“I don’t think you’re an invalid.” Brenner’s voice was deliberately low, his face inches from hers. He shoved a hand through short blond hair, jaw clenched in suppressed temper. “But you do need to rest.”“I’m rested.” Dinah was almost screaming, the urge, the need to do… something, churning in her gut. She didn’t care if the woman on the leg press stared at her. She didn’t care if Brenner was sweet and helpful and wonderful.