Page 11 of Wild For You

She really wants this to work out.

That has to be the only reasonable explanation why she’s not leaving.

Or she needs the money. Desperately.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I realize I can’t remember whether she told me her name last night. For some reason, it bugs me just as much as the fact that my sexual innuendo didn’t render the response I would have expected. Instead of melting her panties, it just made her turn a few degrees colder in the blink of an eye.

“Care to introduce yourself since you seem keen on living in my house?” I raise a brow and cock a smile. But she doesn’t seem to get my attempt at infusing humor into the situation.

“I’m not keen on living in your house at all.” She puts her sandwich down on the counter and her back goes rigid, pushing her breasts into focus. “It’s my job to be here, with my patient.”

“Why are you doing it? Staying, I mean. There are plenty of other clients to choose from.” I deliberately use the word ‘client’ not ‘patient.’

“The greatest reward for me is to see progress in my patients.” She emphasizes the last word.

“Do I happen to be a challenge for you?”

Her gaze meets mine with a force I never thought I’d find in a woman. “Yes. If you put it that way, absolutely.”

I can’t help staring at them…her breasts. How would they feel in my hands? I might not get much action these days, but I’m a man, after all. And I’m not blind. They look amazing in spite of the baggy shirt she’s wearing.

“How many patients have you helped to walk?” I ask, barely able to pry my gaze off her chest.

“Are you asking me for my progress chart?”

“If you have it laying around, that’d be great. I’d love to have a look at it.” Among other things.

She turns her back to me again as she pours hot water into a cup. “You’d be my twenty-sixth patient.”

“So few?” I raise my brows in mock ridicule.

“Who’ve learned to walk again.” She throws me a cold glance. “Do you have any idea how much time I put into my job, Mr. Boyd? I’m asking because you’re sending out the distinct message that you think I’m not taking this seriously.”

“I’ll pay you good money to leave.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Don’t do that. I’m not going home, not before I’ve seen you walk. And I promise you will one day. Even if I have to force you, I will.” Her tone is resolute. She probably believes her own promise. I wish I could say the same about me.

“I still don’t know your name. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with a stranger living in my house,” I say, eager to change the subject.

“I tried to introduce myself and you brushed me off, Mr. Boyd.” She pushes her hair back.

I smirk.

Little Miss Prissy thinks she can talk back.

Fat chance.

When I ask a question, I demand an answer;

I alwaysgetan answer.

It’s as simple as that.

“Okay.” I shrug. “Then let’s call you ‘sunshine.’”

“I’m not your sunshine.”

“Thunder, perhaps?”

---