Heat pooled in Lily's belly.
"Not a good idea," she muttered. Crumpling the card, she tossed it into the trash bag she kept on the passenger floor board.
Even if she wanted to go back to club life-which she did not-the only man she wanted to work her over that way was a green-eyed, tawny urban lion. And, hell. Just like that, Jude Burke was back, dominated her thoughts all over again.
To distract herself, she took several deep, steadying breaths, programmed the car radio to a local traffic and weather station, and focused on navigating rush hour without having a panic attack. The drive that only took twenty minutes in the middle of the night lengthened into a forty-five minute stop-and-go between 5 and 7 p.m.
When she finally walked through the door, she dropped her bags on the sofa and blew out a harried breath. Upstairs, the shower was running. Unease clenched her belly. She stood for a moment, straining her ears and trying to tamp down the urge to check on her brother, Rhys.
After months of grueling physical therapy, he was walking again, albeit in short durations. He still had to rely a lot-too much for his liking-on the wheelchair she'd put him in, but he pushed himself, using the hand rails some previous occupant had installed, building upper body strength to compensate for the damage to his legs.
One of her biggest fears was that something would happen when she wasn't home-that he would push himself too hard during the workouts he did outside of therapy, that he would slip in the shower and hit his head, or miss a step while navigating the stairs.
Sighing, she deliberately turned her back on the stairs and made a note of the time. Twenty minutes. If the shower ran longer than that, to hell with his pride.
In the kitchen, she found a pan of lasagna waiting to be cooked. Rhys lived up to the stereotype that Italians were amazing cooks. He'd learned to make pasta by hand before he even started school, and somewhere in his brain lived the recipe for the best marinara sauce on Earth. There was only so much he could do from a wheelchair, though, and even with the handicap accommodations, her kitchen was too small for him to maneuver his chair and safely open the oven.
By the time she'd popped dinner in to cook and prepped a salad, the water cut off. Her shoulders slumped with relief. She gave him another ten minutes to make himself decent, then wandered upstairs.
Rhys was sitting on the edge of his bed, broad chest rising and falling with the breath of exertion. Lily pretended not to notice.
"Hey." She stopped in the doorway and leaned her shoulder against the frame. "How was PT?"
He blew out one last deep breath and wiped his mouth with his forearm. "I didn't feel like dealing with the cripple bus."
"You're not a cripple," she said softly, suffering a new pang of guilt.
She'd managed to overcome enough fear to drive herself where she needed to go but couldn't stomach the idea of getting behind the wheel with him in the passenger seat. Rhys dealt with it by making use of transit provided through local disabled services, but it was just one more humiliation for him.
Rhys grunted and grabbed the TV remote off his nightstand.
Right, unmistakable dismissal. Suppressing a sigh, she retreated for a much-needed shower of her own.
Later, she bit her lips while Rhys labored down the stairs and into his wheelchair in order to join her for dinner. After they served themselves, she said, "Unless you need me to stay, I'm going out for a couple hours tonight."
Rhys paused with a forkful of greens halfway to his mouth. "A date?"
"Drinks with a friend and her friends."
He didn't even try to hide his pissed off look. "When are you going on a date?"
But she knew what he really meant was when are you going to start punishing yourself for me?
The answer to both questions was the same. "Not."
Another of his telling grunts, but he backed off. "Tell me about the break-in. Was it him?"
This time, she was the one caught with her fork in motion. He meant Paul. "No. Not in person, anyway, and I don't think he sent someone after me. A random crime, I guess."
"How much money did the guy get?"
"None," she said with a shrug. "He didn't even go for the cash register or the safe. Just smashed the door, snatched a few skeins of yarn and took off."
"That doesn't make any sense, Jo. Why are you so sure it wasn't Paul?"
"Not his style." She hesitated before adding, "My security guy thinks I should put in a system here."
Rhys stiffened. She held her breath, waiting for … what, she wasn't sure. An explosion of temper as he lashed out, not at her but at himself. The violent collision that had robbed her brother of full use of his legs had taken more than his freedom of movement.