Nothing But Trouble (34 page)

"Dr. Gross killed himself," she said in a
voice so low he almost didn't hear her.

Then, he decided there was no possible way he
heard that correctly. Dr. Gross dead? Suicide?

Before he could ask her to repeat herself,
she spoke again in that same defeated voice. "The DEA agent called
me."

All the puzzle pieces of her whereabouts and
the tears clicked into place.

She blamed herself. He could tell her from
now until the end of time that it wasn't her fault. That Patrick
Gross had been a grown man who'd made his decisions, fully aware of
the consequences should he get caught. And he had gotten caught.
Despite Rebecca stumbling across his illegal activities, the
authorities would have found out sooner or later. In fact, hadn't
Rebecca told him exactly that? That the DEA had already been aware
of the prescription fraud going on in the practice? Rebecca had
been an innocent bystander, simply doing her job in the wrong place
at the wrong time. Yet, she'd been hurt the most, betrayed by
someone she should have been able to trust. A mentor was supposed
to take their protégé under their wings and teach them everything
they knew.

A fresh wave of murderous anger washed over
him. At the risk of being an insensitive asshole, R.J. would kill
the man all over again if he could.

No one, but no one, put tears in Rebecca
Underwood's eyes.

His heart cracked open when she let out a sob
and buried her face in her hands. Instead of saying something
menial like, "Don't cry," or "It's all right," he put his arm
around her and tugged her close. She came without protest, most
likely because she didn't have the strength to argue with him or
push him away. Her tears dampened the skin on his neck and seeped
through his t-shirt. He paid no attention to the trivial thing, and
thought he'd soak up a bucket of her tears if it meant consoling
her in the least.

Her fingers fisted in his shirt, as though
holding onto him was the only thing that gave her strength. The
thought, even if it was his own wishful thinking, gave him the
illusion of doing even a trivial thing to comfort her.

She cried for several minutes, the sort of
sobs that came from some deep, dark place in her soul that she'd
locked and thrown away the key to. They shook her whole body and
made him feel like a helpless wretch who could only sit there and
hold her. When they subsided, only to the point where she could
inhale a breath, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes.

"I never meant for any of this to happen,"
she said through a stream of tears.

"I know. Here." He whipped his shirt over his
head, removed his undershirt and handed it to her. The tissue had
practically been whittled to dust and wasn't doing her a bit of
good. She accepted the shirt, and he put his own button up back on.
"You can't sit here and blame yourself. Dr. Gross made his
choices."

"I know, but…" She used the hem of his
undershirt to dab the excess moisture from her cheeks. Her lips and
eyes were swollen, her hair was a tangled mess and he'd never seen
anything so beautiful. "I keep thinking maybe if I'd stayed out of
it and minded my own business―"

"Things would have ended exactly the same,"
he reiterated. Her big, green eyes blinked back at him when he took
her face in his hands. "You were a victim, Rebecca. Don't ever
forget that."

She pressed her eyes closed tight, as though
trying to rid herself of the memories. "I just keep thinking about
his wife and kids. His grandkids…"

He used his thumbs to swipe away more tears
that had leaked out. "He should have thought of them when he dug
himself into the hole he was in. Patrick Gross was a nice guy. I
liked him a lot. But he made some poor decisions."

She rested her forehead against his. "I still
feel so terrible."

"That's because you're human. I'd worry if
you didn't feel anything at all."

The laugh she attempted came out more as a
snort. "You probably think I'm some basket case who can't keep her
act together."

Was that really all she thought of herself?
Was that what she saw when she looked in the mirror, and not a
beautiful, intelligent woman?

He forced her gaze by tilting her face up
with his hands. "I don't ever want to hear those words come out of
your mouth again, understand?" When she nodded, he continued.
"You're anything but a basket case, Rebecca. You put yourself
through medical school and are the best pediatrician in town. You
have the biggest heart of anyone I know and you always put others'
feelings before your own. That…" he grazed her bottom lip with the
tip of his thumb. "Is what I love most about you."

When her eyes grew wide, the full impact of
what he'd said was like punch to the gut. Had he really just used
the word
love
? Without even thinking? Had it really been
that easy to fall out of his mouth?

At the same time, he didn't want to have this
discussion with Rebecca. Neither of them was in the right frame of
mind for those kinds of revelations. At least not right now. She
was grieving in so many levels and needed some time alone. Just
telling her she wasn't responsible for Dr. Gross's actions wouldn't
be enough. In order to fully recover, she needed to come to that
realization on her own and accept it. That could take time. A lot
had happened to her in a short amount of time and her brain hadn't
had a chance to play catch up. The fierce release of tears tonight
was a start, but there would be more to come.

She'd also need a shoulder to lean on. He'd
be that shoulder, and more, if she wanted. But until this cloud
cleared, he'd keep things simple between them.

The questions in her eyes were already
forming. He knew her well enough to know that she was already
analyzing his words in that over-active brain of hers. Because
that's what Rebecca did. She analyzed shit to death until she could
fully understand and explain every piece of the puzzle.

Well, he had no intention of explaining
anything at the moment. Not even an, "I mean that metaphorically."
He needed to get her out of here, not only before they both got
drenched, but to get her someplace where she could rest.

And not ask him questions.

He'd take her back to his house.

Yeah, that's good place. Go home where you'll
be alone together.

His home may put the two of them in close
proximity, but he still felt the need to watch over her and take
care of her. To make sure she had everything she needed, including
a sturdy shoulder should the waterworks start again.

"Come on," he said, tugging her to her feet.
He grabbed both their bottles and pulled her by the hand across the
gym roof.

"But―"

"The rain's almost here. We need to get
indoors."
Yeah, that's a good excuse. Blame it on the
weather.

A burst of wind shot around them, whipped the
strands of Rebecca's hair in front of her face. She let go of his
hand so she could hold her hair back to see where she was
going.

He climbed down the ladder first, then helped
her down, trying not to pay attention to the soft curves of her
hips beneath his hands. She kept her eyes on him as they climbed
into the car, then pulled away from the school. Just as he got back
on the main drag, the rain started. Big, fat drops plopped on his
windshield, slowly at first, then gaining speed until they were
surrounded by a steady downpour.

"Good thing you came along, or I'd be stuck
in this," she muttered.

He glanced at her, while keeping one eye on
the sheets of rain. The moisture in the air had turned her soft
curls into wild frizz. The transformation her hair made whenever it
rained had always been the bane of Rebecca's existence, and one
he'd never failed to give her shit about.

Oddly enough, he'd always liked the unruly
frizz and the way it sort of gave her a wild look. It almost
reminded him of an old Brooke Shields Calvin Klein ad. In his
opinion her curls were her best feature, and he never wanted her to
change them.

She didn't protest or question him when they
pulled into his driveway. To avoid the rain, he cruised the car
into the garage, then got out. He'd planned on opening the door for
her, just because he was in a chivalrous mood, but she beat him to
it. She either didn't give a shit about chivalry, or she was eager
to get inside. He'd guessed it was the former.

She didn't say a word when he went in ahead
of her and flipped on some lights.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No," she replied in monotone.

"Thirsty?"

"No."

Her gaze was directed at the floor, but the
pulse at the base of her neck beat wildly. Was she expecting him to
coax her into bed with him? Could she still be thinking about the L
word that he'd accidentally dropped?

She didn't seem to be in a chatty mood, not
that he blamed her. So he ushered her down the hall to his room
where he turned the lamp on. He felt her gaze on him like a couple
of heat-seeking missiles. For some reason, he couldn't bring
himself to look at her because he'd see the knowledge in her eyes.
The fact that she knew how he felt about her, and she knew damn
well that he knew. It was an odd feeling, wanting to comfort her
and get the hell away from her all at the same time. Like his mind
and his body were pulling him in two different directions and the
result was a bitch of a headache.

He had no idea if she even wanted a bath, but
he needed to do something to occupy her so he could slink away and
think.

The tub in the bathroom had jets and all
sorts of gadgets he'd never used. Courtney had talked him into
putting the thing in. But honestly, what red-blooded man sat in a
bathtub with massagers and neon lights and shit?

Rebecca would no doubt be into it, so he ran
warm water. When the tub was full enough, he pushed the button to
activate the jets, then draped a towel over the side.

"I don't have bubbles or any of that stuff,"
he told her. She'd moved to the bathroom doorway and just stood
there. She was just leaning against the jamb with her arms hanging
down at her sides like she didn't give a damn about anything. Which
she probably didn't. The ends of her hair hung down over her
breasts, and he tried not picturing her naked with her bare boobs
hidden by her silky curls

You're supposed to be comforting her. Not
growing a hard on.

"There's a towel here." He gestured lamely
behind him, because he didn't know what the hell else to do. Or
what to say.

Her silence wasn't making the situation any
easier. The blank stare pinning him down was like a different
person looking back at him. It had to be shock. The reality of Dr.
Gross's death was hitting her hard and she didn't know how to deal
with it.

"Take as long as you need." He moved toward
her and almost made it out of the bathroom when she grabbed his
hand.

She lifted those gloomy green eyes up to him
and the sight damn near ripped his heart through his ribcage.

"When you're done, just grab whatever you can
find to sleep in and take my bed. I'll sleep in the other
room."

Her brows tugged together in confusion.
"You're going to leave me in here alone?"

Ah, shit why did she have to ask him like
that? Didn't she know how hard it was for him to keep his hands off
her? His will power was on overload just trying to stay out of
touching distance. Then she had to go and touch his hand, gaze at
him and use that soft voice that felt like a caress over his
skin.

He was trying to be noble, but she was making
it damn impossible to keep his good intentions up.

"I think it would be for the best," he
managed to say. How his voice came out that even, he had no effing
clue.

And then, damn it all to hell, what was left
of his will power snapped. Her skin just looked too damn
luminescent and soft. With his free hand, he touched her cheek,
cupping her cool and delicate jaw, trying his hardest to keep the
contact at a light stroke. His jeans grew tight from just skimming
the side of her face with his hand.

This was why he needed to leave her alone
tonight. With the way he was feeling, he'd likely be rough with her
and she didn't need that. She needed time to heal, not some oaf
like him manhandling her and pinning her to the mattress until her
thighs quivered.

On that thought, he dropped his hand and
walked away from her.

Normally, the patter
of rain on the windows and the low rumble of thunder coaxed her to
sleep like a baby's lullaby. And tonight, more than any other
night, Rebecca needed that gentle nudge into the blissful REM stage
where she could lose herself with dreams. Reality didn't exist in
dreams. Only the edge of her subconscious where the fanciful and
ridiculous reined.

The rain against the windows was doing its
job to create that relaxing atmosphere. Her mind had other plans,
and those did not include getting some much needed shut eye.
Anxiety coursed through her blood like a poison, causing an uneasy
restlessness that had her flip-flopping all over the mattress. The
sheet, although soft and probably had a five-hundred thread count,
felt like sandpaper against her skin. But the full blast air
conditioning made sleeping without any sort of barrier damn near
unbearable. Why did R.J. have to set his thermostat so low?

Probably because the man was a natural
furnace.

All that muscle generated enough heat that
the harsh Wyoming winters were probably of no concern to him.

She ought to know.

Too many times in recent weeks she'd felt
them up close, under her fingertips and pressed against her body.
She'd been especially aware of them tonight, straining against
R.J.'s soft gray t-shirt, begging to be stripped free of their
constraints so she could savor them.