Should she go across the street to check on Jamie, or wait for him to contact her? They hadn’t even seen each other since that first morning in the driveway, never mind talked about what he might need from her in the way of personal concierge services.
Did he even know she’d been hired to provide those services to him? Her mother had assured her he’d been told, and that he was delighted. But what if she’d fibbed? Jamie wasn’t like her usual clients, who were either too rich or too lazy to do anything for themselves. He might actually resent her interference in his life. Not everyone appreciated a helping hand. Aside from running a few routine errands, she couldn’t foresee him asking much of her.
Setting her coffee mug down, she stood up and grabbed her tablet. Better to just get it over with. With luck, he might decide he didn’t need any help from her while his parents were gone, and she could just focus on getting her own life in order. She strode across the street before she could change her mind, and rang the doorbell. Several long minutes passed while Rachel stood on the steps clutching her tablet with hands that were damp with nerves, her heart beating hard. When there was no answer, she turned away, feeling a rush of both relief and disappointment.
The door opened.
She turned back, an apologetic smile pasted on her face, and her mouth fell open. Jamie stood in the doorway, looking overtly male and extremely aggravated. She didn’t have to guess why. He’d obviously been in the shower. He wore nothing but a green trash bag over his injured leg, cinched tight at the thigh with duct tape, and a pair of soft, cotton shorts that clung to his damp body and revealed more of his masculine assets than they concealed. Water glistened on his naked shoulders and chest, and dripped onto the floor beneath his foot.
“Oh,” Rachel finally choked, embarrassed beyond words. “I am so sorry! I had no idea you’d be in the shower!” She almost put a hand up to her eyes to prevent herself from staring at his body. His incredibly toned and muscular body. She spun away. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, it’s fine.” His voice sounded gravelly. “You’re here now, and I went through all kinds of hell trying to get my shorts on when I heard the doorbell, so you might as well come in.”
His words inspired a mental image of him, naked and wet and struggling to get dressed, that caused a rush of warmth to Rachel’s midsection.
“I can come back,” she insisted, but he’d already retreated inside, leaving her with no option but to follow him.
Despite having lived across the street her entire life, Rachel had never been inside their house, and she saw with a sense of surprise the decor was modern and fresh. A double set of French doors opened from the kitchen onto a large, backyard deck that overlooked an in-ground swimming pool. Although it was only June and still cool, two wide umbrellas had been set up near the pool chairs, and the pool itself looked clear and blue.
“How do you like your coffee?”
Jamie had pulled two mugs out of a cupboard and was pouring coffee into each.
“A little cream, no sugar.”
Leaning on his crutches, he opened the fridge and withdrew a container of cream and set it on the island, before sliding her coffee toward her. Rachel couldn’t help but notice the play of muscles along his ribs as he moved, and quickly occupied herself with mixing her coffee. She watched covertly as Jamie rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors, and then began carefully cutting away the duct tape that secured the trash bag to his thigh.
“This is the worst part,” he muttered, wincing as the tape pulled at his leg hair, before finally coming free. He pushed at the plastic bag, and tried unsuccessfully to kick it away.
“Here,” Rachel said quickly. “Let me.”
Before he could protest, she came around the island and leaned forward to push the wet bag down the length of the plaster cast until she could work it free of his leg, taking care not to let the water touch the cast. He smelled like fresh soap and shampoo, and she could see the whorls of golden hair on his thigh above the cast, and where the tape had left a mark on his skin. Flicking her gaze upward, she saw the wide scar on his abdomen. Up close, it was shiny and pink, and disappeared beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts. Suddenly aware he wore nothing beneath the soft, damp cotton, Rachel rose jerkily to her feet. Retreating to the other side of the kitchen, she balled up the trash bag and shoved it inside the trash bin, not looking at Jamie.
“My mom told me about your personal concierge business,” Jamie said, easing himself onto a stool and leaning his crutches against the counter.