How to Score Read online

  Chase pulled the ice pack off his throbbing head and tried to focus. Sammi had been with him since he’d first arrived, and the truth was, he was glad she was there.

  Although only God knew why. The woman was worse than the seven plagues of Egypt.

  “What’s the verdict?” Chase asked.

  The doctor settled onto the backless wheeled stool beside the examination table, and turned toward Chase, his two faces smiling. “No sign of a fracture, but you’ve definitely got a concussion.”

  Great. Just great. Chase put the ice pack back on his head.

  “You’ll need to take it easy for a few days. Do you have someone to stay with you for the next twenty-four hours?”

  “I don’t need anyone. I’ll be fine,” Chase said.

  The doctor frowned. “You have to be observed overnight. If you don’t have someone who can watch you at home, then I’ll need to admit you to the hospital.”

  Hell. It was a good thing he’d kept the double-vision problem to himself.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Sammi piped up.

  “Excellent.” The doctor nodded approvingly and turned toward her. “You’ll need to wake him every three hours during the night to make sure he can wake normally, but other than that, it’s pretty much a matter of just keeping an eye on him. You’ll need to make sure he doesn’t fall unconscious again, isn’t nauseous, or doesn’t start having vision problems.”

  “Okay. I can handle it.”

  He smiled at Chase. “Looks like you’re in good hands.”

  Yeah, Chase thought morosely. The hands of the grim reaper.

  The stool creaked as the doctor rose. “I’ll have the nurse bring you the instructions and discharge papers. We’ll forward your records to your personal physician, and you’ll need to make an appointment to see him in a week to get your stitches removed.”

  The doctor exited the room, his coat flapping like stork wings.

  Sammi rose and stepped toward him. As she drew nearer, he saw two of her. “Thanks for bailing me out,” he said.

  “No problem. I can stay with you the whole weekend, if you like.”

  Oh, God—that would be the end of him. “No. Just get me home, and I can take it from there.”

  “You heard the doctor. I intend to see to it that you follow his orders.” Her two foreheads suddenly puckered. “Is there someone else you want me to call—your mom, maybe, or a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  Both Sammis stood still, their four hands clasped together. “Well, if you don’t want me to stay, I’ll hire a private nurse.”

  Oh, hell. She thought he didn’t want her around because she was so accident-prone. This was not the way to help her over her phobia. “No. No private nurses.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll take you home and stay with you as long as you need me.”

  His head hurt too much to argue, and he’d need a ride home, anyway. They could continue this discussion later.

  A middle-aged nurse with a handful of papers came into the room, looking as if she were being shadowed by a blurry Siamese twin. She handed the papers to him. “I need your signature on the release form.”

  It took several attempts to figure out which line was real. He finally aimed between the two and scrawled his name. His signature magically reproduced itself.

  The nurse turned to Sammi and handed her the other papers, addressing her as if she were his mother or—God help him!—his wife. “You can give him Tylenol every four hours. And during the night, you’ll need to wake him every three hours to make sure he can become conscious normally.”

  “It’s not normal for anyone to become conscious every three hours during the night,” Chase grumbled.

  Sammi shot him a look. “It would be abnormal to continue sleeping when I’m trying to wake you up.”

  That was certainly a fact. His gaze locked on her long, smooth, all-the-way-to-New-York-and-back legs. Even though she appeared to have four of them, he was sure she’d have no trouble keeping him awake all night.

  “For the next few days, you shouldn’t make any important decisions or sign any legally binding papers. Any questions?” The nurse looked briskly from Sammi to Chase.

  “Does he have any physical restrictions?” Sammi asked.

  You read my mind, babe.

  “He’s supposed to rest. That means staying in bed today and taking it easy tomorrow and the day after. He should probably give it about a week before he resumes strenuous physical activity.” The nurse headed for the door. “I’ll go get a wheelchair.”

  Chase pulled the ice pack from his head and started to ease himself off the table. “I can walk just fine.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re doing as little of it as possible today. And you’re taking a wheelchair to the exit, or else you’re not going anywhere.”

  What the hell; he’d do whatever was necessary to get out of here. He’d play along until Sammi got him to his apartment, and then he’d figure out a way to send her home.

  Chapter Seven

  Chase pulled out the keys to his apartment as Sammi stood beside him, her arm looped around his waist. She’d insisted on helping him from the car to his apartment door, even though he protested that he could make it just fine on his own. She was probably more of a hazard than a help, but she felt great, pressed up against him, her breasts warm and soft against his ribs. That blow to his head had done nothing to dampen her appeal.

  Which might be a problem, since it seemed to have double-dosed his libido. He straightened and pulled away at his door. “Thanks for the ride. I can make it on my own just fine from here.”

  “Oh, no. You’re going to follow the doctor’s orders.”

  “It’s not necessary. Really. You’ve done more than enough. I can manage on my own.”

  “I thought we settled this at the hospital.” Her two sets of eyes fixed him with a determined glare. His double vision was improving, but he still saw two of everything at really close range. “I’m not leaving you alone. If you don’t want me here, I’ll get someone else, but you’re going to have someone with you for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Hell. She was like a bulldog. Or maybe a boxer with a wallet. He might as well suck it up and accept the inevitable. He sighed. “I hate to put you out.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate that I knocked you out.”

  He tried to insert the key, but he couldn’t figure out which of the two keyholes was real.

  “Here.” Taking the key from him, she unlocked the door.

  “Come on in,” he said unnecessarily as Sammi turned the doorknob and helped him inside.

  She paused inside the doorway and looked around. “Did you just move in?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it looks like no one lives here. There’s nothing on your walls or your coffee table or even your kitchen counters.”

  Except for the brown expandable file folder. Oh, God—even with his blurred vision, Chase could read her name on the first folder. In fact, he could read it twice. It seemed to be flashing in neon lights.

  Normal. Act normal. He needed to keep his cool, assess the situation, and figure out a plan of action. Which was pretty obvious, really; he needed to get over there and snatch it up before she saw it.

  In the meantime, he needed to divert her, and that meant carrying on a normal conversation. “I, uh, like to keep things neat. And I don’t spend a lot of time here. And if I want to look at something, there’s a great view off my balcony. Want to go see?” He turned in that direction, making her turn, too.

  “I’ll take a look after I get you settled. Is the bedroom in the back?”

  Turning toward the bedroom meant turning toward the folder. He squeezed his arm around her and grinned down, his face scant inches from hers. “Wow. I’ve never known a woman so eager to get me in bed.”

  She did that funny blush thing. It was almost cruel, how easily he could make her face color. “You wish.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Now, why had he said that? Sexual tension was already snaking around them like a cobra, and admitting his attraction just made it coil tighter.

  He edged backward toward the kitchen counter. Sammi tightened her grip on him, apparently thinking he was woozy and weaving off course.

  What the hell. He might as well play it that way. He abruptly lurched to the left and smacked his hand down on the lid of the file folder.

  She nearly toppled them both over in her efforts to steady him. “Are-are you okay?” she asked breathily.

  “Yeah. Just not as steady on my feet as I thought.”

  “We need to get you to bed.”

  “Okay.” He scooped up the folder and tucked it under his free arm.

  “What’s that?”

  “Files for a case I’m working on,” he said.

  She frowned. “You’re supposed to be resting, not working. Besides, you’re not supposed to make any important decisions for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “So I won’t decide anything. I’ll just read over the files.”

  He readjusted his arm around her back, pulling her closer, and inhaled the scent of her hair. Candy apples—that’s what it reminded him of. A strand brushed against his cheek, snagging on his five-o’clock shadow. The sudden, unexpected intimacy sent a shockwave of arousal through him as she helped him through his bedroom door.

  “Here you go.” She stopped beside his king-sized bed and eased him down on the black-and-white-striped comforter. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to grab her and pull her onto the mattress with him.

  Instead, he set the file facedown on the floor between the nightstand and the bed. She moved to the other side of the bed and fluffed the pillows, stacking two of them together against the plain wooden headboard.

  “The
re.” She watched him lean back against them. “Can I get you your pajamas?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “So what do you sleep in?” Judging from the way her ears turned as pink as a rabbit’s, she realized the answer as soon as she asked the question. She waved her hand as if to erase the question. “Never mind. Do you have any sweatpants, or anything more comfortable than jeans?”

  He started to nod. The movement made his head throb. “Top drawer of my dresser.”

  Sammi walked across the room, opened the drawer, and pulled out a pair of neatly folded gray sweats. She handed them to him, then regarded him with a frown.

  “Your T-shirt’s covered with blood, but I’m afraid you’ll damage your bandage if you pull it off over your head. Maybe I should cut it off you.”

  His mouth quirked in a grin. “Sounds kinky, but okay.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t get excited. You’re on your own with the pants.”

  “Darn.”

  “I’ll go get you some ice while you change. Do you have any scissors?”

  “Yeah. In the kitchen drawer by the stove.”

  She pulled the door closed behind her. He scrambled out of his jeans, folded them, and pulled on his sweats as she knocked on the door.

  “You decent?” she called.

  “Yeah.” Physically, at least. Mentally was another story.

  She stepped into the room, somehow raising the temperature of it. Her gaze rested on the jeans and socks he’d just removed, and her left eyebrow rose. “You fold your dirty clothes?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t like things messy.”

  She moved toward him and knelt on the bed. “Wow. Your mom taught you well.”

  The thought of his mom made his jaw tighten. “Yeah.”

  “Where is she, anyway?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  Oh, sheez. Her face held a stricken look, as if she thought it had just happened. “She died of cancer when I was fourteen,” he added to clarify.

  “That must have been awful,” she murmured.

  Beyond awful. He’d not only lost a mother, but he’d had to become one for his nine-year-old brother, because their dad raised his alcohol consumption to a new high. But why was he blabbing about his personal life? He never talked about this stuff. It only made people feel sorry for him, and he hated sympathy as much as he hated people urging him to share his pain. That blow to his head must have done more damage than he’d realized.

  “Yeah, well, everyone has to deal with something. Ready to do surgery on my shirt?”

  “I am if you are.” Sammi smiled, but her eyes looked worried. “I promise to be very, very careful.”

  Given her track record, he was probably taking his life in his hands, but she needed a chance to redeem herself if she was ever going to get over her hazard-to-all-mankind mentality. “I’m not worried. I’d like to make two requests, though.”

  “Yes?”

  “Cut the shirt at the back of my neck instead of at the front, and aim the scissors down.”

  “So that if it slips, I won’t cut your jugular?”

  He grinned. “Nothing personal.”

  “I understand.” She moved beside him, her breasts even with his face. A hint of cleavage peeked out the V neck of her T-shirt. He breathed in the fresh green scent of her.

  “You must think I’m the world’s biggest klutz,” she said.

  Actually, I’m thinking that you’re the world’s best-smelling woman—and I’m fighting the urge not to stare at your breasts. “Nah. Accidents happen.”

  “But they happen around me more than around the average person.” Her fingers were warm on his neck as she lifted the fabric of his shirt.

  “Well, if you’re worrying about it, that makes it more likely to happen. Your thoughts program your actions.”

  Sammi drew back and looked at him. “Someone else just told me almost the exact same thing.”

  Oh, hell. If he’d made a slipup like that on an undercover operation, his ass would be grass. He feigned a blank expression. “Oh, yeah? Who was that?”

  “My life coach.”

  “Sounds like a smart guy. Is he helping you?”

  “It’s too early to be sure, but yeah, I think so.” She turned her attention back to his shirt, putting her breasts in his face again. “Sit really still, okay?”

  “Okay.” He complied to the point of not breathing. The blade of the scissors slid icily against his skin. Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, he heard a snip.

  She must have been holding her breath, too, because her breasts relaxed against him as she exhaled. The scissors clunked when she put them on the nightstand. “I’m just going to rip the fabric the rest of the way with my hands, okay?”

  “Can I videotape this? I’ve always wanted to have a woman literally rip the clothes off my body.”

  She grinned. “Very funny.”

  “You think? I would have rated it just nominally amusing.”

  He was rewarded with a laugh. “I’d better get behind you to do this.” She kicked off her sandals and crawled behind him on the mattress, sitting on her knees, one on each side of him. “Now sit still.” The shirt ripped loudly as she pulled it. Cool air hit his back.

  She scrambled off the bed. “Raise your hands over your head.” She reached for the bottom of his shirt and lifted it off. “There!” she said triumphantly.

  He lowered his arms and saw her gaze rest on his naked chest. It took her a moment to raise her eyes to his face, and when she did, her cheeks were pink. “Do you have any button-up shirts?”

  “None that aren’t starched.”

  “Well, you can’t pull anything over your head.”

  “So I’ll just go without.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Fine.” She edged toward the door. “I’ll let you rest, and I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen to fix for dinner.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Surely there’s something.”

  “Yeah,” he said dryly. “The phone for calling in a pizza.”

  “Well, then, I’ll call Chloe and have her bring over some groceries.”

  “Really, Sammi—pizza’s fine.”

  “No man I injure is going to eat pizza for dinner.”

  How many men had she injured before she instituted that particular rule? And how many kitchens had she burned down as a result? Voicing the questions would probably serve no good purpose, so he kept them to himself.

  “Chloe needs to bring me a toothbrush, a change of clothes, and few other things, anyway.” She paused at the doorway. “Do you need anything?”

  Yeah. You. Naked. Here. Now. He squirmed uneasily. He had no business entertaining thoughts like that, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “No.”

  “Okay. Call me if you do.” She closed the door as she left the room, leaving him to the fantasies throbbing in his wounded head.

  An hour later, Sammi opened Chase’s front door to find Chloe on the other side, juggling two paper grocery sacks, a duffel bag, Chase’s swap meet lockbox, and Joe on a red leash.

  Sammi reached for the duffel bag and the dog’s leash. “Thanks so much for bringing all this stuff.”

  “No problem.”

  Joe jumped on Sammi, putting his front paws on her shoulder, and licked her forehead. She patted his warm shoulder. “Good to see you, too, boy. Now get down.”

  Joe obediently dropped to all fours.

  “Sit.”

  The dog complied. His stubby tail thudded on the carpet.

  Chloe stared. “He actually did it!”

  Sammi proudly stroked Joe’s head. “I’ve been using that dog-training book my life coach suggested.”

  “Wow. Maybe you should get a training book, too.” Chloe headed for the kitchen. “Only instead of learning to sit, you could learn not to hurt the hotties.”

  “That’s what my life coach is helping me with.”

  “His results aren’t very impressive.” Chloe set the lockbox and grocery bags on the counter. “Where’s the hunk?”

  “In his bedroom.”

  “And you’re out here? What’s wrong with you, girl? That man is smoking!”

  Sammi had to agree—especially after seeing Chase without a shirt. She’d known the man was buff, but the sight of his bare chest had practically made steam come out of her ears. Just thinking about his ripped abs brought on a fresh wave of heat.