Medical Romance July 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall

Being friends would never work. Not now.

      Not after that kiss.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      THREE DAYS SINCE Liam had last seen Grace, he walked with the aid of his crutches into The Hollywood Hills Clinic. After signing in, he headed downstairs, praying for a good reception.

      Their first day back she’d called to check on him, but he hadn’t heard her voice since that call. Oh, she’d still checked in on him twice each day, which was probably more than any other physical therapist did with unruly patients, but it had been via text. Short texts. Terse texts. One-word texts: Update?

      And he’d taken the hint. Don’t call her. Because what could he say?

      I can’t kiss you anymore because your brother will be mad at me?

      I can’t kiss you anymore because all I want to do is rip your clothes off and find new, creative, and wildly satisfying ways to hurt my ankle?

      Without direction from her, he decided to go to the big room with the equipment rather than the pool this morning.

      “Morning.” Her greeting came from the office area and he forced himself fully into the room.

      Liam tilted an ear, rolling her words and tone around in his mind as he called back, “Morning. Am I the first patient?”

      Come out of there, Gracie. I need to see you, to see how you are...

      “You’re my first patient,” she confirmed, stepping out of the office. “Everyone’s got their first appointment of the day. You’re not late, I just scheduled you about fifteen minutes after theirs.” Busily tapping on the tablet she carried to make notes, she didn’t even look at him.

      Which told him enough. She was still very unhappy with him.

      “Where are the others?”

      “I don’t know. There are three of us here, and a few different therapy rooms that can be used. We’re going to one of the private rooms since we’re starting light this morning.” She gestured for him to follow her and stepped back out. A short distance away a bright corridor turned off and he followed her to the last room.

      Inside there was a work table along with some chairs and counters. All very modern, clean, and comfortable looking as far as examination tables went.

      What he should be aiming for was to handle this in a wholly professional capacity. It would be wonderful if they could be friends without all the rest of it, but it just didn’t look likely. So feeling let down that she didn’t want to look at him made him an idiot.

      “Where do you want me?”

      “Hop up on the table if you can,” she said, putting the tablet down and grabbing a rolling stool for herself.

      “Of course I can. I’ve been navigating stairs with these suckers for days. I’m just about to go pro in the Stair Climbing with Crutches event.” He maneuvered himself up onto the table and scooted back, finally letting himself look at her more closely when he settled. All that professional nonsense aside, part of him still wanted her to smile at him. He had to do better than this.

      Back in normal clothes, back in their own corners, she looked at him much like she had that first day: like she wanted nothing to do with him.

      “I’m just going to unwrap and have a look at it. Have you been having any trouble wrapping it?”

      “Yes. I am not nearly as good at it.” He leaned back and held his leg out for her to do whatever she was going to.

      Still not looking at him, which was probably for the best. Eye contact led to words, and he had no words to offer her. Every time he tried to think about what to say, his mind invariably turned to replaying the limo ride, the way every time his tongue had slipped into her mouth she had rewarded him with moans and sighs, with pressing closer, with her hand tangling in his hair.

      God. Stop it.

      All he’d managed to riddle out was the fact that they’d have to go back to operating in strictly separate worlds after this ankle business was finished. If he were a stronger man—a better man—he could control himself. But apparently he couldn’t do that.

      His foot bare, she stashed the support implements to the side and gently turned his leg this way and that to examine it.

      And there would be no wincing. He might not be strong in mind but he would be...strong in pain control.

      “How does it look?”

      “A little better. The bruising where the blood pooled isn’t much different, but it’s almost gone from the higher areas, away from where the actual damage occurred. But we really can’t push it today. We’re going to measure range of motion, what you can do on your own without my help, and what you can do with a little help from me. Did you take any pain medicine this morning?”

      “I took the one you have to eat with. It helps more than the other.”

      She nodded and got some kind of protractor and a chair and began walking him through basic movements.

      Businesslike, but still gentle with touches.

      His range of motion was really bad. She had him moving until it hurt, and she would gently press until he cried uncle.

      The up-and-down motion, the usual walking foot motion, was better than he’d thought it would be but any rotation in the socket made him want to jerk his leg out of her hands.

      She got him down from the table and into one of the recliners.

      “Want my foot up?”

      “Not yet. We’re going to do a paraffin bath first.”

      “Wax?”

      “Yep, hot wax. It’s not as hot as drippy candle wax because it melts at a lower temperature, but it is like no heat you can apply at home. It’ll feel...” She stopped when her phone rang and she fished it from her thigh pocket. A quick scan and she gave the barest shake of her head and swiped it out. “What was I saying?”

      “I think you were saying the hot wax was going to feel good.”

      “Better than good, really. We’ll dip, I’ll wrap your leg in hot towels and let you sit in it for about twenty minutes, and then we’ll measure again.”

      The phone buzzed.

      She grabbed it again and glanced at the screen. Then turned the thing off completely and dropped it on the counter. The expression on her face...well, it was exactly the expression he’d imagined on her face every time she’d sent her one-word texts the past couple of days.

      “Something wrong?”

      “My brother is hounding me.” She knelt and rolled up his pants leg. “We’ll do this every day before we get going so you might want to wear shorts in here. Just an idea. No one to impress. No danger of it getting on your slacks.”

      “Okay.” He looked at the phone and then at her stiff shoulders. He shouldn’t ask, but it wasn’t about kissing. Not exactly. Only kind of. And about the fact that his best friend thought he was a louse. Think about that. Focus on the consequences. “He’s been upset with me.”

      “Yeah, I worked that out our first day back.”

      She didn’t ask. Did that mean she didn’t want to know how that had been going? With the way she was ignoring texts, he had to wonder what Nick had said to her.

      “Both of those were him?”

      “Yes. I’m not speaking to him right now.”

      “Why not?”

      She settled the cuff above his knee and wheeled the paraffin thing over to him, but stood and retrieved towels he could only guess were hot before