Nothing But Trouble (15 page)

"It's moving along smoothly. I was going to
start rebuilding next week, but I might have to put that on
hold."

"Why? Are you having problems with the car?"
The last thing she needed to hear was an unfixable problem with her
father's car.

R.J. shook his head. "No. We've just had some
staffing changes so I have to re-shift my focus temporarily."

"What do you mean?"

He picked up a beer bottle from one of the
end tables, and took a long swallow. "I fired Danielle," he stated
after lowering the drink.

Rebecca stepped toward the couch. "You fired
her?" When R.J. didn't respond she asked, "Because of me?" All she
wanted was for the woman to get help. She never imaged her
accusation would cost Danielle her job.

What did you think would happen?

"Partly," he said after a moment. "But that's
not the only reason. She screwed up an order for one of my biggest
clients. Now I may not finish the job in time. She was always a
good employee." R.J. shook his head, as though he still couldn't
believe it himself. "But I can't overlook something like that."

Rebecca lowered her gaze to the brown leather
sofa, trying not to feel guilty for Danielle losing her job. What
if Rebecca had kept her mouth shut? What if she'd ignored the signs
and chose to mind her own business? But what would that have done
to R.J.'s shop?

And had she said too much about her practice,
even though she hadn't given any details?

A dull pain bloomed inside her chest, and all
Rebecca could think about was Lindsey, Danielle's daughter. How
would the woman support a child with no income? In a moment of
uncertainty, and borderline panic, Rebecca had taken matters into
her own hands, and hadn't thought about anything else. What kind of
selfish person did that make her? That her lack of thought had cost
a single mother her job, even if that single mother needed
substance abuse help?

A sudden wash of shame shadowed over her,
feeling the momentary guilt for interfering where it hadn't been
her place.

But perhaps there was something she could
do.

But what? Beg R.J. to give Danielle her job
back? After she'd all but suggested her let her go?

"Hey," R.J. said as he came around the couch,
toward her. He placed his index finger under her chin and forced
her to look at him. "You didn't do anything wrong. I fired her
because she screwed up, not because of what you did."

"I know, but it was still none of my
business," she whispered and lowered her eyes from his. "I should
have stayed out of it." His thumb went back and forth along her jaw
line, making it hard for her to think about anything else but how
good it felt to be touched by him.

"You did the right thing. And you came to me
because you have a big heart, not because you were jealous. I
shouldn't have said that."

Now probably wasn't a good time to tell him
the jealous thing was partly true, even if that had never been her
motivation. And how could she ever feel any other way when he
always looked at her the way he was looking at her now? Like he
wanted to devour every inch of her. Slowly, until she slipped into
unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she
admitted. "What are you going to do about replacing her?"

His wide shoulders moved beneath his gray
t-shirt. "Find someone else." He pinched her chin and grinned. "You
want the job?"

She plastered her sweetest smile on her face.
"Not if you paid me all the money in the world."

"You're a tough woman to please, Ms.
Underwood."

She took a step back from him because he was
way too close and his body heat had her breasts tingling. "Not if
you know how."
Why did you say that? Do you have a death
wish?

He tucked his hands in his pants pockets and
raked his sensual gaze down her frame. "Oh, I know how. And don't
pretend like you forgot."

That would be your cue to run out the
front door
.

If she were smart she'd go home and listen to
her parents argue over wood paneling. But something about being
here, sparring like old times, had her rooted in her spot. She
couldn't leave even if she wanted to. R.J. made her feel too alive,
which was something she hadn't experienced in a long time. Her job
required long hours, then she went home to an empty home. No
boyfriend, no husband, not even a cat to greet her at the door.
Wasn't she entitled to a little fun? Wasn't she allowed to be
naughty every once in a while? There was no one better in this town
to be naughty with than R.J. Devlin. She'd experienced his version
of naughty once before and had been craving another taste ever
since.

And, judging by the look in his eyes, his
thoughts were running along the same lines as hers. That was extra
dangerous.

She eyed the beer in his hand. "Do you have
another one of those?"
Yeah, add alcohol to the mix. Great
idea.

He raised the bottle to his lips. "Are you
sure you want to drink around me? I might feel a little wicked and
try to take advantage of you." The muscles in his throat worked up
and down as he took a deep gulp.

To be honest, Rebecca wasn't sure she'd stop
him if he made a move on her. At this point, if he so much as
blinked at her, her will power would disintegrate.

"I think I can handle it," she retorted.

His grin grew downright wicked. "I'm going to
hold you to that."

Yeah, you do that
. She turned away
from him when he walked to the kitchen, mostly because she didn't
trust herself to keep her eyes off his ass. She could probably
bounce a quarter off those cheeks.

The fireplace, which was the focal point of
the room, was a massive thing surrounded by stone and a giant wood
mantle. It was easily double the size of hers, but looked like it
had never been used.

On the dark wood mantle were several family
photos. Rebecca scanned her eyes over them, smiling at R.J.'s
sentimental side. The largest one in the middle was a group photo
of R.J., his parents, all the siblings and their kids. There were a
few of just him and Courtney, one of him and his step-brothers, and
one of him with all his nephews. There was one of just him and his
mother, in which he had his college graduation cap and gown on.
Rebecca made her way to the end of the mantle where she spotted a
little four by six photo. The picture was pretty old because R.J.
couldn't have been more than five or six at the time. In the scene
were he and Courtney, along with another little boy Rebecca didn't
recognize. They were all obviously related given the strong
resemblance, but Rebecca didn't have a clue who the kid could be. A
cousin maybe?

"I don't have light beer, or any of that
shit, so you're stuck with this," R.J. said as he came back into
the room.

Rebecca turned from the mantle and took the
bottle from him. He'd already popped the top for her, so she took a
sip. It was cold and spicy and burned all the way to her stomach.
She normally didn't drink beer, mostly because she couldn't stand
the taste of it. White wine was much more her thing, but this stuff
wasn't that bad.

"Thank you," she said, and wiped a bead of
moisture off her bottom lip. R.J.'s gaze strayed to where her thumb
swiped across her mouth, as though he wanted to do the deed
himself.

She was just about to ask him about the boy
in the photo when he jumped in with a question of his own.

"How are things at the practice? Are you
still having a hard time?"

"Things have been pretty normal. Though, I
did go to see Josh at the pharmacy to see if he can help me out.
Even though I shouldn't have," she added.

"What would he be able to do for you?"

Rebecca turned around and lowered herself
onto the oversized couch. "I just asked him to notify me if any
suspicious prescriptions come through."

"Could he even do that?" he asked as he
leaned against back against the fireplace mantle.

"Well, no." She paused to take a sip of her
beer. "He said he couldn't help me and reminded me not to talk to
him about stuff like that."

R.J. pushed away from the fireplace, came
around the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to her. "You
can't even tell me what's been going on at your practice? Does it
have something to do with Dr. Gross?" he asked as he leaned back
into the cushions and stretched his long legs out in front of
him.

And how could bare feet be so sexy on a
man?

Rebecca pulled her gaze away from R.J.'s
feet. "I think Dr. Gross might be writing illegal prescriptions."
Lord, just saying it out loud was like someone jabbing an ice pick
through her heart.

R.J. choked on his drink. "Say what?"

"I know, it sounds crazy," she answered.

"I have a hard time imagining Patrick Gross
doing anything like that."

That made two of them. And Rebecca
still didn't believe it, despite her own gut instinct.

"You can't tell me anything else,
can you?" he asked when she'd remained silent.

Rebecca shook her head, wishing she
could confide in him. Or anyone. Normally being bound by
doctor/patient confidentiality wasn't an issue, but this time it
was killing her. Keeping her worries, fears and suspicions to
herself felt like a cancer, eating away at her insides.

"I can't without breaching my
confidentiality agreement." She lifted her bottle in mock solute.
She took a long deep sip, keenly aware of R.J.'s eyes on her as she
tilted her head back. That unnerving look was back, the one he
always got when he was plotting something devious. Not to mention
the alcohol was working its magic, loosening her limbs and chasing
away the day's tension. Even with that, she still couldn't fully
relax around him. Being in close proximity like this always brought
back memories of the night she'd lost her virginity to
him.

They'd never discussed it, probably because
there'd been some weird unspoken rule to never talk about that
night ever again. Besides, if he could pretend like it had never
happened, then why couldn't she? Only she couldn't pretend, at
least not much longer. It
had
happened, and no amount of
pretending could change that. The lasting effect on her had been
profound and life-changing. She'd never been able to look at him
without remembering what he'd looked like naked. Watching him walk
from her bed to the bathroom, his firm round butt cheeks, framed by
lean hips, then flaring up to wide shoulders. Until that night,
Rebecca hadn't realized how good of shape R.J. was really in. Oh,
she knew he took good care of himself, but the definition in his
muscles had been fascinating. And incredibly sexy. Now when she
looked at him it was with a different kind of appreciation. She
knew his shoulders were as wide as they looked, and his thighs
really were that powerful.

Cursed heat flamed in her cheeks and went all
the way up to her hairline. She took another sip of cold beer to
chase away the feeling, but it didn't work. And the more she sat
there the more acutely aware she was of him, of how he seemed to
sprawl himself on the couch with a comfortable ease, even though he
really wasn't that sprawled out. He was just that big. And there
was a hole in his jeans, right near the pocket and dangerously
close to the most impressive part of him. If she shifted the
tiniest bit, she'd be able to see a sliver of flesh through the
worn threads.

She downed the last of her beer on one gulp,
and set the bottle down on the coffee table. "One more of those and
you'll be carrying me right out of here."

"Maybe that was my plan all along," he said
in a low voice.

She slanted him a look out of the corner of
her eye. That one was debatable, so Rebecca decided not to answer.
She dropped her head back against the couch cushion. "This couch is
really comfortable." Her body felt heavy and blissfully relaxed. If
she closed her eyes for more than ten seconds, she'd be out like
newborn baby.

"Thanks. Courtney picked it out."

She rolled her head to the side and looked at
him. "Is there anything in this house you picked out?"

"The bed," he replied with infectious curl of
his lips. "I wanted to make sure I got the biggest one."

"Somehow I don't doubt that." The longer she
sat there, the more her feet throbbed in her tight shoes. Her toes
had been jammed at the very end a narrow point, because they were
borderline too small, so she slipped them off and stretched. "My
feet are killing me," she groaned. She really needed to start
wearing more comfortable shoes. Even the flats smashed her toes
together until they felt broken. But she had a weakness for shoes,
and style usually overrode common sense.

"I was really looking forward to soaking in
my tub tonight," she added, as she tucked her feet on the couch so
she could rub them.

R.J. stretched his arm along the back of the
sofa. "And how much longer are your parents going to be staying
you?"

"Who knows? My mom is trying to convince my
dad to do some renovating, but my dad doesn't want to spend the
money. Especially since he's going to retire." She glanced at R.J.
to find him watching her. "That's why I had to get out of there. I
couldn't listen to another night of their mindless arguing. Plus my
mother uses every opportunity to remind me that twenty-eight is too
ancient not to be married." She slipped into an imitation of her
mother's voice. "Rebecca, by the time I was your age, I had two
kids." She shook her head. "She keeps trying to convince me that my
biological clock is a ticking time bomb that's going to explode
when I'm thirty."

R.J. chuckled. "Mothers are supposed to nag.
It's their job. How much damage was done to their house?"

"I think it's pretty bad. They have to all
but rebuild the house." She ran her thumb over her pinky toe, which
was especially red.