Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy Page 11

  * * *

  “What the hairy hell, Liam?”

  Liam winced into his phone at his best friend’s voice crackling down the line, loud and sharp enough to peel the eardrum from his ear. He’d been expecting Nick to call all afternoon, but he’d expected to get a greeting out before the expletives came into play.

  It took a little effort, but he kept his voice steady and calm. He deserved his friend’s wrath, but knowing that still didn’t make it easier. “Hi, Nick. I guess you’ve been watching the gossip blogs.”

  “No, television, actually. And there you were with my sister in New York. Together. Holding hands, and then more... So let me ask again, what the hairy hell, Liam?”

  “I sprained my ankle.” Liam had expected a call, but for some reason he hadn’t expected anger. Even in the rare instances that he and Nick had disagreed, it had only ever gotten physical once. And that time? His temper had started it, over nothing of consequence, and it had ended after they’d exchanged punches.

  He’d always skipped this part during his Interlude with Grace fantasies. Consequences were rarely fantasy material, so he’d cut off anytime his imaginings had strayed in that direction.

  “And?” Nick said.

  “And I went to Grace to get help to finish my press tour and go to the premieres, she went with me to the East Coast premieres because having a date helps keep me from doing as much walking as I do when I’m alone. Right now, I’m sitting with my foot elevated and a heating thing on it. I have physical therapy at the clinic starting in a couple days. After I’ve had a mandatory rest on it.”

  “That doesn’t explain the shots of her on your lap in the back of a limo, man.”

  No, it didn’t.

  That he couldn’t explain. He’d done precisely what he’d sworn he’d never do—he’d crossed lines with Grace. “That was bad judgment. A mistake.”

  “You could have found another date. You could have found twenty dates to take with you and keep you from walking around too much.”

  He gripped the phone and switched to the other ear, this one starting to hurt from how hard he’d been smashing it with the earpiece.

  One mistake in fifteen years wasn’t so much.

  Especially considering that he had turned her down in that trench coat, not that he had ever told Nick that. And he wouldn’t tell him now. Nick didn’t know about it and Grace deserved more. “It’s complicated, but it’s fine. Everything’s fine now. It was a kiss, we didn’t do anything else.”

  “Then why isn’t she responding to my texts or answering my calls?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re acting like a possessive older brother?” The words came out before he could stop them and Liam suppressed a sigh, trying again. “She’s seen the interviews I did this morning, so she’s probably not answering because she didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not? What else did you do?”

  “Dude! Do you really think I’d ever set out to hurt her?”

  He heard Nick sigh and after a moment he said in a quieter tone, “You’re my best friend so don’t take this the wrong way, but Grace is not a player. She’s a good girl. She went through a bad-boy phase and she couldn’t handle it. I’m not sure how she grew up around us and remained an innocent little angel, but she did. She can’t handle you.”

  Nick saw what he wanted to see, but there was a naughty side to Grace that Liam would never expose. A side that family should never see. But other than that, she pretty much fit the word Nick had selected. “I didn’t molest her.”

  “You don’t have to. All you have to do is be yourself. She’s been more than half in love with you since she was twelve years old.”

  “She had a crush.”

  “No. She had...she had feelings for you. That’s why when she stopped talking about you I stopped inviting her out with us. You still come up in conversations, but she shut down after you left. For a long time. I don’t know what she feels now, I just know that you’re a weak spot for her. You might not mean to make women fall at your feet, but it could be messy with Grace. Even if you don’t mean to hurt her...”

  This understanding and caring older brother thing chafed his already raw conscience, and he couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Are you telling me to stay away from her?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. I’m seeing her for my physical therapy, but we’re not traveling together anymore. They’ve got me scheduled for, like...ten visits. Five days a week for two weeks, weekends off. And it will be in a clinical setting. She’s good at what she does, and she understands what’s going on. She’s the one who was taping my ankle and keeping me upright this weekend.” He could probably find all that with a different physical therapist, and that’s where his conscience was catching. The secret was out, so any decent physical therapist could see him in the clinic for the next two weeks. There were probably even other PTs at the clinic he could see instead.

  But he didn’t want to go to them. And that he couldn’t defend, so when Nick started cautioning him again, Liam cut in. “I know you’re protective, but you don’t have to protect her from me. I love your family, Nick. I’ve got to go, but give her some space. She’ll call you back when she wants to talk.”

  He hung up before he started shouting.

  Because, yes, he’d screwed up, and he kept screwing up when it came to Grace.

  When she’d called earlier with that interview playing in the background, he’d been hoping she’d walk out of the room, or that someone would change the channel. It had been an example of what not to do: go to an interview without knowing what you were going to say about everything. He hadn’t known what to say about Grace, so he’d stuck with the physical therapist story they’d sold to his producers. It was easy. It flowed off the tongue. He’d had to force the levity there at the end, and the laugh had rung false to his ears. But, then, he knew his fake laughs from his real ones. He’d gotten good enough at faking them that most other people didn’t. Grace hadn’t spent enough time with him in the past few years to even have a chance of recognizing them.

  To her ears, that all probably sounded legit.

  Everything with her had somehow spiraled out of control. That dress had made him stupid. Dinner. The conversation he should have never started. A smarter man would have just left that subject alone rather than pick at it, thinking he could fix it.

  He dropped the phone onto the table beside him before he gave in to the urge to throw it.

  He was supposed to sit still for three whole days. All he wanted to do was run. Run from all this, find a peaceful beach and let his feet pound wet sand.

  And it was the first time he’d ever wanted to run from any of the Watsons.

  When he’d first known them and he’d run, it had been toward their house. The safe place. The place with parents who’d made sure he’d done his homework, given him a standing invite to dinner, and had always picked up a third one of anything they’d bought for their own two kids.

  Even when she’d shown up at his door in her black underwear, he hadn’t wanted to run from her. Every step away had been sluggish and hard.

  He didn’t want to feel that again. He just didn’t know how to fix things with her. It could be that they could never be friends. That there was too much there for them to resist. Too much pull. Too much need—to laugh, to kiss, to talk.

  They might never be able to be friends, and if he kept trying, the one friendship he could hold on to would sour.

  Because Nick was right. Even if he didn’t mean to, he would hurt Grace in the long run. She was innocent. She was good and loyal. She had a shining example of a long, happy marriage to aspire to.

  And the look in her eyes when she’d talked about the bandage exchange with little Brody. Grace was mother material. Grace was built for marriage and the
fairy tale. While he was doomed to be surrounded by addicts and to watch them fall off, one by one, she had white picket fences and playdates in her future. He was the product of something twisted and ugly. He knew enough about the way people passed their sickness on to their families, their children...and he couldn’t risk it.

  Nick was right. He needed to stay away. He just needed to keep things cool between them until then.

  Professional. 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 she guided his foot up and into the bath.

  “Is he telling you to stay away from me?”

  “Is that what he’s t
elling you?”

  “Pretty much,” he muttered. “I told him you were helping me.”

  “Yep. That’s what the physical therapist is supposed to do.”

  Zing.

  She submerged his leg to mid-calf in the deep bath, and though it was plenty hot she didn’t leave him soaking, just shook out one towel and as soon as his leg was out she wrapped the towel around it. And then another, and another.

  Soon she had it completely encased, and nodded at the lever on the side of the chair. “Put the foot up now. I’m going to put you on a twenty-minute timer, and then we’ll get you out of it.”

  “Is it going to turn hard?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “So how do we...get out of it without causing pain after it gets hard?”

  * * *

  Grace stood up and went to wheel the bath away from him. Something she’d been asking herself for days. How do we get out of this without causing pain?

  He had been referring to the wax, presumably, but it didn’t feel that way. They’d now resorted to talking in code, because no one could say what they really meant. Which was just...great.

  “It’ll feel good for a while.” The whole while, without a doubt. “You probably won’t want to come out of it by the time it’s done.” That she was less certain of, at least if they were talking in code. If he was just talking about the wax, her problems were actually far less significant than she figured them to be. He got much less sexy if she also made him an idiot in her mind.

  “I don’t doubt that at all,” he said, his words so quiet she might have missed them if she weren’t so primed and tuned in to him.

  Definitely talking in code.

  She rolled her stool back, needing to make the room a little bigger...because all she really wanted to do was stand up and beg him to kiss her again. “I suppose it’s about risks. What you’re afraid of and what you’re willing to risk.”

  Risks. She shouldn’t be the one who had to take all the risks. Was that what this would require? It hadn’t seemed that way in the limo because that had been Liam’s doing. For once. He’d been the one reaching for her. And then he’d laughed off the very idea of them being together. She couldn’t even wish he wasn’t so close to her family, because she knew now exactly how much his time with them had meant to him, and how it had probably saved his life.