Bryan had grinned at her. “Since when? I thought you specialized in difficult, uncooperative patients.”
She did, but none of them were Michael Devaney, who’d always left her tongue-tied.
Since that conversation with her brother, she’d had more than twenty-four hours to prepare herself for this meeting, but she was as jittery as if it were the first case she’d ever handled. Today she was only doing an evaluation, working up a therapy schedule and making sure that Michael was going to be comfortable having Bryan’s kid sister as his therapist. She was counting on a brisk, polite half-hour visit.
She was not counting on the crash of something against the door when she rang the bell. Nor on the bellow telling her to go the hell away.
Oddly enough, the tantrum steadied her nerves and stiffened her resolve. She had a key in her pocket, passed along to her by Bryan, but when she tested the door, she found it was unlocked. Michael might be furious at the universe, he might be testing her courage, but he wasn’t really trying to keep her out, or that door would have been locked tight with the security chain in place.
She plastered a smile on her face, squared her shoulders and called out a cheery greeting as she stepped across the threshold. From his wheelchair across the room, Michael glared at her, but he lowered the vase of flowers he had apparently been intent on heaving in her direction.
“Having a bad morning?” she inquired politely, ignoring the shock that seeing him had on her system. Incapacitated or not, he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
“Having a bad life,” he snapped back. “If you’re smart, you’ll turn tail and run.”
She grinned, which only seemed to infuriate him more.
“I’m serious, dammit.”
“I’m sure you are, but you don’t scare me,” she said with pure bravado. In truth, what really terrified her was the possibility that he’d force her to leave when he so clearly needed someone with her skills to get him out of that chair and back on his feet.
His scowl deepened. “Why not? I’ve scared off everybody else.”
“How? Have you been waving a gun around?”
“Not likely. I believe they’ve all been removed from the premises,” he said bitterly.
“Good. Then that’s one less thing I need to worry about,” she said. “Mind if I sit down?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She crossed the room, paused in front of his wheelchair and held out her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Michael. You look great.” And he did. Despite the exhaustion evident in his eyes, despite his unshaven cheeks, he looked exactly the way she’d remembered him—strong and invincible and sexy as sin. Not even his being in a wheelchair could change that.
For a minute he seemed totally taken aback by her comment, but eventually he clasped her hand in his. To her very deep regret, the contact sent a shock straight through her. She’d been hoping she was past being affected by him, that a girl’s crush wouldn’t inevitably mean that there would be a woman’s attraction. It would make the next few weeks or months a lot easier on both of them if she wasn’t fighting unreciprocated feelings of attraction.
“You look good, too,” he muttered, as if he wasn’t all that comfortable with polite chitchat. That much at least hadn’t changed. Michael never had been much for small talk. He’d always been direct to the point of bluntness.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” she said.
“Not half as sorry as I am.”
“Probably not. So let’s see what we can do about getting you back on your feet.”
His already grim expression turned to a glower. “Look, the doctors have already told me that I’ll never work as a SEAL again, so let’s not waste your time or mine.”
“And that’s the only profession out there for a man with a sharp mind?” she asked.
“It’s the only one I care about.”
She decided not to waste her breath trying to bully him out of such a ridiculously hardheaded, self-defeating stance. “Okay, then, if you’re not motivated to walk again so you can get back to work, what about so you can do a few simple things like going for a walk in the park or maybe going out to get your own groceries? The way I remember it, you’re an independent guy. Are you going to be content letting other people manage your life for you?”
He patted the wheelchair. “With a little more practice, I’ll be able to get around well enough in this.”
Now it was her turn to frown. “And you’re ready to accept that?”
“It’s not as if I have a real choice. The doctors said—”
She cut him off. “Oh, what do they know?” she asked impatiently. “The Michael I remember would take that as a challenge. Why not prove them wrong?” She looked him straight in the eye. “Or do you have something better you’d like to be doing?”
“I keep busy.”
Kelly eyed the computer across the room. A bingo game was on the screen. “I imagine you can earn pocket change playing bingo, but I also imagine you’ll be bored to tears in a couple of weeks.” She shrugged. “Still, it’s your choice. I certainly can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Damn straight,” he muttered.
She bit back a smile at the display of defiance. “So, Michael, what’s it going to be? Do I go or stay?”
Once again, she’d obviously taken him by surprise by leaving the decision entirely up to him. He blinked hard, then sighed. “Stay if you want to,” he said grudgingly.
She grinned at him. “Okay, then, let’s do this my way,” she said. “Here’s what I’m thinking.” She laid out the exercises and the rigorous schedule she’d already devised based on the medical information his brother had shared with her. “What do you think?”
“Do you have a masochistic streak I missed when you were a kid?” he grumbled.
Kelly grinned. “No, but I have what it takes to get you out of that chair.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, he actually looked her directly in the eye, then slowly nodded. “You may have, at that.”
“Then that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. Be ready to work your butt off, Devaney.”
He chuckled. “You’re tougher than you used to be, Kelly.”
“You’d better believe it,” she said. “And I don’t have a lot of use for self-pity, so get over it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute.
She gave a nod of satisfaction. “It’s always helpful when the client realizes right off who’s in charge. Therapy goes much more smoothly.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Not to worry. I’ll make sure of it,” she said, winking at him as she closed the door behind her.
She paused outside and leaned against the wall, unsuccessfully fighting the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed in front of him. She’d put on a damn good show for him, but she’d been shaken. What if she couldn’t do what she’d promised? What if she couldn’t get him out of that wheelchair and back on his feet?
“Stop it,” she muttered. Failure was not an option, not with Michael.
As for getting personally involved with a client, that wasn’t an option, either, but she had a horrible feeling it was already too late to stop it.