by Robin Gianna
“Well, we miss you, and would love to have you back with us permanently, but I do understand. And we’re going to do everything we can to get your hand working again.”
Michelle gave her a warm, sympathetic smile, then got to work removing her cast. Beth came to take a look at the surgical site, check the stitches and talk with her, and all that was the perfect distraction to take her thoughts away from Conor.
“Looks good, Jillian. Pretty great stitching, if I do say so myself.” Beth grinned. “As you know, the stitches will dissolve on their own. I’ll want to see you again in two weeks for another X-ray, to see how it’s doing. And of course you can call me anytime if you need to.”
“Thank you, Beth. I hope I’ll be the kind of patient who astonishes everyone with her amazing progress.”
“So do I. I love to brag to the other docs that I’m the best surgeon here—especially Conor. Speaking of which...is he taking care of things? Do you still need me to look for a dog walker and helper?”
“Uh...maybe. I’ll be working on that today, I think. I’ll let you know—thanks for the offer.”
Beth nodded, gently patted her swollen hand, and moved on to her next patient. It felt strange to be on the other side of the therapy table, watching as Michelle expertly began fitting the temporary splint to her wrist and hand.
“Swelling’s not too bad,” Michelle said. “Hopefully it’ll become semi-usable more quickly than some.”
“Here’s hoping... I need to be functional as soon as possible.”
“That’s the goal.” Apparently satisfied with her work, Michelle sat back. “Still, I have a feeling this is going to be a whole lot harder than you think it will.”
“Yeah...” And hardly being able to pull her own stupid pants up and down just might be the least of her worries.
“What are you going to do about work? Your hand isn’t going to be usable for quite a while.”
“I was thinking about that. I figure I’ll take a couple days off, then come here and help as I can, since I was being transferred anyway. I know the bosses would give me time off with my current disability, but I can’t just sit around at home twiddling my thumbs. Or thumb, as the case may be.”
“You never were the type to just relax. And twiddling one thumb sounds very unsatisfying.” Michelle chuckled. “But how can you do any work?”
“There are things I won’t be able to do for my patients, but I can get them into heating pads or set up in the dry whirlpool. Help with evaluations. Bring everyone the therapy tools...keep them clean. And some things I can do with one hand, right? Like massage scar tissue, manipulate fingers and wrists, take measurements.”
“Obviously you’ve thought a lot about this already. Sounds difficult, but if anyone can do it you can.” Michelle squeezed her good hand. “My next patient just came in, but I’ll see him at the other table. You can wait here until Conor comes back.”
A good thirty minutes went by, which left Jill wanting to get up and help, proving that she wasn’t cut out to take time off—especially since she couldn’t carry on training for the marathon she’d signed up for now. No running while her wrist bones and the plate and screws weren’t even close to fused. It was another depressing consequence of her injury, since running always helped clear her head of worries.
Fifteen more minutes had her thinking she should just head on back by herself. Conor was known for squeezing in patients who needed to be seen in the office right away, which could mean another hour or more. And why not? His apartment was close, and he’d given her a key. The pain meds had mostly worn off, which meant her arm hurt some, but she didn’t feel woozy anymore. Not having the use of one arm didn’t make her a cripple, right? And the break was protected by the new splint. She had to learn how to live this way for the foreseeable future, and there was no time like the present to start making that happen.
She walked to Michelle’s second table, where she was working with her patient. “Looks like Conor got held up. Can you let him know I’m going back to his apartment?”
Michelle frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea just one day post-op. Grab a magazine and relax. He said he has all surgeries scheduled this afternoon and wants to get you home first, right? He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”
“You know how his schedule can be. Could be forever till he’s done. Plus, it’s a nice day out. I’ll be fine.”
Maybe it was the thought of being close to Conor as they walked, enduring the awkward discomfort between them, that suddenly made her want to run out the door and get to his apartment. Not to interrupt his normal workday anymore. To take a nap and breathe at being alone again, not having to stare at Conor’s handsome face and sexy body and think about what used to be between them.
She waved to her former co-workers and left. Outside, the December breeze against her skin helped soothe the chaos in her chest. Soothe all the bittersweet feelings that kept surging up every time he came close, or held her arm to steady her during those uncomfortable moments of him helping her get dressed and undressed.
How was she going to handle this? And would it be as hard on Conor as on her? Probably not, since his work had always been more interesting to him than she’d been.
She forced herself to walk slowly even though she wanted to get there and see the dogs and maybe lie down for a minute. She nearly took the stairs, as she would have at her own place, but remembered she should take it easy for a few days. Last thing she needed was to trip on the steps, landing on her newly put back together wrist and splinted hand.
The second she opened his apartment door the dogs greeted her excitedly, and much as she wanted to hug them she used a stern voice when she spoke to Hudson, making sure he didn’t throw his paws onto her shoulders and knock her flat before she’d healed for even one day.
Her poor night’s sleep once the nerve-block had worn off, combined with the events of the day, had left her feeling so tired she’d expected to conk out right away. But a half hour of trying to rest on the super-comfortable guest bed just sent her mind to places she didn’t want it to go. Places like Conor’s bedroom, which she hadn’t let herself peek into, and wondering if he had women there with him sometimes. Of course he did. He might work a hundred hours a week but he was a hot-blooded man, wasn’t he? And hot was an understatement.
Thinking about their fabulous sex life, and what other women he must be enjoying that with now, made her feel a little sick. She jumped out of bed and began pacing the gorgeous apartment. She stared out at the amazing view of the city and Central Park and decided she had to get out of there.
Surely she could walk just one of the dogs? Yorkie was the obvious choice, because he was small and couldn’t pull her along the sidewalks and pathways like Hudson could if he chose to chase a squirrel, or something else grabbed his attention. She and Yorkie would both get a little exercise, and maybe that would clear her mind of all the unsettling thoughts that kept poking at her.
She grabbed the dog’s leash and headed down the elevator and out through the door, managing to smile back at the doorman even as she wondered how many women the man saw coming and going from Conor’s place.
Breathing in the crisp air and doing something as normal as taking a walk felt good, and it helped bring back her equilibrium. But once she and Yorkie had explored the park for only a short time a new fatigue began to settle in her bones, and she realized that maybe she was overdoing it for the first day after surgery.
After resting for a while, on a bench tucked beneath an old oak tree, she decided she should head back and take the kind of nap she’d felt too restless for before.
“Time to go, Yorkie. Okay with you?”
She’d barely taken ten steps, concentrating on not tripping over the uneven sidewalk, when Yorkie leaped forward with a yip and she looked up. She was stunned to see Conor McCarthy heading toward them, eating up the pavement with lon
g strides, a thunderous expression on his face.
For some reason her heart started beating harder. She wasn’t sure if it was the look on his face or the way he kept coming so fast, but she stopped dead and stared at him.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” His hands reached for her shoulders and he pulled her closer, anger practically radiating from him.
“Nothing. I just... I wanted a little fresh air, that’s all.”
“That’s all? So you do whatever you want, not caring that it scared me to death? I was worried and mad when Michelle told me you left. How do you think I felt when I went in my apartment and you weren’t there? I didn’t know if you’d even gotten there until I saw Yorkie was gone, too, and Alfred told me you’d left. And then you didn’t answer your phone! Damn it, Jill!”
His expression was fierce, but deep inside the fury in his eyes she could see how worried he’d been. Scared for her. Guilt stabbed, because she’d left without thinking it might worry him. And didn’t that make her the kind of person she’d accused him of being when they’d been married? Telling him that he didn’t care how it made her feel when he was hardly ever home?
“I didn’t hear my phone... I forgot to turn the sound back up, I guess. And it didn’t occur to me that you’d be worried, but it should have. I’m sorry.”
He stared at her for a long second before his mouth came down on hers, hard and possessive. The shock of it had her swaying, leaning into him, loving the taste of him and the feel of his lips on hers that she’d missed more than she’d admitted to herself until now.
The tone of the kiss changed, softened, his mouth slowly moving on hers with more than a hint of the kind of tenderness they’d shared when they’d first fallen in love. His hands moved to cup her cheeks and her good hand lifted to his chest, curling into his jacket as her knees weakened and her heart began to thud in heavy strokes against her ribs.
“Jilly... Jill...” he whispered against her mouth, before he kissed her again, still soft, still slow, but deeper now.
Her focus narrowed to just him. The feel of his hands holding her face, his hot mouth on hers, his chest rising and falling as his breathing quickened. Only one thought was in her head. How had she lived without him in her life, kissing her like this? Making her feel like this?
The sound of Yorkie barking finally got through the mistiness of her senses, and she opened her eyes to see Conor opening his at the same time. His gaze was still fierce, his blue eyes dark, his face taut. In slow motion his hands slipped from her cheeks and he took a step back. Without a word he reached for the dog’s leash with one hand and linked his fingers with hers before he turned to walk back down the path.
They didn’t speak—and, really, what was there to say? Him scolding her some more? Another apology from her? A conversation about why kissing each other was the worst idea ever and how it was going to make staying in his apartment together even harder than it already was?
Now that his mouth wasn’t on hers, short-circuiting every rational thought, she remembered that his kisses and the touches that had made her feel treasured and desired had happened less and less as he’d been gone more and more. His absence had tormented her, bringing every insecurity to the forefront of her brain, until living together was misery instead of joy. For both of them.
And now they were living together again, bringing all those wonderful feelings and those awful feelings, the guilt and the pain, to the surface. Even if it was only for a day or two, he couldn’t want to revisit all that any more than she did.
They had to find a different solution.
When they stepped inside his apartment the large, lovely space felt excruciatingly oppressive. She squared her shoulders and turned to him.
“Listen. I don’t think this is going to work. I’ll figure out what I can and can’t do and find solutions to problems. I’ll be fine at my place and we’ll find someone to walk the dogs. They can stay with you until Briana—”
“No. I get that this is strange and awkward. For both of us.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at her, nearly expressionless now, compared to the anger and passion etched on his face ten minutes ago. “But you need at least a few days to get your bearings. Your hand is swollen and sore and in a splint, and you can barely move your fingers. Doing everything with one hand is going to take practice. I’m sorry about what just happened. I was freaked out and worried but it won’t happen again. I promise.”
“I think I’ll be all right if—”
“No,” he repeated, in a quiet voice that felt far more compelling than his angry tone of a moment ago. “I’m asking you to please stay. For me. So I’m not worried and anxious about how you’re doing. You shouldn’t be alone right now. We’re adults and we can make this work—in spite of...everything.”
“Conor—”
“Please.”
She found her gaze clinging to the entreaty in his eyes.
“I know there’s no reason for you to do anything for me. But please do it for yourself. For your safety. Please.”
“I just... All right.” How was she supposed to argue with him when he was looking at her that way? “Briana will be in New York soon, I’m sure. Just a couple more days and I’ll be out of your way.”
“You could never be in my way.”
The soft sweep of his knuckle against her cheek seemed to shake her heart before he dropped his hand.
“Why don’t you rest while I take Hudson out. I’ll bring you something to eat before I go back to work.”
“If you’re working until ten I don’t see how that’s any different from me being alone at my place.”
The sadness she heard in her voice wasn’t supposed to be there. And the bitterness she was trying to banish for good.
She rushed to sound less pathetic and needy. “But, thanks. Some food would be good.”
“I won’t be working late. I’ve rescheduled my evening meetings until next week. So I’ll be back as soon as surgery is over and I’ve finished the paperwork. Go lie down and I’ll be back soon.”
Maybe it was the big emotions of the past twenty minutes, but suddenly that deep fatigue seeped through her bones again. All she wanted to do was lie in that comfy bed, close her eyes and do nothing but start to heal.
She watched him get Hudson’s leash and walk out the door, then sat for a long time staring out the huge windows. Admiring the amazing view of this city that was like nowhere else. Being together with him in this apartment, feeling her heart squeeze and tug every time she looked at him, already felt like torture. And there was no way that working with him again would be anything but painful, too.
Much as the thought of leaving New York made her feel more than a little sad, she knew a new job in a different state had to happen. Being far away from here would be the next necessary step in really addressing her insecurities once and for all and getting over Dr. Conor McCarthy.
CHAPTER FOUR
LEAVING JILL AT his apartment all alone had felt strange and uncomfortable, despite her assurances that she wouldn’t try to go anywhere. Maybe he was being stupidly overprotective. Having only one hand was a handicap that would keep her from fixing her own lunch and give her other challenges, but she could still get around. So why couldn’t he get the niggle of worry out of his head?
Was she in pain? Was she coping okay or was she miserable? When would her sister be able to come and stay with her, and for how long? The woman had a pretty demanding job in the advertising business, so he couldn’t imagine she’d be able to stay with Jill for very long. How was she going to cope after that?
Not his problem, he reminded himself for the fiftieth time. She’d once been his everything, other than his work, but she’d seen soon enough that he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted. And she’d believed she wasn’t the kind of woman he needed in his life, that attending charity balls and galas and m
aking small talk with work associates wasn’t something she could do. That he didn’t really desire her—which he still couldn’t believe. No man touched a woman and kissed a woman and laughed with a woman the way he had if he wasn’t crazy in love with her.
But she’d been right about the rest. He’d wanted a different kind of life from the way he’d grown up. Financial security, a special woman, children, stability... The first moment he’d set eyes on Jillian his heart had fallen at her feet. A month of delirious fun and lovemaking had had him rushing her into marriage, not wanting to wait one more day for them to be together forever.
Forever hadn’t lasted even a year.
He’d made Jillian miserable. Not the same way his father had made his mother miserable, but still...
He hadn’t realized until his monumental failure that the way he’d grown up had left him damaged, somehow. Anxiety about their financial security, so intense it had made him sweat and have trouble sleeping, had sent him working long hours, the way he had since he was a boy. He’d tried to ratchet it back, to make Jillian happier, but much as he’d loved her, loved being with her, the back of his mind had always been full of all the things he might be dropping the ball on. All the ways his businesses might fail and their future tank, leaving them destitute.
To him, providing for her future was the best way to show how much he loved her—but she hadn’t seen it that way.
He’d begun to realize that intense worry and anxiety was some kind of mental health thing from his childhood, but in the end it had become clear that he had no clue how to be the kind of husband she wanted and deserved. When she’d walked out the door he’d accepted it, because the last thing he’d ever wanted to do was hurt Jilly any more than he already had.
He closed his eyes at the memories. It was over and done with. But seeing her in such pain from her broken wrist after surgery had about killed him. And being physically close to her, touching her through necessity as he’d helped her dress and eat, being near her soft skin and hair, later knowing that her warm, sweet body was asleep in the next bedroom over, had seriously messed with his equilibrium all over again.
