Secrets of a Shy Socialite (9 page)

“One pretended to be injured. But once outside they tried to convince me to get them narcotics,” Jena explained. “Justin was working security. He came out to find me and they hit him in the head. He needs to go to the Emergency Room.”

“They fled on foot,” Justin added. “Heading north.”

The officer conveyed the information into the radio affixed to her shoulder. “That’s a pretty nasty cut,” she noted.

Yeah. Cut. He wanted to cut with the chit chat and take Jena to bed.

Someone said something, sounded far away.

“Stay with me.” Jena’s voice broke through the haze.

“I want to. I really do.” Again. At his place. In his bed. All night long. If he could just get rid of the pain in his head. “Let’s go home.”

Of course she didn’t let him go home until after he’d had an X-ray, a CT scan, a tetanus shot, and twelve stitches. None of which were all that bad since Jena stayed with him, holding his hand, talking quietly, the sweet melody of her voice relaxing him.

The best part of the entire night was the neurologist informing Jena and Ian that Justin had a concussion and would need to be woken up hourly until morning, and Jena insisting since she was responsible for his injury she be the one to do it.

After driving them home, Ian walked Justin up to his condo while Jena went to check on the twins, give Jaci an update and change out of her uniform.

Into something clingy and skimpy would be his preference.

“You going to be okay?” Ian asked. He’d been unusually quiet at the hospital, on the ride home, and in the elevator.

Justin plopped onto the couch. “Yeah. I promise I won’t die.” As soon as the words left his mouth Justin wanted to suck them back in. “Hey. I’m sorry.” Because Ian had lost four of his buddies in the explosion that’d left him with a permanent limp. Damn war. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Ian said. “You need help getting changed?”

“If I do I don’t want it from you.”

Ian smiled. “I guess that blow to the head hasn’t affected your sex drive any.”

If anything it’d made it even more powerful. Or maybe that’d been hours of close proximity to Jena.

“Take it easy on her,” Ian warned. “Jaci’s worried about Jena, says she hasn’t been herself since her return.”

Justin liked the changes.

“She’s been preoccupied, quiet and secretive,” Ian went on. “Jaci thinks it has something to do with Jerry the jerk.”

“I’m taking care of it,” was all he’d share. “Tell Jaci not to worry.”

Ian stiffened, looking ready for battle. “What’s going on?”

Justin yawned. “I’m taking care of it,” he repeated, feeling himself drifting off to sleep.

Jena’s voice woke him. “Help me get him up.”

Justin smiled.

But those weren’t Jena’s dainty hands pushing into his armpits and lifting him to a standing position.

“Let’s get him undressed,” she said.

“Yeah. Let’s,” Justin said, liking the idea of getting naked with Jena. “I can walk.” He twisted out of Ian’s hold. “Three’s a crowd. Good night, Ian.” He lifted his shirt over his head, forgetting about his stiches. “Yowza,” he yelled out when his collar rubbed along his sensitive suture line.

“Be careful.” Jena took him by the arm. “Come on. I’ll get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”

“Call if you need me,” Ian said, from behind them.

“I will,” Jena said at the same time Justin said, “We won’t.” He had everything under control. Except for the dizziness. He leaned on Jena for balance. And the throbbing ache in his head. No chance a little headache, okay, a big headache, was going to keep him from having Jena. Again. Lots of agains.

CHAPTER FIVE

J
ENA
led Justin
into the bathroom,
knowing his shirt was stained with blood and would have to be removed at some
point, wishing he hadn’t chosen to expose so much of his delectable body before
she’d had a chance to fully prepare herself to combat the overwhelming desire to
touch it. She closed the lid to the toilet. “Sit.” He was a bit unsteady on his
feet so she guided him down, which put his enticingly bare chest in full view,
close enough to kiss.

Stop that, she chided herself for unprofessional thoughts. She
was here as a nurse, nothing more.

Smooth skin covered exquisitely defined muscles. A dusting of
hair up high and a line from his navel down...

He undid the top button of his slacks. “You like what you
see?”

She most certainly did. What healthy, heterosexual woman
wouldn’t? “You’ve seen one you’ve seen them all,” she said, belittling the fact
men’s naked bodies varied greatly in their aesthetic qualities. And Justin’s
earned a check plus in each box on her What I Like Most About Men’s Bodies wish
list.

He cleared his throat. “You going to clean up my head or is
there another reason you brought me in here?” He smiled a flirty
all-you-have-to-do-is-ask smile, at least that’s how she chose to interpret
it.

“How are you feeling?” Jena asked to remind herself he’d been
struck in the head a few hours earlier, had been diagnosed with a concussion and
received twelve stiches. Only a callous, self-centered woman would entertain
sexual thoughts while providing care to a man who’d been injured trying to
protect her, a man who was in no shape, neurologically or physically, to engage
in the totally inappropriate acts circulating through her mind.

Bad Jena.

“I’m a little tired.” He smiled again. “But up for
anything.”

Okay. Conversation not helping. So she focused on his suture
line instead. The ER doc had done a nice job of bringing the wound edges
together, the stitches relatively equidistant and coated with antibiotic
ointment. “I want to clean some of this blood out of your hair. Where are your
washcloths?”

“Under the sink.”

Jena retrieved a few and got to work. After a minute or two
Justin sighed. “You have a very gentle touch.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t think I’d like this as much as I do,” he said.

She looked down at him. “Like what?”

He opened his eyes. “You taking care of me.”

She liked it, too.

At some point while she’d been concentrating on her task,
rinsing and re-wetting the cloth, he’d shifted so now she stood between his
spread thighs, his face pointed straight ahead at her breasts. She could almost
feel his heated gaze. Her nipples went tingly and hard, the sensation divine.
And one she would soon miss mightily. She fought back sorrow, needed to focus on
the big picture. Life.

“You’re killing me,” he said.

Lost in thought she’d been too rough. “I’m sorry.” She stopped
rubbing his head and went to step back.

He palmed her waist and pulled her close, dropped his forehead
to rest just above her belly. “You smell so good, look so good. I want to touch
you, undress you. Take those tight, aroused nipples into my mouth.”

Heaven help her she wanted the same things, especially to feel
his mouth on her nipples. One last time.

“You have no idea what being this close to you is doing to
me.”

Oh yes she did, because it was doing the same to her.

“What would you do if I touched you? Would you let me?”

Yes.

As if he’d heard her mental response he set a gentle hand on
her right breast, ran his thumb across its peak which sent a jolt of pure potent
arousal raging through her system. Wonderful yet worrisome. Without sensitive,
responsive nipples, would she ever again feel this overwhelmingly extraordinary
desire for a man?

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Not really. “But I think that whack to the head
dislodged your impulse control.” The condition apparently contagious as Jena had
a few impulses on the verge of slipping outside of her control, too. The impulse
to lift her shirt, grab him by the ears and direct his mouth to where she wanted
it. The impulse to press her lips to his, to slip her tongue into his mouth and
taste him, devour him. The impulse to straddle his lap and rub herself
shamelessly along the length of the erection gaining prominence behind his
zipper. Seems he was physically capable after all. But...

Think nurse-patient relationship. Nothing more. “Your head is
clean enough.” She tossed the washcloth into the sink. Distance would really
help this situation. And sleep. “Where’s your acetaminophen?”

He didn’t answer.

She tried to step away. He held her close, not on board with
the distance part of her plan. “Come on,” she said.

Nothing.

“Justin?”

“Don’t move,” he said. A moment later he added, “I think I’m
going to be sick.”

And he was. Good thing she hadn’t listened when he’d told her
not to move. “That’s two for two.” When he was finished she handed him a clean
dampened cloth to wash his face. “Two times in your condo during which you’ve
had your hands on my body. Two times you drop to your knees and heave up the
contents of your stomach as a result. Is it my perfume? My shampoo? Me?”

He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, looking
miserable. “First time,” he held up his index finger, “hangover. Second time,”
he added his middle finger, “concussion. It’s not you.”

Although tonight’s injury and subsequent GI distress could be
directly attributed to her stupidity in running out into the parking lot alone
with someone Justin had told her to be cautious of.

He reached for the towel bar and started to pull himself up.
“You think I like you seeing me at my worst?”

She rushed to help him. “Let me help you.” She tugged on his
arm. But really he did most of the work himself. “You still nauseous?” If he
vomited again she’d be on the phone, calling the doctor.

“I’m fine,” he said not looking or sounding fine. “Let’s go to
bed.”

Time to firm up the sleeping arrangements. “During your little
impromptu nap a few minutes ago Ian said I could sleep in his bed.”

“Did he have a big smile on his face when he said it?”

Come to think of it, yes.

“You’re sleeping with
me
.” He
grabbed her hand and led her to his cave. Very me man you woman you do what man
say.

A big apology to feminists worldwide, but she kind of liked it.
Although, “It’s a bad idea, Justin. We can’t—”

“You promised the ER doc you’d keep an eye on me through the
night.”

Yes, she had.

“How are you going to do that when you’re in another room?”

“I’ll set the alarm on my phone. I’ll come in to wake you every
hour.”

“Not good enough.” He dragged her into his room without turning
on the light. “The more I argue, the more my head hurts.”

“Let me get you some—” Before she could name a pain reliever he
said, “You’re all I need.”

How could a women argue with that?

He released her hand, unzipped his pants and let them fall to
the floor. “Would you undo my shoes?”

Of course. That’s the reason she was here. To take care of him.
Caring for others is what Jena did best.

Naked except for a pair of cotton boxer briefs—the room too
dark for her to see anything more than the basic outline of his body, darn it
all—he lifted the covers and slid into the middle of his queen-sized bed where
he laid down on his side, held up the covers, and waited for her.

She removed her phone from the pocket of her lounge pants,
pressed the buttons necessary to set the alarm for one hour, and placed it on
the bedside table. Just for tonight. She climbed in beside him. Because of his
head injury. She turned on her side facing away from him. Definitely not because
she wanted to be there just as much as he wanted her there.

He cuddled in behind her, like he’d done the last time she’d
spent the night in his bed, his chin resting on the top of her head, his
anterior in full contact with her posterior and his powerful arm draped over her
ribs with his hand cupping her breast.

“Thank you,” he said on a deep sigh.

No. Thank
you
. Jena closed her eyes
and savored the feel of him. Just. For. Tonight. Her body relaxed, indulged in a
closeness that would never be repeated.

Jena woke to darkness, her phone alarm going off. She lifted it
to check the time—four o’clock—and stop the ringing. She listened for the twins,
thrilled to hear nothing but quiet, thankful the noise hadn’t set them off. So
warm. She closed her eyes.

Someone moved behind her.

She sucked in a breath.

“What?” a male voice asked, pulling her close.

Justin. It all came back. His head wound. Stiches. A
concussion. Hourly neurological checks. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Do you often wake up unsure who you’re in bed with?” he
mumbled, teasing her. Back to normal.

“You’d think with the wild, party-girl lifestyle I lead, I’d be
used to it by now,” she quipped.

He squeezed her. “Wise ass.”

Only with him, probably because so many of their interactions
over the years had occurred while she’d been pretending to be Jaci whose
personality lent itself to sarcasm and playfulness. “I was checking to see your
level of orientation or if I need to drag you back to the hospital.”

“My name is Justin Rangore,” he whispered.

“Now here’s a toughie,” she said, “Who am I?”

He rocked his hips. Something firm poked her butt cheek. “You
are the lovely, and when I say lovely I mean alluring, sensual, and charming
Jena
Piermont.”

His emphasis on “Jena” made her smile and delighted her beyond
measure. She reset her alarm to go off in an hour. “Back to sleep,” she said a
bit surprised when he didn’t balk and continue putting the moves on her and
actually seemed to drift right back into slumber.

The next three times Jena’s alarm startled her back to
consciousness she could barely stay awake long enough to gently shake Justin,
determine him to be oriented to person, place and time, and reset her alarm
before falling back into an exhausted sleep.

“Hey, beautiful.” A man’s soft voice interrupted a delicious
dream. Lips, she assumed his, pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Rise and
shine.”

Lying on her side, Jena opened her eyes to sunshine and
Justin’s face less than an inch away. She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“Relax,” he said so at ease with their position. “Two morning
breaths cancel each other out.”

“Are you speaking from your vast experience waking up in bed
with women,” she asked from behind her hand, “Or saying the first thing that
came to mind to keep me from leaving the bed to gargle with mouthwash?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He took the hand covering her mouth, slid it down his naked
chest, to an impressive morning erection. “You tell me.”

Oh my. Great. He felt great. Awesome. “Well, that’s a pretty
big indication you no longer need me around to take care of you.” She started to
roll away but came to an abrupt stop on her back, when Justin pounced on top of
her, pinning her hips beneath his.

“But I do.” He rested his upper body on his elbows and leaned
down to kiss her cheek. “Don’t go.”

Somehow her knees parted and he settled in between them, his
groin flush with hers, the pressure of his arousal...right there. She wanted to
lift her hips. Needed...

He pushed some hair off of her forehead and stared deeply into
her eyes. “Stay with me, Jena.”

Jena. Stay with me, Jena. Not Jaci.

She shouldn’t. Sex would only make her eventual choice of
husband, and doing what was best for her and her daughters, more difficult. She
glanced at the clock anyway. The girls would be up soon. Jena had never been
separated from them for as long as they’d been apart over the last twenty-four
hours. She ached to see their smiling faces and kiss their baby-scented skin.
And it was too much to expect Jaci—

“Please,” he said, the need in his voice, the rich, sensual
timbre made her woman parts tingle. “I want to show you something.” And Lord
help her, Jena wanted to see it, feel it and experience it.

He rocked his hips. Slowly. Forward. Then back. The length of
his erection providing an intimate massage that drove words like “stop” and “no”
from cognition, leaving only synonyms of “yes”, “more”, and “faster” accessible
for use.

“What?” On impulse she skimmed her hands down the soft skin
covering his lateral ribs to his waist. “What do you want to show me?”

“How good I make love when I’m sober.” He kept his voice quiet,
seductive, as he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “When I take my
time, and my sole focus is your pleasure.”

Jena couldn’t contain a sensual shiver.

The little demonstration of “sole focus on her pleasure” that
followed proved him a proficient and talented sexual multi-tasker.

Aroused Jena, the one listening to her stimulated, needy body
crying out for one last sexual hurrah battled Rational Jena, the cautious,
responsible one wedged in her head, over the pros and cons of crossing her
ankles behind his butt, opening for him and exerting some control over the
speed, depth and direction of his frustratingly languid pelvic activity.

Rational Jena won out. This time. But with each caress of her
breast, each glide of his palm over her nipple, each slide of his erection along
her swollen, moistening sex Aroused Jena was gaining strength.

“That’s very altruistic of you,” she teased. And very tempting.
If she married Thomas goodbye sex life hello abstinence. Even if she held out in
search of an understanding heterosexual male who could accept her treatment
decisions—as if one would be easy to find within the next two months—from the
research she’d done, after surgery she expected changes in the sensation, look
and feel of her breasts that would impact both her and her partner in any future
intimate relationship. This could be her last opportunity to enjoy the delicious
tingle of aroused nipples, of a man’s hands caressing her breasts and his
mouth... “But don’t you mean how good you are at sex?” Because making love would
require, well...love. Or at least some degree of mutual affection.