Only her dad was an exception. He was the best, by anyone’s standards.
And Jenna’s step-mom, Abby, who had the good sense to be crazy about Jenna’s dad, also showed an understandable partiality for this gorgeous six-foot-four combination of drool-worthy muscle and bone. If, that is, Jenna was the type of woman inclined to drool. Which she wasn’t. Not anymore.
Not since her heart had been ripped from her chest and trampled by her faithless, ruthless, egocentric ex-husband. Or rather, deceased ex-husband. Damn him for the technicality. Sometimes it was hard to keep a good mad going at someone who had died a hero’s death. Even though he deserved her anger.
Jenna took a moment to reconsider her all-men-are-scum position. If Abby believed her nephew Ryan was a good guy, it could be true. Maybe. Possibly. But highly doubtful.
And since her dad had wanted her to stop by and visit Ryan, she supposed he expected her to offer some kind of support or assistance. Something to aid or comfort in him in his time of need. But, what?
While considering an assortment of possible actions, she turned to the windows and opened the blinds. Spring sunshine flooded the room, but did nothing to dispel the overwhelming scent of eau de antiseptique.
She eyed the patient again. Flat on his back, with his knee wrapped in gauze, day-old scruffiness darkened his jaw. A mop of sun-streaked hair tumbled across his forehead. Like the jock he was, he wore a college sweatshirt with the jagged remains of sleeves that looked like they’d been ripped off by a rabid dog. A pair of baggy basketball shorts completed the outfit. Except for the knee bandage, it was pretty much the same fashion statement he’d made as a teenaged boy.
If not for some pretty impressive don’t-mess-with-me masculinity that oozed off his skin like lava from a volcano, he looked almost vulnerable and childlike with his eyes shut and his skin pale against the stark, white sheets. Until he moved.
Suddenly, he stretched, muscles rippling. His hand sought his groin and scratched. Eeeww. Additional proof for Jenna that men had one-track minds. Even in a drugged or unconscious state, their thoughts gravitated to their dicks.
He twisted and flung his arm upward; his hand came to rest near his cheek. As if searching for a cool spot on the pillow, he rolled his head from side to side.
Blaming the maternal instincts she’d developed since her daughter’s birth nine months before, Jenna reached out to check for fever. His forehead radiated warmth, but she imagined that was normal for him. That muscle-rippling physique probably generated enough power to heat a small village.
Besides, he was here for knee surgery, not anything life-threatening, viral, or infectious. Unable to stop herself from fulfilling one of her teenage fantasies, she reached out to smooth the hair off his forehead.
“Zoey? Baby?” he mumbled, snagging her wrist and pulling her forward.
Caught off-guard, Jenna found herself breast to chest with an implacable male form for the first time in eleven months, two weeks, and three days. Not that she was counting.
Before she could spring away, his other hand burrowed into the hair at the nape of her neck and turned her face toward him. It happened so swiftly, she didn’t—couldn’t—react fast enough to evade the maneuver. Unwelcome goose bumps did the quickstep down her spine.
Her first thought was that he smelled male, woodsy, and slightly medicinal—like the great outdoors infused with a hint of anesthesia.
But then, along with the shock of having her chest pressed against his, came the panicky sense of suffocation. His breath mingled with hers and sweat beaded her forehead. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes crossed at the nearness of his mouth, just inches away. Before his lips touched hers, she pinched his nose between her fingers and twisted. Hard.
“Oww!”
Jerking back, he managed to clip her mouth with his chin. Jenna’s incisor sliced into her lip. She yelped and tried to escape his grip, but his fingers remained firmly clasped around her wrist. His arm muscles bunched with the strength of a professional athlete. She knew if he chose to, he could sail her across the room like a Frisbee. Luckily, he didn’t.
He squinted at her, confusion clouding the depths of his silvery gray eyes until the confusion cleared and he nodded in recognition.
“Jenna.” The word held a whisper of accusation, low and pulsing. He rubbed his chin. “That was uncalled for.”
“No kidding.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Dang, I think I’m bleeding.”
“Here,” he said, lifting a corner of the sheet to dab her lip.
“No, thanks.” She held up her hand to block the gesture, plucked tissues from the box on the bedside table and passed one to him. “You don’t have any infectious diseases, do you? STDs? Anything?”
“Clean as a rookie at his first training camp.”
“Good, ‘cause you’re bleeding, too. I hope we haven’t mixed and mingled bodily fluids. Blot your chin,” she instructed, but took a seat on the edge of his bed and did it for him. “Didn’t anyone teach you to look before you kiss?”
“Must’ve missed that lesson when my dad was teaching me the opposite advice.” He covered his mouth with his free hand and yawned so wide she heard his jaw crack. “Why are you here? Someone send you on a little guilt trip?”
“Pretty much,” she admitted.
“Your dad or my aunt?”
“Dad.” He’d called to tell her he and Abby had been delayed in St. Louis. He’d kept the conversation low-key, commenting on poor Ryan. In Boston. All alone. Facing the fourth and most serious knee surgery of his life. And with Jenna already so close.
As much as she would’ve preferred to remain cocooned at home with her baby, Jenna couldn’t ignore a request from her dad, even an implied one. She’d caved like a spelunker.
So, here she was, at the bedside of the larger-than-life football star she’d lusted after from afar during her high school years. He was always way out of her league and she wouldn’t have been on speaking terms with him, then or now, if an odd twist of fate hadn’t brought her dad and his aunt together. The two had gotten married about ten years ago, right before Ryan went off to college.
And while she’d heard a lot about him in the intervening years, they’d only bumped into one another a handful of times since then. Two of those occasions had occurred in the past year. One was her husband’s funeral six months ago. The other was Ryan’s father’s funeral a few months before that.
Otherwise, she’d only seen him on television.
Professional football player. Sports commentator
Everyone’s embodiment of Mr. Wonderful.
Big freaking deal.
He looked around as if just noticing they were alone. “Where are Tabby and Joel?” Tabby. That was cute. He still called his Aunt Abby by his childhood nickname for her.
“A tornado in St. Louis delayed their flight.”
“Well, damn.” A flicker that might have been annoyance or anxiety darkened his silvery eyes to pewter. “Are they all right? When will they get here?”
“They’re fine, but wind damage grounded their plane from Lambert. They drove to Springfield for a flight that should land about four. I haven’t heard from them since this morning.” She checked her watch. “It’s after two now.”
“So they sent you to chauffeur me home.”
“No,” she said, intending to make her position clear from the get-go. “I’m here to check on you and then leave, period.”
Before she could get another word out, a matchstick-thin nurse appeared in the doorway. An explosion of red hair with blonde and orange streaks spiked straight out of her scalp, giving her the look of a Fourth of July sparkler. A blue plastic name tag that read ‘Marley’ was pinned to the white uniform covering an Olive-Oyl-flat chest.
“It’s about time someone got here,” Marley said with a punctuating clap of her hands. “He’s been threatening to leave since they moved him out of recovery.” The nurse took in Jenna with a glance. “She’s not your aunt.”
“Change of plans.” Ryan explained about the cancelled flight. “She called Jenna here, an, um, old, um, very close friend, to come and get me.”