I think Charlotte was surprised by her findings. The mid-priced lipstick fared much better than four of the most expensive brands in lasting coverage and in bleed. Mr. Clairborne was delighted by the news. I promised Charlotte I would help her with writing out the reports tomorrow. Between no sleep and getting around on crutches, I was exhausted. And as I watched Porter and Charlotte tease each other and the pleasure Charlotte had gotten from applying lipstick to her brother, I knew they needed as much time together without me as they could get.
I knew Porter was torn about what to do, leave with me or continue to help his sister. But he made the right choice. As soon as he decided to stay, any hint of disappointment left Charlotte’s face. Besides, I was in need of some alone time. I wasn’t used to intimately interacting with other people. I was very much a surface-level person, never letting anyone get too close. Even now, the thought of opening myself up scared me.
I hobbled into the guest room on my crutches, ready to crawl in bed and process the day’s events. But the nightgown I had previously worn when I’d stayed was lying on the bed with a little note and a piece of dark chocolate wrapped in foil. The note read, I always find chocolate makes for sweeter dreams. I’m so happy you’re here. Love, Natalie.
I set my crutches aside and leaned on the bed for support while I pressed the card against my chest, wondering how I got so lucky that someone like Natalie was taking interest in me. The best thing about her was I knew it wasn’t out of pity. Not once had she given me a look that indicated that she felt sorry for me. Instead, it felt like she admired me.
I indulged in the piece of chocolate and debated on whether or not I should wear the silk nighty. Borrowing things made me feel uncomfortable, but there was something to be said for how feminine I felt when I wore it. My hand brushed against the black silk, tempting me to put it on. It would save me a trip to the dresser, I rationalized. Before I knew it, I was bathed in silk and hopping toward the bathroom. I was over the crutches.
While brushing my teeth and washing my face, I kept glancing toward Porter’s door. After all this time, it was weird to only have two doors separating us. He would be a gentleman and knock, right?
I made it to bed without any bathroom intruders. The bed cradled my frame like a cloud, making it easy to settle in and be lulled asleep by the sounds of the waves coming in through the window I’d opened. The only other sound I’d rather be lulled to sleep by was Porter’s voice. Maybe someday I would get my wish.
It wasn’t a surprise when my body naturally woke up at 5:00 a.m. Old habits die hard. I stretched and yawned, feeling refreshed even though there was a slight ache in my ankle. But I was determined to walk on it a little today. I stared at the bathroom door in the dark. I’d forgotten to ask Porter what time he would be up. With his meetings and everything else he had on his plate, I assumed he would want to get an early start. Maybe I would just use the restroom and check email until he got ready. I was sick thinking how full my inbox must be. Sharon didn’t have to know I was checking my email.
I put my plan in motion by gently crawling out of bed and placing the slightest bit of pressure on my right foot. I kept my wince inside and braved standing on it. It was stiff and each step felt like I was walking on a bed of nails. Not one to give up, I trudged forward slowly but surely. Once I made it into the bathroom, I discovered Porter kept his door slightly open. I couldn’t resist the invitation to peek at him slumbering in his four-poster bed. I was barely able to make out his shape under the sheet he had draped over his lean body. His comforter lay crumpled at the end of the bed as if he had had a restless night. Did he still have dreams of me sleeping next to him? I had woken up in his arms once and it had been like a dream.
My foot demanded that I either go to him and make both our dreams come true or get on with what I came to do in the bathroom. Porter was more tempting than I thought; it took longer to decide, but my rational side—basically my only side—took hold and had me quietly closing his door. I wasn’t really that type of woman, but there was something so innocent about sleeping together, like actual sleeping, not the . . . you know. Never mind.
Getting around took longer on my injured foot, but at least I hadn’t disturbed Porter. I was back in bed with my laptop before the pain of walking became too unbearable. By the glow of my laptop, I logged in using the Clairborne’s Wi-Fi. I braced myself for the onslaught of what I was sure would be a full inbox. Instead, I sat confused; there were only twenty or so unopened emails, and most weren’t from my colleagues at Auburn or Winchester. It didn’t take long to solve the mystery when I opened an email from Sharon in which she copied everyone working on our project.
Friends and Honored Colleagues,
I regret to inform you that our dear Holland has had an untimely and unfortunate accident. Though we do expect her to fully recover, she, under doctor’s orders, is on hiatus for the next two weeks. Any communication or requests for data or analysis should be sent to me. I have rerouted all of Holland’s email to be sent directly to me in the interim. I realize she is the most knowledgeable of our joint venture, but I feel I can capably answer any questions that may arise in her absence. Please do not call her or send any communication to her personal email address. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.
Best regards,
Dr. Sharon Ainsley
I sat stunned. Not only was she stretching the truth, but she failed to mention she was the doctor whose orders I was under. Part of me, though, was touched that she cared enough. Or was she so worried about my mental health she would do anything to preserve it, all in the best interest of the project? That didn’t feel right. I had to stop assuming the world and everyone in it was bound to hurt me. In my heart, I knew Sharon meant well even if I didn’t fully agree with her.
I almost didn’t know what to do with myself without a barrage of emails to answer. I guess I could finally read some of the research papers I’d meant to get to and take some notes. I pulled up the notepad on my laptop and started with the Mayo Clinic article. I was halfway through reading about some breakthrough research regarding genetic testing with over-the-counter medications when I noticed the light in the bathroom go on and the sound of the shower.
I tried my best not to think about how Porter would look taking a shower. Focusing was becoming harder by the second. I needed my reticular activating system to do a better job of filtering all the sensory data invading my brain. How old was I? Twenty-five. Right. Old enough to be thinking the thoughts rampaging through my cerebrum. But Porter and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. We never had. Not that we hadn’t talked about it, but we’d both decided at the time it was best if we waited.
To help, I looked at pictures of diseased hearts and lungs. No fatty overgrowth or thickened arteries could help. I was relieved when I finally heard the water turn off, except then I imagined him towel drying. This had to stop. I went all in and looked up the digestive tract. It wasn’t a pretty sight at six in the morning, but a girl had to do what she had to do. I wish I could say it helped.
Then a full-on assault on my sensory organs occurred with a brief knock and my name being called before the bathroom door flew wide open. Porter gave me no warning or time to answer before he was standing there with only a towel wrapped around his bottom half. If ever I was going to have a moment of stress-induced incontinence this was it.
“Good you’re awake.” Porter acted as if it wasn’t unusual for him to be walking toward me half naked. Water droplets were still cascading down his taut chest. Stubble sculpted his tight jaw line.
I threw my laptop to the side and pulled up the comforter to my chest. Hydrogen, helium . . .
Porter jumped up on the bed, landing right next to me, grinning at my attempt to cover myself. I hoped that towel was on tight.
His smile melted away when he reached up and grazed my cheek with the back of his hand. “Good morning, beautiful. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” I stuttered.<
br />
He gazed down at the comforter I was holding onto for dear life. The corners of his mouth twitched. “If you say so, darlin’.”
I took a deep breath, which was probably the wrong thing to do. It only filled me with his natural sandalwood scent mixed in with the clean scent of his body wash. The combination was intoxicating. “How are you this morning?” I asked in a way too pitchy voice.
He inched closer and draped his arm across my body. “This is the best morning I’ve had in a long time.”
My pulse raged and pounded through my chest. “Is that so?”
He nodded in this intense, deliberate way as we came face-to-face.
I leaned into my pillows. “I probably have morning breath.”
“And I suppose you want to tell me what causes morning breath.”
“Well . . . actually it’s created by a lack of saliva being produced while you sleep.”
Porter narrowed the small gap between us. His lips hovered over mine, teasing them. “That’s fascinating. I can think of a way to solve that problem.”
“Did you know that they make artificial saliva?” I eked out.
“I was thinking more along the lines of the real thing.”
“That’s because there’s testosterone in your saliva.”
He barely chuckled before his lips found their landing spot on mine. He wasted no time parting my lips to share his testosterone. I readily accepted it before I thought about what we were doing. He tasted as if he had brushed his teeth. The cheater. My hands landed on his bare chest and reveled in the feel of it. My fingers pressed into his defined lines and chest hair, causing him to groan and deepen the kiss. Before my brain kicked in, I ran my hands up his chest until they found their way into his wet, thick hair. When he pressed his body against mine, all sorts of sensors went off. Before I could completely get lost in him, I regretfully pushed him away.
I took in a deep breath. “Porter, we shouldn’t be doing this right now.”
“I agree,” he shook his head. “Wait, you said ‘should,’ right?” He went in for another kiss.
I rested my hands on his stubbled cheeks, preventing him from weakening my resolve. If his lips made contact again, I was going to be in trouble. I took a moment to peer into his enlivened blue eyes. I realized there was a peace that dwelled in them that had been missing the last summer we’d spent together.
“As much as I enjoy kissing you, I want to get to know you again.”
He pulled away from me and sat up tall before his frame deflated. “You’re right.” He took my hand and raised it to his warm mouth. He kissed my palm before lacing our fingers together.
That sweet act sent more flutters through my midsection than the kiss had.
He sat there grinning at me without saying a word.
I ran my fingers through my messy hair. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because after all this time, I can’t believe you’re here. That I’m touching you.” His grin turned more devilish. “And that we’re in bed together.”
Even in the dark I’m sure he could see my cheeks burned red. “Do you think your parents will care?”
He laughed. “Holland, I’m twenty-nine years old, I think they would be more surprised if we weren’t.”
“Well . . . we’re not . . . and I don’t want them to think . . .”
With his finger, he outlined my face. “Hey, same rules apply as they always have. We won’t ever do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. If all I ever get to do is hold your hand and stare at your beautiful face, I’d be a happy man.”
“Really?” I wasn’t exactly sure I was buying that.
“Don’t get me wrong, one word from you giving the go-ahead, and I’d ravish you right here. But honestly, the other aspects of our relationship have always and will always mean more to me. The physical aspect is just the icing on the cake, not what makes the whole cake.”
“I do like icing,” I whispered.
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, but you’re right, we should get to know each other all over again first.” His eyes lit up. “I actually came in here to talk to you about an idea I had in the shower for a marketing campaign, but when I saw how sexy you look working in bed, I had some other thoughts.”
“I noticed.” I’d had some other thoughts too.
He cleared his throat and put a little more distance between us, though he kept my hand. Distance was probably a good idea. I had a hard time keeping my eyes and hands off his chest.
“What was your idea?”
“I’m glad you asked, since it was actually your idea and I’m hoping you’ll help me with it.”
I leaned back. “My idea?”
“Do you remember yesterday when you told me I needed to remember what I loved about the Clairborne? Well,” he paused, “the thing I love most about the Clairborne is that it’s where I fell in love with you.”
That’s what I loved about it most too, but like always, I couldn’t articulate it. Instead, my eyes fluttered toward my lap as if I was embarrassed to hear him express his feelings. I wasn’t embarrassed, just so unsure.
With the touch of his finger, he lifted my chin up. “I know I’ve done a terrible job showing it, but for me, you will always be the best part of this place, and I want to show the world that.”
I tilted my head. “How can you do that? And how will that help?”
It was like a door unlocked and unleashed a million ideas that danced in his eyes. “What do you think of the slogan, Fall in Love at the Clairborne?”
I loved that he asked my opinion. Even more, the energy that was rolling off him. It felt like old times. “I think it sounds beautiful. But I’m no expert.”
In his excitement, he pulled me to him and pressed his lips firmly against mine, but only for a second. He sat back in haste with his face engulfed in a smile. “Sorry. But not really. I will try to behave. Except when you talk like that, I can’t help myself.”
“I don’t want you to ever be sorry for kissing me.”
He sat with his lips pressed together, serenity now filled his features. “You’re not helping me not want to kiss you.”
I was glad to hear that.
“But,” he took a deep, cleansing breath, “we have more pressing matters at hand. Like what kind of swimwear did you bring?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You said you wanted to help.”
“Actually, I didn’t.” I gave him a teasing smile that probably looked something like a hyena on opioids.
He pulled my hand up that he held and rested it against his chest. Yes, his bare chest. “Will you help me? Will you help the Clairborne?”
When he said it like that, with eyes that pled, how could I refuse? Of course I wanted to do anything to help him and his family.
“How can I help? I don’t know the first thing about marketing.”
He pressed my hand deeper against his chest. That elicited heart palpitations on my end. “You don’t have to know anything about it. I need you to help me show the world exactly what the Clairborne has to offer. And all you need to do for that is be you.”
“Okay.”
“Perfect. Now back to the swimwear. What did you bring?”
“Um . . . I didn’t bring any.” No need to mention that I didn’t own any. I didn’t have a lot of leisure time on my hands, and it seemed like a frivolous expense.
He let our clasped hands fall between us. “That’s okay, I’m sure Natalie or Charlotte have something you can borrow.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to borrow anything.” I was so over that life.
His tender look said he didn’t have to ask why and that he knew I didn’t own any swimwear. “I can take you shopping and we can pick something out, but it will have to be much later today. Or I bet Natalie would be happy to take you. Though I would hate to miss out on the trying-on process.”
I thought for a second. I had some extra spen
ding cash since I no longer had to repair Lola and there was the three hundred dollars I’d received from her demise. “I think I better ask Natalie.”
He pounded his fist against his heart. “Ouch. Direct blow to my heart.”
I giggled, like, honest-to-goodness giggled. “I still don’t understand why I need a swimsuit.”
He gave me a heart stopping grin. “You will.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Porter and I walked hand-in-hand together toward the kitchen once we were both ready for the day. More like I limped, he walked. I promised him I would use my crutches later, but for now I wanted to enjoy the goofy grins we kept exchanging as we headed toward the smell of something wonderful without the metal poles getting in our way. This morning we felt like a couple getting ready together. He shaved while I fixed my hair, and I applied mascara while he styled his hair. We talked about his place in Tahoe while he wrapped my foot. His condo sounded nice, with two fireplaces, including one in his bedroom. He might have bragged about the hot tub on his deck a time or two. But what I got most out of the conversation was that he liked his life there. It wasn’t the right time to ask him what that meant for us. I wasn’t sure there was an us. But it felt like us holding hands.
We were the last ones to arrive in the kitchen. Beau sat at the kitchen table trying to down some green drink. He looked more like he wanted to chuck it across the room. The wary look he gave his bran muffin said he’d like to use it for batting practice as well. Charlotte fussed over her display board, rearranging pictures and coloring in the title of her project she had drawn in a pretty bubble script.
I couldn’t help but grin at all the pictures of Porter’s luscious lips in varying shades.
Charlotte was quick to Porter once she realized we were there. She took him by the hand and led him toward the table. “I want to take one more picture of you. I thought I should show what my test subject really looks like.”
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