Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (26 page)

Dr. Latharius flipped pages on the chart, and Jack
gritted his teeth. They acted like he wasn’t even in the room. “Excuse me, but
I have a plane to catch.”

They ignored him. He tore off the blanket that Frankie
had so carefully tucked around his body. He swung his feet to the floor and
stood, swaying slightly because of his bad knee. “I’m leaving now.”

Frankie reached out to touch his arm, but missed. She
continued to address the doctor. “You think it’s a spinal injury?”

“Most likely. It would be helpful to know if his
doctor has noticed anything between the fourth and fifth vertebrae.”

Looking anywhere but at the needle in his hand, Jack
snatched the IV stand and limped out. Pushing through the curtain, he flagged
down a nurse.

“I have to sign myself out of here.”

“But the doctor—”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Frankie grabbed his
hospital gown from behind.

“Let go of me,” he ordered.

“Not until you stop.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Like hell you are.”

He hobbled, she tugged and his knee ached. He really
could walk if he put his mind to it, if he didn’t have a
hundred-and-twenty-six-pound woman hanging on his tail.

“You’re making a scene,” he said.

She let go and scanned the immediate area. He smiled
to himself. Prim and proper Frankie McGee wouldn’t dare make a scene.

He aimed for the nurse’s station. “I need someone to
unhook me.”

“Mr. Hudson?” The doctor was walking toward him.

“No offense, Doc, but hospitals give me the shakes. I
can’t stay.”

“But your wife, here, said—”

“She’s not my wife. Hell, we don’t even like each
other. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“I see you’re back to your completely offensive self.”
She planted her hands on her hips.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a sure sign of my clean
bill of health.” He turned to the doctor. “I’m leaving now.”

Frankie touched his arm, her fingers burning his skin
through the light hospital gown.

“Jack? I wish you’d stay,” she said, her voice a mere
hush. “I...it would make me feel better.”

He glanced into her pleading eyes…and it was all over.

Her sincerity, her bone-crushing concern tore at his
heart. He’d never seen that in a woman’s eyes before. Not aimed at him.

“I don’t like hospitals,” he said, feeling himself
slip under her spell.

“I’ll stay with you,” she promised, her fingers
squeezing his arm.

“Frankie...” He cocked his head to one side. What was
she doing to him?

“Please, Jack. Let the doctors take care of you. Just
tonight.”

Rationally, he knew she was right. Emotionally, he was
a wreck at the thought spending the night here.

“Frankie, I—”

She placed her fingers against his lips to stop his
protest. He couldn’t breathe. He wondered what she’d do if he kissed them,
lightly, delicately.

“Stay. For me?” she said.

Captivated by her eyes, the feel of her fingertips
against his skin, he could only nod in surrender. He’d never make it through
the night, yet he couldn’t deny her.

She snatched her hand away and flattened it on the
counter of the nurse’s station. He noticed it was trembling.

“Mr. Hudson will be spending the night.”

“We’ll get him a room,” the nurse said.

He still couldn’t believe what just happened. In all
his years as a pro wrestler he’d never spent more than a few hours in a
hospital. That was all he could take.

But tonight he would face his irrational fear and do
the right thing for his body for once. Not because he’d finally been struck by
common sense after all these years.

No, Jack Hudson was checking himself into hell because
of Frankie, because it would make her feel better.

God, what was happening to him?

Something woke her with a start. Frankie didn’t know
what. Maybe it was the sharp pain that sliced through her neck. A human being
was definitely not meant to sleep curled up in a vinyl hospital room chair, she
thought, readjusting her upper body against Jack’s bed.

But she was here for the duration, no matter how much
he protested, or how many times Jack claimed she didn’t need to stick around to
keep an eye on the talent.

That hurt more than anything. The fact he still
spouted such ridiculous words. Right, as if she were staying for any reason
other than genuine concern over a man who’d become much more to her than an
employee.

What he’d become, exactly, she wasn’t sure. That would
take too much soul searching, something she didn’t have the energy for. Her
mind and body were spent, thanks to the night’s threatening turn of events with
Tiger Man.

She opened her eyes and glanced at her fingers
entwined in Jack’s. Before, when he’d launched his tirade and demanded she
leave, she’d done so without protest. Frankie made her way to the cafeteria,
found a warm cup of tea and waited. Once she figured he’d fallen asleep, she
sneaked back into his room where she belonged. Luckily the nurse didn’t kick
her out.

His fingers twitched and a warm feeling of awareness
spread up her arm to her chest. Damn the man for turning her on even when he
was unconscious.

“Not again...” he mumbled.

Sitting up, she studied his face, shadowed by darkness
in the dimly lit room. Sweat trickled across his hairline and his lips moved as
if he were trying to speak.

“Can’t...not again.”

His fingers squeezed her hand and his legs thrashed
beneath the stiff, white linens.

Was it a dream brought on by the fact she’d forced him
to spend the night in the hospital?

“Jack?” She stood and leaned across the bed, touching
his cheek to calm him.

“My legs, what happened to my legs?” he moaned.

“Jack, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

“No life. Have no life,” he moaned.

“Jack.” She stroked his brow with her thumb. Her heart
ached to relieve his agony.

“Get away. No more, I can’t—”

He jackknifed and flailed his arms. Frankie jumped
back to evade his swing and lost her balance. She grabbed for the chair but
missed and tumbled to the floor.

So much for being able to comfort him.

“Damn,” he rasped.

She sat on the cold floor and listened to his labored
breathing. It sounded like the man had run a marathon. She popped her head up
to check if it was safe.

“What are you doing here? And why are you on the
floor?” He scrunched the bed linens between his fingers.

“I always sleep on the floor. It’s good for my back.”

“Bull. Why were you hiding down there?”

She pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay? You had a nightmare.”

Running his hand through his long, dark hair, he took
a deep breath. “He was coming after me. I couldn’t see his face. I tried to get
away. I swung and—” His gaze drifted to the chair, then up to Frankie.

“I heard this voice, a woman’s voice. She was trying
to help me. But he kept coming and…” His eyes grew wide. “Did I...hit you?”

“Of course not.”

“Aw, hell, I hit you.” He fell back against the sheets
and rolled onto his right side, away from her. “Just go. Get the hell out of
here before I hurt you again.”

“You didn’t hurt me. I fell, okay? You know how clumsy
I am.”

She stared at his rigid back. This was her fault. No
doubt the hospital stay that had elicited his nightmares. She scooted her chair
to the other side of the bed in an attempt to talk to him. He rolled in the
opposite direction.

“Come on, don’t be a jerk.” She lugged the chair back
to its original spot.

“Go away.” He closed his eyes.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Planting herself in
the chair, she leaned forward. “I told you I’d stay, and that’s what I’m going
to do.”

“I don’t need you here.”

His words sliced open her heart.

“Tough. Maybe I need to be here.”

His eyes shot open. “I don’t need your supervision,
boss. I can have nightmares all by myself.”

“I’m not here because you’re on the payroll. Now
relax. I want you to get some sleep. Being up all night won’t be good for
either of us.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“You’re not trying.”

“Maybe I don’t want to sleep.”

“Okay, then what do you want to do?”

“Stop the nightmares,” he mumbled, sounding like a
frightened child.

“Okay, we can do that.” She moved closer to him and
sandwiched his hand between her own.

Jack thought he’d go mad.

“No more creative imagery stuff,” he said. Hell, he’d
completely lose it imagining this woman beside him in bed, touching him,
whispering sweet words into his ear. How would he keep his hands off her?

“Then let’s talk,” she said.

“Is there another option?”

“Your favorite Christmas,” she pressed.

“I don’t remember.” He struggled to ignore the gentle
touch of her hand, the stroke and caress of soft fingers against his skin.

“Okay, I’ll start,” she said. “I was ten. I got my
first makeup kit from Mom: blue eye shadow and pink lipstick. It made me feel
like a grown up. I always thought it would be so cool to be grown up, wear
makeup and, ya’ know, be pretty. That’s before I figured out I’m not the
glamorous type.”

If she only knew how beautiful she looked right now,
hair tumbling across her shoulders, her face scrubbed clean of makeup.

“Your turn,” she said, her face lighting with
anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, he realized he couldn’t deny
this woman. He was a goner.

“Christmas, freshman year. Butch gave me an unlimited
pass to Singleton’s Gym.”

“That’s your favorite present? Working out?”

“Pretty much.”

“What about before that? When you were little. I’ll
bet you were into GI Joe and Monster trucks.” She smiled and his heart skipped.

“I don't recall being a kid.”

“Oh, come on. Jack. It’s me you’re talking to,
remember?”

Oh, he remembered all right.

“I’ll bet you were the big jock at school.”

She squeezed his hand for encouragement. Warmth shot
up his arm and wrapped itself around his heart.

“Just wrestling. That’s all. And work. I started when
I was thirteen, bussing tables.”

“So young?”

“Dad’s idea. Almost had to quit wrestling, but Butch
wouldn’t let me.”

“Butch?”

“The guy who ran the youth center where I grew up.
He’s the one,” he hesitated, trying to figure out how to stop talking. He
couldn’t. “Butch is the guy who showed me there was more to life than setting
off pipe bombs and stealing bikes.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

Would she run? Abandon “Jack the Loser,” as his father
used to call him?

She studied him, expecting more.

“Butch got me into wrestling,” he said, willing to do
anything to keep her beside him. “He was the high school coach. But he taught
me more than arm bars and headlocks. He taught me to dream big, have confidence
in myself.”

“Sheesh, I never pegged you for having confidence
problems.” She chuckled.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t take that the wrong way. I mean, you have this
presence when you walk into a room, a way about you. I don’t know. You
certainly don’t seem insecure.”

“People aren’t always what they seem.”

“I know, I guess.”

She studied him with those colorful eyes, and he was
lost. Truth was he was insecure whenever she was near him, scared as hell that
she’d figure out how much he cared about her. Then what? He hoped she wouldn’t
leave.

He marveled at the way the ambient light from the
hallway spilled into the room, illuminating her face so he could make out the
sweet curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips.

“What about when you were seven, ten, you know, when
you were a kid? Did you collect comic books or stamps?”

“No, no collecting. Just…”

“What?”

She shifted onto the bed and he held his breath. Too
close. She was too damn close.

“Jack? What did you do as a kid?”

“I painted.”

“No kidding?”

“Never mind.” He clenched his jaw.

“No, tell me more.”

She squeezed his hand again and every muscle seemed to
relax. “Mom got me a paint-by-numbers kit, and I threw out the numbers. It was
a great feeling. I used vibrant colors that made me feel alive. It was such a rush.”

“Was?”

“Dad put an end to it, said not to waste my time.
Started calling me Van, like Van Gogh, only he’d say, ‘Van, take out the
garbage’ or ‘Van, go tell your mother I want dinner.’ One day I pissed him off
about something, I don’t know what, and he burst into my room, ripped my
paintings down and shoved them into the garbage can. Doused them with paint
thinner and set them on fire. That was the end of my illustrious painting
career.”

“And you never went back to it?”

“Never had a reason to.”

Until you
reawakened my desire by casting a spell on my soul
.

“That’s sad,” she said.

“Nah. I found wrestling, or rather it found me. I’ve
had a pretty good life.”

“Getting the stuffing kicked out of you for a living,”
she muttered.

“What’s that, boss?” he teased.

She frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m a big boy. I made my own decisions.”

“I know, but—”

“Back to you. What’s your big dream? What did you want
to be when you were ten?”

“Besides a cover model?”

He chuckled.

“Hey!” She smacked his thigh.

“Sorry, but the thought of you modeling something
sexy…” His voice cracked. “Never mind.”

“Watch it, bub.”

“Go on, what did you want to be, other than a cover
model?”

“No laughing?”

“Cross my heart,” he assured.