by J. Saman
“I was just asking.”
“Well, you can stop asking.”
“Demanding woman.” His mouth meets mine, but this time, he’s almost aggressive. Maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s just having fun, I don’t care either way. “Oh, Ivy,” he groans against my lips before dipping down to my throat. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard.”
My eyes roll back in my head with just his words. Jesus, I’m in trouble with this one. And when he keeps his promise, when I’m crying out his name and begging for him never to stop, he whispers words of love in my ear that bring me to a place I’ve never been before.
“That was amazing,” I say touching his sweaty face.
“No, Ivy, that was so much more than amazing. That was transcendent. That was perfection. That was something entirely new.”
36
Ivy
* * *
I wake up well before the sun comes up with a heavily sleeping Luke wrapped around me. I hate to leave him, but I have to if I’m going to get home, grab clean scrubs and a shower before my shift. I try to pry myself away from his vise grip without disturbing him, but he stirs, pulling me back into his warm embrace.
“If you lived here, you’d be home, and therefore all of your stuff would be here, and you wouldn’t have to sneak out in the wee hours of the morning,” Luke rasps, kissing my neck in a very distracting way.
“Don’t start with that again. I think we should try being an actual couple for a while before we discuss cohabitation.”
“Cohabitation? You make it sound like a disease. You know Kate and Ryan moved in together pretty quickly, and now look at them.”
Sighing, I push him off before sitting up and pulling on my jeans from last night. “Please just drop it. I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want things getting ahead of us.”
Luke props himself up, resting his head in his hand as he watches me dress. “Fine, I’ll let it go for now. Are you working tomorrow?”
“No, why?”
“Because I was thinking I’d drug you, drag you down to city hall and marry you.”
I turn around after securing my bra and face him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m kidding,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, no doubt reading my murderous expression accurately. “Well, sort of. Only really about the drugging and dragging and city hall part. We’ll discuss the marrying part another time.”
“You just don’t quit, do you?”
“There’s no fun in that.”
I lean over, kissing his lips chastely. “And you’re all about the fun.”
“I am, which brings me back to tomorrow. Wanna hang out with me?” He bounces his eyebrows playfully.
I laugh, shaking my head, as I search for my shirt, which I suddenly remember leaving by the front door. “Tomorrow is great.” I kiss him again. “I have to go.”
“Fine,” he groans. “Go, but you’ll miss me and wish you never left my bed.”
“Probably true.”
“I love you,” he calls out, and I can’t stop my gleeful smile.
“I love you too,” I holler back as I locate my shirt and throw it on before flying out the door only to realize I don’t have my car here. Luke drove last night and I left mine at the hospital. “Bugger!”
“Yet another reason for you to live with me,” he says with a smug smirk, walking down the stairs behind me, his keys in hand. “I’ll drive you.”
Luke lets out a really big yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s ridiculously adorable right now with sex—and sleep—tousled hair accompanying that damn playful smile.
I believe him when he tells me that he loves me, because I not only see it, I feel it. He is unabashed about it, and though I love him equally, I can’t help but feel the shutter of fear that this will all come crashing down on me at any moment. That we’ll be on a date, or talking, and suddenly, he’ll be called away or disclose something horrific or explain to me why we can’t be together for my own good.
Because all of those things have happened before.
And the scars they left are indelible. I just need more time to heal. For him to prove to me that he’s here, and that this thing between us is real and won’t disappear at a moment’s notice.
Luke patiently waits while I shower and change at my place before bringing me to the hospital and leaving me there with promises of dinner and a sleepover at my flat tonight. My morning starts out great, but by ten-thirty I have a headache and my throat feels scratchy. By the time I get off the phone with Craig and Darcy at the end of my lunch hour, my whole body aches and I have the chills.
I take some medicine—working in a hospital has its advantages—but by late afternoon, I’m miserable. Luckily I’m not in the ED today, I’m simply in clinic and I only have two more patients to see.
I shoot Luke a text telling him that I’m sick with some sort of plague and that he should save himself before he catches it, and we start a city-wide epidemic. I get no text in return, but frankly, I don’t have the brainpower to care.
“Sit down, Ivy. You look like death, and I want to check your temperature,” Caroline, one of my nurses orders.
“I’m fine. I’ll just go home and sleep.”
Caroline shoves a temporal scanning thermometer against my forehead and two seconds later declares that I have a fever and need to go home.
Right. No kidding. I could have told her that much.
The thought of driving home in traffic is not appealing, but I have little choice, and as luck would have it, it takes me twice as long because of an accident. My head is pounding, my body wants to shrivel up and die, my throat is on fire, and my stomach may even be getting in on the action.
I need my bed, and I need it now, which is why I’m beyond relieved when I step into my apartment, only to find Luke in my kitchen standing over a pot of something that smells dangerously close to chicken soup.
How did he get into my flat?
“Hi, baby,” he says casually like him standing in my kitchen with my bloody lavender apron on, stirring soup is the most normal thing in the world.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds like I’ve been eating sand and washing it down with shards of glass.
“I got your text,” he says as if this should explain everything.
“Luke, I need sleep. I’m not up for a visit.” Dropping my work bag to the floor, I trudge to my room, not waiting for a response, but when I get in there, I see what he’s done, and I suddenly feel so horrible for snapping at him.
There’s an extra blanket on my bed, one that is not mine, but looks so warm and comfy I could cry. There’s a fresh box of tissues on my nightstand, a glass of water, a bottle of Tylenol, a bottle of Motrin, and a thermometer.
“Did you do all this?” I ask, hearing his footsteps approaching.
“Of course, I did. What? Did you think the sick fairy came in and paid you a visit while you were at work?”
“Luke . . .” I can’t even finish my sentence because I’m suddenly crying the way I do whenever I’m sick, which only makes my head and my throat ache more.
“Oh baby, no.” Luke scoops me up into his arms, before carrying me like a little girl over to my bed. He pulls the covers back before placing me down as gently as possible. He removes my shoes one by one, followed by my trousers and blouse. My body is wracked with shivers almost instantly, so he strips down to his boxers before climbing in behind me and covering us both with the heavy weight of the comforter.
I’ve never felt this before, not even with my mum when I was a little girl. If this is what being taken care of by Luke Walker feels like, sign me up. Maybe living together isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Are you delirious, or did you actually mean that?” he asks, and I move my head marginally in his direction because I have no idea what he’s talking about. “You just said living together wasn’t such a bad idea.”
Oops.
“I didn’t mean to say that ou
t loud.”
“But you did. When you’re no longer sick, I’ll convince you, but for now close your eyes and get some rest, baby. It’s like lying next to a freaking oven. I’m starting to sweat just from holding you.”
“You don’t have to,” I manage, but I’m praying he doesn’t move because he feels heavenly next to me, and I might start crying again if he leaves.
“I’m not going anywhere, but can I talk you into taking some of these wonderful drugs that I procured? The pharmacist explained that you can take both, but should alternate them instead of taking them all at once.”
“You spoke to the pharmacist for me?” Now I’m crying again.
He chuckles lightly, kissing the back of my head. “I didn’t know what you needed, so yeah, I did. I have other crap too, but here,” he rolls away from me for a moment, but before I can protest, he’s back, “take this.” I’m handed two pills that I don’t even care to examine and a glass of water, both of which sting something fierce on their way down my throat.
“I’m probably contagious, you know. It may be strep.”
Why didn’t I swab myself at work?
“Can I get you something for that?”
God, I love this man.
“Sleep. I need sleep, and if I still feel like this when I wake, I’ll ring a colleague for a prescription after I check my throat.”
Luke presses his lips to the back of my head again, running his hand down my hair in a soothing caress that instantly has my eyes closing and my body relaxing into his.
When I wake up, I’m alone in my bed, but I’m tucked in so tightly I can hardly move. I have no idea what time it is, but I hear the television on low from the living room, so I know Luke must still be here.
I’m sweaty and sticky, and the throbbing in my head has abated somewhat, so my fever must be down.
I crawl out of bed reluctantly, my bladder the driving force behind that, and after using the washroom, I dress in lounge pants and a sweatshirt before heading out into my living room. Luke is watching a baseball game on low volume, and typing away a million miles a minute on his laptop.
He must hear me enter because his fingers pause mid-keystroke and his head rolls back on the sofa to face me. “Hey, baby.” He smiles brightly. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better maybe?”
“Is that a question?” he chuckles, patting the seat next to him on the couch, which I accept, drawing my knees up to my chest and curling into his side.
“Not sure. Might be.”
Luke kisses my forehead gently. “Feels like your fever is down, which is good because there is something I have to mention to you, and I was hesitant to do it while you were burning with fever.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Take a look at my screen and then tell me if I’m being dramatic.”
The way he says that has me sitting up a little straighter, peering over at his computer, but I can’t decipher what exactly I’m looking at. It appears to be a screen within a screen on one side and another vertical rectangle on the other that is black with a bunch of white letters and numbers that are completely nonsensical.
“What am I looking at here?”
“This,” he points to the screen within a screen, “is Jason’s phone.” I give him a look, but he ignores me. “And that is his email.” Luke clicks on something and all of his emails pop up.
“And why are you checking his email?” Yeah, I’m annoyed.
“Because your phone rang twice while you were asleep and both times it was the same California number. The first time I didn’t pick up, but the second time I figured it must be Sophia, so I answered. It wasn’t her.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes his statement, ignoring the dull throb accompanying the motion, because it’s completely overshadowed by the building trepidation creeping its way up my spine.
“He doesn’t have my number. No.”
Luke cups my cheek, keeping my eyes focused on his. “He does baby. I spoke to him. He was surprised at first when I answered and told me his name when I asked it. I informed him with the utmost civility that if he ever calls you again, I’d rip his heart from his chest Indiana Jones style, but all that did was make him laugh.”
I don’t know what to say. Why is Jason calling me? I ran into him one bloody time in the street and that was the first time I’d seen him in years. How did he even get my number?
“So I hacked his phone again,” Luke continues, “and his computer, but that’s not how he found you. There are no links to you in his system, other than the phone calls, which is good. I also wiped your contact information from it.”
“You do know that I have no idea what that really means, right?”
“It means that he’s not hacking you, baby. It means that he found you another way other than through your personal systems. He’s in California still. He’s not here and I told him that any more contact would result in another restraining order, which we would make public, including to his employer. That shut him up and he hung up on me pretty quickly after my threat. It’s not all that difficult for someone to get your cell phone number, and I’m checking into everything so you have nothing to worry about.”
I can only stare at him.
“You don’t think—” I can’t even say the words.
“No, darlin’. I think he took my threat seriously enough that he’ll leave you alone, but if he calls you again, please let me know.”
“Jesus, Luke.” I shake my head and he wraps his arm around me tighter, reassuring me in the best possible way. “I can’t even.”
“I know, but I’m on it. His system is clean. There is nothing about you, not even a search, so I think he was just testing the waters with that phone call.”
“But you think he’ll leave me alone?”
“Yes. I do.” He kisses the top of my head and I sink further into him.
“How can you even be sure?”
“Because I have access to his system,” he points to his screen, “and I will fuck up his entire world with a simple keystroke if he tries anything.”
I feel like that should bother me. Him being able to do that to Jason. But it doesn’t.
“Do you want me to fix you something to eat?” he asks softly, setting his computer down with the screen open, evidently still engaged in something imperative.
“I’m not hungry.”
“A shower?”
I glance up at him, and he’s smiling down at me. The icy brick of fear that was weighing me down moments ago, seems to be thawing. Luke makes me feel safe, and everything he said to me about protecting me with his life comes flashing back.
He meant it.
Of that I have no doubt. The fact that he can do the things he can do, well, yeah, that doesn’t bother me so much anymore. Nothing else matters except for him and me and us.
So instead of questioning him further, I say, “A shower would be perfect.”
Because I think it just may be.
I think we may be perfect, and if we can get through all the craziness of the last year, I think we can get through just about anything together.
Somehow we found our way.
Epilogue
Luke
* * *
I had the entire day and night planned out to perfection. Everything from going to Bumbershoot with Kate and Ryan to a quiet, romantic dinner later back at our place.
Everything was planned out perfectly.
And then Kate’s freaking water broke in the middle of the damn show.
So instead of watching the bands together and exploring the festival, Ivy and I are driving through horrific traffic toward the hospital. It’s hard to be pissed at the Duchess for ruining my plans, especially when we’re all so uneasy.
The twins are early after all.
Ivy’s been on the phone for the last ten minutes, ensuring that all the best people are on the case, since it is Labor Day weekend.
And despite the inter
ruption and the steady stream of panic flowing through me at the potential risk to my future godchildren, I’m smiling. Ivy is too preoccupied to notice, which is a good thing because she’d probably think I’m an asshole for smiling in a situation as precarious as this, but I can’t help it. She’ll just have to deal with it.
Somehow I managed to convince her to move in with me two months after we officially started dating again. It just made sense. After the small scare with Jason, which turned out to be nothing more than that singular phone call, Ivy didn’t want to stay alone, and I was only too happy to offer my services as bed buddy.
We did the whole back and forth thing, but it was tiring and annoying, and our conflicting schedules made it all the more hectic. I asked her to move in with me nearly every day, and eventually my persistence won out because she finally acquiesced and said yes, though she told me it was for no other reason than to shut me up.
I’m okay with that.
The reason is inconsequential as long as I have her with me. Once she moved in, we transitioned from great to awesome. She wanted boring—excuse me, normal—and that’s exactly what I give her. Every damn day, I rock her world with the best fucking form of normal you could ever imagine.
We cook dinner together, and watch TV and movies, and read a lot. She’s even learning to love baseball. Now that it’s going into fall, I’m going to push hard to convert her into an American Football fan. That Australian Football League her dad is so into is just not for me.
And though I’ve had this plan brewing in the back of my mind practically since I laid eyes on her, I’ve held off.
Ivy’s dad wasn’t getting better, in fact, he was getting worse, but two weeks ago a kidney—that was not Ivy’s—became available and he had surgery. A successful surgery at that, and he appears to be doing really well with his new organ.
Everyone is happy, so happy that it felt like the appropriate time to rock the boat, just a little.
But now I’m not going to get the chance because I’m parking in the lot at the hospital instead of listening to kick-ass music before eating a perfect dinner with my perfect girl.