Body Heat

machine in the lounge. She’d gotten here early, and apparently she’d been needed more for emotional support than physical therapy. Mrs. Cohen had become disoriented and had tried to leave her bed. Her family was away, and the name the older woman kept muttering was Brianne’s. It was probably because Brianne didn’t treat only a patient’s body, she treated her mind. She talked to patients while she was working. And she often got the sense that too few people, doctors and family alike, did the same.

She pulled a couple of pink papers out of her pocket, glancing at her messages. One was from her old landlord asking her to come by and pick up her mail-he’d agreed to hold it for her instead of her switching things around for the summer and risking losing important bills and letters. She wondered if there was a reply from the Ranch and shivered. She now viewed the prospect, which had once held great appeal, with increasing uncertainty. Because of Jake.

Brianne took a long, less-than-satisfying sip of the strong, caffeinated brew. She’d need the jolt if she was going to stay awake and on her feet after the night she’d had. And what a night it was-hot, sultry-and she wasn’t talking about the weather. That was why contemplating the end of the summer or, worse, the end of her relationship with Jake was so painful. But the alternative was unbelievably confusing. She massaged her aching head once more.

If a summer affair was supposed to be straightforward and easy, why was Brianne so confused about so many things?

She’d always hoped that if she did get the California job, she would enjoy the same kind of warm rapport with the kids that she did with the elderly adults here. But she couldn’t know for sure, and Brianne liked the geriatric patients she treated. More than she’d admitted to herself. They held a wealth of life history and love, even the cantankerous ones. They counted on her, and she prided herself on knowing she’d never let them down.

And then there was the biggest reason her upcoming move no longer held great appeal. She rubbed at her temples with her right hand. Even if another therapist could take her patients, Jake would still be in New York. Her insides churned, and Brianne understood the reason. She would be across the country, in California with the brother she adored. But he was becoming a man; Marc no longer needed her quite the same way he had when he was younger. She’d called him after leaving Mrs. Cohen and he’d rushed her off the phone; meeting his friends was now more important than talking to his sister. He’d grown up.

Maybe it was time Brianne did the same. Did that mean considering a future in New York, with Jake? She shook her head. What was she thinking? He’d given her no indication he wanted more than a summer fling, and, besides, nothing about their differences had changed. Or had they? Perhaps a better question was, had she changed?

“Brianne?” Sharon burst into the room, a yellow, gold and orange bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. “Someone left this on the front desk. It’s for you.”

Surprised, Brianne took the arrangement and placed it on the table by the old couch.

“Secret admirer?” Sharon asked.

“I don’t know.” Actually, she did know, and warmth spread through her. She hadn’t thought Jake was a flowers kind of guy but apparently she was wrong. She held the knowledge close, having no desire to “share” Jake, her feelings or his gift, by discussing him-even with a friend.

“They are beautiful,” Sharon said.

Brianne glanced at the flowers. They were charming and perfect for her. She didn’t know what they were called, but she adored the simple arrangement.

The phone in the lounge rang, and Brianne picked it up on the first ring. “Rehab, Brianne Nelson speaking.”

“Did you like the gift?” asked a deep male voice with a trace of a foreign accent.

She gripped the phone tighter in her hand. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“You said this is Brianne Nelson.”

“It is,” she said warily, the memory of the man with the tattoo sneaking into her mind. “Who is this?”

“I thought a classy woman like you would have better manners. Don’t I deserve a thanks for sending pretty flowers to such a pretty woman?”

“Maybe I’d thank you if I knew who you were.” She heard the shaking in her voice and tamped down on her nerves.

But Sharon must have sensed her anxiety; she put a comforting hand on her back.

“No? Well, then you can thank me in person,” the stranger said.

“Who are you?” Brianne didn’t know if she was dealing with a benign secret admirer or a stalker. Despite her best efforts, trembling turned to shaking, and she eyed the flowers she’d once found lovely with anxious confusion.

“Hang up, Brianne.” At the sound of Jake’s voice, she whipped around, surprised he’d come to find her here, but not really surprised he’d be around when she needed him.

She didn’t question his right to give orders; she just slammed the phone into the cradle and took a step back, away from the floral bouquet.

“Can we have a few minutes alone?” Jake asked.

Brianne glanced at Sharon, who was staring back and forth between Brianne and Jake, obviously unsure of what to make of the situation. Brianne didn’t know what to make of it, either.

“It’s okay. I need to talk to him,” she told her friend.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Sharon said, a curious yet in-awe expression on her face when she looked at Jake. “If you need anything, I’ll be out front.”

“Thanks.” Brianne glanced at her watch, and though her breathing came in shallow gasps, she somehow managed to go through her schedule in her mind. “Sharon, could you please take my nine-thirty? I’ll owe you, I promise.”

“Not a problem. You can repay me with information.” After another lingering glance at Jake, Sharon walked out of the lounge, leaving the two of them alone.

Jake stood in front of her and squeezed her trembling hands in his. “What happened?” He put an arm around her waist and led her to an old plaid couch.

She’d worked here for so long, yet the couch predated her. It was worn and familiar and gave her a steadying calm she desperately needed. She forced herself to recount her morning, something that helped to calm her nerves. “I got paged on my beeper early.”

“And I didn’t hear it because…?”

“I was in the kitchen getting a glass of juice and you were still fast asleep. My bag with the pager was still in the living room.” And she didn’t have to tell him why her purse had never made it into her bedroom last night. The darkening in his gaze told her he remembered everything about last night as vividly as she did.

“Okay, so you were paged. Then what?”

“Is this what they call the third degree, Detective?” she asked lightly. She appreciated not just his concern but his very presence. Sexy razor stubble covered his cheeks, his hair looked as though he’d just tumbled out of bed and he was completely focused on her. He was her fantasy come to life-if the circumstances weren’t so unnerving, Brianne thought. At the reminder of that phone call, she shivered and sought to divert her thoughts.

He brushed her hair back from her face, calming her. “This is what they call concern. Now quit stalling and go on.”

Brianne had never underestimated his talent or ability as a law enforcement officer, and she saw now that she’d been right. The man was determined, and anyone who needed him would not be let down, but Brianne had no desire to fall into the needy category.

She’d been on her own and strong for too long to let one phone call turn her into a basket case. “I recognized the extension and called the hospital to see what they wanted.”

“Is it unusual for you to be paged so early in the morning?”

She nodded. “Unusual but not unheard of. It wasn’t the Rehab desk, either, so I knew it had to be important. I called back, no one answered, and I figured it was a real emergency. I found out I was right.”

She told him about her elderly patient, and he listened with intense interest. “I told her stories about Marc and why I became a physical therapist to calm and distract her.”

“Not exactly in your job description.” Warm admiration filled his gaze.