‘I can’t dance,’ Jess protested. ‘I’ve got two left feet.’
‘What about my self-esteem?’ He delivered the words deadpan, with just the right edge of vulnerability in his tone to appeal to Jess’s generous nature.
Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘Put like that...’
‘You can’t refuse,’ he confirmed.
‘But just one dance,’ Jess insisted with a concerned look in her eyes. ‘You’ve been on your feet a lot today.’
He’d settle for that. ‘I’ll put your parcels behind the bar, and then we’ll dance. If I feel the strain, I’ll lean on you.’
He’d gone too far and she laughed. ‘That’ll be the day!’ she exploded. ‘But I do owe you for steering me towards such beautiful gifts.’
‘That’s right,’ he confirmed, ‘you do.’ Now, let’s get on with it, he silently urged. But his attitude towards Jess soon mellowed when he reviewed the sincerity in her eyes when she thanked him. Was he the first man to treat Jess as a woman should be treated? She should be spoiled. Jess had been working her ass off for years. What was wrong with cutting loose now and then?
‘The dress wasn’t a gift; it was a necessity,’ he insisted. ‘I brought you here—I landed you in this—’
‘Fabulous and unexpected wedding invitation with a lovely new friend,’ Jess interjected.
‘Agreed. But you have to wear something at the wedding, apart from jodhpurs or scrubs.’
‘True,’ she conceded, smiling. ‘And I’m thrilled to have such a pretty dress to wear at Maria’s wedding, and I’m very grateful—’
‘You don’t have to be grateful. You’ve earned it. If there’s a shortfall...’ he pretended to ponder this ‘...I’ll make sure you earn it. Does that salve your delicate conscience, and soothe your touchy pride?’
She shrugged ruefully. ‘Whether I’ll have the courage on the day to wear that particular dress remains to be seen,’ she admitted with a grin. ‘And I can’t see it coming in handy at the farm.’
‘Skylar would wear it,’ he remarked.
‘Yes, but she’s a shameless hussy whose only skill is telling fortunes,’ she dismissed.
‘Can she dance?’
Jess’s kissable lips pressed down as she considered this. ‘Skylar can dance,’ she confirmed.
‘Just to be clear, when we hit the dance floor, am I dancing with Skylar or Jess?’
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘A freestyle combination of the two.’
‘I’ll have to see what we can do,’ Jess offered with a grin.
‘Knock yourself out.’
‘I’ll try to make things interesting,’ she promised.
His lips curved. ‘That’s what I expect.’
But the best laid plans, et cetera, et cetera...
They’d barely reached the dance floor when his leg cramped. Seeing his grimace, Jess quickly reverted to professional in a trice and found him a seat. Kneeling on the cobbles in front of him, completely unconcerned by the people who had gathered to watch, she worked on the spasm, oblivious to everything but easing his pain.
Hell. This was not how he’d planned the evening to end.
‘Better?’ she asked, gazing up at him with concern.
‘Much better,’ he admitted in an ungracious low growl.
‘No dancing for you,’ she told him. ‘It’s time to go. That cramp was a warning. I’ll get the rest of our things—’ She handed him the cane.
He had never hated it more. ‘I can manage without your assistance.’
Jess opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it and stood back while he levered himself up.
They didn’t speak a word for the first part of the journey home. He was in a foul mood, thanks to the cramp in his leg, and Jess had more sense than to attempt conversation. At least she showed more sense to begin with...
‘You have to accept that your leg will take time to heal,’ she ventured after they’d covered a few tense blocks. ‘There will be setbacks, sometimes when you least expect them.’
‘Thanks for the advice. Can we leave it now?’ To emphasise the point he played some music. Jess talked over it.
‘You’re not invincible, Dante. You’re a man, you’re injured and you hurt. That isn’t something to be embarrassed about.’
‘Embarrassed?’ he spat out with affront.
‘If you tell me as soon as you get these cramps, maybe I can help.’
‘Like you have done so far?’ he derided.
‘You’re in pain now,’ she intuited, ‘so, rather than take it out on me, stop the car and let me drive.’
A short incredulous laugh shot out of him ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so,’ she stated bluntly. ‘It isn’t a weakness to admit you need help. Open up. Trust someone—’
‘Trust you?’
She blushed, but that didn’t stop her asking, ‘Why not? You have to start somewhere.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you, Jess. And no, you can’t change places with me, either to drive this vehicle or to see things the way I do. So let’s just agree to disagree and restrict our comments in future to subjects connected to my treatment.’
‘Fine by me,’ she bit out.
‘Good.’
‘Good,’ she echoed before sinking back in her seat.
His mood didn’t improve. If anything, it grew worse. If it hadn’t been for the setback with his leg, he would be planning to mark the successful business deal he’d signed off at his lawyers round about now.
With Jess?
The connection between them was undeniable, but they were worlds apart. She deserved more than he could give—more than he wanted to give. Casual relationships suited him. His siblings were the one constant in his life. He doubted he’d ever be tempted to extend his family. After the tragedy of his parents’ death, he chose to fiercely protect what he had.
He glanced across at Jess. They couldn’t avoid each other. He needed more treatment, and they’d meet socially at Maria’s wedding, where he’d be polite, nothing more. His world was constructed around practicality with no space for pointless emotion. A good night’s sleep should sort him out, he reasoned as they hit the highway and headed out of town. He’d attend Jess’s therapy sessions religiously, and he’d be civil when they met away from the treatment couch, so when Jess’s contract ended he’d say goodbye without regret.
* * *
Jess felt the need to beat herself up. How could a day that had started so well end so badly? She and Dante were further apart than they had ever been, which made it hard, if not impossible, to work with him. If she didn’t have Dante’s trust she had nothing, and right now the gulf between them felt wider than ever.
What more did she want?
To put it another way: what more could she expect? Try nothing and she’d be close. Dante had spelled out exactly what he wanted and expected of her, which was for Jess to heal him in the shortest time possible.
Frustrated by Dante’s impatience, for which she had no answer, and by the black cloud surrounding them, Jess realised that she was gripping the packages they’d bought on the market as if they were comfort blankets. She desperately wanted Dante to be free from the shackles of his past. The loss of his parents was a scar he’d wear for ever, but would his parents have wanted him to pay a penance for their death every day of his life? She refused to believe it, but how could she help when Dante had shut her out? Perhaps he was right to do so and being professional from now on was the only way forward.
* * *
When Dante was under her hands on the treatment couch later that evening she marvelled at the miracle of healing. It had nothing to do with rich or poor, privileged or not, and had everything to do with training. Staring down at one of the most brutally physical men on the planet, currently resting on his stom
ach buck naked with the small exception of the towel she’d placed across his buttocks, she realised it was possible to separate her two selves and concentrate solely on healing. Manipulating his muscles until she felt the knots release was all the satisfaction she would ever need.
Was it? her cynical inner voice demanded.
It had to be.