Flirting With Danger (7 page)

“Not this again. I told you, it wasn’t your fault.” He looked as if he was going to
argue, so she said, “It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks, anyway. The doctor said the
swelling will start to go down tomorrow, providing I keep the compression on till
then.”

“Okay, let’s get these off.”

“I bet you’ve said that a few times.”

He chuckled as pulled off the other leg of the jeans, bundled up the fabric, and dumped
it on a chair. “Just a few.”

“You’ll find the plastic wrap over there.” She nodded toward the cupboard where he’d
find what he needed. He completed the task efficiently, as she’d known he would.

“Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

“All right, then.” He helped her up and passed her the crutch. “Call if you need me.”

Jasmine nodded and left the kitchen as quickly as she could manage. What he’d already
done would stay with her for a long, long time. The nearness of him. The scent of
him filling her nostrils as he leaned closer. The slide of his fingers along her shin.
The sigh of his breath against her skin. All of this had awakened a deep, repressed
longing that she didn’t want to acknowledge, because this was Aaron, the very last
man she could let herself need.

Chapter Eight

Aaron did his best to avert his eyes while Jasmine hobbled out of the kitchen in her
underwear, and let out a long sigh as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He’d
seen enough to know that she was perfect. Fit, firm, and all natural. And it was clear
that she had no idea how effortlessly beautiful she was.

Nothing he’d ever done had tested his self-control quite as much as what had happened
in this kitchen. Her skin… The ubiquitous fake tan had become so boring, but Jasmine’s
was the kind of skin that could drive a man mad, smooth and silky, the creaminess
of it spoiled only by the bruising that was all his fault, despite what she’d said
to the contrary.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her injured—she’d picked up her fair share of bumps
and bruises in the line of duty—but when he’d seen her go down in a heap today it
had been like a kick to the solar plexus and way beyond any professional concern he’d
felt before. Carrying her to the vehicle hadn’t felt like an everyday rescue either.

He shook himself. It wasn’t a bad injury. A sprain, that was all. She’d be on the
mend within a day or two, and the best thing he could do now was crack on with the
meal he’d started to cook for her. And if he couldn’t get the scent of her skin out
of his nostrils or the sight of her half-naked body out of his mind, well, that was
his problem and he had no right to make it hers.

He wasn’t the man for her.

Short-term was out for both of them; long-term was out for him. And what other option
was there?

He’d have to resist temptation all by himself. It would be a good lesson for him,
because so often he’d only had to make a quick phone call to have a woman agree to
hook up with him. But Jasmine was different. Very different.

He finished chopping the vegetables, then set the small table in the kitchen ready
for the meal. He could still hear the water running in the bathroom, and he could
understand her wanting to stand under the spray for a while. It might wash away some
aches and pains, and that could only be a good thing.

While he waited, he strolled into the lounge room, checked out her CD collection,
shaking his head at the eclectic mix of music, then moved on to her bookshelves. He
took down a paperback, looked at the cover, put it back on the shelf, and chose another.
Then he found her DVDs and scanned the titles.

It was weird that the more he found out about Jasmine, the more he wanted to know.
He looked around the room, then stepped toward the photographs. There was one of her
with Leanne and Sasha at Leanne’s wedding, but it wasn’t one of the professional shots.
This one had been taken in an unguarded moment, the three women sharing a laugh, heads
close together. He picked up the frame and studied the picture, his eyes fixed on
Jasmine, and boy, did she look beautiful. Whoever had taken the photograph had captured
her expression at its most relaxed, her smile at its broadest, her eyes sparkling
with humor.

Remembering how she’d looked that day made his body react without warning, and when
he recalled the kiss they’d shared, he had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Reluctantly, he returned the frame to the shelf. Next to it, a group photo caught
his eye. The gray-haired man in the center he’d guess to be her father. And the four
younger men around him, her brothers. She must have been on the other side of the
camera. There was another picture on the shelf of Jasmine, arm linked through her
father’s, and that was the lot. None of her mother.

He had no family photos at all, but with a family like his, well, he was hardly likely
to. She’d had a normal family until her mother had died, hadn’t she? Why then, were
there no photos here of her mother?

At a sound from the passageway, he turned. Jasmine stood in the doorway, bundled up
in a fluffy white toweling robe and leaning on her crutch. With her wet hair combed
off her face and her skin glowing, presumably from the hot water, she looked just
as beautiful as she had in the photograph he’d been studying earlier. She didn’t need
the makeup, the hairdo, and the posh dress.

“Was it worth it?” he asked.

“The shower? Oh, yes.”

“Is it too soon to take some more painkillers?”

She nodded, then flicked her eyes over his shoulder to the shelves. “Were you looking
for something?”

“Thought I’d see if I could dig up any dirty little secrets while I was waiting.”

Her eyes widened.

“I’m joking. I was looking at the photos. Food’s waiting. Are you ready to eat now?”

“If you don’t mind that I’m dressed like this.” She waved her right hand at the robe.
“I couldn’t face struggling into clean clothes.”

He swallowed. She was naked beneath the robe? He would have to keep his thoughts away
from that snippet of knowledge. “Fine,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Makes me
feel a little overdressed, though.”

“I don’t mind if you take off some clothes.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “I could
give you a towel to wear. There’s something sexy about a man in a towel.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, stomping on the idea she’d sparked
in his mind before it could take hold. She was on medication. She didn’t know what
she was saying. She certainly didn’t sound like herself.

…

Jasmine followed Aaron into the kitchen, giving herself mental kicks for her sexy-in-a-towel
comment. She’d made a fool of herself by speaking her thoughts out loud. His face
had shown his shock.

Every cell in her body was still all too aware that he’d seen her half-undressed.
She’d even blushed as soon as she’d seen him. Yet, he’d behaved as if it hadn’t happened.
Or as if it hadn’t been remarkable enough to leave a lasting impression, anyway.

Hmm, she’d rather not think about that. She didn’t want to wonder how she compared
with the many women he’d known, because obviously, she wouldn’t measure up. Literally,
since her bust size was only average.

From her seat at the table, she watched him as he moved about her kitchen, dishing
up the food onto two plates. He didn’t look all that comfortable. Definitely not a
natural chef. But knowing that he was outside his comfort zone didn’t detract from
the scene; it just made it all the more incredible that he was doing this for her.
If it was simply an exercise in assuaging his guilt, he could have had a restaurant
deliver her a meal from their takeaway menu, surely? But no, he was giving up his
time to do this because he believed she needed it.

And because he was a kind person.

Whoa. She’d never thought of Aaron as
kind
. Full of himself would have been her assessment before now. Something shifted inside
her. She was seeing another side to him, a side that she liked a lot more than the
playboy she’d always known. He was still just as dangerous; the playboy was still
there. He just had facets that had been buried till now.

The aroma of garlic and bacon filled the kitchen, making her mouth water and her stomach
growl. “What have you made?”

“Pasta.” He looked over his shoulder. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“I found some salami and a bit of bacon in the fridge. They didn’t look too old.”

“No, they’re not. They’ll be fine.”

“It’s all ready, I think.” Aaron carried the plates to the table and set them down.
“Tomorrow, I could make a start on tiling the veranda floor.”

“There’s no hurry.”

“It’s good timing. I can get the work done, pay off my debt, and be around here to
help you out as well.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do tomorrow?”

“Not really. Nothing I can’t put off.” He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.
“Look, I know you’re not the kind of person who finds it easy to ask for help, and
I get that. I do. But if I’m here, I can make sure you’re all right. It will make
me feel better about being the cause of your injury.”

He was right that she didn’t ask for help unless she had no alternative. She’d decided
early on that she wouldn’t be caught dead putting on the pathetic-woman act, waiting
for a big strong man to help her. She wouldn’t be like her mother. She just got on
and did things for herself, and it had become her way of life. She’d become so self-sufficient
and capable that she rarely needed help anyway.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sure my ankle will be feeling better by morning, but
I do appreciate the thought. And if you’re serious about the veranda, then that would
be great too. I haven’t got around to buying new tiles yet.”

“No problem. We can take care of that first. I’ll be here early in case you need help
getting dressed.”

She was glad he kept his head down, eating, because heat was racing up her throat
and into her face again. For someone who never blushed, she was making up for lost
time tonight, but then it wasn’t often that she had to deal with an impossibly good-looking
man talking about helping her on and off with her clothes.

“No need. If I do want help, I’ll call Sasha and ask her to check in here on her way
to work.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday and you said she won’t be home till late night.”

“True, but I’m sure she won’t mind dropping over here in the morning if I need her.”

“All right. Well, let me know if she can’t make it.”

Jasmine refused to wonder whether he sounded disappointed, and instead focused on
her food. After a few mouthfuls, she sighed. “Thanks for this. I didn’t realize I
was so hungry.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad it’s edible.”

“It’s great,” she said through a mouthful of pasta.

They ate in silence for a short time, then he said, “I was looking at your DVD collection.
You like an odd range of movies.”

“Odd in what way?”

“Well, it’s difficult to tell from your collection whether you like action movies
or chick flicks. You have an almost equal split with some sports films and thrillers
thrown in.”

“So I’m open-minded. What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but most people lean one way or the other in their
tastes. Which way do you lean?”

“Depends on my mood.”

He picked up his glass of water and looked at her over the rim. “Which mood are you
in tonight?”

“Why? Do you want to watch a movie?”

“As long as you’re not in the mood for a chick flick.”

She took a drink of water. “I fancy something with a paper-thin plot and plenty of
explosions.”

“Perfect.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to special-effects budgets.”

She laughed. “Ouch. My ribs hurt when I laugh. You’ll have to promise not to make
me laugh if you’re going to hang out here for a while.”

His face crumpled in concern. “It’s a good thing you weren’t in the mood for a comedy.”

She agreed, then returned to her meal.

Several moments later he said, “I hear there’s a chance that interest rates might
be on the rise.”

She looked up. “Oh? Will that be a problem for you?”

“Me? No.”

“So, why do you sound so depressed about it?”

He shook his head. “I’m not depressed. It’s the dullest topic I could think of. I’m
trying not to make you laugh. We could discuss the weather?”

She smiled. “We can do better than that.” She considered for a moment, then said,
“What would you do for a living if you couldn’t be a firefighter?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about leaving the service.”

“Think about it now. Hypothetically.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to captain Manchester United, but as I don’t even play that
code of football, I can’t see them calling me up any time soon. And I can’t sing or
play guitar, so the likelihood of my being a rock star is about the same.”

“You could be a youth worker or something like that. The kids from the rehab center
really seemed to look up to you.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “
You’d
be good in that job. It would be great for the girls to have someone like you as
a mentor.”

“Someone like me? What does that mean?”

“A woman who’s strong, confident, and knows what she’s doing. Who’s not afraid to
get dirty. Who’s smart and funny and—” He stopped. He gave her a sheepish smile and
got to his feet. “You get the idea.”

She was a little stunned, actually. She was pretty sure he’d just paid her a massive
compliment. And she couldn’t deny that his words had sent ripples of warmth through
her.

He refilled both of their glasses from the jug of chilled water that he took from
the fridge. “What about you? What would you do if you weren’t a firefighter?”

She only had to think about it for a moment. “I’d work in one of the other emergency
services. I’d be a paramedic, or maybe a police officer.”

“Because you like to know that you’re helping the community?”

“Well, yes, that’s part of it. If I couldn’t work in one of those services, then I’d
do anything to avoid a desk job. I couldn’t be confined to an office all day, every
day, and I’m not very good with computers. They always seem to malfunction when I’m
around. That’s one of the reasons I’m glad my ankle isn’t broken. If it was, I’d have
to do weeks of light duties, and they send you to head office to work in administration.
I’d hate it if I had to stay away from the station for that long.”

“Me too.” He hesitated. “I mean, I’d hate it if
I
had to do it.”

She met his eyes. Was it possible that he’d meant he’d miss her and then corrected
himself?

He gave her a crooked smile, then looked away. “Oh good, you’ve got a dishwasher.”
He stood, took their empty pasta bowls to the sink, rinsed them, and stacked them
in the dishwasher. “Now, would you like a hot drink while we watch the movie?”

She was still stuck on the question of whether he’d miss her. She’d miss him, she
realized. She’d miss seeing him, miss sparring with him.

“Tea? Coffee?”

She gave herself a mental shake. “I do understand the concept of a hot drink,” she
said with a smile as she got to her feet. “I’ll have tea, but you don’t need to do
everything. I can manage to boil a kettle.”