What a Woman Page 8

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that’s why your arm feels like something jolted you. Face it, Mary-Alice Catherine, Jared still does it for you.

  She yanked her hand back, almost losing the screws in the process.

  “I’ll get a screwdriver,” Jared clambered to his feet, seemingly unaware of what was happening with her nerve endings.

  How was that possible? How could he not see her reaction? How could he not feel it, too?

  She closed her fingers over the screws. He never had felt it, so she was better off forgetting him. She’d wasted enough time on Jared Nolan over the years.

  Thankfully, someone chose that moment to knock on the door.

  It was a woman. A very trim, very toned woman. In a short skirt. And heels. And a figure-hugging scoop-necked T-shirt. Holding a basket of something.

  Come on, honey, don’t be so obvious.

  She now rang the doorbell.

  “Mac, can you see who that is, please?” Jared called from the mudroom beyond the kitchen.

  Oh, she’d see who it was all right. “No problem.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair—though, why? The woman on the other side of the door had perfectly cascading waves off her five-ten perfect figure, so it wasn’t as if Mac could even hope to compete.

  She opened the door. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  The woman was gorgeous. Maybe a bit too heavy on the makeup, though, and the shirt was a tad snug. There was a fine line between sexy and tacky, and this chick was teetering on it.

  “Is Jared here?” she asked with a beauty-pageant smile.

  Mac refrained from rolling her eyes. Barely. “He’s, um, occupied at the moment. Can I tell him who stopped by?”

  “Oh, but I wanted to give him these in person.” Miss Beauty Pageant held up a basket of muffins. Chocolate chip muffins right out of her favorite bakery if Mac wasn’t mistaken. She recognized the Cups & Cakes foil muffin holders.

  “Sorry. Like I said, he’s occupied at the moment.” Mac took the basket, surprising the woman into letting go. Like taking candy from a baby. “But I’ll be sure to share these with him. Did you leave your name”—and number?—“in the basket?”

  “Well, yes, I did, so if he could call—”

  “I’ll be sure to let him know. Thanks so much for coming. I’ll just run these back and I’m sure he’ll be in touch.”

  That he probably would, Mac didn’t doubt. If she were Jared, she would, too. The woman was hot and if she didn’t bake, at least she knew which bakery to go to.

  “Oh. Well, um, okay. Thanks.”

  “Sure. No problem. Have a nice day.” Kill ’em with kindness, all while taking their cookies. Muffins. Whatever.

  “Who wa’ ’at?” Jared met her in the kitchen as he crutched out of the back room with a screwdriver between his teeth.

  Mac took the tool, careful to avoid touching his lips. “Might want to come up with some other way to transport this, Jared. We don’t need to spend the night in the ER.”

  “It was the easiest way I could think of. So who was at the door and what do you have in that basket?”

  Mac set the screwdriver down and dug around in the basket for the woman’s card—complete with a handy-dandy cell phone number. Didn’t little Miss Beauty Queen just think of everything?

  “Name’s Juliette Lerner. About five-ten, long brown hair. Pretty.” Mac was the master of understatement. “Not sure about her baking skills, though, since she bought these. You’d think someone trying to hit on a guy would go for homemade.”

  Jared just arched an eyebrow and helped himself to a muffin. “Hey, the woman’s got taste. She came to see me and she knows where to buy the best muffins.”

  This time Mac let the eye roll happen. “Then eat up, Casanova. But you might want to save some room. I have a feeling these aren’t going to be the last sugar explosions you get.”

  “Jealous?”

  Of the women who might actually have a chance with him? Yes. Was she going to admit that? No.

  “No. I don’t need sweets. I’m sweet enough as it is.”

  She actually got a laugh out of him.

  “Touché, Mac.” He raised the muffin to salute her and for the first time, Jared was looking at her with something other than derision, sarcasm, or anger.

  And it shot her argument about being over him straight to hell.

  Chapter Nine

  THE kittens woke him up.

  Again.

  One was on his foot, meowing.

  Another one was on his arm, also meowing.

  The black one had a paw across his left eye, though it wasn’t making a noise, but the gray . . .

  Damn that one; it was curled up in his crotch. Where it’d slept since two AM. Jared was very sure of that time; it wasn’t often that he woke up with claws to the nuts. One tended not to forget that, as well as the sound four hungry kittens made in the dead of night.

  Thank God Mac had brought the bottle warmers up. He’d filled the bottles with water last night and had pre-measured the powdered formula, so all he’d had to do was mix them together to feed the kittens. She’d put the litter box with the higher sides on the chair beside the bed, so that hadn’t been the challenge he’d thought it would be. It was rolling onto them when they’d climbed out of the laundry basket beside him on the bed for the fifth time that had really worried him, but when they’d settled down on his various body parts every time he’d put them back, he’d finally given up and let them stay put.

  But now he was out of water and formula, so he’d have to get up to feed them.

  With ball-boy purring contentedly in his crotch, Jared wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it.

  The other two ratcheted up their crying enough to wake Shemp. That’s what Jared had decided to name ball-boy in the middle of the night, which made the black one Moe. Not the most feminine of names for the only female in the bunch, but he’d been too tired to be more inventive. And besides, she was a cat; she’d never know.

  His leg twinged when it hit the floor. Oh, right. Leg brace. He’d taken to sleeping without it. There was just something about being a damn invalid twenty-four hours a day. Sixteen were bad enough.

  He grabbed the monstrosity and lashed himself into it. He’d shower later, but these guys—and girl—needed food more than he needed a shower.

  He plopped them into the laundry basket, balanced a pillow on top, grabbed his crutches, and nudged the contraption toward the stairs as the mewling escalated.

  There was only one way to get them all down quickly.

  Tossing his dignity out the window, Jared sat on the top step, dragged the basket onto his lap, and butt-hitched himself down the stairs, sliding his crutches beside him.

  Of course it stood to reason that Mac would show up when he was halfway down.

  “That’s um, inventive.”

  That perfectly bow-shaped mouth twitched at the corners as she struggled against smiling.

  “Necessity and all that.” He slid down another step, bravado-ing his way out of this embarrassment. Karma was really paying him back in spades for how he’d treated her.

  “Want some help?”

  “No.” Yes.

  The doorbell rang.

  Of course it did. He was in his boxers—thanks to ball-boy—because the minute the claws had hit his nuts last night, he’d put them on. Not that they were all that effective in blocking cat claws, but they gave him a modicum of protection. And now a modicum of self-respect, though there was no way he was answering the door in them.

  “Want me to get that?” Mac lost her battle with the smile.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Shit. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

  “Gee, you’re welcome.”

  She spun around, a too-perky bounce to her step—which did
really nice things to her ass. She needed baggy work pants. Those figure-hugging ones were going to cause her trouble around male clients.

  “Hi,” said a sultry voice from the other side of the door. “I’m Maeve Finnegan. I live down the street.”

  “Let me guess.” Mac rested her hip against the door. She really needed to get different uniforms. “You brought Jared cookies.”

  Was it Jared’s imagination or did Mac move a little to the left to block the woman?

  Why do you care?

  Because . . . it was nice if she was protecting his privacy and dignity. And if she wasn’t doing it for him but because she was jealous, well, hey, even better. Right?

  The deafening silence of his subconscious spoke volumes.

  “Actually, no. I brought coffee cake.”

  Jared loved coffee cake. Ms. Finnegan was a woman after his own heart. Not that he would be giving it to her.

  “Jared’s, um, indisposed, so I’ll be more than happy to give it to him and let him know you dropped it off. I’m assuming your card’s in the basket?”

  “Um . . . well . . . yes—”

  “Good. Here, have one of mine. If you’re ever in need of someone to give your home a quick cleanup, I handle all sized jobs. You know, if you’re expecting special company or anything.”

  Jared almost blew Mac’s story by laughing. The woman was a piece of work; peddling her services to someone who’d come here with one thing in mind. This entrepreneurial side was a part of Mac he hadn’t anticipated.

  He liked it.

  “Trying to sabotage my love life, Mac?” he asked once she shut the door.

  “Get over it, Jared. I’m sure there are a zillion more where she came from.” She peered through the sidelight. “Luckily, the hordes aren’t descending yet, so you can go put some pants on.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You so did not just say that. How old are you—six?”

  She shoved a hand onto her hip and cocked her head, the epitome of pissed off, but instead, somehow managed to kick start his salivary glands. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t six.

  What the hell was wrong with him? This was Mac of all people.

  Maybe it was the coffee cake. Yeah, that was it. He was salivating for that.

  “Are you planning to share what’s in the basket?”

  Mac rolled her eyes and set the basket on the steps. Just out of reach. “You better not eat all of this or you’re going to get out of shape real quick.”

  He leaned forward. Coffee cake was worth rib pain. “Ah, so you’re noticing my shape, Princess?”

  “Dream on, Nolan.”

  The doorbell rang again, saving him from actually doing what she said.

  “Oh my God. Are you kidding me?” Mac stomped over to the door. She was about to fling it open, but caught it and glanced back at him before stationing herself in the same position she’d been in with Ms. Finnegan.

  “Let me guess,” she said to whoever was on the other side. “Brownies.”

  “Chocolate chip cookies,” said a sexy voice. It’d be nice if the door opened toward the stairs so he could see who was there, but given what he wasn’t wearing, it was probably better this way.

  “I’m sure Jared will appreciate them. You put a card in there, yes?”

  “Well, yes, but I was hoping I could speak to him.”

  “He’s not entertaining at the moment. Trying to recover from the accident and all. I’m sure you understand. But I know he’ll enjoy these.” Mac raised the basket for emphasis, then went about giving this woman her business card, too. “For any special entertaining you’re planning to do.”

  “I gotta hand it to you, Mac,” he said when she shut the door again. “Smooth move pushing your business like that. I could hear the innuendo from here.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh right. As if you weren’t playing on those women’s hopes that I’d show up.”

  “Feeling a little full of ourself, are we?” Mac set the cookies on the step. “Start eating those and you’ll be full all right. Then no one will want to see you.”

  “You included?”

  Mac rolled her eyes. “Sadly, I wasn’t given a choice.”

  That stopped his chuckle. He might enjoy teasing her, but she probably didn’t. She never had.

  God, he felt like such a jerk. Okay, he’d been a kid, but would it have killed him to be nice to her? Or had he just taken her crush so for granted that he hadn’t realized what it’d meant to her?

  “I’m sorry, Mac.” The words slipped out, but they were the right ones to say. He should have apologized years ago.

  Mac waved her hand. “No need to apologize. I knew what I was getting into when I took this on. No one’s fault.”

  “No, I meant that I apologize for—”

  “Jared, really. It’s no big deal. I’m here to do a job and I don’t mind answering the door occasionally.” She picked up the laundry basket of kittens. “So do you plan to get dressed at all today or are you going to be mooning the neighbors? I don’t think your grandmother would appreciate that.”

  And apparently, neither would she. She really was over her crush.

  And how wrong was it that he didn’t want her to be?

  Jesus, he shouldn’t have kissed her. He should have stayed away. Mac had grown up and he was the one stuck in the past.

  “Jared? Hello?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Sugar fumes get to you?”

  He shook his head to clear it. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean, you’re right. I ought to go put something on.”

  He turned to leave and the doorbell rang again.

  “Okay, I said I don’t mind answering it occasionally. You might want to think about putting in a revolving door or I’m never going to make any progress on this place. Fending off your female admirers is not in my job description.”

  “Want it to be?”

  She didn’t bother rolling her eyes this time; she just stared a hole through him as she handed him the laundry basket while Ms. Persistent on the other side of the door rang again.

  Dammit. He didn’t need any more desserts and he didn’t need any more women showing up to try to wiggle their way into his heart through his stomach. He ought to tell them all that that road was closed thanks to Hurricane Camille.

  Yet it was Tornado Manley who put her hand on the doorknob. “Should I get this?”

  The visitor knocked. “Jared? It’s Dave.”

  Of course it was Dave. Why shouldn’t it be? Who was going to be next—the entire crew of the local sports network? He’d rather have another Mrs. Nolan Wannabe.

  “Dave?” Mac raised her eyebrows. “Should I open it?”

  “My physical therapist, and not really.”

  “I see you, Jare. I’m not going away.” Dave was peering in the sidelight, his hands cupped around his eyes.

  Jared exhaled. “Fine. Let him in.”

  Mac opened the door.

  “Hi. I’m Dave. Jared’s physical therapist.”

  “I’m Mac.” Mac gave Dave a smile Jared hadn’t seen in a long time. “I’m cleaning the place for Jared’s grandmother.”

  Dave held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet y—”

  “You’re early, Dave.”

  Dave glanced at him. “I can see it’s going to be a good day.”

  “Can it.” He hadn’t noticed that Dave was a good-looking guy until this moment. Five-tenish, a body that saw a gym regularly, decent face, single. It’d never been an issue before, but with Mac standing there with the smile she’d given him now directed at Dave, it was.

  “Didn’t you get my voicemail?”

  “No. Been a bit busy.” He held up one kitten—but that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t checked his messages
. No, the reason was because there weren’t any that he wanted. Like from his agent, the team manager, the owner . . . People who had a stake in his future. Instead, all he got were doctors’ offices and media calls about what he was going to do with his life post-game.

  He didn’t have a life post-game.

  Which was why he had to work with Dave. After he got dressed. And fed the kittens.

  Right on cue, they started meowing again.

  “Here, hand them to me so you can get to work.” Mac, all sweetness and smiles, climbed the three stairs and held out her hands, looking at him as if they were the best of friends.

  He wanted to tell her no, that he’d take care of the kittens, but that would be foolish. He did need to get to work.

  “Come on, Jare,” said Dave. “We only have an hour, and sitting on the steps in your boxers isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

  Dave was right. Sitting here annoyed because Mac had smiled at Dave wasn’t going to get him back on the mound, and telling Mac no just to spite her was only going to add to his workload.

  He handed the kittens over, then headed upstairs to put some clothes on.

  * * *

  IT was a shame the man had to wear clothes.

  Mac tried not to sigh as she watched him hop up those stairs, boxers not hiding the view of his glutes hard at work. Jared had always been very well blessed in the gluteus maximus area.

  “So.” She smiled at Dave and hiked the laundry basket more comfortably in her arms. “You been working with Jared long?”

  “I can’t really discuss a patient’s personal information, but I’ve known him for years as a friend.” Dave stepped closer and shut the front door. “Here. Let me carry that for you.” He took the laundry basket from her, and, sadly, she didn’t feel the sizzle when his fingers brushed hers like she had with Jared.

  She hated that she was still attracted to Jared. Especially when there was a perfectly nice, good-looking—she glanced at his left hand—single guy smiling at her with a certain level of interest.