Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

B eing as discreet as possible, Jazz spit the burnt piece of food into her napkin. She wasn’t quite sure what it had been, but it no longer resembled anything edible. She knew there were bad cooks in this world—she was one of them. Xavier Quinn had taken it to a new level.

“Sorry, I think I overcooked the roast beef.”

So that’s what it was supposed to be.

“You told me once that you weren’t much of a cook.”

A chagrined expression appeared on his face. “Yeah…sorry. That hasn’t changed.”

“I’m not much of one either, but maybe, between the two of us, we can work together and see what happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s learn how to cook together.”

Humor gleamed in his eyes. “I promise I’ll get better. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I have rested. I’m feeling tons better.”

“It’s only been a few days. Give it a few more, and then we’ll see.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Jazz. You’re recovering from three bullet wounds, dehydration, and food deprivation. Not to mention the psychological trauma you went through. I’m not letting you work until you’ve regained some of your strength.”

“You’re not letting me? As far as I know, you’re not my boss.”

“No, I’m not your boss. I’m your partner and someone who cares about you a helluva lot more than you seem to care about yourself.”

“I know what my strengths are and my limits.”

“Oh yeah?” Standing, he dropped his napkin on the table and said, “Follow me.”

Jazz did what he’d said. A part of her was already wishing that she’d just kept her mouth shut. Yes, she was bored. And yes, she absolutely hated being treated like a victim, but a part of her that was still rational told her he wasn’t treating her like a victim. If he had been hurt, she would have been just as protective of him.

Knowing she’d set herself up for whatever he had planned, she followed him toward a door she hadn’t even noticed. It was built to blend in with the rest of the wall, but when he pressed against it, the door opened. Inside was a veritable array of gym equipment, including a treadmill, rowing machine, boxing bag, and a ton of free weights.

Before she could comment, he turned to her and said, “Go a quarter mile on the treadmill. You make it that far without passing out, I’ll give you an assignment.”

She glared at his bossiness. “You don’t have to be such an ass.”

“I’m not being an ass. I’m proving a point.”

With a growling huff, Jazz went to the treadmill and stepped up on it. Her usual, comfortable running speed was just under a seven-minute mile. Since she knew that wasn’t remotely possible, she began a slow, measured pace.

“No running. Just walk.”

She threw a shocked look over her shoulder. “Walk? That’s it?”

“That’s it. A fourth of a mile, as slow as you want.”

“Fine,” she snapped. Turning back to the controls, she punched what she considered a sedate speed and began to move. Thirty steps later, barely a fraction of the way through, she was breathing like an asthmatic eighty-year-old. Determined to finish, no matter what, she ground her teeth together and continued on.

A giant, masculine hand punched the controls, stopping her progress. “You beautiful, stubborn woman,” Xavier growled. Before she could catch her breath and yell at him for stopping her, he gently lifted her and carried her out of the room.

“Wait…I can?—”

“You absolutely cannot. I was stupid for challenging you.”

Unable to respond without looking more childish than she already had, she allowed him to carry her into her bedroom and lay her on the bed.

Hovering over her, his beautiful eyes gleaming with both exasperation and affectionate warmth, he said softly, “No one thinks you’re weak, and you are as far from a victim as anyone I’ve ever known. However, other than showering, eating, and sleeping, you will not do anything more strenuous for the next week.”

He pressed a quick kiss on her forehead, gave her a heated look that made it clear he’d like to do more but wouldn’t, and then walked out of the room.

Finally having caught her breath, Jazz allowed her body to sink into the luxurious mattress. She’d overplayed her hand. She had known she was still weak, but he’d been treating her like she was a weakling. And then what had he done? He’d proven that she was. Instead of gloating, which she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had, considering how childish she’d acted, he’d treated her with tenderness.

Since they’d been here, Xavier had yet to say anything about the kisses they’d shared or his statement that she was the most important person in the world to him. Had she imagined he’d said that because she wanted it to be true?

A wave of exhaustion fogged her mind. After her nap, she’d think on those things. For right now, she had to recover from the embarrassing display of almost collapsing after walking an eighth of a mile.

On the way downstairs, he placed a quick call to Serena. “Hey there,” she said. “How’s Jazz?”

“Already going crazy with nothing to do.”

“Boredom’s a good sign. It means she’s recovering.”

“She is, which means she needs to keep busy. Can you send the photos you’ve compiled of the shooter?”

“Sure. You think she might be able to identify him? She said before that she didn’t get close enough to really see him. Since all the descriptions you and Hawke got were so vague, I’ve got well over a thousand possibilities.”

“Ha. That should keep her busy for a while.”

“Yeah, if it doesn’t blind her first.”

Serious now, he said, “She needs to feel useful.”

“I understand,” Serena said softly. “I’ll send them over. Give her my love.”

“Will do.”

Ending the call, Xavier went to the kitchen and began the cleanup. If he didn’t get better at cooking, there was no way Jazz was going to recover her strength. Her offer to help him cook had been sweet, but he didn’t want her to do anything even remotely strenuous for a least a few more days. Even though it had proved his point, her very brief struggle on the treadmill had torn at his gut. She wasn’t strong enough to do much more than eat and sleep right now. Which made him doubly glad that he hadn’t told her what he and Ash had learned from Kate. There would be plenty of time for that when she was better.

She’d waited this long to know the truth. What would a few more days matter?