hands and putting the recliner arm back down. Getting upright would help. “That’s why I came to you, Grace. You’ve worked with athletes injured mid-game, kept them playing and all that. Certainly you can work with me long enough to simply keep me walking for a couple of days. And then I will do whatever it is you tell me to do in order to recover. But right now...I need to play through this.”
“Those athletes who get taped are only mildly sprained. They can bear weight, just need some extra support to keep up with their range of motion. This is not that kind of sprain. You need crutches.”
God. Another person with the crutches. “No. No crutches. Athletes—”
“Don’t use them on the court,” she cut in, sounding irritated with him now. “I know, but I told you—this is different. And even if it weren’t different, there’s a big difference between taping an ankle before it starts to swell and after. And you’re already terribly swollen. Tape won’t do anything for you, it can’t give you any support when there’s an inch of gelatinous squish between the tape and the joint.”
“There are medications that reduce swelling.”
“Yes...” She sat back again and looked at him. The more they engaged about the injury, the more comfortable she looked. The blush had already faded to a hint of pink. Maybe the weirdness would abate if they just stayed focused on the work. “Diuretics are used for chronic conditions that cause water retention, and as preparation before a surgery that will cause massive swelling—mostly orthopedic surgeries. But not really for injuries like this.”
“Can’t we use them that way anyway? And ice? And elevation? Get the swelling down enough to tape it?”
“I don’t know,” she said, standing again, one hand rubbing her forehead. Another self-comforting technique—her embarrassment may have faded but she still felt the stress of the situation. “I don’t prescribe medication. Let me talk to Dr. Rothsberg and see who I can find in New York to—”
She started to turn and Liam lunged to grab her hand. Instantly that feeling returned. Connection. Warmth. “Grace.” He said her name. Maybe if he held her back with words he could let go of her hand. “Talk to Rothsberg about the medicine, please, but I came to you because I need you.”
Her hand turned slightly in his, not so much pulling away, just giving the smallest slide of flesh on flesh. Every nerve in his hand fired and tingling heat spread up his arm.
Her hands were small but he felt the strength in them. So soft in his, and warmth he could spend a year studying... He found himself stroking her skin in return, his thumb making lazy exploration of the back of her hand.
Something else, he’d been saying something...but whatever it was left him.
They’d always had chemistry, but he’d never let himself explore it. He’d always kept touching to a minimum or carefully relegated to non-sexy situations for so many reasons, not the least of which had been loyalty. The senior Watsons and Nick meant a lot to Liam, but no matter how kind they were to him even Liam knew that would all end if he gave in to that lust that colored his vision every time he looked at her. Grace was off-limits, all he could have of her was his imaginings.
And this added a new element to the fantasy of the untouchable Grace Watson.
What would her hands feel like on the rest of his body?
GRACE STEPPED CLOSER to Liam’s chair, her arm outstretched, hand captured.
How many times had this happened in her youth? How many times had hands clasped to do something mundane and helpful? How many times had her teenage self been sprawled on the grass near where Liam and Nick had hung out—doing whatever it was that teenage boys did—with her beside Liam just so she could beg for a hand up when it was time to go in for dinner? She’d used any excuse to make him hold her hand, even for just a couple seconds.
But it had always been at her instigation.
She’d been the one dying to feel her hand in his.
The only kind of flirting a dumb kid could come up with to try and make Liam see her as something other than Nick’s kid sister.
And the least ridiculous, as it had turned out. When she’d hit eighteen and the time apart while he’d been at school had turned her desperate, her tactics had become the stuff that couldn’t be lived down.
“I know you don’t want to come with me,” Liam said, his hand still in hers, even though he’d stopped stroking her skin now. It didn’t really help clear her thinking, though.
She needed to make him let go. Get some space. Maybe her thinking would unfuzzy.
She took a slow deep breath and gestured back to the stool as she pulled her hand from his, indicating that she wasn’t fleeing so he’d let go.
Please, don’t mention it.
She might be able to force herself through this without having to face the embarrassment head-on, but if he wanted to talk about it...
He hadn’t so far, but she could see it on his face every time she looked at him. Who could forget something like that?
“We haven’t seen one another in a long time, I know,” he said, nodding to his ankle. “Could you rewrap it? It feels better when it’s got something around it.”
“Yes. Of course.” She grabbed the bandage, thankful for something to do, and began rolling it up to make the rewrapping easier. Focusing on a task was better than focusing on emotions that would make everything so much worse. Liam settled back again, his hands in his lap. She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her.
“I have no one else to turn to, Gracie. It seems that when everyone wants something from you, it gets harder to trust.” The edge she’d heard in his voice drained away and he chuckled, sounding something like the old, charming Liam. The old Liam, the only one she’d ever let call her Gracie. “You probably hear some variation of that from entitled celebrities every day, whining about their success and how much it costs them.”
He lifted his leg as she began wrapping, allowing her to pass the elastic wrap under and around his leg, snug enough to stop further swelling but not so tight that it would hamper circulation. Something she knew how to do, unlike the rest of this. And as painful as it looked, the physical pain was so much easier to deal with. And he really had hurt himself, but there were things that could be done to speed recovery. Things she could help him do after a few days of healing rest, but this insane plan to keep walking on it...
“I’m sure I could find someone skilled enough to help me through these next few weeks, but I’d have to keep my guard up, and that’s really hard to do twenty-four hours a day. I know you’re not going to secretly record me or take pictures to sell to the tabloids. I know you’re not going to pay more attention to the limelight than to my recovery. And if I ever had any doubt, after seeing how badly you don’t want to get involved...I’m certain of it now.”
Her stomach bottomed out, hearing those words, almost as sure a hit as if he had mentioned the other. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I can see you need help and I’m sure you hate having to come ask for it.” The words tasted of lies. She didn’t want
