Dante's Shock Proposal Read online

  Muttering an expletive, he didn’t wait for her to answer the questions at all, just stood, rounded her chair, and ran his fingers along her vertebrae. Thumb. It was the pad of his thumb—she could even feel the texture of his skin, the ripple of every ridge of his thumbprint seemed to stand out to her.

  The man went from smirking and self-assured to angry doctor mode in an instant. She couldn’t keep up, and moments before smirking and self-assured, he’d been all sexy.

  “I’m a little sore. It didn’t destroy my car. They didn’t have to cut me out with the Jaws of Life. My back bumper fell off. I got a jar forward but I’m okay. I’m just a little sore.”

  “A little sore deserves to be checked out.” He swore again and once again one hand slipped around the front of her neck, long index finger and thumb cradling the underside of her mandible while his palm and fingers cupped her throat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m keeping you from—stop moving your head!” he grumbled, and then he was speaking again—no doubt into the phone since he wasn’t talking to her.

  “My neck isn’t broken.”

  Radiology. He was calling Radiology. She didn’t know what to feel, amused or aggravated. “I don’t need any imaging done.”

  “You might have whiplash. You might have something that would benefit from immobilization, and you’re flouncing around like you haven’t a care in the world.”

  “I didn’t flounce!” She tried to look up at him again and Dante dropped his phone in her lap so he could get a better hold on her neck.

  “I was late for work. We performed the surgery and then I came right to you here, as you demanded. When was I supposed to get checked out? If I called you and said, ‘Oh, Dr. Valentino, I think I may need to see a doctor. I feel moderately frowny on the picture pain scale, is it okay if I blow off your neuro-endoscopy?’ you would’ve lost your mind.”

  This kind of conversation had never happened with him prior to last week. She’d always been her professional, antiseptic work self before—keeping her work environment calm. She liked calm and safe, she lived for calm and safe—something she’d never been able to control in the middle section of her life. Or even before a year ago when she’d finally stopped living in crappy apartments in crappier neighborhoods so she could save down-payment money for her cottage.

  With one hand, he grabbed his phone off her thigh and dialed again. He’d stopped listening again. And now he had in-hospital transport coming—someone with a wheelchair—and a cervical collar sized medium.

  “Shut up, Lise,” he grumbled, keeping his hand resting against the side of her neck. “You just told me that you don’t have any family looking out for you or making you take care of yourself. So, you’re going to have some X-rays, and if they’re fine, you can just go home and rest for the remainder of the day. Though really you should probably at least schedule a massage, because today you’re a little sore, tomorrow you’re going to be very sore.”

  “I’m not that fragile.”

  “But you are that stubborn.”

  “I’m just so glad we’re not blowing things out of proportion.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WOW, BRADSHAW, YOU look worse than I expected.”

  Dante stood on the other side of Lise’s front door, several shopping bags in hand, saying the words every woman longed to hear from the man she no longer secretly lusted after.

  “So maybe my neck locked up this morning. And maybe my shoulder is also refusing to function without shocking pain. And maybe I have to pivot at the waist like a robot to fling the door open. But do we need to have another talk about rudeness?” She stuck there in the doorway, not yet inviting him in but not even doubting that her stink-eye had lost efficacy with her inability to look him in the eye without tilting her body and twisting to the side.

  “No, all you have to do is say, ‘Dante, my friend, you were right to be concerned for me after my accident.’” He put his bag-laden arms out and stepped forward, the motion causing her to instinctively move out of his way.

  Ignoring his demand, she turned to head for the kitchen. “Gloating is unattractive. Please tell me they let you pick up the prescriptions.” She trekked stiffly toward the kitchen, expecting him to follow.

  “You should be more hospitable to your white knight,” he said, but she heard the door close and lock, then his footfalls following behind her.

  “I’ll be very nice as soon as you produce my feel-better prescriptions.”

  He stopped at her counter and carefully dumped the bags onto the clean surface, then picked up a small paper bag and rattled it. “The prescriptions you wouldn’t have if...?”

  “You hadn’t picked them up for me.” She said the words he wanted, even though her pride already smarted from having had to ask for help at all. More than that, she’d looked forward to him coming round for more reasons than her prescription delivery. Her job kept her sane, and she only noticed it when she was actually confined away from people—no one to talk to.

  She reached for the bag, but he pulled it out of her pitiful reach.

  “And?”

  “If you hadn’t forced me to get checked out yesterday. Are you happy now?” Lise snatched the small bag, triggering a flash of pain up her shoulder and neck.

  “Happy might be overstating it. You’re certainly in a bad mood, though.” He gathered up perishables to put into the fridge.

  Less than a minute later, and with the aid of a straw in her water glass, Lise got the pills down.

  As soon as she set her glass on the counter, a half-peeled banana was pressed into her hand. “You know better than to take anti-inflammatories on an empty stomach. Eat that, unless you want to feel worse in about a half hour.”

  She took a grumbling bite of the banana without giving in to her grouchy urge to yell at him about everything. Bad mood didn’t really cover how grouchy she felt today, and how much it had ratcheted up since he’d arrived—and this despite having been looking forward to it. So, great, now she’d lost her mind, not just her ability to look to the left.

  The man had done nothing to earn her ire today either. He hadn’t crashed into her. He’d gone out of his way to call and check on her this morning, and was the only reason she should experience some relief shortly.

  In the future, even if you don’t think you’ll need them, fill the darned prescription.

  And consider saying thank you.

  “You may have squirrels nesting in the back of your hair.” His playful tone softened her irritation a little, but her fire deserting her just left a glum feeling behind.

  “I can’t brush it effectively, and I was asleep on the sofa before you got here. Sexy, right?”

  “I would’ve said cute, but you’re so grouchy that it kind of negates the cute factor.” He reached over and finger-combed it down a little, the gentle touch warming her.

  She could lean against him and soak up a little comfort, and she suddenly really wanted to. Dumb. Dumb not to keep this budding friendship from going further.

  “I can brush it out for you if you like.”

  The thought of him brushing her hair suddenly felt too intimate. Especially standing in the kitchen of her cottage.

  That feeling snowballed when she saw the pink box he discretely shuffled off to the side of his purchases.

  Tampons.

  Her stomach dropped and she almost choked on her banana. “I forgot about those...”

  Why had she asked him to buy them?

  Because she’d been annoyed about him being right.

  Because she didn’t want him to feel too pleased with himself about her needing his assistance.

  Because she didn’t want it to be easy to accept future help, and thought they might make him think twice before offering.

 
Because she’d reasoned he could interpret the request as ‘Stay Away!’

  “Tell me how much I owe you for all this.”

  Dante looked at her sideways. “Don’t worry about it. Even if you were, what? Testing me?”

  “No. A little. Mostly I’ve been miserable and angry, and I thought it would encourage you to deliver stuff and leave, not grow roots. It was immature, but you don’t know how annoying it is to take care of yourself for practically your whole life and then suddenly not be able to. And you’ve been so...” she stepped over to the table for her purse, dug into it and came out with her phone “...weirdly nice. It makes me suspicious. Tell me the amount and your email address so I can transfer funds.”

  Not part of his plan. Friends didn’t need to be reimbursed, so he ignored the subject.

  He took the phone away from her, put it on the table, and put his arm around her back to steer her toward the living room. “I have you scheduled to work with me on Thursday, and it’s not an easy surgery, so you can be assured that I’m here for selfish reasons. I need you in that surgery, and unmedicated.” A hint of truth there, but not entirely. He had a new plan regarding Lise. “So, have you scheduled a massage?”

  He walked her all the way to the sofa and stepped back, indicating she should sit, which she did, the disgruntled tangle-haired, stiff-necked beauty letting go of some of the anger that seemed to be fueling her today. If she could use her spine currently, he’d call her pliant.

  “I did, but I can’t get in to see anyone until tomorrow afternoon. And if it’s this bad tomorrow, I don’t think that having a single massage twelve hours before surgery will be that helpful. You might want to schedule someone else, or just wait until Thursday and hand off to Sandy if I discover I still can’t perform.”

  “Or you could let me have a go at it. I can’t make it any worse.” He sat beside her and leaned back into the large, plush cushions. As he sank in, his mind went temporarily blank. So much better than his sofa...

  “So, this is all about work.” It should’ve been a question, but the way she said it, it became a dubious statement.

  “Work, and I was concerned about you, which I was right to be.” He looked toward her, then leaned forward to keep the cushions from swallowing him.

  “But you wouldn’t have been before.”

  True. “I wouldn’t have known you were completely alone before. Do you even have friends to call in case of emergency?”

  She flinched, and took her time shifting around on the sofa until she sat sideways, her legs crossed, able to look at him. “Not close friends here. I have some in Jacksonville.”

  “Hometown?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why haven’t you made any friends but me since you’ve been here?”

  “You really classify yourself as my friend? I thought your main goal was sex.”

  “And getting you in to work on Thursday. But I can do all three.” Her eyes went a little bleary and he knew how tired she was. “Why don’t you have any friends in Miami?”

  She was likeable enough when not in such a grouchy mood. Funny. Sarcastic. As enjoyable as anyone he’d ever met, but genuine too. Smart. Sexy. The more time he spent with her, the better he knew her. She had strong morals, but wasn’t holier than thou about it. She responded to emotion and others’ pain every time.

  To get her to agree to be his wife—he was increasingly certain she was the right choice—that’s where he had to lead her. Emotions. Empathy. Not pity inspired, but because he’d have to make clear to her that he was better than a sperm donor. Lise was the solution to his marriage problem. He just had to get her to come around to his way of thinking without scaring her off. She could already walk without difficulty in both of his worlds.

  All she had to do was accept him as the better option.

  “I have friends, just none that I feel comfortable asking for favors. I never ask people to take care of me. I’m the one who takes care of others. I wouldn’t have asked you for anything if you hadn’t called and offered. And if I didn’t desperately need that medicine.”

  The little diatribe exposed a lot, but he didn’t want to make her feel worse about that—at least, not yet. All information could have value to him, but should only be used when most beneficial.

  “I’m your friend,” he said, then added, “The others are acquaintances, not friends.” He leaned back into cushions, even if they pulled him in and made him relax when he should be putting his best face forward—not getting too comfortable.

  No answer came immediately, but the way her eyes skirted the empty space said she was thinking about something.

  “It’s hard to get to know people as you get older. Everyone my age seems to have settled down and started a family, they don’t have the time it takes to get to know someone well enough to become a really good friend.”

  “It is hard. I don’t have many good friends either.” But he didn’t need extra people in his life to fill a void. He had two voids left: wife and children.

  “I’m here and willing to put in the time. But we have some things to work on first.” He forced himself to sit forward. “Do you feel the muscle relaxers yet?”

  Lise carefully turned her head a small amount, then confirmed, “It’s a little better.” She leaned a little to watch as he stood up and gestured to the rest of the sofa.

  “Lie down on your belly.” He offered her a hand to help, and if he didn’t already understand how badly her neck hurt, he’d have figured it out when she took his hands and let him guide and help her flat.

  “This isn’t going to turn into something sexy, is it? Because I really don’t think I can handle that right now. I’m drugged. And my head is starting to feel like gelatin.”

  “Nothing sexy. I’d put you on your back if I was going for a sexy massage.” Especially in those pajamas. Tank top. No bra. Short shorts. The only thing that could shut his libido down right now was knowing she was in pain.

  She laughed a little, and gingerly he shifted her arms down to her sides. There had to be an easy-to-find hairbrush in the bathroom, and it could only help to get her to relax first.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just a second.”

  He returned with it a moment later and sat beside her.

  “If you found sensual massage oils, I’m calling off Thursday.”

  Ignoring that, he reached for her hair and began gently working that tangle out. A groan came out as he worked his way to the scalp and the bristles finally touched down to stroke the skin.

  “Feel nice?”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting it. This is supposed to be my job, though.” She’d begun to mumble a little, but he couldn’t take credit for it yet. The medication. “Nurse stuff. I may credit the sofa with my recovery, or you may need to blame it on me falling asleep. I like my furniture to suck all aspirations out of me.”

  He didn’t interrupt her sofa babbling, just let her talk while he worked the brush through her hair until it was smooth and tangle free, then gathered the heavy silk into a bunch, twisted it, and laid it over the far shoulder, out of the way. “You can accept a little tending for once. It won’t kill you.”

  “I guess,” she mumbled. “As long as we never speak of this. I can’t have people knowing my dirty secrets.”

  Teasing. A good sign.

  Lise had experienced more emotional swings in the cumulative two or three hours she’d spent alone with Dante than she had in the last ten years. Having someone check on her made her feel safe. The way he looked at her made her feel sexy—a feeling she’d forgotten when she’d starting wearing the big scrubs and men stopped hitting on her. She still didn’t know if Saturday had seen her picking out new scrubs because she didn’t want to be invisible any more, or just so Dante would keep looking at her like that.

  “Who do
n’t you want to find out you’re human?”

  As he spoke, he began walking his thumbs up the vertebrae of her neck and then along the overly tensed trapezius muscle, gradually increasing the strength with which he manipulated her knotted flesh until it finally started to relax.

  The pain started out at the far end of bad, but as he worked, it began to lessen, and she began to drift.

  What had he asked her?

  Oh, right.

  “Is that why you hide in the club?”

  “No.” He pressed on either side of her spine further down and rotated. “And redirecting isn’t an answer.”

  “Everyone, I guess,” she said, then lay there, perplexed. Strange answer. The world wasn’t afraid of her ability to persevere in the face of adversity. The only one who needed to be constantly convinced she could do whatever she set her mind to was herself. She gave herself regular pep talks about problems that cropped up. She really needed another on why letting Dante get close could be very dumb.

  Instead, she was dressing better and letting him into her house. The safer thing would be to cut ties and minimize the effect he had on her. He seemed trustworthy at times, but he was a great actor.

  Unlike her.

  She wasn’t alone in Miami because it was hard to get to know someone well enough to become close—even if that was true too. She could’ve found people willing and able to make that connection, but she hadn’t tried. She was alone in Miami because she avoided letting people get close to her so they couldn’t hurt her. She made sure men ignored her by hiding aspects of her appearance that attracted attention—her curves in baggy clothes, and her long blonde hair in practical braids and under caps.

  Until the loneliness had overwhelmed her to the point that she’d agreed to blind dates and had bought that red dress—the only thing that had gotten Dante’s attention.

  Which she should remember—the dress had gotten his attention, good reason to avoid it. So why wasn’t she?