“Hurry up and get that damned door open,” he whispered to me as I struggled with the key. “I want to show you what I believe to be the number one best thing in life.”
“I’m trying,” I complained. “But you keep distracting me.”
He raised his arm from about my shoulders and held his hands away from my body, then he flashed me a devious little grin. The thick oak door finally gave way and John pushed me inside.
I barely had time to reach for the light before his cool, slender hands were all over me, caressing the curves of my breasts and kneading his palms into my rear end.
“Dr. Blessing, I thought you were such a gentleman,” I commented after I came up for air from one of his kisses.
John took the keys from my hand and threw them on the table by my front door. Then he reached for my blazer and expertly peeled the jacket from my body.
“Oh, I can be,” he said as he began to unbutton my blouse. “I have been a real gentleman up until tonight.” He kissed me, and then started unbuttoning his shirt. “But I thought it was time I try a new approach.” He pulled his shirt open to expose his chest. “What do you think?”
I let my hand wander over his smooth chest and slowly pushed the shirt over his shoulders, watching as the fabric fell effortlessly to my hardwood floor.
He picked me up like I was a rag doll and threw me rather unceremoniously over his bony shoulder. Then he slapped my bottom with his hand. He laughed as he carried me across my living room. “I presume your bedroom is this way,” he declared as he walked down the short hallway that led to my bedroom. After he kicked open my bedroom door, he plopped me down on my king-sized, four-poster bed.
He stood back from the bed. “Take off your clothes.”
Happy that he finally seemed interested in getting intimate, I grinned and sat up. He intently watched as I removed my blouse, bra and slacks. After tossing my underwear to the floor, John approached the bed.
He pushed me back on my beige comforter as he began kissing my neck. His tongue teased my right nipple and my body arched with anticipation. His hands caressed my breasts and hips, and when his fingers slid in between my legs, I moaned in his ear. Suddenly, he stopped touching me.
“What is it?” I asked, looking up into his face.
“Condoms,” he replied as he sat up and pulled out his wallet. “Better safe then sorry.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I agreed, trying to get back in the mood.
He put two condoms on the circular nightstand beside my bed and then left his wallet next to them. He quickly shed his trousers and boxers and flung them to the floor. John wrapped me in his arms and hungrily kissed my mouth. His lips went along my cheek to my delicate earlobe.
“Put your hands on me,” he whispered in my ear.
Flustered, I reached up and put my hands on his chest.
“No, not there.” He took my right hand and guided it to his erection. “Now, stroke me,” he directed.
I soon learned that the entire sexual experience to John was something akin to following instructions for operating a DVD player. At specific intervals I was told to “touch me here” or “kiss me there” or “move against me like this.” By the time we had come to the end of our very brief encounter, I was so emotionally frazzled that I had forgotten to fake an orgasm.
“I really like being with you, Nora,” he murmured to me after. “We make a great team.”
Unsure of what to say, I simply mumbled, “I really like you, too, John.”
He snuggled next to me. “I also like scrambled eggs for breakfast.” Then he chuckled.
I playfully slapped his arm. “Good. You can make extra for me.”
John kissed my cheek. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you Nora?”
I didn’t offer a reply. I figured that was one of those tidbits of information he would eventually discover about me. At least, I hoped he would get to know the real Nora Kehoe. I had been keeping much of my true nature from John, and I began to question if he would even like the outspoken woman I had sequestered away.
I nestled in his arms, and my apprehension quickly dissolved. We were just beginning, I reasoned, and there would be time enough for getting to know each other. I listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat and was reassured that everything was as it should be between us.
But when I closed my eyes, my mind was seized with a whirlwind of activity. Images of my mother’s tantrum about grandchildren, John’s directions during sex, and my uncle’s warning about passion all flashed before me. Then, I saw Jean Marc Gaspard looming over me with his thick arms folded across his bare chest. He was staring at me with his black eyes gleaming, and a smug grin on his handsome face. My eyes flew open and I became gripped with dismay. Why on earth was I dreaming of him?
Chapter 5
The smell of coffee from the kitchen stirred me from a very restful sleep. The clock next to my bed read five-fifteen in the morning. I yawned lazily, and as an idea hit me, I leapt from the bed. I ran to my closet and pulled out a short robe I had been saving for just such an occasion; the kind where you want to look like you just woke up and fell out of a Victoria’s Secret advertisement. I put on the pink satin robe, checked myself in the mirror, gave my long, blond hair a quick run through with my fingers, and then ran to the bathroom and shot back some mouthwash to complete the illusion. When I stepped into my small green and white kitchen I felt confident, sexy, and sure I would be able to lure John back into bed for another try.
“You’re up,” he said when he saw me enter the brightly lit kitchen.
I had to squint for a moment, having forgotten to stick to the shadows so as not to reveal too much of my morning after self. After my eyes had adjusted, I was relieved to see John Blessing standing by my cooktop next to the built-in oven, tending to scrambled eggs and wearing only his trousers. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, and his constant five o’clock shadow had turned into a thick stubble.
He came up to me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me on the lips. It was a long, deep kiss that was mixed with the comforting sense of familiarity, as well as a hint of sexiness.
“You look good in that.” He playfully tugged at the belt on my robe.
I stood back from him and nodded to the cooktop. “Early breakfast?”
“My beeper went off.” He kissed my forehead and returned to his eggs. “One of the residents under me had some questions about a patient. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that.”
I came up behind him and placed my arms about his waist while he stirred the eggs in the pan. “Everything all right?”
“Sure.” He turned off the flame on the gas cooktop and picked up the frying pan. “Just routine stuff. First year residents are always nervous about making decisions. They feel they have to get back up opinions for everything.”
“Were you like that?”
He shook his head. “I always knew what my limits were when I was a first year. But I tried to solve the problem before I asked for help; didn’t want to appear weak. These first years are pitiful.” He divided the scrambled eggs between two plates waiting on the counter. “I was hoping to bring you this in bed, but now that you’re up, you can make the toast.”
I headed to the refrigerator to get the bread. “Are you going back to the hospital this morning?”
“Afraid so.” He carried the plates to my small pine breakfast table next to the kitchen window that overlooked my back garden. He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Life of a resident,” he affirmed.
I placed the bread in the toaster and stepped over to the table. As I came up next to him, he placed his arms about my waist and glanced up at me from his chair. It was then I got a good look at his body. I noticed how pale and slender his arms and shoulders appeared. The grueling years of his residency obviously left little time for exercise or outdoor activities.
“If this is going to be a bother, we will have to sleep at my place. I get called in at odd hours a lot.”
I fingered his
shiny stainless steel watch. “No bother.”
“Good. I’ll bring some things over tonight. It’ll make it easier for me.” He reached up and ran his hand along his thick stubble. “My razor for one, a toothbrush, a big box of condoms.” He paused and grinned. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind. But I have one question.”
John turned back to his eggs and picked up his fork, intent on eating and listening to me at the same time.
“What changed last night?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“When I said I thought you were a gentleman, I meant it. It just seemed like you suddenly got turned-on or something.”
John laughed and put his fork down on his plate. He reached out and grasped my hands.
“Nora, we have gone out on how many dates, five or six? It was time.”
“Time?”
“Yes, time to go to bed; time to go to the next level of this relationship. That is, unless you think I was wrong. Was last night a mistake?”
I shook my head. “No, not a mistake.”
He let go of my hands and went back to his eggs.
I heard the bread pop-up from the toaster. “I was just a little swept off my feet, I guess.”
“I aim to please,” John stated, and then shoved a large forkful of eggs into his mouth.
I refrained from telling John how I really felt about the previous night. The whole experience had left me more puzzled than pleased. I went to the toaster and reached for the warm bread. As I began buttering the toast, I wondered why men always patted themselves on the back after sex, as if they had just climbed Mt. Everest, thinking that they had satisfied a woman when they had actually done nothing of the kind. Maybe if I had voiced my displeasure, John would have made more of an effort to appease me. But like most men, I figured critiquing his technique would only lead to his hasty departure through my front door. I thought it odd how they could be deemed the stronger sex, when ours was the one who had to put up with all of their imperfections.
“Nora,” John called. “Bring me some more coffee when you bring the toast.”
I looked at him huddled over his plate of food and smiled. “Sure, John.”
In an instant I had gone from sexy morning after girl to waitress, and that was the first moment I became acquainted with the little nagging feeling deep within the pit of my stomach; a small, burning sensation known to appear when the heart and the head begin to disagree.
* * *
After John left, I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was spinning with questions about our night together. Just when I was getting a little drowsy, my cell phone rang. I sat up in bed and glanced over at the clock.
“Who would be calling at six in the morning?” I muttered as I reached for the cell phone on my nightstand.
“Hello?” I said, secretly hoping John was on the other end of the line.
“Nora?” The smooth voice sounded familiar, but I could not place it. “It’s Jean Marc Gaspard. I need you to come to Hammond Hospital right away. Your uncle’s had an accident.”
My heart trembled with fear. “What, what is it?”
“He’s all right. Just a sprained ankle,” Jean Marc went on quickly, sensing my distress. “He fell at his house and called me.” He paused again and I could hear him sigh. “He was really drunk, and they’re asking me a lot of questions I can’t answer. Can you come?”
“I’m on my way,” I answered, throwing off my covers.
“I’ll tell them,” Jean Marc affirmed.
“And, ah, Jean Marc.” I paused and my throat tightened. “Thank you for calling me.”
* * *
I was running through the emergency room entrance to Hammond Hospital when I spotted Jean Marc. He appeared as if he had just climbed out of bed, complete with a very wrinkled white T-shirt and rumpled pair of old jeans.
“I called as soon as the doctors told me what was going on.” His features looked stern and cold as usual. “Jack didn’t want me to call you, but I knew you’d want to be here.”
I scanned the empty emergency room waiting area. “Where is he?”
Jean Marc gently placed his rough, callused hand on my elbow and motioned past the waiting area to a wide red door with “Exam Rooms” printed across it. “The doctors need to speak to you about something they found,” he mentioned as we approached the front desk. “They had to do blood work when he came in, Nora. They found out his liver is in bad shape.”
I closed my eyes and pushed down the scream that was climbing its way up my throat.
Jean Marc put his arm around my shoulders. “They said he needs more tests. I told them you’re in the medical field and the only family that gives a damn about him, so they want to talk to you.” He pulled me alongside of him as we walked through the red door to the exam rooms. “It’s all right, Nora,” he whispered to me. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jean Marc’s presence gave me courage. I found it remarkable that a man I had previously detested insisted on being there for me. But then I reminded myself that Jean Marc was my uncle’s friend and employer. I chalked up his dedication to nothing more than polite concern, but the way his arm felt about my shoulders was eliciting an entirely different response from me. I quickly shrugged off the funny tingle in my stomach as indigestion. Over-cooked scrambled eggs, nervous tension about my uncle, and lingering doubts about my night with John had overloaded my system. What else could it be? I figured the unusual sensation would soon be gone and I would have nothing to worry about. I forced the unsettling tickle out of my mind and focused on my uncle’s situation.
* * *
The sun was just coming up over the horizon by the time Jean Marc and I were escorting Uncle Jack from the emergency room entrance. Uncle Jack had been given a pair of crutches, and a splint covered his right ankle. Jean Marc walked closely beside him, making sure he did not crash to the ground as he struggled to keep the crutches underneath him.
“Goddamned doctors,” Uncle Jack cursed as he hobbled to my car. “Never trust the bastards, Nora. Always tryin’ to find problems where none exist. Killed your Aunt Elise that way. They tested her to death.”
“Uncle Jack, Aunt Elise died of a stroke because she didn’t take care of her high blood pressure.” I sighed as I fumbled to get the keys from my purse. “This is something different. You heard the doctor. You have to have further tests to find out how bad your liver is, and you need to cut back on the drinking.”
“Non! Jamias! I didn’t want to come here ’cept that this bon rein dragged me here.” He nodded to Jean Marc.
“I didn’t know how bad you had hurt yourself, Jack,” Jean Marc admitted in his reserved way. “I had to bring you here, for liability reasons.”
“Bullshit!” Uncle Jack barked.
“Enough!” I shouted. “Uncle Jack, get in the car.” I pointed to the door of my Honda.
My uncle glared at me, but he said nothing while Jean Marc opened the door for him. Uncle Jack settled into the front seat while Jean Marc placed his crutches in the back seat.
“Thank you for everything,” I said to Jean Marc.
“No problem,” he mumbled as he shut the back passenger side door.
I motioned to my uncle. “I appreciate what you did for him today. It was kind of you to bring him here and stay with him. You really didn’t have to, but you did, and I’m grateful.”
He lowered his eyes. “Like I said, there was a question of liability. He’s my employee and I felt responsible for him.”
I shook my head, feeling more than a little frustrated with the man. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me for once, Jean Marc.”
He raised his eyes to me. “Nice to you? I’ve always been nice to you. I try and go out of my way to be nice to you.” He waved his hand at me. “You’re the one who is always….” He stopped and looked around the parking lot. “Forget it, Nora. Take your uncle home. I’ll see if I can find someone to stay w
ith him tonight.”
“I’ll stay with him,” I told him, walking around to the other side of my car. “You needn’t bother.”
“You know, Nora, despite what you may think, I do care about people around here, whether they work for me or not. I don’t hold thirty-five-year old grudges, and I most certainly would like it if we could at least be civil to each other.”
My mouth fell open slightly as I gawked at him across the top of my car. “Civil? How do you expect me to be civil with you when every time I see you I feel like you’re about to chew me up and spit me out?”
He ran his hand through his wavy, black hair. “That has never been my intention. We were so close once when we were young. Why can’t we be that way now?”
“That was a long time ago, Jean Marc. We have both lived very different lives since them.”
“Do you think we could at least try to be friends?” he softly asked.
I instantly felt very foolish. Here I was arguing like a child with a man who had come to the aid of my uncle. I cast my eyes shamefully to the ground.
“Well, obviously not,” I heard him say.
When I raised my head, he had his back to me and was beginning to walk away.
“Jean Marc,” I called out. I saw him stop and arch his back for a moment before he turned to me. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We seem to have always been at odds with each other over the past few years. For my uncle’s sake, I promise to try and be friendlier to you in the future, all right?”
For the first time, he smiled at me. Not a simple easy going grin, but a great smile that lit up his face and seemed to warm him from within. My stomach did an uneasy flip as I absorbed that smile. What in the hell was wrong with me? The man only brought out the worst in me, but at that moment something stirred within me. It was an uncomfortable sort of feeling that I was not quite sure how to interpret.
“I’m glad to hear it. Jack will be pleased.” Jean Marc’s dark eyes lingered on my face. “I’ll see you again, Nora.”
When I climbed into the car, Uncle Jack nodded to Jean Marc’s figure, heading toward the emergency room entrance.
Acadian Waltz Page 5