Once a Playboy…. Kate Hardy
You hardly ever go on team nights out. When was the last time you had some fun?’
Serena lifted her chin, stung. ‘I have plenty of fun with my son.’
‘I know you do, but that’s not what I meant. When was the last time you did something just for you, went out with someone on a date?’
‘I’m happy with my life the way it is,’ Serena protested.
Jess raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you?’
Serena didn’t answer that.
‘Try to make some time just for you,’ Jess said softly. ‘Because you’re important, too.’
‘Yeah.’ Serena added cold water to her coffee and gulped it down. ‘I’d better dash. I don’t want to get behind with my appointments.’
Though, as she left the kitchen, she knew she was being a coward, not facing up to Jess’s questions. When was the last time she’d gone on a date? Not since she’d been going out with Jason, Ethan’s father.
But that didn’t mean she wanted to go out with George. She’d already dated one heartbreaker who’d let her down, and that was more than enough for her. She’d learned from her mistakes, the hard way. It wasn’t something she intended to repeat.
CHAPTER TWO
GEORGE lay flat on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him. Then he raised his bad leg thirty centimetres from the floor and traced a T-shape in the air, just as Serena had taught him.
Serena.
He closed his eyes as he repeated the exercise, seeing her face in his mind’s eye. That beautiful, beautiful mouth. What would it feel like against his skin? He tipped his head back, imagining her mouth teasing a path down his throat; then lower, down his sternum, and lower still, over his abdomen. Her hair would be loose and brushing against his skin, soft as silk, its coolness in sharp contrast to the heat of her mouth.
He blew out a breath.
This really wasn’t sensible, fantasising about his physiotherapist like this. Especially as she’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested in him. Serena James wasn’t the type of woman he normally dated. She wasn’t one of the tall, rail-thin blondes who graced his arm at parties. She had light brown hair that most people would describe as ‘mouse', she couldn’t be more than five feet four inches tall, and she had definite curves. Glorious curves that he ached to touch. To mould with his palms. To caress and tease until she was as full of desire for him as he was for her.
He knew what his bossiest sister would say. Alice would roll her eyes and say that he wanted Serena precisely because he knew she was out of reach. Because she was one of the first women in years who’d resisted him.
Worse still, he knew that was probably true. Serena James was a challenge. She intrigued him. And he found it hard to resist a pretty face and the chance to have some fun.
If he had any sense, he’d ask if he could see Bruno instead of Serena to finish off the rest of his treatment.
But the idea of seeing Serena again on Thursday was too much for him.
Serena smiled at George when he walked in, and heat arrowed down to his groin.
Down, boy. This is meant to be professional, he reminded his libido.
‘So you’ve been doing the exercises I suggested?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Just the exercises?’
He gave her his most charming smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because you’re the type to push yourself too hard,’ she said softly. ‘What did you do, George?’
She could read him like a book. He wasn’t sure if that intrigued him more or worried him. Most people were happy just to see the surface; Serena clearly looked deeper and he had a feeling that she saw what most people missed about him. Which in itself was dangerous. Apart from his family, he didn’t let people get that close.
‘I tried driving at the weekend. On private land, so there wasn’t a risk to anyone else.’ Odd how it felt important to tell her that. Normally, he didn’t give a damn what people thought about him. But what Serena thought … For some reason, that mattered. And he’d rather not start analysing why.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘No. I realise I’m not quite ready to drive in London again, yet,’ he admitted, ‘but now I’ve got a benchmark to work with. And it really helps, knowing that I’m not going to be dependent on the girls and Ed—my brother—for what already feels like for ever.’
She examined him, then made him go through the full range of movements just to the point of pain. ‘That’s good. Your range has improved hugely over the last few weeks.’
‘Thanks to you.’
‘And you, for sticking with the exercises. A lot of people struggle and some of them just give up.’
‘Not me. I want my independence back, and if that means sticking to an exercise programme, then the exercises take priority over everything else every day,’ George said.
She smiled. ‘Actually, you’ve done well. I think you’re ready for the last stage.’ She gave him more exercises; even as George concentrated on her instructions and making sure he was doing everything correctly, to get the maximum benefit from the movements, he couldn’t help looking at her.
And he caught her looking back at him. Specifically, at his mouth.
All his senses immediately went on full alert. Was she thinking about it, the same way he was? What would she do if he kissed her?
He had a feeling that she’d retreat into formality again. She’d panicked enough at his last appointment, when he’d suggested she kiss him; he was pretty sure that actually doing what he’d suggested would send her running in the opposite direction.
But next week was his last appointment. He didn’t have time to wait and coax her round to his point of view. He was going to have to make his move then, or lose the chance of seeing her again—for good.
On Monday morning, Serena put George through his paces again.
And then it was over. He was signed off. No more physio.
No more seeing her, unless he asked her out now. He’d thought about it all weekend. On paper, it was ridiculous. She wasn’t his type and he was pretty sure he wasn’t hers. Yet she intrigued him too much for him to let it go. ‘That was my last appointment,’ he said.
‘I know. You’ve done very well.’
‘I brought you these, to say thanks for all the work you’ve done on my wrists and my leg. And for being patient with me. I know I haven’t exactly been the easiest of clients.’ He produced a flattish square box, slightly bigger than a CD case; it was wrapped in thick burgundy-coloured paper and tied with a gold gauzy ribbon.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t accept gifts.’
‘Rules and regulations?’ he asked.
‘They’re there to protect patients.’
‘And staff, I guess.’ To make sure that nobody could claim that a therapist had taken advantage of a vulnerable patient and extorted expensive presents from them. He could understand that. ‘Pity. It isn’t a diamond tiara or anything like that,’ he said, just to reassure her. ‘It’s just something small.’ The kind of thing he’d take to the hostess of a dinner party.
She looked embarrassed. ‘It’s very kind of you to think of me, Mr Somers, but I’m afraid I really can’t accept anything.’
He put the box on her desk. ‘Serena. Look at me,’ he said softly.
Looking at