Read Her Fifth Husband? for Free Online

the way down, which would’ve left her rear end in the same shape as her right hand, she’d let him sweep her up into his arms. As if pain alone weren’t bad enough, the feel of being cradled against a hard, warm body had rattled her to the point that she hadn’t even argued.
    She’d already forgotten the third vow, but it probably concerned steering clear of any man who could melt her resistance with no more than a growl, a glower and the way he smelled. Like soap, toothpaste and coffee, plus something earthy and essentially male.
    Not to mention the fact that his touch alone was like poking her finger into a light socket.
    She’d still been quivering inside when he’d settled her onto the passenger seat and arranged something to prop her foot on. He’d reached for the seatbelt and she’d brushed his hands away. “I can do it myself.”
    â€œThen do it,” he’d snapped.
    What the devil did he have to be angry about, she wondered, feeling sorry for herself and, oddly excited at the same time. She was the one with a broken ankle, not him. She was the one whose right hand was probably going to get infected and swell up and have to beamputated. Plus, she’d probably end up with blood poisoning. For all she knew she might be allergic to antibiotics. So she’d die of anaphylactic shock or whatever grisly symptoms that sort of allergy caused.
    He drove fast, easing off each time he approached the stoplights so that he wouldn’t have to slam on the brakes if a light suddenly changed. Grudgingly, she appreciated it. Her ankle throbbed like a bad toothache, and she hated pain, purely hated it. Always had. A stoic, she was not.
    â€œYou all right?” he asked as they passed the Wright Brothers Memorial at Kill Devil Hill. At least he’d quit growling. In fact, he sounded almost concerned.
    â€œNo, I’m not all right, I hurt,” she snapped. Childish, but then, what did she have to lose that she hadn’t already lost? Her dignity?
    Ha.
    â€œWe’ll be there in a few more minutes,” he said. “This time of year, you probably won’t have to wait. They’ll give you something for pain and then do X-rays, my guess.” He had propped her foot up on a plastic carton he’d padded with a folded shirt. She was cradling her splintery hand in her other hand on her lap. “What’s wrong, did you hurt your hand, too?” he asked.
    Well, shoot. Now he even sounded sympathetic. She couldn’t handle sympathy. It had been in short supply back when she could have used it—back when she’d spent her lunch money on cheap makeup to conceal bruises inflicted by her father’s fists, only to have him accuse her of painting her face like a hussy. Which often as not earned her a few more bruises.
    Jake pulled up in front of the beach hospital and said, “Wait while I go get a wheelchair.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, I don’t need a wheelchair.” She had never even been to a hospital before, except as a visitor.
    â€œOkay then, put your arm over my shoulder.” He leaned into the open door and eased his arm under her knees.
    If she’d had a single rational thought in her head before, it was gone by the time he carried her inside. The man was definitely high-voltage.
    â€œYou’ll have to do the paper work,” he told her, “but I’ll see if I can’t speed up the process.”
    Two women behind glass windows stared. Several people in the waiting room glanced up from their outdated People magazines.
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sake, put me down,” Sasha muttered. At this rate she wouldn’t even need a doctor’s help. Being this close to Jake Smith, whoever he was—whatever he was—was distracting enough that she hardly even noticed her throbbing ankle, much less her stinging hand.
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    Just under two hours later an orderly wheeled her out to the waiting room.