“You’re awake.”
Anson looked over at the bedroom door to find Mona standing there with a tray in her hands. Her presence surprised and pleased him—which was a whole other wonder. “I thought you left,” he said, moving back to the bed.
“I waited,” she said, stepping into the room. “I wanted to make sure you were okay and that you ate something. I didn’t know you would sleep so long.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Almost ten,” she said, sitting the tray on the wide ottoman at the foot of the bed as she again helped him prop his limbs up on pillows. “Did you want to get under the covers?”
He shook his head. “No need. I’m used to sleeping naked, so I’m already uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s a lot of info there, big boy,” she teased as she moved away from him and retrieved the tray to sit it across his lap.
“I didn’t mean it to be disrespectful,” he said, enjoying the myriad sides to her. She was complex. One minute she could be fiery and angry. The next cute and coy. Bold and brash. And then shy and innocent.
She was truly a free spirit who held nothing of herself from the world.
“No disrespect. I felt you up first, remember?” she reminded him with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Well, we’ve relaxed the normal rules of strangers,” he said, using the side of the fork to cut the cheesy lasagna.
“You mean me being in your house?” Mona asked, reaching up to twist her hair into a loose topknot that exposed the tendrils of soft hair at her nape.
“No, in my bedroom.”
Mona looked around. “Yes. You’re right,” she said, as if it never occurred to her that she was alone in the bedroom of a man she hardly knew.
Anson chuckled at the nervous look she cast him. “You have the upper hand, remember?” he said, lifting his chin toward his ankle and raising his sprained wrist.
“Well, you have a total stranger wandering around your home,” she reminded him gently.
“If you were gonna kill me or rob me, you’d have done it already and hauled ass while I was sleeping,” he said around a bite of food.
“True,” she agreed.
They fell silent.
“Did you eat?” Anson asked.
“Definitely, Mr. Sleepy Head.”
He eyed her and she met his stare for just a second before looking away. She had removed her blazer and the white tank she wore hugged her and showed off that although she was slender, her breasts were full and plush. He felt like a perv for eyeing them and shifted his eyes up to her face. “Why did you come here last night?” he asked, needing to address the elephant in the room.
She smiled and moved around the bed to lean a knee against the ottoman. “I was stalking you, remember? Misery the movie, right?” she said lightly.
“No. The truth. What’s up?” he insisted.
For a long time she bit her bottom lip and stared at him. Assessed him. Made him feel as if she wasn’t sure if she could trust him with her truth. He remained silent, not wanting to rattle her.
“I’m telling you this so that you can once and for all erase this thought that I was stalking you, like some obsessed fool,” Mona finally said.
Anson wiped excess sauce from his mouth with the napkin she had folded on the tray.
“Since the day you came to my office acting like an ass—”
“Hey! What happened to our unspoken truce?” Anson asked.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. “Since the day we met in such an incredibly warm and welcoming fashion”—she gave him a “yeah right” expression—“I’ve been having these premonitions that you would be hurt, so I felt like I should warn you to be careful, and that’s why I came here.”
Anson frowned. “So you came to warn me to be careful, and in the process you were the one to hurt me?” he asked. “If that ain’t the definition of irony.”
“I know,” she admitted. “But that is what happened.”
“And you’re sure that’s the story you want to run with?” he asked, feeling his chest fill with laughter. Moments later it filled the air and he couldn’t fight it back.
Mona looked hurt. “That’s the truth.”
“So you’re psychic?” he balked. “Okay. . . . Well, tell me what numbers to play to win the Powerball or the Mega Millions.”
“That’s not funny, Anson,” Mona said with the utmost seriousness.
“What’s next? You going to tell me you use your magic powers to make your love matches?”
Her face went blank.
Anson swallowed back his laughter. “Mona—”
She rose up off the ottoman and came over to pick up his tray. “Good night, Anson,” she said, turning to leave the bedroom.
“Mona,” he called out to her.
Not long after he heard the front door close solidly.
Chapter 6
Mona sat Indian style on the padded swing of her porch and looked up at the moon filling the sky as she swayed gently back and forth. She was constantly amazed that a southern night could still be peaceful even as the sounds of the wood’s creature echoed in the air. She closed her eyes and took a sip of the white wine from the goblet she propped atop her knee.
The peace was very necessary.
Her stress about work. Her anxiety about hitting Anson with her car. Her disappointment about her love life. Her sadness about her parents’ death at such young ages.
“Father God,” she said in a soft whisper, calling on Him for strength, clarity, and clear vision.
And there were many times she leaned unto Him, especially when she had to let it settle within herself that as much as she wanted to be the champion for soul mates and the ultimate love connection via her business, that it was not meant to be. Her database did not include everyone in the world. And she always tried to be just as upfront with the rest of her clients as she had been with Mr. Davies. It was those very few and far between moments when Mona did connect two destined loves in her database that she cherished. She was a hopeless romantic who believed in true love and fate.
Bzzzzzz.
She opened her eyes and picked her iPhone up from the seat next to her. She didn’t recognize the number, but knew from the exchange that it was someone who lived in Holtsville. Someone like Anson.
As the phone continued to vibrate in her hand, she ignored it and took another long, satisfying sip of wine and smacked her lips for good measure. She hadn’t appreciated Anson’s ridicule. Even though she understood he didn’t even know he hit the nail on the head, it still irked her that he obviously didn’t understand it and clearly didn’t want to.
The vibrating finally stopped and she sat the phone back on the seat as she unfolded one of her legs and pressed her foot against the porch to send the swing gently swaying again.
But what if something is wrong?
She crossed her legs again and picked up the phone, going to her missed calls to dial the mystery number back. It rang just once.
“Mona?”
It was Anson indeed, and his voice was deeper and stronger with it filling her ear via the phone. “Yes, Anson,” she said.
“Are you busy? I just called you a second ago.”
“I know,” she admitted, eyeing a stray cat walking up the middle of the road with its tail high in the air, strutting like it was indeed on its own catwalk.
“Oh,” he said.
He fell silent and she did too.
“Listen,” he finally said. “You’re not to blame for Carina and I ending.”
Mona sat up straighter in surprise. Say what now?
“I’ve owed you an apology about that day I came to your office,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Ummm . . . I guess if you can forgive me for causing you bodily injury, then I can overlook a rocky introduction,” she admitted.
“And whatever I said to hurt your feelings earlier this evening?”
“A two-for-one?” she countered, free
ing her legs and leaning forward to set her goblet on the porch floor before pressing her elbows onto the top of her knees.
“Running into me with your car should balance out my two errors against your one,” he said dryly.
Mona chuckled. “True,” she said, nodding in agreement.
“So I really could use your help . . . if the offer still stands.”
“Oh, the offer still stands . . . because you still cannot.”
“Have you always been such a smart ass, Mona Ballinger?”
“Pretty much,” she said, and then hung up on him. She laughed as she pushed off with her foot again and sent the swing back in motion.
In the morning Mona was surprised to find a sticky note on Anson’s front door. Holding the stack of mail she’d retrieved from his mailbox at the end of the long driveway, she pulled the note off with her free hand. “The door’s unlocked,” she read.
She tried the knob and indeed it was. “Good thing this is Holtsville,” she said dryly, knowing there were many cities with high crime rates where an injured man sitting in a house with his door unlocked would lead to a top news story on robbery, assault, or worse.
Closing the door, she headed for the kitchen and busied herself using the microwave to warm up the breakfast of grits, fried eggs, and bacon she’d purchased from Donnie’s Diner. Setting the mail on the tray as well as a glass of apple juice, she headed back to his bedroom. Steadying the tray with one hand, she knocked even though the door was slightly ajar.
“Hold on,” he hollered.
Through the sliver of opening she saw him hobble past the door with nothing but a thick towel wrapped around his waist. In just that quick moment she had seen the strong contours of his back and the definition of his square buttocks against the towel. She turned her back to the door so quickly that juice splashed over the rim of the glass and onto the tray.
“So it’s casual Mona today?”
She turned and entered the room behind him just as he limped to the bed and positioned his body on top of the covers again. She stopped and posed in the off-white capri sweats she wore with a bright red tube top and gold wedge sneakers. “I’m working from home today,” she told him, eyeing the black V-neck tee he wore with matching basketball shorts.
“Yeah, me too,” Anson quipped.
“I actually called your doctor and he wants that foot elevated—”
Mona swallowed back the rest of her words at the stormy look that clouded Anson’s face.
“I know you’re making up for hitting me, but calling my doctor is taking some liberties, don’t you think?” he asked, his voice hard.
Mona looked taken aback. “That stick must be mighty uncomfortable,” she said, moving to the bed to set the tray across his lap.
“What stick?” Anson asked, looking around.
She gave him a pointed look.
His face filled with understanding and then tightened again in annoyance. “Ha-ha,” he said with sarcasm.
“You know, on second thought I hereby withdraw my offer for the services of Modern Day Cupid indefinitely,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re beyond help and determined to grow old and gray right here in this big old house all by your lonesome.”
“I wouldn’t ask for your services anyway,” he muttered under his breath. “If you’re a big enough busybody to hunt down my doctor—”
Mona rolled her eyes and retorted, “Hunt down? What am I, Sherlock Holmes? Not when the info is on your medicine bottles.”
“Still—”
“And I only busy this body with people who appreciate what I do—be it matchmaking or calling to make sure a person is following the care plan given to him by his physician,” she said, turning to walk toward the door.
“A’ight. A’ight. I’m sorry.”
She stopped and slowly turned to cross her arms over her chest. “You have to be tired of that same old sad song you’re singing.”
Anson stared at her.
Mona didn’t dare to blink as she stared back.
“You’re a tough little nut to crack, aren’t you?” Anson asked, before stirring his grits with his good hand.
“Yup . . . I’m almost as hard as your head.”
With that she turned and left his bedroom, securely closing the door behind her.
Anson was tired of his bedroom, his bed, his injuries, and his own company. It had been a couple of hours since Mona had brought his breakfast and left for work. “One week tops,” he promised himself as he flipped through the channels. “I can only take one week of this and I’m going back to work broke foot, sprained wrist, injured pride and all.”
Bored with the same old selection of daytime programming or movies nearly twenty years old, Anson turned off the television and tossed the remote aside before he grabbed his crutch and got out of bed.
“Man, bump this,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m going outside.”
And he continued to grumble as he made his way down the long, wide hall until he came upon the circular pool room that was the centerpiece of the one-level structure. The sound of water splashing stopped him.
“The hell?”
Pretty sure he looked like something out of a comedy movie, he turned around and walked over to the glass doors. First he spotted the pile of clothing with the familiar metallic gold sneakers on one of the teak pool chairs, then a brown figure swiftly moving underwater from one end of the pool to the other.
“Damn, she’s just comfortable as hell,” he muttered, using the crutch to lightly tap on the glass door as soon as her head came up from under the water.
Mona looked up at him as she raised her arms to wipe her wet hair from her face. She dipped down a little lower below water at the sight of him.
“Who just hops their ass in someone’s pool?” Anson wondered aloud as he motioned with the crutch for her to get out.
She shook her head no.
Anson felt his ire rise like lava about to spill over the top of a live volcano. He motioned again, not caring that his face was once more lined with annoyance.
“I can’t,” she called to him with another shake of her head.
Carefully Anson opened the door and pushed it wider with his body before he hobbled inside the pool room. Her hair was slicked down and her lashes seemed to drip water from the tips. She was nervously biting her bottom lip, and the combo of her damp face and bare shoulders made him pause for a second. She’s beautiful.
“I hope you don’t mind, but this pool was calling my name and I said to myself, ‘Mona, he won’t be able to use this pool for another month and a half or so. So why not take a dip?’ So I did.”
Anson stopped just short of the tiled edge, fearful he would slip. “And you always follow your first thought?” he asked.
She nodded. “You ought to try. Life is amazing that way,” she assured him.
“Yes, but as the owner of the home—and thus the pool—your whimsy comes second to my wants,” he reminded her.
“If it was my house I wouldn’t mind you swimming in it . . . unless you’re a pee in the pool kinda guy,” she added, before lowering herself under the water and rising up again until just her head showed above the edge.
Anson watched as she swiped her hair back again.
“And if I could get out of the pool right this second, I would. But I can’t . . . so I won’t.”
Shaking himself free of staring at her, Anson asked, “Why can’t you?”
Mona smiled and lifted her chin toward her pile of clothing. “I’m very Eve-like right now,” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Anson glanced at the clothes and then to her before he forced himself to look away as he clearly visualized her naked body in the midst of the heated water. “And naked pool day in someone else’s home is okay for you?”
“It’s fun for me, Anson.”
He turned his head to look as she dipped beneath the water and took another lap. He started to pull his eyes away, but then posted up o
n the top of his crutch and watched her, wishing the water didn’t blur the visual of her nakedness. If she wanted to swim naked . . . in his pool . . . in front of him . . . then why should he be the conservative one by looking away?
She was midway down the length of the pool when he glanced at her clothes and wondered just where she drew the line of her spontaneity and fun. Whistling, he made his way over to the teak lounge chairs lined up around the pool and leaned next to the one where Mona had “spontaneously” shed her clothing . . . including a delicate black lace thong.
Nice.
Anson pulled his iPhone from his pocket and read some e-mails, including a brief one from Carina—saying she’d heard about his accident. He deleted that one.
“Do you use your pool much, Anson?”
He looked up at her and turned off his phone before sliding it back inside the pocket of his shorts. “Not really,” he said with patience.
“Not at all, I bet,” she countered, raising up just enough to push her elbow atop the edge and then place her chin on her hand. “Learn to live a little, Anson.”
He nodded and licked his bottom lip to keep from revealing a smile. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.
“I bet you plan when you poop on your calendar.”
He waved his fingers at her. “Keep them coming,” he urged smugly.
“Probably sex too.”
He stiffened because that one hit too close to home. I’m busy as hell. What’s wrong with “date nights”?
“It’s okay to just say ‘fuck it,’ you know?”
“Really?” he drawled.
“Yup.”
He nodded.
“You know what, Anson Tyler, I’m going to teach you how to have fun,” she said with a wink.
“You are?” he asked.
“Down with the stick. Down with the stick,” she chanted, as she lightly pounded her fist.
Want, Need, Love Page 7