by Trixie More
The good news was, he only waited an hour and then she was ringing the doorbell at street level. He buzzed her in and opened the door to the landing, calling down to her.
“Up here.”
He heard feet on the stairs and then the curly top of her head appeared. His collarbone hurt like a mother and he couldn’t move his neck in any direction. Part of him wanted her in his apartment as fast as possible, and another part of him just wanted to sleep.
“Derrick?”
“Right here, love,” he said.
And then she was there, on the landing and he was holding the door open with one foot while he tried to take the aluminum tray she was carrying. She gripped the handles of a pair of plastic shopping bags, one of which held an object that looked suspiciously like a robot. She hesitated on the landing for a moment, appearing to check the area out carefully. She lifted her head, looked at the ceiling, checked the walls, hesitating for a moment at the fire extinguisher that was mounted there. He thought about her feet. Then she was looking at him. Her eyes traveled over his face and stopped at his chin.
“I’ll carry this in. You just hold the door.”
Boss lady marched past him into his home.
He let the door fall shut.
“Get here OK?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, she set one bag, with its robot cargo, down by the door. She marched straight into the center of the loft, putting the pan on the counter, then she returned to him, getting good and close in front of him. It seemed every thought was written on her face for him to see. He could see the moment she went from the checklist of getting here, getting the food delivered, accomplishing what she’d intended, to actually seeing him. Her gaze softened, her mouth relaxed just a bit, and she took in the mass of bruises that ran from his cheek, down his neck, and disappeared beneath the cotton of his T-shirt.
“Derrick,” she breathed, and it sounded as if his name meant something to her. “You’re hurt.”
She reached her hand out slowly, giving him time to move away if he wanted. Did she really think he would? He stepped forward, looking down at her, and her hand brushed his cheek, resting just above where the bruising started. He leaned into the caress and closed his eyes, indulging the part of himself that wanted her to see him, not a handsome face, not helpful muscle and not a threat either, despite her tendency to reduce him to those bits and pieces.
She surprised him then, stroking gently down his chest until she got to the bottom of his shirt. She gave it a little tug.
“Come, sit down.” Leading him to the worktable, her eyes widened at the disarray of parts, wires, and computer components. He tried to see it new again, through her eyes. Small bots, some modeled after the structures of mammals, looking like round people, or sturdy dogs, some with forms that were not borrowed from animals, wheeled vehicles, lay over the table. It looked like an explosion in a toy shop. He felt the shame creep up his neck. He was an overgrown child.
“Is this all yours?” she asked softly.
Derrick remained mute.
“This is amazing.” Wonder whispered in her voice, and he felt the tight vise of humiliation ease. “Will you show them to me sometime? When you feel better?”
He swallowed, nodding shallowly. She smiled at him gently.
“First, let’s take care of you. Sit down. Please.” She tugged at his shirt again, and he sat on the stool. His body sang with pain.
Gently, she started to lift the cloth from him. “Take this off.” Together, they pulled it over his head, sliding it over his shoulder. He hadn’t realized how little he was willing to move that arm until she tried to take the shirt off.
Her eyes, green and brown, were round and full of emotion. What emotion, he couldn’t tell.
“Did you have a doctor look at this?”
“X-rays this morning.”
“And no fractures?”
He started to shake his head, but the pain stopped him. “No.”
Her hands were warm, calloused and gentle as they moved over his shoulder. She walked behind him, and he understood the extent of the bruising there by the sweep of her fingers. She returned to stand before him.
“What have you done for this so far?”
He nodded toward the living room. “Slept in the recliner, woke up when you texted.”
“You’re in pain?”
“A bit.”
“Cold?”
His heart was beating strong in his chest. He felt alive, the way he always did when he was near her. It was a ridiculous question. He understood now the extent of her impact on the structure of his life. She was like the wind between the buildings, both inevitable and unpredicted, moving through the rigging, changing the swing of a beam. He felt the rush of her in his veins.
“No.”
“OK,” she said, like she was running the show now. “What do you want to do first, eat or take care of your pain?”
Maybe she was running things.
“I’m hungry, but if you can make me feel better before we eat, I’m good with that.”
She gave him a seductive smile. “Of course I can make you feel better,” she said. “I know what we need to do.” Inside him, his heart kept beating.
With that she marched off to the kitchen and started opening cupboards, making herself at home. She found a couple of plates, and the microwave, and his refrigerator. She banged around for a couple minutes and then set the dishes on the counter with two ales that she must have brought with her.
“We’re going to have an appetizer, so you’re not too hungry. Then we’re going to take good care of those sexy muscles of yours, and then, we’re going to have a nice meal.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’d ask you if you were always this bossy, but I know the answer.” He got up and headed to the barstools at the counter. As he walked, he could see her looking at his torso, and her close scrutiny warmed him.
“You know, what happened to you was a crime,” she said.
Of course, it was; he’d been assaulted.
“Nothing should ever hurt a man as good as you are.” He glanced at her. He’d been expecting her to compliment his physique, she’d done that once before. Called him handsome, recognized the least important thing about him at a time when he’d thought they were connecting. Something had changed today. She was no longer staying on the surface of things; she had him holding his breath.
He sat down. On their plates was a cold antipasto, with sliced fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, olives, roasted peppers, and pepperoni. Sliced bread with some olive oil drizzled on it completed the small feast. He looked at the beer.
“No wine?”
Allison shrugged. “I like an ale.” She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. “And Sophia told me you preferred it.”
“When did you talk to her?”
“When I got to work.”
“She give you that shopping bag?”
Allison nodded. Derrick wondered what she thought about his robot. He piled roasted pepper and prosciutto on a bit of bread, took a bite and all but groaned. He was so hungry, and this was his type of comfort food. How had she known?
“Soph tell you I like antipasto too?”
Allison nodded as she came and sat next to him, and they ate quietly for a few minutes. Derrick took a long, cold swallow of ale, set the bottle down and looked at her. She was uncharacteristically quiet, her pretty eyes drifting over to him every so often.
“I really needed that,” he said and was rewarded with a stunning smile.
She rushed to swallow, and her voice was a little breathless when she said: “I’m so glad.” The quality of her voice went right to his groin, but the flesh wasn’t willing. He ached all over.
His attention returned to the bag by the door. “Did Sophia say anything about the bot?”
“Um, yeah. Sophia said it still worked and she asked me to bring it to you.”
“Did she say how she knew it worked?”
Allison shook her head. He a
ssumed that Sophia had turned it on. Without a sheet of plywood to work with, the actions of the bot wouldn’t have made much sense to her. He brought his attention back to Allison, gingerly shifting to face her. His knees bumped the sides of her thighs, he stroked her arm with his uninjured hand. She gently took his hand and brought it to her mouth, palm up, and planted a soft kiss in the center. His heart gave a thump.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now, we make you feel better,” she said softly, and he felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the bruising. He realized she still hadn’t asked him what happened. The memory of holding her foot in his palm rose in his mind. He guessed they were the same in this way. “Where do you keep your aspirin and such?” Her voice brought him back to the moment at hand. Getting up from the stool, he led her past the living area over to his side of the loft, down the short hallway to his bathroom, a broad space with a walk-in shower, a deep tub and a large counter. He gestured to the medicine chest.
“Knock yourself out.”
“This is your bathroom?” she asked, gawking, wide-eyed, at the room. “You could hold a poker game in here!”
He shrugged, but couldn’t quite keep from smiling. He loved this room. He and Ben had built everything in the space, and they were both crazy proud of their abode. Allison moved around the room, taking in the gray tiles that looked like old wood, the teak bench along the outer wall, the frosted glass block behind the bench that brought light in, and the huge tub. She was by far the best thing in the room, he thought. He wished he felt better, because getting her naked and into the shower with him was suddenly the best idea he’d ever had. And he was a man who had a lot of ideas.
“This is amazing,” she breathed. “Was this here when you bought the place?”
He shook his head.
“You did this?” She looked at him sharply. “You did this yourself, didn’t you?”
“Ben and I did it together.”
“Ben lives here too?”
“Yeah, his rooms are at the other end.”
“And he’s…” She let her voice trail off.
“Friend, roommate … he has the same thing on his end of the building.”
She shook her head and opened the medicine cabinet, taking out pain relievers and topical pain relief cream. Gesturing for him to sit on the bench, she folded a towel and held it against the wall so he could lean back. She got him a glass of water, gave him the pills, started filling the tub with hot water.
“Epsom salt?” she asked.
“Don’t have any.”
She nodded. While the tub filled, she sat beside Derrick and wordlessly massaged his hands. Her fingers were sturdy, her hands dry and warm. The firm rubbing felt wonderful. She rolled up a towel and knelt before him, taking each of his feet in her hands, pressing upward on the ball of his foot, sublime relief following her fingers. Watching her work, the humidity in the room rising, Derrick mentally filed away the image of her kneeling in such proximity to his lap, but honestly couldn’t muster the strength for anything other than just accepting the beautiful luxury of her attention. When the tub was full, she gestured to it.
“You should soak in the hot water, while I heat up dinner.” He stood, and her gaze followed him. He flicked the button on his jeans open, dropped the zipper, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes didn’t leave his body. Again, his mind was ready, but his body wasn’t willing.
“You staying? If you are, you should get naked,” he said.
“I would love to see you take off those jeans,” she said. His blood rushed, but his dick remained flaccid. “But there’s no way I’m getting naked with you today. You’re exhausted, and we’re going to eat.”
“Last chance,” he said.
“Oh, Derrick,” she breathed, “this is, for sure, not going to be my last chance.”
Hot damn. She knew exactly what to say. Because a part of him had been afraid, it was. Afraid it was her last chance and his. So he smiled and said, “Suit yourself.” His jeans hit the tile. His shorts followed, and he stood before her, relaxed and naked. Not the way he usually went about things.
“Good job,” she said. “Now into the tub.” Her reason for remaining was now apparent. She offered him her hand, but he refused it. She wanted to see him get into the tub without injury. Annoying and warming. But the hot water felt like heaven, and he let it rise up around him. He fumbled around for the dial to turn on the jets.
“No way,” she said from behind him, “a jacuzzi tub? Why in the world weren’t you sitting in this all day?” She was poking around in his shower now, returning with his shampoo. She set it by the tub and then left for the kitchen. Washing his hair seemed like a lot of work. He didn’t know if he could slide down enough to get his hair wet. He ignored the bottle and just sat, eyes closed and slowly realized that he felt a bit better.
Allison closed the door to the bathroom of the gods and headed out to the worst designed kitchen in the world. The layout was interesting, if by interesting you meant, terrible. Because there were no hanging cabinets or walls, you could see across the whole space, see the enormous windows and their view of a neighborhood park across the street, the work area where Derrick built his robots and the living area. At both ends of this open center were the hallways to each man’s suite, she assumed. But not having anything above waist height meant bending down to use the microwave; it meant the refrigerator was small and low. For a man as tall as Derrick, this had to be a pain in the ass. She knew she didn’t like it and she was a lot closer to the floor than he was. On top of that, there were no sprinklers in the loft, the kitchen had no fire extinguisher that she could see. She’d found four smoke detectors though. She turned her attention to cooking.
The oven was warm since she’d turned it on when she’d set out the antipasto. Allison put the food she’d brought into the oven to heat. Then she hurried back to him. Construction god was nowhere near enough of a name for him. When he’d taken off his shirt, well, first off, she’d been stunned by the extent of the bruising. It boiled down from his neck, a sickening dark bar formed across his shoulder. He’d been struck by something, very hard, across the back of the neck. The damage made it clear he had to be in substantial pain. She’d walked around behind him and witnessed the imprint of the item that had struck him. Someone had hit him with a baseball bat on the back of his neck, the broadest end clipping him just below the shoulder blade. He was lucky he was alive. She’d had to stay behind him until she could compose herself, gently tracing the extent of the damage, allowing herself to witness it and let go, giving him the same space he’d given her the night he’d held her feet. She’d never wanted so badly to question anyone, but the stoic in him demanded that she keep silent, and so she had. With her own commitment to holding her tongue, she’d become aware of just how little the man actually said.
She stopped in front of the bathroom door and knocked.
“Derrick?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming in.”
He grunted. Allison took that as permission and entered. He had eased back a bit but appeared miles from being relaxed, and she now saw the reason why. If he leaned back in the tub, it would press right where the darkest contusions were. Large fluffy towels were stacked in open square shelves bracketing the enormous frosted glass block wall, the whole thing both a work of art and functional design. Had he designed this space? It was breathtaking. She hustled herself over, grabbed a stack of towels and knelt beside the tub. A single rolled-up bath towel, propped between his back and the edge allowed him to ease back farther, and at long last, he rewarded her with a moan of release. Her emotions grabbed her by the throat, a feeling of compassion, so intense, she hardly knew what to do with it. He was so resolute, so genuinely good. Nobody deserved this beating less than he. Standing behind him, she placed her hand on his forehead, allowing his dark head to lean against her hip. She curled down and kissed the top of his head, lightly stroking his brow. The
water must be cooling.
Her body returned to motion, its favorite condition. To warm him, she turned on the tap for a moment. She glanced over at Derrick’s face. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes making crescents on his high broad cheekbones. His belligerent mouth sat relaxed, and the full bottom lip was smooth and ruddy. She let herself look at the pattern of purple and black that draped his right shoulder. The left was smooth and tan. He had his hands on the sides of the tub, biceps prominent and rounded, forearms roped with veins. Washboard ab muscles glistened below the surface of the water and lower than that, slim hips, and handsome everything else. She shut off the water and kicked the towel she’d knelt on behind him.
“Derrick, love, tip your head back so I can wash your hair.” Drawing in a shuddering, deep breath, he began the process of sliding lower in the water, tipping back his head. He sighed. His head was hanging over the edge of the tub; water would sluice on the floor. “Do you have a dishpan I could use to catch the water?”
A small smile crossed his face. He kept his eyes closed. “There’s a drain in the floor.”
“There is?” She looked around and then noticed it, sitting just behind the tub. “Amazing.”
“Best idea Ben and I had at the time. I love it every time I mop in here.” He sighed again. “Go ahead and make a mess, Allie.”
Allie. He’d called her Allie. His bass voice was smooth. The timbre of it seemed to burrow into her torso and stay there strong and male. There was no way to stop herself, rising and moving to the side of the tub, she kissed his brow, his cheeks, his eyelids gently. The fingers of his right hand found hers, where she was bracing herself, hanging onto the edge of the tub as she bent over him. He gave her hand a weak squeeze. She leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “I love to hear you.”
I love to hear you. The tender kisses Allison was pressing to Derrick’s forehead, cool on the warm skin of his face, on his tired eyelids, and best, on his cheeks where he could really feel them, were like heaven. “I love to hear you” did something to him, opened something inside him. He brought his left hand to the back of her neck, careful not to cause her to fall, but holding her still.