by Megan Hart
Was that what was bothering her? That she knew Hal wouldn't make a move on her? Or that he would, but only as part of his job, and only if she gave him the right signals?
Laila shoved such thoughts away firmly. Hal was a nice guy, if a bit clumsy, and so what if he had sexy eyes and a great smile? She was paying him to be interested in her and that was all.
"It's all yours." She brushed by him, head held high.
He took a small case and a bundle of clothes from his ridiculously large bag and went into the bathroom. Through the closed door Laila could hear water running and the toilet flushing. Gargling. Her cheeks pinked. There wouldn't be much privacy this week.
She found some extra blankets and pillows in the large carved armoire and laid them on the love seat. She looked down at Hal's new bed critically. He was at least six-two . Most of him would be hanging over the edge. She looked at the large, luxuriously appointed brass bed.
No. She couldn't invite him to join her. She looked again at the love seat, with its scratchy buttons and hard cushions. But could she sleep on that?
She was saved from self-sacrifice when the bathroom door opened and Hal came out. He'd slicked his wheat-colored hair back from his forehead in smooth waves. He wore only a pair of loose cotton drawstring pants, but it wasn't his bare feet that made Laila's breath catch in her throat. It was his bare chest.
Beneath the oxford shirts, Hal had been hiding the chest of a real David. Michaelangelo's David, to be more precise. His skin was smooth and nearly golden in the room's dim lighting. His abs were sculpted, his pecs smooth humps of muscle sprinkled with just a smattering of crinkly golden hair. His arms, too, bulged with well-defined muscle, but none of it was grotesque or overblown. He didn't look like a body-builder, just like a man who took care of himself.
"I left my t-shirt in the suitcase," he said apologetically.
Laila swallowed hard, willing the saliva pooling in her mouth to moisten her dry throat. All she could think was, Whoa. Her mind called up an image of Clark Kent and Superman. What else was Hal hiding behind his glasses and his slightly geeky wardrobe? The phrase Man of Steel rose to her mind and made her blush at the implications.
She stepped aside to let him open his suitcase. The huge bag was too big to rest comfortably on the room's small suitcase stand. Hal wrestled with the bag, finally managing to balance it on the stand. Laila watched in guilty pleasure as his muscles tensed and strained under the weight.
"Just a minute." Hal fiddled with the suitcase's zipper. It didn't budge. Hal pulled harder, really tugging on it with strength.
Laila saw that when he'd zipped the bag earlier, he'd caught a piece of clothing in it. The way he was working at the zipper now, he'd never be able to open it. "Let me help you."
Everything happened all at once. Laila moved next to Hal and slipped her fingers into the small opening, freeing the caught cloth. Hal's tugging released the zipper forcefully. The suitcase lid, bulging with all the stuff Hal'd packed, flew open. Hal fell backward, knocking Laila over with him. She landed on his chest with an, "Oof!" The suitcase, set precariously on the stand fell over on top of both of them.
Laila had just a few seconds to appreciate the warmth of Hal's bare skin against her cheek and the way he smelled before the square silver packets rained down on them both. There were dozens of them, some larger, some smaller, but all contained the same thing.
"Condoms?" Laila cried, holding one in her hand. Extra-ribbed for her pleasure.
She threw herself off of Hal, stepping on him in the process. Hal let out a low, pained groan and curled into a fetal position. Laila barely noticed the damage she'd caused. She flung the prophylactic down with the rest of them, and it hit Hal squarely in the head.
"Condoms?" She looked around at the mess from Hal's suitcase, noticing the sheer extravagant number of them. "I don't know what you were thinking, mister, but--"
"...prepared," Hal wheezed.
Laila noticed he was cupping his privates. Oops. "What did you say?"
Hal managed to sit up, but his face had gone pale. "We have to be prepared for anything. That's the LoveMatch rule."
"So, along with your three changes of clothing per day, you thought you'd better pack condoms." Laila stepped over the suitcase and flopped down on the bed. "Some Eagle Scout!"
"I'm sorry," Hal said. He began shoving things back in his bag. "I wasn't sure if--"
"If what?" Laila demanded. "If I'd be so horny or lonely that I'd beg you to service me?"
He didn't answer right away, and she thought she'd embarrassed him.
"I just didn't know. And I didn't want to be in a situation where I might regret not taking precautions. That's all."
She'd known many men who expected an evening to end up in sex but didn't bother with thinking about protection. Maybe she'd overreacted. But she didn't know how to say she was sorry to the man who now, silently, had taken his place on the love seat.
"Goodnight," she said finally, and turned off the light. In the light coming in through the window, dozens of little silver packets gleamed on the carpet.
So many of them. How many had he expected to need? Again, she thought, Man of Steel, and a hot blush stole across her face. What kind of man was Hal in bed anyway?
Hal's knees were on fire and his rear end felt like it had been slammed with a crowbar. The slow, plodding animal between his legs was no rodeo champion, no thoroughbred racer. Just a slow, placid horse who liked to follow the others on the trail in front of him. Without stopping. For hours.
The ride had begun at sunrise. The whole family, all but the youngest kids, gathered at the stable to get their mounts and head out into the rolling hills and woods of the resort's property. Hal's last ride had been on a pony. He'd been six.
"How're you doing? All right?" Laila urged her horse, a black-and-white mare named Daisy, next to Hal's mount, Stanley.
"Oh, sure," Hal said through gritted teeth. "Just fine."
Laila walked her horse beside him for a few minutes. The others on the ride kept their faster pace, but Hal could see another patch of rough meadow opening up in front of them and was grateful Laila had slowed them to a walk.
"You're doing great for a beginner," she said encouragingly.
Stanley paused to put his head down and pull at some of the weeds growing by the trail side. Hal pulled on the reins. Stanley ignored him.
"Don't let him eat," Laila said.
"I'm not letting him do anything," Hal muttered. He yanked the reins again, hard, and Stanley started moving again.
"The ride's almost over." Laila smiled at him.
Suddenly, he no longer felt the pain in his legs and butt.
"Then we can hit the tennis courts."
Was she trying to kill him? All Hal wanted to do after this ride was soak for a while in the hot tub. A long while. But he wasn't on vacation; he was working. And his job was to do whatever Laila wanted him to do.
Still, his face must have shown his true feelings, because Laila laughed. "I'm kidding. I'm thinking that a big breakfast, followed by a nice long soak in the hot tub is in order."
Hal sent a prayer up to the powers-that-be. "I'm at your service."
Wrong choice of words. He remembered her comment of the night before about if he'd expected to service her, and he wished he'd thought of that before speaking. Laila frowned a little and lifted her chin, focusing her eyes back on the trail ahead instead of on him.
"All work and no play," she said quietly. "You know how it goes. I know this is a job for you, Hal, but it's okay if you want to enjoy yourself."
Why on earth would she think he wouldn't enjoy food and a soak in the hot tub? No matter how many of the LoveMatch training courses he took, Hal knew he'd never understand women. He sat back a little in the saddle, trying to ease the pressure on his knees.
"I'm enjoying myself." The lie flew out of him like a sneeze.
Laila looked at him skeptically. "Sure you are."
"I haven't ridd
en very much, that's all." There was no way he was going to mention to her that he felt like the entire lower half of his body was going to split right in two.
"My family's been coming here to Bramblewood since before I was born. My grandparents had their honeymoon here." Laila ducked to escape a low-hanging clump of branches. They were entering another patch of trees. "This is the first time I've been here in about four or five years, though."
Hal rocked in the saddle again to ease the pressure. "What kept you away?"
"Oh, you know." Laila kept her eyes on the trail ahead. "I was busy with my job, didn't get vacation time right away, moved into a new apartment. Stuff like that."
He could tell by the tense set of her jaw that there was more to her story and suspected it might have something to do with the boyfriend who'd died. He also knew better than to push her. Creating casual conversation wasn't one of his better skills, and diving into a topic that so obviously upset her would only be asking for trouble.
"I do love my family," she said almost defensively. As though he'd insinuated that she didn't. "But they just--they just won't leave me alone."
"They just want to see you happy." Hal knew that without a doubt. Love for each other shone in every Alster face, unlike in his family where holiday dinners had often disintegrated into shouting matches or cold, stony silences.
Laila snorted. "Yeah, I know. And I hate to keep disappointing them."
Despite the sun rising in the sky, the air here was chill with the promise of winter. Under the trees, the shadows were even cooler. Hal was glad he'd packed his thick fleece pullover and pants. The horses plodded along the trail, one sometimes moving slightly ahead of the other, but generally the path was wide enough for them to keep pace.
"You think they're disappointed in you?" He asked. "Because--you're not happy?"
Slashes of sunlight cut through the shadows, and when Laila passed beneath them, they lit her face in bars of black and gold. She'd pulled her thick, dark hair back beneath a baseball cap today. Her deep purple field coat had collar and cuffs of green corduroy, which matched her pants. Instead of cowboy boots, she wore low-heeled brown boots that laced, and she tucked her feet into the stirrups with a practiced ease Hal envied. His own feet, laced into hiking boots, weren't nearly as comfortable.
"Why would you say that?" she asked sharply. Her eyes flashed when she turned to look at him. "I'm happy!"
Hal backed off a little. "Sure. Okay."
She looked back at the trail ahead and kicked her horse to speed it up. "We're almost at the end. They'll be waiting for us."
Stanley, following Daisy, also picked up the pace. Hal groaned as each trotting step forced even more agony into his chafed skin and strained muscles. Laila urged Daisy even faster along the now smooth trail. Hal could see the barn just beyond the curve ahead. Apparently, Stanley could, too, because the massive gelding suddenly broke into a full trot.
All Hal could do was hang on for the ride. The horses seemed to thunder down the dirt path, heading for the corral. Hal could see the others had already begun to dismount or let their horses drink from the huge vats of water placed around the stable yard.
Hal gritted his teeth, gripping as best he could with thighs from which he could no longer feel anything but constant agony. His fingers slipped through the leather reins as Stanley tossed his head, eager to get back to his box and feed. Daisy and Laila were up ahead, already slowing as Laila guided the horse toward one of the mounting blocks.
"Whoa," Hal muttered through grunts of pain. "Whoa!"
Either Stanley didn't hear, or he didn't understand. The horse kept going. Now Hal began to lose sensation in his legs all together as Stanley picked up speed for the last final dash into the corral. The reins slipped again, flopping against the horse's neck in a way that seemed to urge him on even faster.
With one final, heaving effort, Hal managed to gather the reins, grip with his legs, and dig his feet into the stirrups. "Whoa!"
The horse whoa'ed all right, coming to a dead stop that sent clods of earth flying up from its hooves. The problem wasn't that the horse stopped. It was that Hal kept going.
"You're sure lucky you landed in the watering trough," Michael told Hal. He shook his head in male camaraderie and amazement. "Man, I never saw someone fly over a horse's head like that before."
Laila watched Hal force a grin. His mouth was still slightly swollen on the right side from where he'd hit it on the edge of the trough. His eyes were bloodshot.
"I've seen you take some pretty rough tumbles," Michael's wife, Hannah, said from the other side of the table. "And you've landed in worse things than water."
"'member when Uncle Eli fell off into the horse poop?" Henry laughed wildly until orange juice squirted from his mouth.
"Gross, buttwad!" Eli and Sarah's daughter, Rebecca, a worldly nine years old, imitated gagging.
Henry, who pretended with Noah to despise his older, female cousins, closed his mouth. His lower lip trembled. Laila, feeling sorry for her sweet, little nephew, reached over to give him a quick squeeze.
"Don't feel bad, Henry," she said. "I've changed Rebecca's diapers, remember? Talk about gross."
That put a smile back on Henry's face, and he threw a piece of pancake across the table. The table erupted into chaos, as was usual at these family gatherings. Laila couldn't help smiling until she caught a glance of Hal. His expression was strained, though he tried gamely to hide it behind a smile so fake it looked like plastic.
Guilt assailed her. It was partially her fault he'd been thrown. She knew he wasn't a good rider, and she knew Stanley would want to catch up to the other horses if left behind. Suddenly, Laila felt like an ant at a picnic. An undeserving pest.
"C'mon, H--oney," she said. Her cheeks pinked as she realized she'd almost called him Hal instead of David. "Let's get our bathing suits on and go in the hot tub."
Silence circled the table at her statement, then everyone who'd heard her burst into catcalls and kissing noises. Her blush deepened, but she pretended not to be bothered by her family's good-natured teasing.
"Have a good time!" Ruth's husband, Frank, called from a few chairs down. "Don't get overheated!"
The adults laughed, but Henry merely gave her a puzzled look. "But, Aunt Laila, don't you want to get all hot and wet? That's what you do in the hot tub."
Her nephew's innocent remark sent Laila's ears and cheeks into an inferno of blushing. Her siblings nearly choked on their laughter, while her mother pretended to be shocked. Esther had to ask twice what it was Henry said, and when Elijah finally managed to stop laughing long enough to tell her, the old lady's laughter was louder and longer than anyone else's.
Through it all, Hal sat stoically, a fixed grin on his face. Laila made shushing noises, which everyone ignored, and finally saw that nobody was going to stop teasing until she and Hal left. She stood and waited for Hal to do the same. He did so with a stiff dignity she thought meant he was offended.
But how could he be offended? Especially because of what he did for a living? It wasn't until they'd left the others behind in the dining area and had begun the long walk back to their room that Laila realized why Hal was moving like a toy with rusted gears. He was in pain.
She saw it in the shuffle of his feet and the way he clenched his hands at every crack or obstacle he had to maneuver around. She saw it in the beads of sweat lining up on his reddening brow. Every few minutes, his tongue snaked out to swipe across his thinned lips.
"You'd better take some ibuprofen right away," Laila said sympathetically as they finally reached the door to their room.
"No, thanks," Hal said rigidly. He leaned against the doorframe while she fumbled with the key, but couldn't quite get his body to relax enough to make the stance look casual. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I'm...fine."
Laila shrugged and opened the door. It took her only a few minutes to change into her bathing suit, a demure tankini in a vivid
shade of violet. She pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and went out into the bedroom again.
Hal sat on the loveseat, one leg out of his jeans, but the other still inside. "I can't move."
Pity flooded her. "Let me help you."
He started to protest, but fell quiet as she knelt before him. Laila eased his legs out of the jeans, trying not to notice the firm muscles of his calves or the thick furring of gold-brown hair covering them. She peeled off his white athletic socks. Hal's feet, she didn't want to see, were large but finely boned. He had sexy toes.
Putting her mind firmly back to the task at hand, Laila held out her hand and pulled him to a standing position. Hal groaned at the movement. His shirt, thankfully, fell down to cover him to his thighs, so she was spared the sight of him in his briefs.
"Where's your suit?"
"In my bag."
Silly question. Laila dug around until she found one, an outrageously skimpy black bikini bottom. She held it up. "This?"
Hal groaned again. "Keep looking. That's--the special bathing suit."
Laila couldn't help it. She laughed. "Special for what?"
Hal merely glared at her, and she decided not to press him. She dug around further, pulling out neatly folded stacks of clothing. Hal's suitcase was like Mary Poppins' carpetbag: endless. Finally, she found another suit. This one was normal trunks with a Hawaiian print and drawstring.
"Do you think you can put this on by yourself?"
He nodded, gritting his teeth. "Go. Bathroom."
"Me? Or you?" He gave her another look and Laila felt cruel. "Okay. Just holler when you're ready and I'll come out. And while I'm in there, let me get you some aspirin or something. Please?"
He didn't speak, but only nodded. Men. Still, she felt bad for him. Her own thighs and ankles were sore from not riding in a while, and she hadn't been thrown into a watering trough to end the ride. She could only imagine how poor Hal felt.
Several long minutes later, he called that he was ready. Laila left the bathroom and handed him three red pills and a glass of water. "Take these."