DANTE PICKED UP some calls while he waited for Jess in the sports block. Each supplied another small piece of the jigsaw that was Jess. He already knew she was a complicated woman, driven, successful and determined. She was also beautiful and he wanted her, but these shreds of information supplied by his team fleshed out the back-story of who she was.
He should have known the bold teenager would rise above the tragedy of losing her mother and develop into someone whose only thought was helping others. Competent and organised, Jess’s reputation in her profession was second to none. But did he want to get close to her? Did he want to get close to anyone? The loss of his parents had been unbearable. Grief had frozen his heart.
With nothing but his racing thoughts for company, he soon became impatient. Before the accident he’d had many outlets for his energy: riding horses, women, working out in the gym. That appetite was only slumbering. Flexing his muscles, he turned on his stomach to rest his face on folded arms. Closing his eyes, he breathed steadily and deeply in an attempt to block Jess out, and then flinched, feeling her cool hands on his skin.
‘Apologies,’ she said in her best no-nonsense voice. ‘Are my hands too cold for you?’
‘You’ll soon warm up,’ he predicted.
Telling his body to behave was unnecessary when she began work on his muscles. ‘Infierno sangriento! Hold off!’ he warned as she delved into the site of his injury with all the finesse of a commando in the gym.
‘I know what I’m doing.’
And with that she put the flat of her hands between his shoulder blades and shoved him down again. ‘Don’t worry,’ she soothed. ‘This will soon be over.’
More accustomed to caresses and hungry, urging grips, he growled a soft warning as she kneaded and probed his tender damaged leg.
‘Try to relax,’ she insisted.
‘Are you enjoying this?’
‘It’s my job.’
‘Then improve your bedside manner,’ he rapped, ‘and while you’re at it refine your touch.’
‘It’s my intention to heal, not pleasure.’
He huffed a cynical believing laugh.
‘Settle down,’ she instructed.
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘Are you going to take over the session?’ She stood back.
‘Get on with it,’ he growled ungraciously.
‘No more talking. Or laughing,’ she added as he shook his head and huffed with incredulity that he was still here, still tolerating her torture.
‘You’ve got enough to think about,’ Jess assured him. ‘As I do, if these leg muscles are ever going to heal.’ To prove her point, she applied even greater force to her pummelling and kneading.
‘I’m not a lump of dough.’
‘No. You’re a lot noisier,’ she observed. ‘And far less pliable. So be quiet.’
‘I could fire you.’
‘Really?’
She sounded far too enthusiastic about that idea, so reluctantly he submitted, but not before he had acknowledged how quickly charming Jess could revert to Jess the therapist. That impressed him. In the ability to disconnect, she was very like him.
‘If you don’t obey my instructions,’ she murmured as she worked, ‘these sessions will be endless.’
‘Really?’
‘Stop that,’ she warned in response to his amusement. ‘Any slight improvement you’ve noticed after our session on the plane only signals the fact that certain muscles and nerve endings are being called into use again. That’s a good sign, but it doesn’t mean you’re cured.’
He gritted his teeth as she gave him a good workout.
‘Turn over. I need to work on the front of your leg,’ she explained.
He couldn’t turn over until his body took the hint. ‘Give me a minute,’ he ground out, before silently reciting the alphabet backwards.
‘Maybe I can help you,’ she suggested with concern.
She certainly could.
‘Do you have cramp?’
He had something. The mother of all hard-ons meant taking longer than he’d thought. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he warned when Jess attempted to turn him over. ‘You might strain your back, and then what happens to my treatment?’
‘I’m overwhelmed by your concern,’ she murmured with a smile in her voice. ‘But if you co-operate I won’t need to strain my back.’
‘Wait,’ he insisted.
‘As you please.’
She wouldn’t sound so prim if she knew the extent of his problem. She was killing him in more ways than one.
At last he could turn over. ‘Carry on.’
* * *
Dante had the most beautiful body she’d ever seen. How could she ignore that—ignore him? Patients were at their most vulnerable on the couch beneath her hands, and Dante was no exception. She wanted to heal him and she knew what to do. She also wanted to touch and pleasure him, but that was off the menu. Thankfully, he behaved himself for the rest of the session, which allowed her to concentrate on her work.
&n
bsp; Most of the time.
‘I’m done for today,’ she announced as she satisfied herself that progress had been made.
‘Exhausted?’ Dante suggested, turning his head to look at her.
‘It would take more than a single session with you to do that.’
‘You sound very sure.’
His expression made her blush, made her smile...made her smile broaden. It was impossible not to find some humour in this situation, and it seemed the harder she tried to remain aloof from Dante, the harder fate worked to screw up her plan.
Trapped in the beam of very dangerous eyes, she said firmly, ‘I’m done for today.’
‘Muchas gracias, señorita,’ Dante murmured as he rolled off the couch.
‘Don’t mention it,’ Jess said politely as he straightened up and towered over her. ‘It’s what I do. First thing tomorrow morning, back here, around eight?’
‘I’ll be in town tomorrow,’ Dante said flatly as he snatched up a robe.
‘What about your treatment?’
‘It will have to wait.’
‘But I need to establish a routine.’
Dante grunted. Was this his way of dismissing her? Was she going to be ditched like the doctors in the hospital? Was he really going to risk his future mobility?
‘You can’t afford to miss a treatment.’
‘You decide this?’ he asked with a narrowing of his night-black eyes.
‘Yes,’ Jess said bluntly. ‘I decide your treatment programme. You’re not cured yet. If you have to go into town, I can start earlier. Name your time.’
‘Six o’clock.’
He made it sound like a challenge. ‘Earlier, if you like,’ she suggested mildly.
‘The time suits me.’
‘Then it suits me too,’ she said pleasantly, as she seriously considered stamping on Dante’s one good foot.
Rewarded by a grunt of assent, Jess had to admit the banter and contest of wills between them was arousing. Dante was a patient like no other. And there was no law against dreaming. No code of ethics could find fault with that.