applying salve and pulling out splinters. This was not going to be easy. “Come on in to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a Jameson on the rocks,” she offered.
“To dull the pain?” Jimmy asked. “I’ll buy into that.” Amusement sparkled in his eyes.
“Yes,” Maggie replied, when in fact she needed a little nip herself to steady her hands and the wild beating of her heart. She busied herself getting rocks glasses and a bottle of whiskey. She pressed the fridge’s ice-maker lever, sending cubes clinking into each glass, but she felt his eyes upon her and nearly bungled the entire process.
Jimmy walked over next to her. “You still shaken over Trixie’s near-death, venomous-snake experience?”
“Wait, was the snake dangerous?”
“I’m not sure. Could have been. I didn’t want to risk Trixie finding out the hard way.”
“Oh wow.” Maggie nodded as she gave each of them a generous pour of whiskey. “It happened so fast, and oh God, the snake!” she said, adamantly agreeing with him. She turned to hand him his glass and tried to carry on a conversation, but it seemed that no matter where she looked, she eventually ended up staring at his chest. And when her fingers brushed his, she nearly dropped her damned drink. But if he noticed, he was too nice to comment.
Jimmy tapped the rim of his glass to hers. “To”—he pressed his lips together—“mmm?”
“You and your rescue,” Maggie finished. She took a hefty slug of her whiskey and had to suppress a cough. The cold, smooth liquid slid past her lips, leaving a comforting trail of fire that splashed in her belly like a log flume ride landing over the last hill.
“I’ll drink to Trixie’s safety.” Jimmy tipped back his glass and took a swallow.
“Mmm … me too!” Maggie took another bracing sip of her drink and felt the warmth ease her nerves. “Okay, follow me to the bathroom and I’ll fix you up.”
“Be gentle.”
“I will,” Maggie promised, but when he entered the bathroom and sat down on the closed commode, she had instant regret. While her garden bathroom was spacious by most standards, Jimmy seemed to fill the room with his wide shoulders and long legs. “Uh, maybe we should do this in the kitchen?”
“Won’t it be easier here so you don’t have to move all your impressive first aid tools?” He pointed to the vast array of ointments, salves, bandages, tape, scissors, and tweezers in her kit. “I have a feeling you could stitch me up if need be.”
Maggie chuckled. “When I was a kid I was prone to skinning my knees, stubbing my toes, and so on. I was a bit of a klutz. Still am. We never seemed to have a bandage around— probably because I went through so many—and I had to make do with paper towels or tissues. Not cool when it stuck to the wound.” She made a face. “So now I’m always prepared.”
“Ah, it makes perfect sense.” Jimmy took a sip of his drink and bestowed a smile upon her. “Woo, okay, this whiskey is working its magic. Proceed with the removal of the splinters.” He turned his palms over to her.
“Oh …” She winced, and then nibbled on her lip.
Jimmy put a gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Like I said, I was glad to come to your aid—well, Trixie’s aid, really. This wasn’t your fault.”
Maggie shrugged, but had to blink back tears.
“And I meant it when I said you can call me anytime you need something.”
“A neighborly thing to do,” Maggie said calmly, but her heart skipped a beat.
“An I-really-like-you thing to do.” He smiled gently.
“Thank you,” she said, and his smile faded just a bit. She knew this was when she was supposed to say she liked him too, but she couldn’t get the words past her lips. Instead, she concentrated on his splinters. She pointed the tweezers at him. “Now, if I hurt you, say so, okay?”
“That wouldn’t be very manly.” He squared his shoulder.
“Please don’t pound your chest.”
“Okay.” Jimmy flexed his arm. “How about this?”
Maggie tried not to be impressed by the softball-size bulge on his arm and resisted the urge to give it a squeeze. She flicked a glance at him. “I’m serious.”
“I have a high tolerance for pain,” he said in a fake-deep voice.
“That makes one of us.” Maggie arched a questioning eyebrow.
“Really? You seem to have a lot of moxie.”
Maggie shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I think maybe I liked being cuddled by my mom and my granny, so I made minor boo-boos seem worse than they were.”
“Aw, I think that’s cute. Kiss it and make it bette
r?”
“Yeah.” Maggie felt her cheeks grow warm. She hadn’t blushed this much in years! What was it about him that made her open up and say things she’d normally keep to herself? “I think you’re stalling this removal process.”
“Nope, I’m trying to flirt again. Is it working this time?”
Great, the memory of the kiss now entered the room and hovered in her mind. Maggie’s fingers started to tremble. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m concentrating on the task at hand,” she said primly, looking around for her drink.
“Well, I guess that was a fail.” He pulled a face, and it was impossible not to laugh.
Maggie cleared her throat. “I really do want to remove the splinters to avoid infection,” she said in the same prim tone, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, I hope this doesn’t hurt when you play your guitar.”
“Maggie, I’ll be fine,” he said, and put his hand over hers briefly.
Maggie blew out a sigh, trying very hard not to appear flustered by having bare-chested Jimmy Heart in her bathroom.
Jimmy took a sip of his whiskey and scooted a little bit closer, making her even more aware of him. She could feel the heat of his body, the scent of soap. “Okay, Doc.” With a little groan, he presented his palms to her. “Go easy on me. I might have bluffed a little on the pain-tolerance boast.”
“Of course I will.” Gritting her teeth in an effort not to tremble, she attempted to grab the end of the splinter lodged in the meaty part of his palm but came up empty-handed. She bent over his hand for about five minutes without any luck. “Well, this isn’t working.” She straightened up and nibbled on the inside of her lip.
“I’m not fond of needles,” Jimmy announced warily. “They remind me of getting a shot.”
“No worries. The only shots I give are whiskey,” she said. “I won’t use a needle or try to squeeze it out, which could possibly break off the splinter and make it worse.” She licked her bottom lip. “It’s time to use Granny Mags’s remedy.”
“Is there pain involved?”
“Just requires a little bit of patience. I’ll be right back.”
Jimmy nodded but didn’t seem too thrilled at her lack of explanation. “Are you going to elaborate?”
“Now it’s time for you to trust me.” She tapped her chest but then wished she hadn’t, because the kiss in the storm crash-landed in her mind, and judging by Jimmy’s expression, he might be on the same wavelength.
Not that she was about to find out for certain.
“I’ll be right back,” Maggie said, and quickly left the bathroom. Once she was out of Jimmy’s sight, she put her hands to her warm cheeks and sucked in a deep gulp of oxygen. How in the hell was she supposed to hold herself together? Just patch him up and shoo him out the door, she firmly told herself. She considered waking Trixie so the little dog could be an interference, but after the boardwalk ordeal she didn’t have the heart to do so. Instead, she located the Elmer’s glue in her craft drawer in the spare bedroom and hurried back to the bathroom.
Maggie steeled herself against the sight of Jimmy’s bare chest and tried to appear businesslike, but when he looked up at her and grinned, her resolve melted like fine sugar in hot tea.
“Glue?” he asked, looking so worried that she had to laugh.
“Well, the tweezer method wasn’t doing the trick, so now we’re going with plan B.”
“Okay, but seriously, why the glue? Should I be nervous?”
“I’m going to put glue over the splinters.”
“Hmmm …” Jimmy frowned at her. “I find that a bit odd, but inventive.”
“It’s simple. You just wait for the glue to dry, then peel it away, pulling out the splinter. Duct tape works too, but this is usually quicker.”
“Brilliant.”
Maggie laughed. “Granny Mags had remedies for everything.”
“Was Irish whiskey one of them?” He held up his empty glass and jiggled the ice.
“Uh … yeah. Would you like another?”
“Please, if you don’t mind? I want to be fully prepared for being glued. No, don’t get up. I’ll let you get things in order and I’ll help myself.”
Maggie nodded. “Okay, the bottle is still on the counter.”
“Be right back,” Jimmy said, and pushed to his feet. The small space meant he had to come just short of pressing against her as he left the room.
Maggie closed her eyes for a second, trying to absorb the fact that Jimmy was in her condo, helping himself to the contents of her liquor cabinet as if— No, she couldn’t allow her brain to go there. She reached for her own glass, took a bracing sip, and then neatly arranged her splinter-removing items while awaiting the return of the man of her dreams.
Her childhood dreams, she reminded herself.
Not her adult reality.
Jimmy entered the bathroom. “Okay, I’m ready to be … glued,” he said cheerfully.
Maggie faced the mirror and sucked in a breath when Jimmy passed by her and oh so slightly brushed against her shoulder. “Okay,” she said briskly. “Let’s do this.”
“I’m handing my guitar-picking hands over to you.”
“Now I’m nervous! Oh, why did you say that?” Maggie felt the childish urge to stomp her foot.
“Maggie, I’m only teasing. I can give you a whole list of injuries I sustained as a child and then later during hold-my-beer antics with my brothers. Although I was usually the one holding the beer while one of my brothers did some stupid stunt.” He shook his head. “Jesse was the worst. He got more stitches than the rest of us put together.”
“Mmm,” Maggie mumbled, wondering if Jimmy was tossing out hints to see if she knew who he was. Part of her wanted to tell him she knew he was Jimmy Heart of Heartbeat, but she refrained. And since Jimmy failed to add to his comment, she wondered if he wanted to keep his fame from getting in the way of just being real. “So, you were cautious?” she asked, thinking she had to say … something.
“Yeah, I was.” Jimmy took a swallow of his drink and nodded. “Boring, huh?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” But wow, Jesse is his twin brother, Maggie thought, and nearly smiled. She knew their shared birthday was December 23 and that they didn’t like getting Christmas and birthday presents together, at least according to Tiger Beat magazine. Granny Mags worked part-time at a drugstore, so at the end of the month, Granny would bring home a treasure trove of magazines and romance novels with the covers ripped off. Against the rules, but Granny hated to see the reading material wasted and would always rescue it from the trash. “And being a songwriter must be interesting.”
Jimmy shrugged but then nodded toward the first aid items. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a nurse?”
“Actually, I thought about it.” She smiled softly.
“I think you chose the right profession. You must enjoy writing.”
“It can get lonely, but you’re a songwriter, so you know that too.”
“Yeah.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled a shoulder-raising breath. “Okay, well, hopefully the splinters aren’t too deep and the glue will do the trick.” She held one of his palms in her hand and smoothed the white glue onto the bottom of his thumb with her fingertip. She could feel him watching her, and although she tried to perform the task with an impersonal touch, her heart pounded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the reflection of their heads bent close together.
“The calluses are from guitar strings,” he said, and then offered his other hand. “Do you play any musical instruments?”
Maggie shook her head. “No.”
“I could teach you, if you’d like.”
“Mmm …” She raised one shoulder.
“And I bet you have a lovely singing voice.”
“Oh … no,” she said. “I sing in the shower and in the privacy of my car. And even then, Trixie howls.”
“Maybe she’s singing along.”
“I don’t think so.”
; “Sing something.”
“No!” she said, squeezing way too much glue onto his palm. Embarrassed, she tried to wipe the goop away, causing more of a mess. “I’m going to have to wash this hand and start over,” she said crossly, but he laughed. “You’re causing me to lose my concentration,” she grumbled.
“Good.”
“What do you mean, good?” Maggie looked up at him. “This is going to take forever at this rate.”
“Good,” he repeated, and she felt telltale heat inflame her cheeks once more. She hated that he could get to her so easily, but a quick sizzle of excitement slid down her spine. “I like seeing you get flustered.”
“Really?”
He nodded, and she could see the sparkle of humor in his eyes.
“Are you always this exasperating?” She tried to put some heat in her tone, but his grin wouldn’t allow it. She rolled her eyes, but his grin stayed intact. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Maggie rolled her eyes again, desperately trying to remain nonchalant when her insides quivered like Jell-O. Slowly washing his hand with warm, soapy water made it difficult for her to hold on to her crumbling composure. “Okay,” she said while toweling his hand dry. “Let’s try this again.” She bent her head and concentrated on applying just the right amount of glue over three splinters. Inhaling a glue-scented gulp of air, she straightened up and examined her work.
“This is interesting.”
“It works. Now, let’s get some salve on your scrapes. You soaped them up in the shower, right?”
