Back in Service. Isabel Sharpe

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