Wilde Forever (Wilde Women Book 1) (9 page)

“Hold on there, Brynn. You’re limping,” he called out when she continued to put distance between them.

She blinked owlishly and shook her head, brows bumped together in a deepening frown. With the next step she took, he heard her gasp and wince, confirming his suspicion that she’d twisted her ankle when her foot had tangled in the damn tarp.

“It…it’s nothing,” she asserted. “I’m fine.”

“No, you fucking are not,” Jax barked.

Her hand swiftly came up and made the ‘stop’ motion as he marched forward. “I’ve got this. It’s no big deal.” Her voice confirmed the presence of pain, making his gut clench.

“Let me help you, Brynn,” he gritted out when she kept her hand up in that off-putting defensive pose.

“No!” she hissed. “I can take care of myself.”

The last thing he wanted to do right then was debate her denial.
Damn women today
, he lamented internally. Rather limp away in obvious pain than just admit to needing help. It wasn’t a show of weakness to accept assistance when it was clearly needed.

Well, she could gripe about it all she wanted and play the ‘I am woman hear me roar’ card, but he’d been raised to do the right thing, always, so she was going to have to suck on it.

“While I have no doubt that you can handle a snow blower all by your lonesome, I don’t think even someone as stubborn as you would be foolish enough to attempt it with a twisted ankle. Let me.
Help you
,” he bit out in no uncertain terms.

He sighed and with his mouth in a tight, grim frown swept toward her and wrapped an arm about her waist. “Lean on me,” he drawled as her weight shifted to his control and he felt her body tremble.

“Fuck,” she snarled as pain obviously shot up her leg.

Attempting to take her mind off the discomfort as he aided her descent back down the stairs he taunted, “Wow. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She snorted and shot him a mocking frown. “Where do you think I learned it? Woman swears like a soldier under fire, so to answer your question, yes. Yes, I do.”

After he got her settled into a chair situated in the front hallway, he knelt at her feet and before she could object, slid his hands beneath the leg of her jeans to find the zipper on her ankle boot.

Tugging at the boot he mumbled, “This is going to hurt lady, so take a deep breath.”

She did as he directed, exhaling a soft whimper of distress as he pulled the leather off her swelling foot.

For a long moment they both stared at her inflamed ankle until Brynn rallied and swore again. “Just fucking great,” she murmured. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

Reaching back in time to a period in his life he’d rather forget, Jax put the training he’d received while serving in the Army Medical Corps to use, assessing her condition and coming up with a series of viable options to deal with the situation.

“Okay,” he announced. “Let’s get you situated somewhere we can get that foot elevated and packed in ice.”

Seeming less than happy, Brynn rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Fine,” she fumed. “The den, I suppose. There’s a sofa in there with a bunch of pillows that should do.”

She started to sit forward like she was going to try and stand but Jax was having none of that shit. Knowing she’d object if he gave her a choice, he simply scooped her up into his arms and headed in the direction of the kitchen and den.

Every ingrained male impulse inside him sat up and took notice as she squealed in alarm when she felt herself being lifted, followed by her arms swiftly wrapping around his neck and shoulders as he stomped off.

A tense silence followed them as Jax made her comfortable by elevating her swollen foot and placing some reusable ice packs he’d found in the freezer on her ankle.

He made her swallow two pain relievers too, telling her it would help with the discomfort and the swelling. She was clearly displeased with being in a vulnerable position and made some pithy comment under her breath about calling him Doctor Merrill.

Dr. Merrill.
Fuck my life
, he groaned.

She sighed. “Did I say something wrong?”

Knowing he had a dark scowl on his face, he shook it off and answered her the best way he knew how.

“No, Brynn. You didn’t say anything wrong. I was just thinking that the Dr. Merrill ship sailed a long time ago.”

At her puzzled look he added, “I’d done pre-med at NYU and headed for my first year of med school when a surge of patriotism after a drunken night with some buddies ended with all of us enlisting in the Army.”

She gasped at his admission, and he shot her an, ’I know, right?’ look.

“Four years and one fucked-up war later, I’d seen enough blood and trauma to last a lifetime. That’s a polite way of saying my time in the Medical Corps more or less stuck a fork in the Dr. Merrill fantasy.”

“
What!?
Um, I mean, you were in the Army?” she stammered.

“Indeed I was,” he snorted.

She stared at him for a long time then grumbled, “Jax Merrill. You are not at all what you seem.”

B
RYNN WAS STUNNED BY JAX’S admission. So, he wanted to be a doctor at one point in his life? Wow. She had in no way seen that coming. Any more than she imagined he’d been in the Army. He didn’t seem the type although the second that lame observation flitted through her brain, she ruthlessly squashed it because serving our country was something that wasn’t a ‘type’.

“The ankle is fine—but it’s going to be sore. You’re lucky, but I suggest staying off it for the rest of the evening just to be safe.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” she replied softly.

He was watching her with an unrelenting stare, rocking back and forth on his feet. A stealth attack of heat and sexual awareness crept into her senses. Her initial impression of the man in black as one seriously good-looking specimen of male hotness, the kind you turned to in a scary moment, had only been reinforced when she’d kissed him like a sex-starved maniac.

She hated where her mind went where he was concerned. It made her feel weak. Not so much out of control but more like powerless. There was nothing like marrying a king-size example of bad judgment to make her forever question what the hell she was thinking. Being the one in charge, leaning on nobody and taking responsibility for her emotional needs was what had kept her from losing her shit the last four years. At the moment though, she was having a good deal of trouble hanging on to that thread. Jax Merrill was unraveling her carefully controlled world so fast she couldn’t keep up.

“Did you have a dinner plan?” he questioned, interrupting her wayward thoughts.

“You mean besides a cannoli and a cup of tea?”

He smirked at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re joking, right?”

Leveling her with a look that made her feel like a naughty child, she squirmed and fiddled with her hair.
How the hell did he do that?
she wondered.

“Um, actually,” she stammered, “lemon chicken was on tonight’s menu.”

“Well, since you aren’t getting off that sofa anytime soon, I’ll play chef tonight. Everything I need is in the kitchen?”

“You can cook?”

“No. I was just fucking with you,” he mocked. “Of course I can cook, Brynn,” he scoffed a second later. “You’ve been hanging out with the wrong men if your surprise is any indication.”

He was certainly right on that score but not the way he meant. The only so-called ‘men’ in her world consisted of gays, the elderly, and those married to women in her small circle of friends. Hell, the last time she actually went out was with Paul Carter, an easy on the eyes TV foodie-host who had a boyfriend and two four-legged ‘kids’. Not exactly what Jax was referring to but that was all she had.

“Sorry, my bad. Occupational hazard, I suppose.”

“You’re forgiven woman,” he teased with a devilish glint in his eyes. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll feed that surly mouth.”

Oh God. This conversation was about to go from bad to worse.

“Er, uh…
aaarrrggghh
,” she groaned. Brynn knew she was trapped in a corner with no way out. “The freezer is in the kitchen. Open the door and on the middle shelf you’ll find a stack of frozen meals. Grab two, take ‘em out of the carton, pull back the plastic, and throw them in the microwave.”

His eyes immediately rolled upward as a low bark of laughter burst from his throat. “You aren’t kidding, are you?”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint, but after spending all day up to my chin in flour, butter, and eggs, the idea of cooking once I’m home is not exactly enticing.”

“That processed crap is bad for you.”

She scowled at him and rolled a shoulder dismissively. “Either that or pizza. Or bakery leftovers and a glass or three of wine. Take your pick.”

He shook his head and tsk, tsk’ed at her. “So tell me. Are there at least eggs in the fridge?”

“Undoubtedly,” she replied.

“Anything that even vaguely resembles fresh produce?”

“Mm
mmm
.” She had to think for a moment. “Wait. Yes, there is. I grabbed a head of broccoli and a couple blocks of different cheeses for a new soup recipe I wanted to try out. Oh. And there are all sorts of fresh herbs on the windowsill. There may even be some onions, but I’m not really sure.”

He picked up the remote control to the TV and tossed it to her. “Amuse yourself while I check out the sorry state of your pantry.”

“Uh, wait!” she squeaked.

“What?”

“Can you hand me that other controller?” she asked, pointing to a big pewter bowl on the coffee table cluttered with controllers and headphones.

“Jesus. Which one?” he muttered. “You’ve got more technology here than the damn NSA.”

“Oh, bite me,” she drawled. “The big black one is what I need.”

He leered at her and hooted a laugh. “Fuck, woman. You’re making me crazy. If you keep setting ‘em up like that I’m going to have to hit at least one out of the park.”

She frowned and pressed her lips together. What the hell was he talking about?

Sighing dramatically he snagged the controller she asked for and walked it over to her. He leaned in close and held her eyes, her breath catching as she struggled not to react to his nearness.

“Bite you? You need a big black one? Need I go on?”

Well, she had to admit that she’d walked head first into that one. There was no use in trying to hide the embarrassed blush that broke across her face.

“Oh, shut up Jax,” she snorted. “Mind in the gutter much, h
mmmm
?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mocked.

Pressing a series of buttons on the controller, she turned the TV on and a game system was firing up. “Go putter in the kitchen while I play my game.”

He looked over his shoulder at the screen as the graphics for Grand Theft Auto appeared. “You are fucking priceless,” Jax muttered as she started the game.

As he headed for the kitchen she called after him, “Yeah, I am. And don’t you forget it.”

It didn’t take long for Jax to get a pretty decent frittata in the oven from the meager ingredients he’d discovered in Brynn’s kitchen. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t exactly like to cook at home. Mostly, the pantry, fridge, and freezer were well stocked with unhealthy, processed crap. The kind of stuff that made Jax shudder.

His family had been avid campers while he was growing up and from those experiences he’d learned from an early age that even without a fancy stove and every modern convenience known to man, it was possible to pull together a healthy satisfying meal. The skills his mother had imparted to him and his brother had served him well over the years even when a good meal was hard to come by during the harsh reality of his wartime stint. Give him some matches to build a fire, a tin can to cook in plus three simple ingredients, and he could create almost anything.

While he waited for the frittata to finish, he cleaned up and let his mind wander all over the place. With the sounds of the sexy baker playing a surprisingly shocking video game in the background, he’d found himself expanding on the laundry list of the lady’s quirky but delightful attributes.

In just a few short hours he’d learned a lot about Brynn Baron-Wilde, starting with the fact that she was nothing like he’d expected. First of all, she wasn’t a dude. Why he thought the person he’d been sent to help out was a guy showed how one-dimensional his thoughts sometimes ran. When she’d handed him his ass for the sexist assumption, he’d deserved her scorn.