A Deal With the Devil by Abby Matisse Page B

make-up sex. Plus, they’d been over for almost a year so it was time she got over it.
    Actually, the fact that they were over was the very thing that made his fake engagement idea so brilliant. He’d thought of little else the night before. He’d barely slept on that hard-as-a-rock excuse for a sofa Kate had chosen for the living room. Or maybe it had been the thought of Amanda asleep upstairs that kept him tossing and turning. Whatever the cause, he’d analyzed his proposal a thousand ways from Sunday and now, he considered the idea a flash of pure genius. So long as they kept their agreement all business, no one would get hurt, he’d get his business started and she’d get to experience the year in Paris she’d always dreamed of. It was the perfect win-win scenario.
    He loaded her arms with as many logs as she could carry and then grabbed a stack for himself. As they slogged toward the house, the wind whipped around, slowing their progress. When the porch came into view, Jake eyed the glossy sheen of the stairs with concern. “Mand, watch the step. It looks sli—”
    His warning came too late. Amanda’s foot lost traction and skated over the icy surface. She cried out as her body twisted and contorted in what looked like dramatic slow motion. She waved her arms as she struggled to stay on her feet and then collapsed in a heap at the base of the stairs as wood logs rained down around her.
    Jake muttered a curse, threw down his stack and rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
    Amanda nodded, her face flushed. He didn’t know if from pain, cold or embarrassment—perhaps all three.
    “Here let me help.”
    He extended a hand, but she swatted it away. Instead, she grabbed the rail and hauled herself up, wincing as she tried to put weight on her right foot. He reached for her elbow but she pushed his arm away and hobbled up the stairs on her own. She nearly fell again when she stepped onto the porch. Her wobbly legs gave her the look of a new-born colt attempting to walk for the first time, but she managed to stay on her feet.
    Jake held the door as she limped across the threshold and a last whoosh of cold air followed them inside as he closed and locked it behind them.
    He watched her hop across the living room on one foot and flop onto the sofa. “Tell me,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry grin. “Do you find it hard to accept help from everyone or just from me in particular?”
    * * *
    “The correct answer would be B—you in particular.” She grunted as she pulled off her boot. She was done trying to be nice.
    Jake kicked off his own boots and tossed his coat and gloves onto a nearby chair. Then he sauntered over and reached out to touch her ankle, but she smacked his hand away.
    “You need to do something to stop the swelling.” He stepped back, gazing down at her. “What can I do?”
    She glared at him. You could walk back to Chicago. But she kept the thought to herself and turned her attention to her ankle, which indeed looked swollen. She poked at it, wincing as pain shot through to her toes.
    “Stop messing with it. You’re making it worse.”
    “Stop telling me what to do,” she grumbled. She hadn’t thought the situation could get any worse, but she supposed it would if she couldn’t walk tomorrow. She needed to do something to stop the swelling. Embarrassed to utter her next words after the way she’d teased him the night before, Amanda tipped her head down, causing her curtain of dark hair to swing forward, partially concealing her face. “Can you bring me the frozen peas?”
    Jake ambled off to the kitchen, whistling that familiar off key tune. The sound only made her feel worse. He walked up beside her and set the frozen vegetables on her ankle with flourish. “The peas aren’t so funny now, huh? Anything else I can do?”
    She lifted her chin and feigned an air of superiority as she said, “Bring me my cell. It’s upstairs on the night stand.”
    Jake executed a mock salute