by T. F. Walsh
With a long sigh, he picked up his phone and turned it on, glancing over his “To Do” list. He could mark one item off—he’d gotten a good look at Joely’s pottery. He wondered how hard it would be to get some photos. Probably fairly hard, particularly since he didn’t want Joely to know he’d done it. He had to, though, to prove the case he was pursuing. He’d get in touch with his boss in the morning and give him a progress report.
He flipped the organizer closed. He was playing a complicated game here, but he didn’t see where he had much choice. As long as Joely didn’t figure out what he was up to, he’d be fine. And he’d tell her when he was ready. She’d understand. He was, after all, doing it for her. She stood to benefit a great deal from this case. And maybe it would make up in some ways for the case he’d bungled, the one that had torn them apart.
He set the organizer on the bedside table and turned off the light. As sleep claimed him, he thought not of work, but of Joely. Of her hands on his body, the way she had known how to play him like a fine instrument; fingers, teeth, and tongue, her mouth on him . . .
In spite of his best intentions, he lay awake for a long time. When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of Joely.
• • •
Rey woke the next morning with a headache and a weird, weak feeling. Getting up, he shook with chills, and the room spun around him. He swore, staggering to the bathroom. His stomach dipped and rolled.
Flu, he thought. Some lovely virus being circulated through the jet that had dropped him off in Denver. It figured. He carefully drank a glass of water, then splashed some on his face. That helped a little.
At least he didn’t look too bad, judging by his reflection in the mirror. No way was he going to back out of breakfast over some stupid microorganism. He sat back down in the bed to boot up his laptop. The letters on the screen blurred as he composed an email for his boss, saying that he had access to Joely’s boutique, and could make a more detailed report later in the week. By the time he was done, he was sweating.
Pulling up in front of the diner, he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision. He sat a moment, gathering himself. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long time. Then he caught sight of Joely walking into the diner. His stomach lurched again, only this time he was fairly certain it was arousal. It was hard to tell at this point.
“Joely!” he called, opening the car door. “Wait up.”
She paused, smiling, but the smile faded into concern as he approached. Apparently, his appearance had degraded since his last look in the mirror.
She peered into his face. “Are you okay, Rey? You don’t look so good.”
“It’s nothing. A bug or something.”
She brushed his forehead, his cheek, and he closed his eyes a moment at the touch of her hand. Sparks again, desire attempting to rise, even through his growing misery.
“You don’t have a fever.”
“I feel like I do.”
She took his hand, drawing him through the door. “Let’s sit down.”
He followed her without question, grateful to get a solid booth under him. She spoke to the waitress in an undertone while he closed his eyes again, wondering how he could be so dizzy and not have a fever. As he sat down, he realized something seemed odd about Joely. Then it registered—she’d just taken charge. She’d never done that before, not to his knowledge.
A moment later, the waitress deposited a glass of water on the table.
“Drink up,” said Joely. “And keep drinking.”
“Water?” He drank obediently, though. “Water for the flu?”
“The good news is, it’s not the flu. It’s the altitude.”
“Altitude?”
She gave him a tolerant smile that somehow managed to be affectionate at the same time. “You flew straight out from New York—which is roughly at sea level, by the way—hit 5,280 feet at the airport, then drove straight up the mountain, am I right?”
Rey swallowed water. “More or less.”
“We’re at a good eight thousand feet here, nine some places. You came up too quickly and now you’ve got altitude sickness. It happens all the time.”
He made a skeptical face. “You’re making this up, right?”
“Of course not. When you climb Everest, you have to stop for weeks for your body to adjust to the altitude. Here it takes a day or two, sometimes.”
“So what do I do?”
“Drink your water. Rest. Chances are you’ll be fine tomorrow.”
She laid her hand on his and squeezed it gently. He looked into her eyes and wished he felt good enough to kiss her. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“You’re sure you’re not making this up?”
“Look it up on the Internet if you don’t believe me.”
He managed a weak smile and drank more water.
By the time she’d finished her pancakes and eggs—over easy, just like he remembered she liked them—and he’d inched his way through two glasses of water and a piece of dry toast, he was feeling a little better. Not better enough to catch the bill, though. Somehow, she’d paid it and signed the credit card slip before he realized it had hit the table.
“Today’s Wednesday,” she said. “Business is usually slow on Wednesdays. How about if I call Perry and tell her I’m not coming in?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I’d feel better if somebody kept an eye on you today. Altitude sickness can be fatal, you know.”
“No way.” She had to be making this up.
“Usually just for people who decide to ski or hike a fourteener fresh off the plane, but you’ve been sitting around in an office so long, no telling how out of shape you are these days.”
Her eyes twinkled merrily at his expense. He made a face, not quite energetic enough to inform her he still worked out three times a week. Apparently, that didn’t matter up here where there was no air.
“Maybe you should nurse me back to health, then.” He had to admit the idea held appeal.
“So we’ll leave your car here and I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”
He agreed, wondering why he was so reluctant to let her take charge, to take care of him, now she had the chance. Just because it had never been that way before, he supposed. He’d always been the one doing the rescuing. Not that he’d been any good at it. So far, she was proving far better suited to the task than he’d ever been. The thought brought a pall over the more pleasant aspects of the role reversal.
Back at the lodge, Joely followed him up the stairs to his room. She tossed her purse on the dresser and made herself comfortable.
“You’re staying?” He sat down on the bed and pressed a hand against his throbbing forehead.
“I thought I said that already. I’m going to keep an eye on you until I’m sure you’re all right.”
He started to shake his head in protest, then reconsidered, blinking back another wave of dizziness. “You were serious? I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“I do.” She opened her gigantic handbag. Rey was certain he’d never seen a purse that big before. While she sorted through its contents, he sat there, rubbing his head, clueless as to what to do next. Finally, she looked back up at him. “Take a nap. You’ll feel better.”
“I’m supposed to just sleep while you’re sitting there?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find something to do.” She pulled out a big sketchpad and a handful of pencils and began to arrange them on top of the dresser.
“Yeah,” he muttered. He wasn’t worried about her finding something to do. He was more worried about himself, sleeping while Joely sat there looking at him. The thought made him feel weird. He couldn’t even put words to the sensation.
Then it hit him. Vulnerable. He felt vulnerable. That wasn’t a good thing.
Or was it? Time to let go, maybe. Show Joely he still trusted her.
He rubbed his head a few more times, then stripped down to his shorts and climbed back under the
covers.
“That’s it,” she said. Her attention had wandered from her sketchpad and now roved over his body. Her eyes would have undressed him if he hadn’t been undressed already. Something stirred in his shorts—he was amazed he was still functioning down there, as sick as he felt. “You just sleep.”
He wished fervently that he was up to full health. Up to grabbing her and kissing her and pushing her back into the bed, pushing his hands inside her clothes . . . “Don’t take advantage of me while I’m unconscious.”
She smiled. “I’ll try not to.”
He lay back and closed his eyes. To his own surprise, he immediately forgot Joely was watching him and drifted off, thinking about mysterious mountain-induced ailments and wondering what the hell a “fourteener” was.
• • •
This was nice, Joely decided after the first half hour or so of watching Rey sleep. He’d always been the strong one in their relationship, the one with the better job, the one who could bail her out of situations when they arose. Of course, it had been his miserable failure to bail her out of one such situation that had started their marriage down the crumbling slope of doom.
But now it was her turn to take care of him. He was on her turf here, facing things he knew nothing about. A new experience for him, she was sure. It intrigued her that he’d given himself up to her care so willingly. The old Rey would have fought it tooth and nail.
He slept charmingly—except for the vague snoring—his face mushed into the pillow and one hand curled open next to his nose. She studied his profile, memorizing it. She’d never forgotten it, but it seemed different somehow. Her memory had erased the imperfections, made his nose a little shorter and straighter, his chin a little bigger. Her memory had neglected to remind her he drooled in his sleep.
After a moment, she turned a page in the sketchpad, to a blank sheet. Looking at the familiar lines of his sleeping face, she let her pencil drift over the paper, echoing them, bringing them to existence in soft smudges of gray lead against the white paper. She had drawn him before, a long time ago. Once or twice she had drawn him naked. She was tempted to tweak the sheet away from his shoulders, to expose the long, clean lines of his back, but she didn’t want to disturb him. So instead, she drew his wide shoulders, the curl of his hair against the back of his neck, his long nose against the dark pillowcase, his slightly open mouth. She decided to leave out the vague drooling. Not at all aesthetically pleasing.
It felt good to draw him, though. Familiar. The movement of the pencil almost as fulfilling as a caress. She sketched his shoulders, the drape of the sheet over his back, the curve of his skull, his mussed hair. The long, straight line of forehead, of nose, the full, soft mouth. It was like touching him. Like making love to him.
Smiling at the thought, she added one last, small tweak to the line of his chin, then laid the sketchpad aside. She looked at the picture for a few moments, then pulled out her cell phone to call Perry.
“How are things?”
“Quiet,” Perry said. “How’s Fine Flatlander Man?”
“Very Flatlander-ish at the moment. The altitude knocked him for a loop. Thanks for covering for me.”
“No problem. If a man that looks like that ever shows up on my doorstep, I’ll expect you to return the favor.”
“There’s more to a man than looks, you know.”
“I know, but it’s a nice place to start. Is he going to be all right?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’ll probably wake up completely adjusted and ready for a hamburger. I’ll drop by the shop as soon as I get him squared away.”
“You take your time. And when he wakes up, I suggest you do something creative with him.”
Joely laughed. “Thanks, Perry. I’ll keep that in mind.”
• • •
Rey woke shortly before noon, not quite completely adjusted, but definitely on the mend. The chills had receded along with the vertigo, and the headache had faded to a dull throb behind his eyes. He blinked a few times at the sunlight streaming in through the open window, then turned his head, searching for the vague scratching sound that caught his ears.
Joely sat in a chair next to the bed, her sketchpad balanced in her lap. The pencil in her hand moved fluidly across the paper, drawing long, graceful lines. He couldn’t see the picture from here, but the set of her body and the way her hand moved was a work of art in itself. He cleared his throat and she looked toward him, smiling.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much. I guess it wasn’t a bug after all.”
“I told you.” She straightened, stretching her back.
“Let me see.”
“What?”
He nodded toward the drawing as he sat up in the bed. “The sketches. Let me see.”
She hesitated, then turned the pad toward him. Rough-penciled lines described the symmetrical arcs of a vase, a simple pattern of columbines decorating the curves of its belly.
“It’s lovely.”
She tilted it back toward herself, looking at it with a crinkle at the corners of her eyes. Being critical.
“It needs a little work.”
“They were fools to let you go, back in New York. You could have made that company a household name.”
Her mouth tightened. “They might not have ‘let me go’ if I’d had a better lawyer.”
He looked away, stung, and she sagged in her chair. “I’m sorry, Rey. That wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Standing, she tucked the sketchpad into her voluminous handbag. “As long as you’re feeling better, I’m going to head back to the shop. Perry might need the help.”
He nodded. “Okay. But don’t forget, my car’s still at the diner.”
“Oh, right. I’ll take care of it for you.”
He smiled. “I think I like being taken care of.”
“Yeah, kind of a novelty for you, isn’t it?” Grinning, she headed for the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She paused, looking at him, then found herself walking back to the bed. She bent over him and caught his mouth with hers.
She thought she’d forgotten. But as her lips touched his, she was flooded with the taste of his mouth, not only in reality but in her memory. Her closed lips remembered the touch of his tongue, remembered surrendering, opening to let his mouth take hers utterly, but in the real moment, the kiss remained carefully chaste.
This was not an easy thing to do.
After what seemed an eternity of hovering on the edge of complete surrender, she drew back. Looking down into his soft smile, her face went hot. With desire or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. At least he didn’t look smug.
She straightened, clearing her throat. “I’ll see you later.”
This time, she forced herself to leave.
Chapter Three
Perry was helping a customer when Joely entered the shop. She looked up with a question on her face and Joely shook her head, going into the office. She knew Perry was concerned, and Joely hated putting her off, but the customers had to come first. So Joely would have a few minutes to gather her scattered, confused, and admittedly rather aroused feelings before she tried to talk to Perry.
She couldn’t believe she’d kissed Rey. She really couldn’t believe it had felt so . . . good. No, so right. It wasn’t supposed to feel right. They were supposed to be on their way to a divorce.
“Don’t kid yourself,” she muttered. She sat at the desk and put her face in her hands. “You should have divorced him fourteen months ago.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Joely jerked, looking up. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t even heard Perry open the office door.
“I wish I knew, Perry.”
Perry sat down in the chair in front of the desk and smiled. “I just sold a four-hundred-dollar necklace. Not your work, but it’s a nice commission.”
“Wow. The turquoise piece?”
“That’s the one.” Perry’s smile faded into a put-on frown. “I really liked that one.”
“You couldn’t have afforded it, even with your employee discount.”
“Yeah, but what about that Christmas bonus you promised me?”
Joely laughed. “It isn’t going to be that big.”
“Damn.” Perry scooted closer to the desk. “Okay, now tell me what’s up with the ex. Oh, wait, he’s not technically the ex, is he?”
Joely groaned. “No, he’s not. Don’t remind me. This situation is difficult enough without having to deal with that particular wrinkle.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth a moment, remembering the touch of his lips. The taste, the warmth, the flood of memories that had come back to her. “He wants a second chance, Perry. I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice broke. Perry’s expression shifted to one of concern. Joely never cried. Perry leaned her elbows on the cluttered desk. “Do you have any reason not to?”
“The fact he’s been across the country for fourteen months and never bothered to make any contact isn’t enough?”
“But you said he called a few times, wrote you letters.”
“Which I never read.”
“Thinking about digging them up?”
“I kissed him.”
Perry’s mouth dropped open. “What? When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. Before I left him at the lodge.”
“Was it good?”
She closed her eyes a moment. He had tasted so good. “Oh, God, it was fantastic.”
“The spark’s still there, eh?”
“In spades.” She covered her face with her hands again. “Perry, I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.”
Perry leaned back in her chair, studying her friend and employer with a sympathetic eye. “You said he wants a second chance. What exactly did he propose?”
“He wants me to give him a month to be my husband again. Totally my husband again. He wants to move into my house.” She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “I’m not sure I want him that close.”
Perry nodded. “It seems like a big step, especially after all this time.”