Taming Hollywood's Ultimate Playboy. Amalie Berlin

whom she’d once forced to see her in her underwear? What was the proper, professional comportment for that situation?

      “Or someone else, maybe?” Please, God, a lightning bolt would be good right about now. She could use a little smiting. Maybe not enough to die. There were lessons to teach actors to cry on command, where could she get lessons to learn to faint on command? Shouldn’t there be some holistic expert in pressure points who could teach her something for this kind of situation? Just in case it should come in handy again in the future.

      “I was thinking...” He stopped the denial and shrugged his affirmation. “Yes. I’m here to see you.” He stopped his limping backward cadence and his arms fell lifelessly at his sides. “I sprained it. And with my schedule right now...”

      Treatment. This wasn’t a coincidence. At least treatment meant she had something to do other than stand around and wonder if he could see her nipples through her bikini top as he’d been able to do through that ridiculous bra. Or the other stupid thoughts shouting in her mental echo chamber, none of which would make him go away any faster. But treatment might.

      Examine him. Offer advice. Refer him to someone else. Call it a day!

      Good plan.

      But get dressed first.

      Act normal. Like nothing is wrong.

      “Can you make it back to the treatment room?” She glanced into his eyes long enough to see the furrow of irritation marring his too-handsome features and was almost proud she finally sounded normal and professional.

      “Of course.”

      “Okay. I’ll just dry off, change, and then come check on you. Have a seat in one of the reclining chairs and get your foot up. It’ll help with the throbbing.” More sane words.

      He paused a moment and then nodded. Without another word, he pivoted on his good leg and hobbled back out into the hallway, leaving Grace to make a beeline for the locker room to change.

      Had Nick sent him here? Her brother was still friends with Liam. They had a bond that never weakened, even through the months when Liam was too busy to hang out or whatever it was they did together. Grace didn’t know. She always tried her best not to know what Liam was up to, as much as was humanly possible in LA when she couldn’t even go to the store to buy toothpaste without seeing his pearly whites gracing the cover of some magazine.

      WORLD’S SEXIEST MAN!

      How Does Sexy Megastar Liam Carter Keep Those Rock-Hard Abs?

      Hollywood’s Most Wanted talks life, love, and his favorite blah-blah-blah...

      Or the ones she’d seen that morning when buying fruit: racks of tabloid headlines about Liam destroying his ex-girlfriend, who could only find comfort in the pills she got hooked on.

      With minimal toweling efforts, she dried just enough to get her clothes back on without sticking, roughly combed her hair back into a ponytail, and stuffed her feet into sandals.

      She’d go and examine him. Figure out what he was doing and what he should be doing to get back on his feet as quickly as possible. Fetch some crutches, maybe a different splint, and find someone to go to his house and give physical therapy. Someone who wasn’t her. Someone who’d never thrown her pride to the wind and herself at a man who had clearly never wanted her.

      Or at least not thrown herself at this particular man. Someone who’d always known you can’t rehabilitate the bad boy.

      But if you were lucky, maybe you could rehabilitate his ankle.

      There had to be at least one such physical therapist in LA.

      * * *

      Liam half fell into the first chair he saw inside the treatment room. Not a recliner. Foot still down. All the better should he need to make an escape, an idea that stubbornly refused to go away. And the idea of reclining made his stomach roll, much like the first summer together when they’d all gone to Six Flags. Fifteen, stupid, with something to prove...jumping on his first ever roller coaster right after gorging himself with junk food and a milk shake...

      The world felt tilted enough, without a chair adding to it.

      Grace clearly didn’t want to see him. First time that had ever happened. After that night he’d stayed away, but before that night she’d always been happy to see him, full of smiles.

      Maybe it was shock. He just had to give her a few minutes to compose herself.

      Maybe this was a mistake.

      Reaching as high as he had meant every new relationship came with a certain amount of danger—personal or professional, it didn’t matter. Not necessarily physical danger—though that was an unfortunate reality too—but it seemed like everyone was looking to make a quick buck selling any celebrity gossip they could get their hands on. More than just trashy network shows looked out for celebrity gossip. Now private websites and every form of social media got in on the scoops. It astounded him how fast a celebrity could fall from grace.

      Grace.

      She might not want to see him, but he could trust her not to be one of those people. Even if they hadn’t had a history, she worked for a facility that guaranteed patient privacy.

      But with their history... Damn.

      He shifted the messenger bag back onto his shoulder and himself out of the chair to make for the nearest recliner. Convincing her to help him would be tricky enough without disobeying her instructions right out the gate.

      He barely got settled with the foot of the recliner kicked up before she came bustling in, once again avoiding eye contact. It didn’t take an expert to read that body language. Avoiding eye contact was a sign of vulnerability or of trying to hide something—given the situation, what she wanted to hide was likely that vulnerability.

      She ducked into an office off to the side, saying in passing, “Let me just stash my stuff and I’ll have a look at your ankle.”

      Half her words came after she’d left the room, projected to carry through the open door, and she hadn’t so much as glanced at him on the way through. That never happened these days. Since he’d become someone to be seen, everyone wanted to see him.

      Everyone but Grace.

      The problem with having an elephant in the room...he couldn’t decide if it was generally a bad idea to mention it, or if he just didn’t know how to mention it right. All he knew for sure was that neither of them really wanted to mention it—the idea of even trying summoned another wave of nausea. If she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him without the subject coming up, it really wasn’t the time to talk it out.

      “I appreciate you taking the time,” he offered lamely. What would he say to any other medical professional in this situation? Just talk about the job. Pretend. He was an actor, for goodness’ sake. Just talk. “I’ve got a movie opening, three premieres to attend, and all the promotion that goes along with that. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

      She stepped back out of the office, finally letting him actually look at her in something other than her bathing suit. The clothes she wore didn’t flatter, but she still wore them well. Her black scrub bottoms sat low on those hips, occasionally giving him another glimpse of golden skin when she moved.

      “What exactly happened?” She dragged a stool to the reclining foot end of his chair and sat down. Only then did she look at him.

      Ignore the elephant. Focus on the ankle.

      “I twisted it while running.” He answered her question and then fished for the bag he’d stashed beside him. “There are X-rays in here.”

      She didn’t take the bag, but she did take the hint. “Did the doctors say it wasn’t broken?”

      Her hands gently lifted his leg and she worked his shoe off, then began unstrapping the splint—the only thing that had been keeping him upright today. He tried not to wince but any jostle pinged