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“Good.” She didn’t stop, moved upward, tackling the tight muscles of his ankles, his calves, along his shins.
It was helping. Doggone, it was helping. That spot...there, oh, yeah.
But it drove him crazy that she still wasn’t listening to him, that he felt, once again, out of control around this woman, out of his element. “You can stop now, Kendra.”
“I know.” She lifted his leg and put it back on the coffee table, leaving his foot and lower leg tingling from the warmth of her touch, aching for more. He didn’t like that she’d come into his house and upended everything about his day and body and attitude in less than fifteen minutes.
He wanted her out of here. He wanted to go back to his bad-assed mood, refining his misery to an art. He didn’t want to cope with people who irritated him, seeing his current poor showing as a human being reflected so clearly back to himself.
“You can go now. You should go now.”
“You think?” She knelt close to him, smelling flower fresh, and put her hands around his thigh, safely above his knee. She started on the tightness his injury caused in his quads and in his hamstrings, loosening the muscles, increasing the blood flow to his leg. Jameson sucked in a breath. Her hands were strong, long fingered, with clear pink polish.
They were very talented hands.
His cock noticed.
He was wearing sweatpants.
Kendra would notice.
Way more humiliation than he should be expected to bear in one day. “Stop, Kendra. Now.”
She stopped, looking up at him with a bemused expression. “We’re done, huh.”
“Done.” He dropped his hands into his lap. She glanced at them as she got to her feet. Of course she’d noticed.
“Better though?”
He nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She sat back down, her color high, picked up her clipboard and stared at it for a moment without seeming to register anything. “So.”
“So?”
“We were talking about your family.”
“No.” He shook his head pointedly. “We were finished talking about my family.”
“Ah, yes.” Her smile was back. “So we were.”
“In fact, I think we’re finished talking, period.”
“No, not yet.” She kept the smile on. This woman did not intimidate easily. She did not intimidate at all. He should know that from their past. He’d been prodded into humiliating this girl more than once, though it hadn’t ever quite worked out. Deep down he’d resented his brothers’ manipulation, of him and of her. A part of him had cheered when she’d refused to play the traditional role of picked-on student. That same damn part was still admiring her now.
“You’re on personal leave, waiting to recover, so you can go back to Keesler and be assigned to a desk job until you can pass the physical exam and be cleared again for worldwide duty. Then you’ll be able to resume your specialty training.”
He clenched his teeth. If she knew it and he knew it, why bring it up? “Yes.”
“If your surgery is unsuccessful, you will most likely be honorably discharged. Since you’re planning to be a career officer, how would that feel?”
“Super.”
“Uh-huh. I thought so.” She scrawled something triumphantly. “Okay, moving on.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“You have somewhere to go?”
He held her gaze. “This is an intrusion into my day.”
“Of...”
“What do you mean?”
“Your day of what? Pain? TV watching? Brooding? Unbearable waiting?”
“Yes.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s all I have right now.”
“Doesn’t have to be that way. What are your hobbies?”
“Oh, for—”
“Okay, okay.” Her laughter at his exasperation made him want to smile, too. Instead he glared at her, because that was much safer in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend and didn’t want to. Not while she was in the room smelling like a flower garden and making him hard with a few strokes of her hands, which none of the PTs at Keesler hospital had come close to doing. “One more question.”
“Promise this is the last?”
“Cross my heart.” She made a graceful gesture that brought his attention to the dark shadow of cleavage at her neckline.
He must be going completely nuts. “Shoot.”
She leaned forward, pinning him with her lovely green eyes. He held her gaze, keeping his cold, impersonal, not wanting her to know how she got to him—a weird reversal of their roles in grade school. “What are you most afraid of, Jameson?”
A laugh broke from him. Oh, no. No way. She wasn’t getting that stuff out of him. “That’s easy.”
“Go on.” She looked hopeful, but wary. Smart woman.
“I’m afraid...” He leaned forward to match her posture, ignoring the complaint in his hamstring. “That you’ll never, ever get the hell out of here.”
To his surprise, she burst out laughing, a musical cascade that shone some light into his darkness and made him feel taller, straighter, lighter himself, though he kept from laughing with her, or even smiling.
Kendra stood and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder on her way past him. “I think that was the first straight answer I’ve gotten all morning. Except about you not being impotent.”
“Could be.”
“Okay, you win. I’m off. Don’t get up.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
She was still smiling, tall and slender and graceful, her legs shapely and strong looking under the short full skirt, sandals with some sparkly metal on them emphasizing the pretty shape of her feet. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You bet.”
She tipped her head, looking at him mischievously. “It was very interesting seeing you again, Jameson.”
“Surreal.”
She nodded once, then walked away, the way she’d said his name lingering behind her. The closer she got to the door the darker the space around him felt. In another three seconds she’d be gone and he’d be back with the pain, the brooding, the agony of waiting, his fate in someone else’s control.
At the door, she lifted a hand. He clenched his jaw, stifling the absurd desire to stop her.
Then she disappeared through the door and closed it behind her.
Click.
The room went dead, devoid of sound and light and life.
Jameson hauled himself up and limped into the kitchen, his knee still pissed at him for the thumping he’d given it, mood reverting to its earlier foulness, only now it seemed even less bearable. The reason made him angrier and more frustrated and stir-crazy.
He had no idea when or whether Kendra was coming back.
3
MATTY CROSSED THE alley behind the Pasadena Playhouse and stepped through the artists’ entrance onto El Molino Avenue. The show had gone well tonight; she was pumped. The usual stage-door crowd had gathered to see the actors emerge, but given that she had such a small part, Matty put on an impersonal smile and didn’t even hope to be asked for her autograph. That way she couldn’t be disappointed, and the few occasions she had been asked were a real surprise and pleasure.
The night was cool, mid-sixties, she’d guess, a beautiful night to be out. She had a sudden impulse to drive to the ocean, maybe Santa Monica, which wasn’t far from where she lived in Culver City. Hang out on the pier and have a drink. Maybe her roommate and longtime friend, Jesse, would want to come with her.
She was digging in her purse for her cell when it rang. Kendra!
“Hey, Kendra, how are you?”
“Fine. Is this a bad time?”
“No, it’s perfect. What’s going on?” She tried not to sound too anxious, which was hard, considering she was...too anxious.
“Your brother is definitely having a tough time.”
Matty grimaced, stomach sinking. “I know.”
“But all is not lost. He’s in pain, physically, which will dissipate, and emotionally, which will be harder. But I think—think—he’ll let me help him.”
“And will you?”
Kendra gave a low, dry chuckle that came from somewhere Matty didn’t understand. “Yes. I will.”
Relief exploded out of her in a long exhale. “Thank you.”
“I might live to regret it.”
“No, no, you won’t. That is...” She laughed breathlessly. “You will live, you won’t regret it. What will you do for him?”
“First? Clean up the place and cook him some decent meals. Then we’ll try getting out to reconnect with some of the world he knows and introduce a bit of a world he doesn’t. See what works. It can be a slow process, but he’s not past help.”
“Oh, my gosh, Kendra.” Emotions jammed in Matty’s throat. Hearing that Jameson was not in true despair, that he wasn’t going to do something crazy like kill himself...ugh, she couldn’t even think about it. That wasn’t an option. “I have no idea how to thank you.”
“Really, don’t be too excited. I haven’t done anything yet but piss him off.”
“Ha!” Matty nodded sympathetically. “That’s not hard these days. Even I can do that.”
“We’ll see if I can get around the mood. I’ll give it a try. For old times’ sake.”
Matty caught the bite of irony. Hmm. There might be something there. “Kendra...did you and Jameson ever date?”
“Date? Jameson and me? God, no.”
“Huh. Okay, sorry.” Matty frowned. Pretty violent denial. The main reason Matty had such huge hopes Kendra could help Jameson was because she’d been sure Jameson had had feelings for her back in middle and high school. Maybe she’d been wrong.
“I’ll stay in touch and let you know how things are going.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I—” Matty rolled her eyes. “I can’t stop thanking you.”
Kendra laughed. “Not a problem. Talk to you soon. Take care.”
Matty ended the call and stood, pressing the phone to her cheek, trying to contain her excitement. This could be good. This could be really, really good. She wanted Jameson free of pain, but also free of the family pressure to be something he might not be. She’d done her medical research, she knew ACL repair surgery could be unsuccessful, that there was a small chance Jameson could end up out of a career in the Air Force, the first Cartwright discharged since God knew when.
But maybe for him that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe Kendra could help him rediscover living life his own way, as he’d been doing in Spain, working for a U.S. company, taking art and English courses at St. Louis University in Madrid and dating a dancer, before their father had reached his patience limit and dragged him back to the U.S. and the Cartwright Plan for Life.
A hand bumped her arm. She automatically moved away.
After that, Jameson had—
“Mattingly?”
Matty’s head jerked up. Only one person outside her family ever called her by her full name.
Her eyes met a pair of deep brown ones under a shock of wheat-colored hair that had gone slightly gray at the temples. Somehow she managed to stifle a gasp.
“Chris.” Calm. Stay very calm. As if she’d just bumped into him a week ago, not wrenched herself away from him back...how long had it been now? Years. She’d been a senior at Pomona College. He’d been an associate professor. Bad choices had happened. Drama. Pain. Deep love, and the best sex she’d ever had. Not that she was comparing. “What a surprise to see you.”
Surprise was putting it mildly. If she didn’t make sure to keep breathing, she’d pass out on the sidewalk.
Luckily, being raised by Jeremiah and Katherine Cartwright had taught her how to suppress every vestige of human emotion. Not a good technique on stage, but it could come in damn handy during real life.
“I saw the show.” He seemed calm, too. But then, he always did. Except when he was laughing or about to come. “You were great.”
Matty accepted his compliment with a polite nod. She had a few solo lines and part of one song—no bragging rights, but she took pride in having been chosen for that much, and in doing her role well. God knew she never took any theater job for granted. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
“It was...” He was looking at her too intently, with eyes that were too warm. “It was a shock to see you, Matty, I admit.”
