by Sue Wilder
“Wasn’t pushing…”
“He was. At the old harbor,” I confessed. “It’s kind of a funny story, how he had to run after me, but I didn’t realize he had an injury.” I crossed my arms. “I haven’t seen him in fifteen years, not since high school.”
Angie nodded, rubbing more oil on her hands. “High school’s a different world, isn’t it? All that angst and world-ending drama over who’s going to the prom. Wouldn’t go back if you paid me.”
Her hands moved slowly, methodically, starting at the base of his neck, down the slope of his shoulders.
“Tender?” she asked when Garrett stiffened. “You’re all ropy through here.” I watched as she focused on the banded muscles. “You have more pills at your house, babe?”
“Took the last for pain. Out of the ones for muscle. Haven’t had time to get more—damn, Angie!” His breath gusted as she pushed deep beneath his shoulder blade. “I get that… you’re pissed.”
“All my fine work out the window.” She winked at me. “He’s a stubborn man. Now I’ll have to call his pharmacist and get him a refill. Good thing Maggie offers home delivery.”
“Ange—I’m not a damn invalid,” Garrett growled as Angie massaged lower on his hips, her thumbs working in a circular motion.
“Sure, and you’ll jump up any moment now and throw me to the ground. I’m shaking with the possibilities.”
I smiled at the way Garrett reacted to her tease, clenching his jaw, but watching his pain disappear was a relief. The grooves around his mouth lessened. Color was back in his face and his breathing calmed. I admired the strength in Angie’s hands, in her toned body, that she could kneel and work for a steady twenty minutes without stopping—which made me remember the coffee. I filled two mugs and offered one to Angie.
“Leave it on the table,” she said, smiling her appreciation. “I’ll grab a sip in a few. He needs ten more minutes of this. If we were at my salon, I’d put him on the table, give him an hour and loosen up the hips.”
She leaned closer to Garrett in a way that was both possessive and gentle. “When you brace against the pain, all you do is make things worse.” She switched to a shallow tissue massage, working her fingers over his glutes, then into the hamstring muscles in each leg. “Don’t fight it, babe,” she murmured when his body jerked, then settled.
“If he has too much pain, you can do this,” she added, startling me. “I’m sure you’ve had Swedish massage. Keep it light to get him to relax. If you feel knots in the muscle, just roll up slowly to the top and hang out there for a few seconds, make tiny circles with your thumbs. But don’t try any deep pressure.”
I moistened my lips. “I don’t know enough. I’ll hurt him.”
“You won’t.” Angie kept up the steady motion of her hands. “When he gets too tight, it aggravates all the nerves in his back. He’ll tell you if it hurts.”
She glanced up, saw my hesitation.
“You’ll be fine, Soleil. If you don’t have oil, any lotion will work. Warm it in your palms and gently run your hands down the spine and then back up to the shoulders. These muscles around the small of the back will be tender. If he says it feels good, increase the pressure. But stay away from the scars and don’t press on his spine. He’ll need a day of bed rest once he gets his other meds.”
“A day?”
“Minimum,” she murmured, watching Garrett’s breathing settle. “He’ll fight it, but the pain exhausts him and the drugs make him dopey. After he’s up and walking, have him come see me or I’ll be all over his ass. Damn stupid man, he knows better.” She sipped the coffee before it cooled. “How’s Luna? I saw the photos of her wedding. Looked gorgeous.”
“It was.” I shot Angie a curious glance. “Did we—like, go to high school together and I’ve forgotten?”
“No. I worked with Luna when she overdid the jogging, and people talk when they’re on my table. She told me all the exciting things you did.”
“Not very exciting. And Luna’s a psychologist. The way she helps people is… meaningful.”
“Your work is meaningful, too,” Angie countered. “That cable series is better than the book, and people forget their troubles when you create the magic.” She glanced down at Garrett. “He’s asleep. I’ll call Maggie, ask her to bring his refills. She’ll come inside to see him for herself. She can be possessive that way.”
“I have no claim,” I insisted. “Like I said, we haven’t seen each other in years, and what we had was a hate-on. You know.” I shrugged. “Cheerleader and quarterback.”
Angie laughed knowingly. “Had a relationship like that once. Sucked. And we need to get these on him, so don’t get shy.” She pulled white pajama bottoms from her tote, bunching the material and sliding each pant leg up to his knees. “Grab the waistband, pull it up while I try to lift his hips.”
My hands brushed intimately against Garrett’s upper thighs, his groin, and the hard male flesh distracted while I struggled with the drawstring. “All done.”
“Keep him warm.” Angie drew out her cell and placed a call, brief and efficient, then began repacking her tote. “Maggs will be here in an hour. She’s checking on the refills, and she’ll want to know when he took his pain pill.” She winked. “Call if you need anything.”
I walked with her to the door. “Thanks for coming like you did. Where I live, people aren’t that accommodating unless you keep them on retainer.”
“Well…” Her smile was rueful and matched her shrug. “Benefits of a small town, where everyone knows your business. But Garrett is special. A lot of us go the extra mile for him.”
I waited until she drove up the street before checking on Garrett—who was special to a lot of people.
Women?
Not your business, Soleil.
He was still sleeping, and I tucked a mohair blanket around his shoulders before searching for a broom. Stepping outside, I took a moment to stare at the horizon. Settle my thoughts. The sun was brilliant, with lavender clouds bunching, billowing upward. A seagull cried. The breeze kicked up. I gripped the broom and then swept dirt and red geraniums over the deck rim—because there was no putting them back where they’d been.
◆◆◆
The setting sun turned the horizon into blazing crimson, casting a warm light over the expensive sedan that pulled into the drive. A tall woman got out. Maggie Jackson, I guessed as she straightened and gripped the door, leaning back inside for a white paper bag. Her chestnut-colored hair was cut shoulder-length. Trim black trousers and a pink blouse gave her a soft but professional look. I glanced down at my jeans, the white blouse, wrinkled from Garrett’s weight.
My scuffed driving shoes were still on my feet, and I didn’t bother to worry about my hair. “Thank you for coming.” I led her toward the living room. “Garrett’s sleeping—”
“On the floor.” The tone Maggie Jackson used implied intentional neglect. “You couldn’t get him to a bed?”
“He wanted the floor.”
“I see.” Her glance flitted across my face too quickly to make eye contact. It was more of a hit-and-miss dismissal before she looked back at Garrett. “I’m Maggie Jackson. I suppose I should have introduced myself.”
No, the attitude was enough… Maggs.
She set aside the prescription bag and stooped down, smoothed her palm across Garrett’s forehead. I wondered if she was deliberately trying to wake him.
“Garrett,” she murmured when he opened his eyes. “I came as soon as I could. How’s the pain?”
“Maggie. Did you bring it?”
“Yes. Angie said it was bad this time. What did you take and when did you take it?”
“Pain. Morning. That’s all. Out of the rest.”
“Humm.” She glanced at me. “Do you have any bottled water?”
“Sure.” I found a bottle in the refrigerator while Maggie removed two prescription bottles from the bag, efficient in her handling of the child-proof caps. Must come from practice, I decided, becaus
e I could never press and twist like that.
“I’ll help him take these,” she said when I handed her the water. “He can’t take another dose until morning, but he should be sleeping. If he wakes, expect him to be disoriented. If he talks, don’t take it seriously, and don’t let him leave, drive, or make decisions until tomorrow.” She rattled off the instructions with condescension I ignored. “He’ll need to go home, stay in bed for another day.”
Garrett rose on his forearms and swallowed each pill she put in his mouth. He drank the water, and when drops dribbled down his chin, Maggie Jackson wiped them away, her fingertips lingering on his lips as he sighed.
“Thanks, Maggs.” Exhaustion lowered Garrett’s voice to a rumble, but I thought relief hid there, too, after all the pain. “Owe you.”
“Always. This isn’t like you, Garrett, letting it go this long without meds. All because you didn’t want to see me?”
“Busy.” Garrett closed his eyes, and for an instant, her mouth tightened.
Then her voice softened. “Maybe I’ll believe you this time.”
I retreated to the kitchen, feeling like an unwelcome voyeur when their relationship wasn’t my business. I had worries of my own. Luna expected a phone call, where I’d tell her I was fine. Then I’d call my mother and pretend I was happy and relaxed.
The quiet evening I imagined wasn’t possible now. A disoriented man was sleeping on the Aubusson carpet. A man who tilted my world no matter how hard I fought.
But I’d deal with the delay, the change in plans, and I wouldn’t think.
Not about Garrett. Or how empty my life had become, the way I lived it. I’d never wanted to offer comfort the way Angie did, through touch. Or scold the way Maggs did, with love and concern.
I was Soleil St. Clair, and the relationships I formed were not close and intimate. They were contractual arrangements, flawed and temporary, and I accepted them because I told myself all women had relationships like mine, but weren’t honest enough to admit it.
Then I stood on a boat dock, watching Connor Lange as he held Luna’s hands. Listened to him tell her things I’d never heard from a man.
Words of love that made my heart ache. How his world was brighter because of her, and no matter what happened, what life brought to them, he would always love her.
Emotion like that was foreign to me, and bending my head, I waited for Maggie Jackson to walk out of my house. She didn’t bother with more than a murmured goodbye, and I took a breath, relieved when she drove down the road. Garrett was sleeping again. I checked the blanket, made sure he was warm, then retreated.
I longed for a hot shower, where I could wash away my doubts.
But they were stubborn, those doubts. Like the man on my living room floor. And Maggie Jackson’s words: maybe I’ll believe you this time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Garrett
“Wake up, Garrett.”
My eyes fluttered, and I felt trouble’s hand, brushing against my forehead. I heard her voice, soft and coaxing. “You’re dreaming.”
“I wasn’t.” A lie, because I could still feel the dream-sweat on my skin. The dry cracks on my lips. I fisted my hands, relaxed them as trouble bent low and placed a hand against my back. But she kept away from the scars as if she didn’t want to hurt me.
Her hair was loose, drowning me in the scent of lemons mixed with innocent sin. I’d been addicted to that scent for fifteen years. Tried to kick the habit. Thought I had for a while, but now the old craving was mixing with the cool touch of her hand and I had to turn my head away.
She pulled back as if I’d hurt her. My pattern, which didn’t seem to change.
“It’s after midnight,” she said. “Angie was here. Maggie Jackson helped with your meds. She said you’d be disoriented.”
“I’m awake.” Enough to remember how she’d removed my shirt, tugged up the loose pants, and how I’d fought a balls-hard erection while I lay there, prone on her floor. The same kind of erection I fought with now.
I didn’t want to move, didn’t want her touching me when I had no control. No woman had ever gotten to me the way she did, as if she could see who I was. What she offered soothed—more than I deserved. Fifteen years ago, I hadn’t known how to deal with what I felt, what I needed, and while I knew more now, I still couldn’t handle her.
I swallowed dryly. She noticed. “Are you thirsty?”
“Could use some whiskey.”
Her laugh was so damn seductive I fisted my hands again. “You won’t mind if it tastes like water,” she said as she rose to her feet. Then puzzlement entered her voice. “Garrett, can you move?”
“Yeah,” I croaked out. “Moving my fingers here.”
“You’re gripping my bunny ears,” she pointed out, and I stared at my hand, at the fluffy pink bunny slippers she wore, and sure as hell, I had one floppy ear twisted between my fingers.
I wondered if it was the meds. Or if I was holding on to her.
Had to be the meds, because my fingers tightened all by themselves and tugged. Then I heard myself saying something like, “caught the bunny.”
“Congratulations,” she said dryly. “Now let me go.”
My hand clenched instead, and I jerked on the bunny ear.
“Garrett, let go.” She tried to move away. I held on, turning my head and grinning as I studied her flannel pajama bottoms, then the cotton tee that revealed the perfect shape of her breasts. Blonde hair shimmered in the low light, and she looked vulnerable but strong.
“Mine,” I said, just to see her eyes darken.
“Okay, keep the damn thing since you caught it.”
Trouble tugged free, walking away with one foot bare, the other in pink fuzziness, and the altered gait gave a twitch to her butt that ripped into me. I sucked in a deep breath. “Are you coming back?”
“Can’t leave you dying of thirst on my floor.”
I heard the distance in her voice, and stared at her slipper clenched in my hand. I’d angered her again, but it was probably for the best.
Trouble still lived in her Cinderella world, while I wasn’t the jock-stupid quarterback she remembered from high school. I rolled in the gritty violence of reality, and I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. The people I destroyed now needed destroying.
She’d been the only one I destroyed for sport.
◆◆◆
I woke early and found an empty upstairs bedroom with an attached bath. At least I thought it was empty. The bed was untouched, and I needed to wash the dried sweat from my skin. Clear my thoughts beneath a pelting-hot shower.
Drugs left me groggy, but I damn sure remembered gawking at her, and I groped for the body wash, jerking as the bottle slipped from my hand. It bounced off the tile at my feet and I couldn’t bend down to pick it up. Not with my back the way it was, reminding me of all the other things I couldn’t do.
If I got dressed, went home, then I’d get back to normal. Realize I couldn’t help trouble even though she needed it, and I scrubbed my hands across my face. Scraped my fingernails through my hair to replace the memory of her hands, and it worked—until the bathroom door opened.
“Good. You’re close to the bed.”
I could see her through the opaque shower curtain, hovering in the doorway, while I was wet and naked and not plastered to her floor. My cock was halfway erect by the time I turned my back, slapped at the shower controls, praying for the water to grow cold.
“Garrett.” Her tone firmed.
I closed my eyes, turned my face into the spray. She’d said I was near a bed. Hers? The first thing that popped was, “Didn’t think the bed was yours.”
“It’s not. But you’ll be in it, getting a full day of rest.” Her voice turned crisp with authority, which meant she’d talked to Angie. “I brought coffee, so finish up, take your pills, then get into bed. And don’t even think about running because I’m washing your clothes—and I’m stealing these cotton pants.”
I could see her reaching, a
nd I whipped the shower curtain aside.
“Damn it, cupcake!” Which was a hell of a pointless threat since I was naked. Cold hit my groin, and I whipped the curtain closed so fast I nearly yanked it down. The rings were still rattling when she laughed.
“Come on, Garrett, you can come up with a better name than cupcake. And you stole my bunny slipper.”
“Fuck—I gave it back.”
“Demolished. I have to wash it, too, along with the other slipper, and they’ll never be the same.”
My hand clenched, but I didn’t flash her again because she obviously enjoyed watching me turn stupid. “Look—I was out of it on meds. Just leave the pants.”
“That’s a nice collection of scars on your back, Garrett.”
That was her answer. Nothing about my clothes. Just admitting she’d seen the scars like they were dirty laundry—which she was washing.
I slammed my palm to halt the stream of water, yanked a towel from the rack and whipped it around my waist as I stalked across the bathroom floor.
She danced back. Smart woman.
“Did Con put you up to this? His idea of payback?”
“He’d be more interested in paying me back,” she said, and the anger in her voice matched mine. “He doesn’t like me, but Luna’s my twin, so he couldn’t say no. You just got caught in the middle.” Her gaze shot down to my bare feet, where I left puddles on her bathroom rug. “And get in the damn bed before you ruin your back again.”
“I do not need a damn bed,” I lied as my back spasmed.
“And I don’t need you on my floor again.”
I didn’t want to be there, either, but when she turned away, I went after her, clutching the towel with one hand, grabbing her wrist with the other.
She froze. “Let go, Garrett. Tomorrow, you can leave. I’ll be leaving too. I need to solve my problems on my own.”
“Not before we’ve talked about it.” About the man in the dark, and how she needed to stay right where she was. “I have connections. I’ll make some calls.”