If you were my man

by Unknown

  Her lie had prevented that. Tossing the tissue into the steadily growing pile in the wastebasket by her desk, she moved to another invoice. It was from the company that supplied their tea. Her lower lip began to tremble.

  Getting up from her chair, she went to the balcony. The sun gently pushed away the night. The sky was beautiful in shades of blue and pink. The river behind her house stretched into an ocean that seemed endless.

  She walked onto the balcony and ran her hand over the cushioned settee that she and Rafael had shared. She had lain in his arms on one of those rare occasions when she had been able to break away in the afternoon. They’d watched the sun set, then made love.

  She wrapped her arms tight around her waist. How was she going to survive without him in her life? Her hands lowered. The baby. Their baby would help. Somehow she had to tell him. It was selfish and cruel not to. She’d come to the conclusion last night while looking at the ravaged face of Barron’s wife. Nathalyia had called the hospital early this morning, but the hospital wasn’t giving out any information on his condition. She prayed he was out of danger.

  She hadn’t thought last night to get Helen’s number to check on Rafael. They’d probably had a big sleepover with the entire family, swapping tales and enjoying each other, celebrating that Rafael was all right—at least, that is the way she always envisioned a loving family.

  The phone rang. She didn’t move. It was probably a tele—She sprinted for the phone and saw an unknown name. Sam’s phone was unlisted. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Nathalyia,” Helen greeted her. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. Is Rafael all right?” she asked, clutching the phone.

  “He’s resting now,” Helen answered.

  Now. Nathalyia’s hand flexed on the phone. She should be there, but he didn’t want her. His asking her if she had a ride home had been telling. He appreciated her coming, but now leave and have a nice life, without me in it. It hurt, but she only had herself to blame.

  “Everyone is going home after breakfast. We have to leave as well. Sam has a court case he can’t miss, and I’m over at the senior citizen luncheon at the church.”

  “You’re leaving him by himself?” Nathalyia asked, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.

  “That’s why I’m calling you. Would you mind bringing him lunch and perhaps dinner? Sometimes the luncheon runs late. So many seniors don’t have anyone,” Helen went on to say. “I realize you aren’t seeing each other, but I could really use your help. I don’t want to leave him alone, but the food we serve is often the only nourishing meal some of them get.”

  “He—” She took a deep breath and made herself say it. “He doesn’t want me around him.”

  “Nonsense. He latched on to you the moment he saw you. He could have asked you to leave or for Sam or one of his other brothers. He didn’t,” Helen said. “After you left he ordered Alec to make sure you reached your friends safely—not that he needed to. As you probably already know, the Dunlap men are very safety conscious. Can you come? He needs to eat before he takes his antibiotics. He needs you.”

  There was only one answer. “Yes.” She’d just drop off the food, check on him, and then leave. She’d done the same thing hundreds of times for the families of the children in her program.

  “Wonderful.” Helen gave her the address and her cell phone number. “If you could come anytime between eleven and twelve it would be perfect.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks again. Bye.”

  . . .

  “Helen, my love, you have a devious mind.”

  Helen raised the bedcovers and slipped back into bed, placing her head over Sam’s heart, her hand on his comforting chest. “I checked on Rafael before I called. He’s restless, mumbling in his sleep. They love each other, and both are too afraid to admit their feelings and take a chance on the other.”

  “It’s a complicated mess.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “You still think the baby is his?”

  She angled her head to look at the only man she’d ever loved, the only man she’d ever given herself completely to. She never had one regret. “Nathalyia is a smart, successful businesswoman. It doesn’t make sense to me that she would plan a life-changing event like a pregnancy and then go out with Rafael in a ‘weak moment’ like she said.”

  “If you’re right, with the way he feels about marriage, it’s going to make things worse for them, not better.”

  “I know. We just have to hope and pray their love is strong enough to get them through this.”

  “With your help, it will.” His finger tilted her chin up. “Before everyone gets up, what do you say we concentrate on each other.”

  “I married a brilliant and intuitive man.”

  He grinned and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Rafael woke up with dry mouth, a fuzzy brain, and a raging hard-on. He started to sit up. Pain lanced though his left arm. He suddenly remembered why his mouth felt like crap and why he had the erection. There was nothing he could do about either.

  For the time being he needed the pain medicine. To stop wanting to be buried deep inside Nathalyia’s soft heat would be about as easy as moving his car with one finger.

  When he’d needed one of those pills to help him sleep and forget the helpless fear in Nathalyia’s face at around three that morning, he’d called the hospital and spoken to Barron’s sister. He was in intensive care in critical condition. They’d removed the ruptured spleen the bullet had torn through. A bullet had nicked a kidney as well. “You can beat this, Barron,” he said aloud. “You’ve got to.”

  Rafael scrubbed his hand over his face and gingerly scooted to the edge of the bed. He needed to brush his teeth, take a shower, and clear his head. Helen had said she would put on a waterproof dressing, but there was no way he was going to let her see him in this condition. It didn’t matter that she’d been a nurse before she retired five years ago. He’d manage somehow.

  “Rafael,” Helen called, knocking on the bedroom door.

  Rafael reached for the quilt at the foot of the bed. Helen could be a steamroller when she got something in her mind. “Morning. I think I’ll stay in bed for a bit.”

  “Afraid not. Ready or not, at the count of three I’m coming in.”

  Rafael pulled more of the quilt across his lap just as Helen said “three” and entered. She placed the small tray that she held on the bed.

  “Sorry, but I wanted to get this done before I leave.” She opened a package and took out a bandage. “After breakfast everyone is leaving since you’re doing so well. Sam and I will be gone all day. Don’t worry. Someone will deliver your lunch so you can take your antibiotic.”

  She applied tape to the new waterproof bandage and stood. “After breakfast I’ll change the bandage and you can sleep until lunchtime.” She picked up the tray. “You want Sam to come in to help you adjust the water?”

  “No,” he said quickly. It would be almost as embarrassing if Sam saw what condition he was in. “Thanks for the bandage.”

  Her smile was tremulous. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. “If you need help with the elastic pants, call.”

  He wasn’t about to call. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nodding, Helen left. Shoving back the covers, Rafael came unsteadily to his feet, then paused as his legs steadied. He just hoped the shower took care of his little problem. There was no way the sweatpants would hide his hunger and need for a woman he couldn’t have.

  SEVENTEEN

  Thanks to Helen, Nathalyia had a new focus—helping to care for Rafael instead of worrying about him and feeling sorry for herself. Parking her car in front of Fontaine, she started for the door. Before she was three steps inside, staff members were coming up to her to ask about Rafael. The concern almost made her cry again.

  “He’s doing better. I plan to take him some food in a bit.”

  She went to the kitchen, put on an apron, and started c
ooking. She wanted to do as much as possible herself. The staff seemed to understand and worked around her as they went about food preparations for the opening.

  “I’ll have his iced tea waiting for you,” Jake said from the kitchen doorway.

  She glanced up from putting the bread pudding in the oven. “Thank you.” She planned to take him everything he’d eaten at their first lunch together.

  At 10:56 she pulled up in front of Helen and Sam’s house. Her heart thudded with anxiety, but she refused to give in to her fear.

  One of her pet peeves was serving warm or cold food that was supposed to be hot. Popping the Volvo’s trunk, she got out and picked up the two large plastic-handled bags. Setting the food down, she closed the trunk, grabbed the handles, and went up the curved sidewalk bordered with white roses.

  Again not giving herself time to get nervous, she rang the doorbell. The door opened and her heart rate went crazy. Her gaze clung to Rafael, noting the slight stubble on his face, the surprise in his eyes that she’d never tire of gazing into.

  “Hi. Helen asked me to bring you lunch.” She lifted the bags. “I can prepare you a plate so you can take your medicine and then be on my way.”

  “Yes. Sure.” The frown on his face cleared. He stepped back.

  “Glad to see you’re doing better.” She continued to the kitchen, glad she knew the way, since Rafael seemed to remain a bit stunned. “If you’ll take a seat I’ll have you a plate in a second. The plates and utensils are plastic, but that way Helen won’t have to wash extra dishes. I brought you extra, so if you get hungry you can have a snack.”

  She clamped her teeth together. She was babbling. “How is Barron? I called the hospital, but couldn’t get any information.”

  “He’s strong. He’ll make it.”

  Her heart went out to Barron and his family. “I’ll keep praying.” She pulled several containers from white plastic bags with a big red lobster with a knife in one claw and a fork in the other on the front.

  “It smells good.”

  “It will taste just as good.” She put a placemat she’d brought from her house on the table. On top she placed a plastic cup of iced tea, a small bowl of gumbo, and his utensils. “Please sit down. I’ll put everything out so you can eat at your leisure.”

  She could feel him staring at her. “Aren’t you eating with me?”

  Was he being polite or did he really want her to stay? “You need to eat, take your medicine, and get back into bed.” She busied herself with tossing his salad and tried to keep her mind off the enticing possibility of sharing that bed with him, and then chastised herself. The man had just been injured, for goodness’ sake. She placed the Greek salad on the table, glad to see that he was eating.

  “Where is your medicine?”

  He looked at her. Her knees shook at the naked desire in his eyes. “In the bedroom. Second door to the left.”

  Ignoring the languid heat curling though her body, she went in search of the bedroom. The full-size bed was a tousled mess, just like hers had been after they made love. Swallowing, she straightened the covers, torturing herself by hugging his pillow, sweeping her hand over the sheet where he’d slept. Finished, she returned to the kitchen and set the medicine bottle by his plate.

  He caught her hand. “I know how busy you are. Thanks.”

  Her throat clogged. No matter how busy she was, she’d always make time for him. “I—” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get the rest of your food. It’s a sample platter.”

  “Just like I had the first time we ate together,” he said, watching her, still holding her hand.

  He remembered. Was that what she’d hoped for? That the meal would bring back the memories of what they had shared afterward? Suddenly he released her hand and dug into his salad.

  Nathalyia felt bereft. Had he thought of the baby he believed to be Martin’s? She blinked away the tears and the guilt. As soon as he was better she’d tell him the truth. The doctor had said he should have the bandage off in a week to ten days. She could wait that long.

  She placed the plate and the dessert on the table. “I’ll put the rest in the refrigerator. All of the containers are microwavable.”

  “Did you eat breakfast?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “When is the last time you ate?”

  She frowned at the unexpected questions and tried to remember. “I think it was lunch yesterday.”

  A strange expression crossed his face. He stood and looked into the plastic bags. He pulled out a plate, took it to the table, and put a fried catfish filet and three shrimp on it. He placed the plate in front of the chair next to him, and pushed over the salad. “I’m not eating another bite until you do.”

  “Rafael, I’m not hungry.”

  “I guess I’m not either.”

  “You can’t take your medicine on an empty stomach or you’ll get sick.”

  “You need to eat.” He repeated the same words she had earlier.

  Aware she wasn’t going to win the battle, she got another set of utensils from the bag, mumbled grace, and took a bite of fish. The first taste reminded her that lunch yesterday had been a small bowl of gumbo. She had to eat better for the baby’s sake. She took another bite of fish, his salad. She thought of the times they’d fed each other, eaten from each other’s plate. Her gaze lifted to his; yearning and regret stared back at her.

  “Your food is getting cold,” she managed, hoping he didn’t see her unsteady hand.

  Rafael took his seat and put another filet on her plate. “How are things at the restaurant?”

  A safe topic. “Great. Three special events are scheduled for tomorrow, and of course people have already started booking for the holidays.”

  “I—” Air hissed though his teeth.

  She was up in an instant. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” His right hand lightly palmed the bandage on his left arm. “Guess the pain pill is wearing off.”

  She clenched her hands to keep from sweeping her hand across his furrowed brow. “When did you take the last one?”

  He glanced up at her a bit sheepishly. “Three this morning.”

  “Three. That was eight—” She snapped her mouth shut and hurried into the bedroom to get his medicine. Returning, she shook two pills into the bottle cap, then added one of his antibiotics. “Open up.”

  “I can take them.”

  “Open.”

  He opened his mouth. She tilted the cap. Her fingers brushed against his upper lip as the pills tumbled into his mouth. This time air hissed though her teeth. His hot, hungry gaze locked on hers.

  She grabbed his glass of tea and handed it to him. He simply stared at her. With a trembling hand, she pressed the glass against his waiting lips. “Do you want more?” she asked after he’d taken a couple of swallows.

  His eyes flared, the heat hot enough to singe her. He’d once told her after making love that he’d always want more. Her entire body shaking, she set the glass on the table. “Do you feel like finishing or going to bed?”

  “Bed,” he answered tightly.

  “Do you need help?”

  He came to his feet. “I can manage.”

  She nodded abruptly. “I’ll put the food away and let myself out.” “Thanks again. Take care of yourself.”

  “You do the same.”

  Slowly he turned and walked away. She wanted to go with him, watch him fall asleep. Instead she prepared him a fresh plate and wrote microwave instructions on top. Tidying up the kitchen, she started for the door and thought she heard a sound coming from the bedroom.

  She was asking for trouble if she went to his bedroom. Yet she couldn’t leave when he might still be in pain or need help. She went down the hall and peeped into the bedroom.

  Rafael sat on the side of the bed trying to untie the laces of his tennis shoes.

  “Let me help.” She rushed over to kneel and quickly removed them.

  “Thanks. Helen was afraid the pain medicine might
make me clumsy and I’d trip over the laces. I can’t stand house shoes or sandals.”

  “What about your loafers or deck shoes?” she asked, still kneeling.

  “At my house. Sam is picking them up today.”

  She pulled the tennis shoes to her and threaded the laces so that they weren’t dangling. “There. Some of my children feel strongly about wearing only their tennis shoes.”

  His gaze flickered to her stomach and then back to her. Shadows flickered in his eyes. “I can manage from here.”

  “Of course.” Rejected. And it was her own doing. She swallowed hard and came to her feet. “Try to get some rest. Goodbye.” Not waiting for him to answer, she turned to leave.

  “Goodbye, Nathalyia.”

  She paused in midstep. Her breath caught. He’d finally said her name. Instead of the velvet lure she loved, his voice held a note of finality. She bit her lip, fought tears, and kept walking.

  Rafael pushed to his feet when he heard the front door close softly. He wanted to see her one last time. Cradling his left arm, he went to the window in the living room.

  His heart ached on seeing Nathalyia with her head down walking to her car. He forced himself not to go to her. This was for her. Caring about him would only bring her more heartache. She had enough to deal with. Once in the car she backed out of the driveway and drove away.

  He turned away. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He hadn’t known he could want this badly. The need intensified with every breath he took, but she wasn’t for him. He just had to keep reminding himself.

  Nathalyia entered the back door at Fontaine and quickly went to her office, closing the door softly behind her. The entire staff knew she had left to take food to Rafael. What would she say when they asked about the visit? He appreciated the food, but he wanted no part of the person who delivered it.