Back in Service. Isabel Sharpe

herself she shouldn’t, but Chris hadn’t come looking for her again.

      On the pier now, arms wrapped around herself, squinting into the wind, Matty thought about how she’d come such a long way since then. She’d built a good, rich life for herself. Dated a couple of guys seriously, though none who took her over the way Chris had.

      Yes, she was comparing. She’d always been comparing.

      But unfairly. Her feelings in college had been intensified by her youth and inexperience, by the lure of the forbidden, by the perfect bubble in which their encounters took place. She hadn’t met his friends, he hadn’t interacted with hers. They’d had no problems to cope with but the drama of their own taboo passion.

      A tear made its way down her cheek. She flung it forward into the sea, sniffed angrily and turned to go home.

      Enough. She’d done what she’d come here to do. Brooded. Remembered. Cried one beautiful tear. The actress side of her had been fed.

      Now she’d do her father proud, march home, get up at 0700 hours and take on the next day of her life.

      4

      KENDRA PULLED INTO the parking lot at Villas of the Pacific, CD player blaring Adele’s “Don’t You Remember.” Villas? Really? She could have sworn they were apartment buildings. Nice ones, yes. But a villa needed a sprawling estate. Jameson didn’t quite fit that mold, but he’d also looked painfully out of place in his friend’s apartment, which was decorated with modern art, odd sculptures and plants. Jameson belonged in a more traditionally masculine interior, all leather and dark wood, books and model fighter jets, one plant, always about to die...

      She found a visitor spot and turned off the engine, sat for a moment in the sudden silence, annoyed at herself for being nervous. Hadn’t she been through all this after her visit here the day before? Yes, she had. Going forward she’d continue bypassing Jameson’s obnoxious behavior, understanding that it came from his pain and anger. She’d focus only on how she could help him. And she’d ignore the...complication.

      Finding herself a teeny, tiny bit attracted to Jameson after all these years did not mean the world was about to end. He was an attractive man. So what? He was also an entitled jerk, who happened to be in a terrible situation and needed Kendra’s help. Kendra had agreed to help him because...quite honestly, she was curious. Who was this guy now? Who had he always been? Why had he chosen her to make miserable for so long?

      One thing she had definitely decided—no more massages. Yikes. Not that his erection had been significant. He was a guy, one who probably hadn’t had any in a long time. His reaction had undoubtedly surprised him as much as it had her, especially after so many years of rather juvenile enmity between them.

      Out of the car, she took a moment to gaze over the red-tiled roofs and palm trees toward the rust-colored cliffs that dropped to the edge of the vast Pacific. Blue sky today, a good breeze—the sight calmed and filled her as it always did. She could bring beauty and positive feelings and hope back into Jameson’s life if he would let her. She’d focus on that. The erection, not so much.

      Today’s goal: clean the apartment, cook him a healthy meal. Push him gently to talk about his situation. Duck when he threw things at her. Maybe throw a few things back.

      Kendra turned to unload the groceries and cleaning supplies she’d brought for this visit, one bag of each. Above all, she’d stay cheerful and brisk in spite of his sarcasm and cranky bad-boy mood, intent on what she was there to accomplish. She was not the same cowed high school kid having to fake self-confidence. She had the real thing now.

      At the entrance to Jameson’s building, she balanced one bag on her hip and the other on a raised knee, trying to free up a hand to push the buzzer. Her finger had almost made it when a guy pushed out the door and let her in with a warm smile. Well. Looked like she’d catch Jameson by surprise again. She’d called that morning and left a message after another client canceled a late-afternoon meeting, letting him know she’d have time for him today. He hadn’t called back to say he wouldn’t be in or didn’t want to see her, so here she was.

      On the second floor she turned right and strode down the cream hallway, enlivened by dark green carpeting and prints of landscape paintings on the walls. At his door she balanced the bags again and knocked, four fast raps, I’m here, ready or not, then stepped back to wait, bright smile in place.

      Nothing.

      Was he home? Had he planned to be out just to annoy her?

      A noise inside. Her heart gave a little flip and she scoffed at herself. Still scared of the big bully, Kendra?

      The door opened.

      Whoa.

      Jameson had cleaned up. Gone was the stubble, ditto the greasy hair and wrinkled clothes. He looked really good.

      Really good.

      Unwrinkled navy-and-white Air Force T-shirt over neat khaki shorts. Great legs, scarred on one knee. Awesome chest.

      Had she referred to him as an attractive man?

      She’d lied. He was smoking hot.

      And he was standing there, stone-faced, staring at her. Was she gawking? Well, yeah, but she didn’t think it was that obvious.

      “Come in.” He stepped back to let her pass.

      “Hello, Jameson.” She pushed through the door. First thing that hit her was the absence of crap strewn all over the living room. “Wow, you cleaned.”

      “Mike has a service.” He seemed taller today? Maybe he was just standing straighter. In any case, he already looked 100 percent better, and Kendra hadn’t even started her program yet. Matty would be happy.

      “Looks like you resumed your human form.” She smiled at him, cheerful nurse, big sister, teacher, counselor, whatever kind of person would not want to have wild sex with him all over the apartment. “Did you get my message?”

      “What’s in the bags?” He took one from her, apparently possessing at least some gentlemanly tendencies.

      “That’s cleaning stuff, obviously not necessary now. This one is groceries.”

      “I’ve got food.”

      “Not this food.” She took the bag into the kitchen, aware of him limping after her.

      “So, what, you’re taking over my life now?”

      “Every bit of it, yes.” She put the bag on the counter and started unloading. He was still playing cranky, but his tone didn’t sound quite as bitter as the day before. More progress. “How’s your knee today?”

      “Better than ever.”

      “Still in pain, huh.”

      “I love pain.”

      “That’s lucky.” Always the tough guy. Funny how grief affected people so differently. Some closed up, like Jameson. She called those Turtles. Others, like herself, plunged into activity to alleviate in others what they were suffering themselves. She called those Avengers. Then there were Pancakes, utterly flattened by the experience, and Curators, who turned their memories and memorabilia into museums of those they’d lost, and on and on. “Your home exercises going well?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Good.” She didn’t really need to ask. His type would want to get better as quickly as he could. Athletes, military, anyone who depended on his or her body would be driven to stay in the best shape possible and didn’t mind the work it took to get there.

      She’d just try not to think about how his body was already in the best shape possible—broad shoulders, flat stomach, long legs, no doubt impressive muscles all over...

      Ahem. Kendra had a job to do, and it didn’t entail standing around imagining Jameson Cartwright naked.

      “I’ll make you a basic