by Janet Eaves
He moved closer and shook her shoulder, then lifted her head to place the ice on her growing head bump.
“Suzette, darling, I’m going to put… Ow!”
She bolted up when the ice hit her temple, arms flailing, knocking her fist into his arm. His hand holding the ice shot back and he knocked himself in his right eye.
“Ow!” he shouted again.
“What the…?”
“Shit!”
“Great, now you’re bleeding!”
Brad reached up and swiped across his eye. Yep. Blood. Running into his eye. Suzette jumped up and raced for the kitchen.
“Come back here. You can’t run like that.”
“You’re bleeding all over my new sofa. Get up!”
Would this comedic turn of events never end? Carrying the ice bag and hand towel and bleeding profusely, Brad followed her into the kitchen. Warm trickles ran down the side of his face. He jammed the hand towel against his eyebrow.
She was at the sink rinsing out another towel, her hands frantically wringing and twisting the wet terry fabric. Abruptly she stopped, braced herself against the sink, and closed her eyes.
Brad stepped closer. “Here,” he said softly. “Give me that.”
He took the soaked towel, wrung it out until nearly damp, and then placed it against his bleeding eyebrow. In the same motion, he saw her sway and he reached out with his other arm and pulled her into him.
He whispered, “Slow down and stop running from me, okay?”
Finally, she relaxed against him and Brad felt like he exhaled for the first time in hours. It wasn’t as he’d planned—not yet anyway—but finally he had his Suzette back in his arms.
Stop running from me.
Suzie closed her eyes tight and breathed in the musky male scent of the man whose arms were wrapped firmly around her. Yes, that was what she had been doing, wasn’t it? Running from him. If she’d be brave enough to admit it, she kind of liked where she was right now. Back in Brad’s arms. She’d relish in it for the moment. A small moment. What could it hurt? Later, she could rationalize that her silly little head injury was causing her to do things she normally wouldn’t do.
Right?
Wrong. Months and months ago, before Cliff had left her, she didn’t have a silly little head injury that caused her to fall into his arms. It was lust, pure and simple, that made her do it.
She’d be damned if she’d make that mistake again.
Running was the exact thing she needed to do at this moment. And as soon as this darn silly little head injury thing passed, she’d be running again.
Chapter Three
Suzie pushed back, settled herself a good five feet away from Brad, her backside smacked up against the cooking island, and just looked at him.
There he stood, in the middle of her kitchen, all tall, dark, man-in-black and everything. Blood dripped down his face. He sure had cracked open his eyebrow. She guessed she’d assisted in that endeavor. But he’d scared her. Not once, but twice.
What the hell was he doing in her kitchen?
“What the hell are you doing in my kitchen, Brad Matthews?”
He dabbed at his eyebrow. “At the moment I’m trying to stop this bleeding.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. What are you doing here, in Legend, bothering me?”
He tossed the bloody towel in the sink and peered straight at her. “Suzette…all right. So we need to talk.”
“Darn tootin’.” Her foot tapped on the hardwood floors. Suddenly, she felt jittery and nervous.
He moved a step closer. “I’m worried about your head.”
She sidled to the left. “My head is fine. A small bump. No one will be the wiser in the morning.”
“I will.”
“What?”
“I’ll be the wiser. I’ll know.”
“Know what?”
“About your bump.”
“Forget about the bump! I want to know why you are here and when you are planning to leave.”
Brad cleared his throat and took another hesitant step forward. “I suppose that depends on you, Suzette.”
Suzie narrowed her gaze. “Don’t play games with me, Brad,” she warned.
He shook his head. “No games, Suzie-Q. I’m not into playing games. I’m here for serious business.”
Okay, finally we’re getting somewhere. “Tell me. What’s so serious?”
He moved closer. His gaze never left hers. Suddenly, Suzie felt like the world was turning in on her. What was that look on his face? Like he was going to ask her to marry him or something. One of those looks. Oh, God.
“Brad Matthews, stop right where you are. Don’t take another step.”
He stopped.
It was then she got a good gander at his eyebrow.
Oh hell…
“Geez. You probably need stitches.”
“What?”
“That wound needs fixing. You really busted that open good. You may need stitches. Not that I want to go to the emergency room with you. In fact, it’s the last place I want to be seen with…” She started to say with a drop-dead gorgeous male specimen such as himself. “…with you this evening, but I think we might need to go. Come here.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. In a blink he’d moved right up next to her. Damn, he was tall. She’d forgotten.
She pulled up a bar stool. “Sit.”
“Are you still dizzy?”
“Sit!”
“Guess not.” He sat.
Yes, she was still dizzy. She moved back to the sink and retrieved the towel. This whole mess had left her dizzy and disoriented. She needed to think. Clear her head. Gain a moment or two to get a grip. What in the world was he going to tell her earlier?
She rinsed and wrung out the towel, then returned to Brad. “Let me see that cut a little closer.”
Before she realized it, he’d put his hands on her rear and settled her in the cradle of his thighs.
“Stop it!” She batted his hands away and took a comfortable step backwards.
“Sorry.”
“Let me see that eye.”
“Sure, doc.”
Suzie glared at him then studied the eyebrow. She dabbed with the damp towel, removing dried blood around the edges, and determined a butterfly bandage or two would do the trick.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Brad couldn’t help but watch her backside as she sashayed away from him, opened a cabinet door, and took down a small first aide kit. She rummaged around in it, while his lingering gaze traveled the length of her body. Then he jerked his head back to look at the sink as she moved back toward him.
“I’ll put these on the cut.” She narrowed her eyes. “No funny business, Brad Matthews. Keep those hands to yourself.”
How did she know his hands itched to touch her again? To caress the bump on her forehead and make her pain go away?
In a matter of a moment, she applied antibacterial cream and a couple of bandages then rocked back on her heels to survey her work. And he sat real still and let her hands work over him, like a good little boy.
“There. I think that will do okay,” she pronounced. She eyed her handiwork, and then her gaze fell lower, inspecting his face, lips. Christ, don’t look at me like that Suzette.
Just as quickly, she backed against the sink, putting a few feet of distance between them again.
After a moment, her voice lowered, “Why are you here, Brad?”
Now or never. He had to spill it.
“I came to find you.”
She shook her head. “Why? And how did you find me? It’s been months, Brad. Why now?”
“Because I needed to see you again.”
She shook her head again. “Not good enough. There is something else.”
He stood. “Yes, you’re right. There is something else.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s…it’s simple, really, Suzette. I need you. I….”
> “Because…?”
“Because I can’t get you out of my head. Because I want to know why you ran away and didn’t tell me where you were going. Because you turned my life upside down and around again. Because I was falling in love with you and you walked out of my life. Because….”
She held up a hand. “That’s enough. I get the picture.”
“So, do you understand?”
She crossed her arms and stared at him. “No. Yes. I mean, no.” Finally, her arms dropped to her sides and she began to pace, huffing out a long pent-up breath in the process. Back and forth, back and forth in front of him.
She looked so damn cute, all dirt-smudged and homey.
Abruptly, she stopped square in front of him and looked him in the eye. “I was married back then.”
His expression was blank. “I know.”
“You knew?”
“Of course.”
Her face screwed up into a puzzle. “How?”
“You filled out a complete job application, Suzette. I looked back over it once you’d gone. You were my sous chef. I had access to your employment records. It was there in black and white. Name. Address. Marital status.”
Her eyes grew big. “It’s not what you think. We were separated.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything. I know you, Suzette. I knew there had to be a reason you left your hometown and moved to Gatlinburg to take a new job. Particularly when it appeared that besides your couple of years in chef school, you’d never lived anywhere other than here. I figured either you’d separated from your husband or you needed money.”
“Both.”
He nodded.
“My husband, however, didn’t realize that we were…um…that separated. Or, so I thought at the time. I mean…I got the job because we did need the money. Times weren’t good for us, financially and otherwise. And I needed to get away. Think about my marriage, what was happening. After fourteen years you think you know somebody but…then he….”
Suddenly she clammed up tight. Just when Brad wanted her to go on. “You can tell me, Suzette. It’s okay. I need to hear what happened.”
She briskly shook her head and glanced to the floor. “No. That’s not what’s important. I was married. I shouldn’t have had that…” she flipped her hand through the air, “…thing with you. So I left.” She brought her gaze back up to meet his. “I left, Brad, because it was wrong. I felt guilty. And as great as it was, I knew I could never be the woman for you. I’m just….”
“Now that’s a ridiculous statement if I ever heard one.”
Her brow arched. “What?”
He stood up, pushing the bar stool back toward the kitchen island. “That you could never be the woman for me. You were the woman for me then, Suzie-Q, and if I have any say in the matter, I’d like you to be the woman for me from this day forward.”
“But I….”
“But nothing. Your husband left you. Yes, I know that, too. You aren’t married now. Why you didn’t come back and try to find me, I don’t know. But I was tired of waiting, so I figured I’d come find you myself. So you listen to me, Suzie Schul. I’m here. I want you. And I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”
Reaching out, he lifted a forefinger to smooth back a stray lock of strawberry blond that had fallen over her eye. He smiled and waited.
“You have everything figured out, don’t you?” She smiled back, semi-sweetly.
“Yes, honey, I do.”
She cocked her head coyly to one side. “Except for one thing.”
He moved closer, his fingers itching again, wanting to haul her against him and run his hands over her body.
“And what is that?” he breathed into her ear.
“There was a reason I didn’t come looking for you when Cliff left.”
He arched a brow. “Oh?”
She nodded. “Brad, I didn’t want to find you,” she said softly. “I wanted to put that part of my life behind me. Forever.”
Brad stepped back, his brain reeling. Once more, a scenario he hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t want him?
Ridiculous.
“Suzette, you can’t mean….”
“Stop calling me that!”
Puzzled, he peered deep into her eyes. They were misty. Frightened. Overwrought.
Shit. Too much. It has all been too much.
“Let’s table this for tonight.”
She nodded. “Good idea. I’m sure a nice, long, cool ride on your bike will make you see all of this is an impossible situation and….”
“Stop.” This time it was Brad who held up his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a room reserved tonight and I intend to stay here.”
He could tell that last statement was about her undoing. “I’m Mr. Logan. I know you have a room for me. So, okay, I gave you a fake name but admit it, you wouldn’t have given me a room if I’d told you the truth. I’ll go get my things from the bike and we’ll finish this discussion in the morning.”
He turned toward the kitchen door. Suzette’s footsteps padded along behind him.
“Okay, fine. Stay.”
He walked to the front door.
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” she went on. “It’s late, and with your injury, you shouldn’t be riding the bike, but first thing in the morning I’ll be expecting you on your way and….”
He turned. His stare bore into her eyes. “I believe I reserved my room indefinitely. Did I not?”
She clamped her lips tight, took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Your room is at the stop of the stairs, to the right,” she blurted. “Just lock the front door behind you when you come in and turn off the downstairs lights. I’m going to bed and I really, really don’t want to be disturbed.”
The look on her face told him she really, really meant business. “Of course,” he told her. “Sweet dreams.”
She turned on her heel and stomped toward the kitchen, each step punctuating her last statement. He enjoyed the sway of her round backside as she exited. She went straight through the kitchen—he could see her sashay all the way through the open door—and into a room beyond. Then he heard the slam of a door.
Good. He liked to get a lay of the land. So, she’d be downstairs, off from the kitchen. Must be her master suite, her personal quarters. He bet there would be a sturdy lock on the door, too.
The sharp snap of a deadbolt echoed through the empty kitchen and into the entrance hall.
Thought so. Yes, he did know her quite well. And she’d come around. Eventually.
He grinned and went to get his things.
Chapter Four
Bubble-therapy was everything it was cracked up to be.
That and a few other amenities. Low lights. A candle flicker. A glass of Merlot sitting on the small bench next to the tub. Madeleine Peyroux crooning from the CD player in her bedroom.
Ah.
Suzie lay back in her garden tub, a rolled towel at her neck, hair piled on top of her head, bubbles up to her ears. Lilac drifted through the humid heaviness of her bathroom. She breathed deep. Sighed. The perfumed bubbles mimicked the fresh scent that drifted through her bedroom in early summer from the lilac bush that lived outside her window.
With the flick of one finger she switched on the jets. Nice. Yes. The hard streams of water worked on her tired and tensed muscles. This was her third cycle of hot water added to the tub. The bubbles grew larger, and she wanted to lose herself in them.
She sank lower. Maybe if she stayed here long enough, the bubbles would erase all the bad stuff that happened in the past few hours.
Well, she supposed it wasn’t exactly bad stuff.
Uncomfortable, yes. Unplanned, that too. Thinking…sure, there were things to think about. Funny, when Cliff told her he wanted a divorce, she did not have to think about it. She accepted it and told him to go on his merry way. When she realized it was her sister he wanted, well then, that had required thought.
Wouldn’t any woman think about that
?
Her sister was younger, thinner, attractive. She had cornered the market from an early age on cute and bright. In fact, she had earned three degrees while attending state university on a cheerleading scholarship.
And she was fertile.
Yes, she was that.
Apparently. She and Cliff got pregnant oh-so-quickly after they had married. At last, one of the daughters gave her parents the grandchild they’d longed for. The one Suzie had never given them.
Yes, little sis Chelly was quite the girl. Landed herself quite the man. Now had quite the baby. Along with an ideal little picket-fence life in Dalton Springs. Thank God they decided Legend was too close for comfort.
When Suzie had decided she needed to leave Legend—leave Cliff for a while—she was overjoyed to finally put her culinary skills to good use. Something besides cooking dinner for Cliff every night. That’s all he’d thought she was good for. Her husband never wanted her to work. He didn’t like the thought of her cooking for other people. Only tolerated her working on her cookbook because he thought it was a great hobby.
Hobby. Bleah.
Suzie slapped down a handful of bubbles that begged to tickle her ear. “Cliff never saw my cooking as important,” she muttered. “I have no clue why I put up with him for so darn long.”
Now Brad. He found her culinary skills very useful. Which was probably one of the reasons she’d fallen for him, lock-stock-and-barrel. When she’d taken the job at the haughty Mountain View Resort Hotel in the Smoky Mountains outside of Gatlinburg, he’d hand-picked her for his sous chef after a week as line cook.
Brad Matthews was the top-dog chef at Mountain View, the Chef de Cuisine for the resort, and he was a damned good one to boot. Suzie hadn’t worked with anyone as skilled at the Cramdon University School of Culinary Arts in New York. She’d longed to work someplace where she’d actually be valued for her talent and was eager to please Brad in every sense of the word.
They’d quickly fallen into a relationship. Maybe it was all the attention he’d paid her that attracted her to him. Probably. Cliff never gave her that sort of attention. And of course, Brad was unlike shoe-salesman Cliff. Brad was a six-pack, Adonis-type bad-boy from Atlanta. Cliff was nearly bald and from Dalton Springs. Brad was five years her junior. Cliff was seven years her senior. Brad was fit and buff and quite the ladies’ man. Cliff was, well, pudgy.