Intensive Caring

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “If I found him a decent place to stay, no strings, would he accept?”

  “Nope.” The offer touched her heart. “But that’s very sweet of you.” She explained about the hospice. “There’s room for him right now, but he won’t hear of it. I’d say he might get Gordon to call you about the race car thing, though. He was really intrigued by that.”

  “I hope he does.” He eyed her for several moments, that silent appraisal she’d become accustomed to with him. “You look radiant. How can you do what you do all day, deal with patients like Cedric, and still look radiant at the end of your shift?”

  “Cosmetics,” she said, lowering her voice as if her disclosure were a guarded secret. “You just slather on this miracle cream and voilà! Instant radiance.” She hadn’t used anything all day except soap and water, an eyelash curler and some lipstick, but he didn’t have to know that.

  “Remind me to buy stock in the company.”

  She smiled, but something he’d mentioned earlier was on her mind. “Nelson, what did you mean when you said the accident was your fault, but you didn’t think so at first?”

  He shrugged, and for a second she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “There was a misunderstanding with my head mechanic, a guy named Lambotti. He figured I was after his woman. I thought he sabotaged the car to get back at me.”

  “And were you?” Portia raised a quizzical eyebrow, trying to appear only mildly interested. “After his woman?”

  “Hell, no. It was the other way around, but he wouldn’t believe that.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  Nelson shook his head. “He disappeared right after the crash. Nobody’s seen him since.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. She wasn’t about to ask the next question, even though it was obvious.

  He guessed, though, and grinned at her. “Yup, I saw the lady. She came to the hospital bearing flowers. I was too sick to be tactful. I had the nurses call Security and boot her out.”

  “Ah. I heard about that.”

  “How come you never asked me about it? You must have figured I was some kind of arrogant playboy, evicting women from my room.”

  “I did at first. But relax. Now I don’t.” It wasn’t entirely true, though. She still wondered what would happen when his injuries healed. Would he go straight back to the kind of life he’d led before the accident?

  He grinned at her and shook his head. “You’re one of a kind. Ready to go grocery shopping, Doc?”

  It wasn’t the time to bring up the future. “Absolutely.”

  “My chariot awaits. Charlie’s visiting some old pal in the X ray department. I’ll just give her a buzz.” He dialed his cell phone, and minutes later they were in the limo, with Charlie at the wheel.

  They headed for Yaletown, and Charlie parked. “I love it here. There’s a discount clothing store just down the block that has sexy stuff in my size,” Charlie said, hurrying off. “Call me when you’re ready. Just take your time.”

  Portia and Nelson made their way toward an open-area marketplace called Urban Fare.

  “Been here before?” Nelson asked as they went inside. The place was crowded with well-dressed yuppie shoppers, and the noise level was in the high-decibel range. Kiosks lined the huge open space, and there were long lineups at the cash registers.

  “Nope. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never had a chance to explore much down here. Doctors don’t get out and around. We tend to eat and sleep and work. Boring as hell. But I thought you didn’t cook.”

  “After the way you lectured me about the dangers of living on restaurant food, I decided to turn over a new leaf,” Nelson said.

  Portia had to bend over and put her ear close to his mouth to hear him.

  “Now, what shall we have for dinner, Doc?”

  He hadn’t mentioned taking her to dinner, but the smells were already making her hungry and reminding her that she’d missed lunch. She gazed around, amazed and impressed at the variety and beauty of the food on display.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this a grocery store, Nelson. It’s more like major take-out gourmet heaven.”

  Delis lined entire aisles, selling mouthwatering prepared selections of every kind of food imaginable—lasagna, moussaka, meat and vegetable pies, salads so artistically prepared they looked like art exhibits, pizzas, grilled vegetables, pastries, cakes, breads, glass cases containing exotic desserts.

  Portia and Nelson decided on a round loaf of oatmeal bread, a country-style lamb stew with dump-lings, endive salad and apple torte. Nelson also bought lasagna, peasant pie, borscht and baked vegetables, all ready for freezing.

  “There’s nothing like a home-cooked meal,” he said, his wheelchair loaded down with boxes and bags and foam containers. They finished off with a bag of wonderful-smelling coffee beans and a quart of homemade vanilla ice cream.

  “How would you feel about driving the limo home? That way we can let Charlie shop to her heart’s content.”

  “I’ve never driven a limo, but I’d love to give it a try,” Portia said. “As long as you’re fully insured.”

  “Totally,” Nelson assured her with a grin.

  “Okay. And you have my permission to back-seat-drive. Although considering how you got yourself in that wheelchair, maybe I’d better rely on my own instincts.”

  Nelson called Charlie on his cell phone and told her they wouldn’t need her, and with much laughter and a few near calamities when some of the food almost slipped off his lap, they managed to get Nelson’s chair and the groceries loaded.

  Portia climbed in and started the motor, then pulled cautiously into traffic. She was nervous for the first few moments, but she soon adjusted to the size of the luxurious vehicle, and by the time they’d reached Nelson’s condo, she was enjoying her role as chauffeur.

  Once they had everything in the condo, Nelson helped Portia stow it away. They slid the stew into the oven, and together they set the table.

  “You have beautiful dinnerware and cutlery,” Portia remarked as she set the dark brown heavy plates on bright yellow mats and arranged the simple but elegant knives and forks beside them. “Everything matches. I can see I’ll have to do some updating if you ever come to my place for dinner. I use dishes Juliet found for me at a garage sale and gave me for Christmas. They’re yellow and green with a border of roses.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about dishes or cutlery. When I bought the condo I hired a decorator. She chose everything.”

  Portia folded the brown linen napkins and he put them into heavy wooden holders. She lit squat beeswax candles and placed them in the middle of the table, and he dimmed the lights and turned on a selection of jazz CDs.

  “The room’s so perfect it looks like a setup shot for a TV commercial,” she commented. Or the ideal setting for an intimate dinner leading to a seduction. She remembered the hungry kisses they’d shared and a shiver ran down her spine. Given the raw sexual attraction between them, seduction would be a mutual endeavor when it happened—and somewhere deep down Portia accepted the fact that it was inevitable. Being near him made the hairs on her neck stand up.

  The timer dinged. “Dinner’s ready.” She brought in the stew and the bread while he managed the salad.

  He held her chair for her, leaning from his own to perform the courtly gesture, and she liked it. They ate with honest hunger for a few moments.

  “This bread is wonderful. We had a cook once when I was a kid who made us homemade bread like this.” Portia buttered a second slice and mopped up gravy with it.

  “Tell me what mealtimes were like when you were a little girl.”

  “They could get pretty wild when the boys were around, but usually they were off at boarding school. Often there’d be just Juliet and me for dinner. We always ate in the kitchen. My mother and whatever husband she had at the moment weren’t around much. They traveled and left us kids in the care of household staff. Because we moved so much, the staff changed a lot, b
ut we had one housekeeper named Isabel who moved with us for a number of years.” Portia shook her head. “Good old Isabel, she stuck with Mother through husband after husband and move after move. Juliet and I adored her.”

  “Where is she now?” Nelson was paying close attention to her every word.

  “She died five years ago. I thought Juliet would never get over it. She went into a depression for months. She was living at that time with my mother in San Diego. When Isabel died, Mother moved Juliet back to Vancouver so she’d be closer to me. I found her the placement at Harmony House. Without Isabel around, Mother couldn’t cope with Jules.”

  “You told me your mother’s now living in Bermuda.”

  Portia nodded. “Just outside of St. George’s. She and Malcolm Pritchard, her latest husband. They travel a lot. Mother can’t stay in one place very long.”

  “So you have full responsibility for Juliet.”

  They were finished their meal, and Portia got up and took the plates to the sink.

  “Yup,” she said as she served their apple torte and plopped ice cream on top. “She loves her, but she’s at a loss when it comes to coping with her. And Juliet says Mother makes her nervous.”

  He rolled his chair over and dealt with the coffee machine. They were seated again, devouring the crunchy sweet dessert when he said, “Where are your brothers?”

  “Conrad and Richard are the youngest. They went off to Australia last year to work on a sheep ranch. They finished their schooling in England. The other two are businessmen. Henry’s in Alaska. Antony’s in Los Angeles. Henry runs a small airline that transports freight. Antony’s in the restaurant business.”

  “Do you see them much?”

  Portia shook her head. “Henry got married two years ago. We were all at the wedding, but that’s the last time we were together. We talk on the phone a lot. We’re close, but we don’t see one another much. Except for Juliet and me, that is.”

  “Any new developments with her and Stuart since Sunday?”

  “God, I hope not.” Portia shuddered and then groaned, “How am I going to get it through her head that pregnancy isn’t the route to happily-ever-after?”

  He hesitated for a few moments. “Would it help any if I spoke to her?”

  Portia shot him an amazed look. Most people would run a marathon with a broken leg before they’d offer to get involved in Juliet’s difficulties. “That’s really generous of you, but I’m not sure it would help. I’m going to talk to her again on my days off. Hopefully I can get her to see reason.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, just say the word.”

  “Thank you.” Her words were heartfelt, because his offer made Portia feel that she wasn’t alone with her sister’s problems. To know that he meant what he said was comforting.

  They had coffee in the living room, side by side on the leather sofa. Portia noticed that Nelson was already much more adept at transferring from his wheelchair; he was also beginning to put weight on his injured feet. She commented on it.

  “I have a fully equipped gym just off my bedroom. I added a few things the physio recommended and I’ve been working out hard the past couple days,” he admitted. “I’m gonna get mobile again as fast as it’s humanly possible.”

  “Then what?” She pulled her legs up under her and sipped her coffee, aware that his shoulder was only inches away. “Back to race cars and life in the fast-and-dangerous zone?” Her voice had an edge.

  “Does that bother you, Portia?”

  “Yeah. I guess it does. I hate to think of you risking your life just for the hell of it.”

  He didn’t answer. She turned and looked at him, and the intense expression in his blue eyes made her breath catch. He silently took her cup from her and placed it on the coffee table, then he reached out and drew her into his arms. As he held her against his chest, she could hear his heart hammering.

  “That’s not why I’m working my ass off, Portia. I have to get fit again so I can make love to you the way I want to,” he murmured, his voice deep and seductive. “Not being able to pick you up and carry you into my bedroom is torture.”

  “You’ve seen Gone With the Wind one too many times,” she chided, but her voice had a catch. If thinking about making love with him was erotically arousing, having him talk about it was doubly so. She asked herself if she knew what she was doing—or about to do—and assured herself she didn’t.

  “I have two working legs of my own,” she told him. “I can walk to your bedroom by myself.” She took a shaky breath. “Unless your hip…unless you can’t…?”

  He didn’t answer in words. Instead, he kissed her, a kiss so filled with hunger it sent a shudder through her. “Walk,” he pleaded. “Please, walk down the hall and turn left at the end. I’ll be right behind you.”

  PORTIA DID AS HE ASKED, not looking back to watch him get into his chair or see him wheeling after her.

  The hallway was softly lit. The door at the end was ajar, the room large. She went in, dimly aware of dark, smoky-blue walls, a skylight, an immense bed with a navy-checked duvet and snowy pillows. A device to help him transfer from bed to chair had been installed in the ceiling. As she crossed the room, music began to play softly from hidden speakers, an Italian tenor with a voice that touched her heart.

  Nelson was replacing the music remote on a small cabinet, removing something from one of the drawers, and when he turned, he looked at her.

  She held his gaze as she slowly unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing and slid it from her shoulders. Her bra was the soft cotton sports type she preferred for work. She heard his breath catch as she pulled it off.

  He wheeled across the carpeting and smoothly hoisted himself onto the bed, then lifted the sweater he was wearing over his head. Dark curls covered his broad chest. Then he guided her down on the bed beside him, reaching out to cup her breasts in his palms. He made appreciative noises as he took each nipple in his mouth, and heat and need streaked through her.

  “You’re breathtakingly beautiful, Portia.” His voice was husky.

  “You’re not exactly repulsive, Nelson.” She deliberately kept her tone light. Keep it simple, Bailey. This is a delightful game we’re about to play. Just remember that’s all it is—a game.

  He kissed her, taking his time, exploring her mouth and her throat, and she could feel the control he was exerting in the tremor of his fingers as they stroked every inch of her. She rubbed her breasts against him, loving the sensation of soft chest hair against her tender skin.

  Her fingers found his erection, which was straining against his trousers. He stiffened when she touched him and groaned. He loosened the belt buckle at his waist to make it simpler for her.

  She caressed him, learning the size and shape and weight of him, loving the intense heat he radiated, the little choked noises he made as she became bolder.

  “Let me help.” He sat up for a moment and undid the hidden zips that allowed the pants to come off.

  “I might have guessed you’d be the sort to wear black underwear,” she said, struggling to keep her voice under control. “Sexy man.” She slowly drew the briefs down his legs.

  “Not as sexy as this,” he replied unsteadily, undoing her khaki pants and running a finger under the elastic of her white cotton bikinis. The sensation of his rough finger against her abdomen made her shudder. She shinnied out of her slacks, taking off her panties at the same time, aware that her breath was coming as if she’d been running. Her skin felt as though it was burning.

  God, she wanted him. She wanted him now.

  He edged his hand between her legs, and his touch came close to putting her over the edge. “You’re so wet.”

  “I want you in me.” Urgency had become desperation. “Please, Nelson. How can we do this without hurting your hip?”

  “Like this, love. Like this.” He gripped her waist and half lifted her over him, and she was dimly aware of how strong he was. As her legs parted, she realized he was rolling a condom into pla
ce. Then he slid inside her and the sensation was overwhelming. She moved on him, feeling the tremors begin deep inside, and then she soared as her body clutched and claimed him and pleasure took her over the top.

  “Open your eyes, love.”

  When she did, she found him gazing at her, his blue eyes like lasers. “I need to look at you. I need you to watch me,” he whispered. And then he bucked beneath her, his face contorted with a reflection of the delight she’d felt a moment before.

  Once the spasms ended, Portia sprawled across him, breathing in the musky odor of his skin, floating in the hazy aftermath of exquisite pleasure.

  “I’m not sure this is the best thing for your hip,” she murmured. “Are you certain I’m not hurting you?”

  “Absolutely not.” He dealt with the condom, and then closed his arms around her to draw her back against his chest. “Lie on top of me, just for another few moments.”

  She did, every muscle relaxed. “It was so good,” she mumbled, already on the verge of sleep.

  “We haven’t come to better and best yet, but I promise you we will.”

  She smiled. “Can I have that in writing?”

  “Certainly.” He was stroking her back, his strong hands soothing on her skin. “I’ve dreamed of this from the moment I first saw you.”

  “Now, that’s an exaggeration,” she said with a smile. “I doubt that sex was uppermost in your mind when I walked into the ER that day.”

  “Well, maybe the second time I saw you,” he amended, and she knew a lazy grin accompanied the words. “You’re the sexiest doc I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m surprised you don’t have your own fan club over at St. Joe’s.”

  “I do. Cedric’s my fan club.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll move in a minute.”

  But his slow hands on her back were hypnotic, and she drifted off, instead.

  NELSON WENT ON STROKING HER, even though he could tell by her breathing she was asleep. His hip was on fire and before long he’d have to move to ease the pain, but for the moment the pleasure of having her slender body spread-eagled over him, warm and soft and fragrant in his arms, outweighed the need to ease his position.