Lip Service. Сьюзен Мэллери

sister?”

      “No.”

      She’d been around powerful men enough to recognize that she’d asked the wrong question. “Do you and Skye have a date planned.”

      He barely hesitated. “Yes.”

      “May the best woman win?”

      He shrugged. “Like you said. I don’t know you. Yet.”

      “So you’re going to see which one you like best before picking?”

      “I already have an idea about that.”

      She supposed she was supposed to infer that he was leaning toward her. Big whoop. For all her success with her foundation and as a single mom, Skye was a baby when it came to the real dating world. She didn’t understand that men like T.J. would do whatever it took to get ahead. And she wasn’t going to listen to Izzy on the topic.

      Unless Izzy had proof of T.J.’s sliminess.

      The problem was she didn’t dislike him—she just didn’t trust him. Which left her confused. She was once again forced to ask if she was doing this to save her sister or to help herself to some good-looking guy.

      Izzy hated self-awareness nearly as much as she hated sitting still. Fortunately the plane had reached the right altitude. They stood and adjusted their parachutes, then got into position, leaving their headsets behind.

      “You really going to do this?” T.J. yelled.

      “Of course.” She elbowed him out of the way, walked to the open door, waited for the thumbs-up and jumped.

      The sensation of plummeting toward the earth thrilled every part of her. The air rushed by so fast, she had trouble breathing, but that didn’t bother her at all. It was just her and the day and invisible forces of gravity pulling her steadily down and down and down.

      She laughed from the joy of the moment, from the pleasure of being exactly where she wanted to be. Right now she didn’t care about T.J. or his motives or anything else. She spread her arms and turned in the air, pumped on the adrenaline rush.

      Seconds later, reluctantly, she braced herself and the parachute popped open. The free fall ended in a quick upward jerk, followed by an easy back and forth drifting to the landing spot.

      As the ground raced toward her, she bent her knees and relaxed so the impact wouldn’t hurt, then settled on a spot of brown grass.

      T.J. landed a few feet away. He laughed as he unfastened his parachute, then stalked over, grabbed her and kissed her.

      His mouth was firm and sensual, taking as much as offering. “What a rush,” he said when he released her. “Nothing beats it.”

      She stayed where she was, trying to gauge her reaction to the kiss. It had been fast but nice. She wouldn’t say no to another one, but she wasn’t dying to repeat the process.

      “Some things beat it,” she said. “You’re obviously doing them wrong.”

      It was an automatic response. She flirted with available men. She measured interest and frequently took advantage of the situation because it was fun. She didn’t get involved so there was never a boyfriend to worry about. Life was too short for commitments.

      “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

      “Do you want it to be?”

      He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. She was a lot shorter than him and he had to bend over to kiss her again.

      She put her hands on his shoulders, as much to feel the strength of him as to hang on. She was in no danger of falling.

      While the feel of his lips on hers was nice enough, she couldn’t seem to emotionally detach enough to enjoy the moment. She was thinking too much—about her sister and T.J., about who he was and how much or little she should trust him. His mouth moved against hers, then he nipped her bottom lip. She nipped back, biting hard enough that he drew away.

      “You like it rough?” he asked, sounding a little surprised.

      “Not at all. I’m making a point. I give as good as I get. You might want to remember that when you take Skye to dinner.”

      “No kissing?”

      “I don’t care if you kiss. Just don’t hurt her.”

      He touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “What about you, Izzy? Do you ever get hurt?”

      She smiled. Her? Getting hurt would mean giving her heart. Like that was ever going to happen. “I can take care of myself.”

      “Maybe you need someone to take care of you.”

      The smile turned into a chuckle. “Are you volunteering? Then you don’t know me at all. Take care of me? Right. Say that to my father and he’ll laugh you out of the building.”

      She unhooked her parachute and headed to the waiting truck. Once she’d gotten out of her flight suit, she walked to her car and climbed inside.

      T. J. Boone remained a mystery. Her gut told her that Skye was in danger, but the problem was Skye wasn’t in the mood to listen to well-meaning advice. Izzy knew the smart thing was to walk away. Skye was a big girl and could handle her own life. Except letting her step into danger wasn’t an option. They were sisters and Izzy loved her. That meant learning more about T.J. and very possibly pissing off Skye when she told her the truth.

      “YOU’RE NEW,” Mitch said as he stared at the older man in front of him. “I don’t want anybody new.”

      He also didn’t want to be in physical therapy but that wasn’t an option. He wasn’t progressing as well as he could and he knew the reason. He wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. Not only wasn’t he interested, he didn’t remember half of what the other therapist had told him.

      “I’m not new,” the guy told him. “You haven’t met me before. There’s a difference. I see you still have your chip on your shoulder. I hope it’s not on the left one. The extra weight will make learning to walk a real bitch. I’m Joss.”

      Joss was a fifty-something, muscle-bound bald man with piercing blue eyes and an impressive jungle tattoo running down both arms.

      “Mitch.”

      “Oh, I know who you are. You have an interesting file.”

      “What’s interesting about it?”

      Joss grinned. “Word has it you’re a pain in the ass. That’s why you’re seeing me. I’m good with hard-assed cases. You could have had a pretty girl feeling you up. But you skipped out on your appointments and you haven’t been working out at home. So now you’ve got me. Welcome.”

      Mitch refused to feel uneasy. “I’m busy. I can’t come in twice a week.”

      Joss led the way back to the therapy room where specialized exercise equipment lined the walls. The center of the room had open space and several areas for patients to practice walking between two rails. Mitch remembered his first shaky steps on his prosthesis in this very room. He’d felt a combination of relief to know that he would be mobile and fury that his leg had been lost in the first place.

      Now a half-dozen guys and one woman worked with therapists on various pieces of equipment. They were all sweating from the effort, but each looked determined. As if they expected the therapy to make a difference.

      “You come in when I say come in or you don’t get a permanent prosthesis,” Joss said easily. “You piss me off and I’ll take the one you have.”

      “I used to be a SEAL. How are you going to take it?”

      “Special Forces,” Joss told him. “And you’re the gimp here, kid. Not me. Let’s go in an examining room and see what you’ve done to your stump.”

      Mitch hesitated. Joss narrowed his gaze.

      “What?”