Nothing Like Love

by Abigail Strom

Yeah, he remembered. He’d struck a deal that meant he had even less time to spend with her.

  “Maybe I can talk you into it.”

  She shook her head. “How about we go back to my place and make the most of the time we have?”

  He slid both hands into her hair and brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones. “How about another bet?”

  A light came on somewhere above them, and in the soft glow Simone’s dark eyes glittered like obsidian. “What kind of bet?”

  His whole body was hard for her, and his hands trembled a little as he struggled to keep his touch gentle. “If I give you the best kiss you’ve ever had, you’ll come to Ireland with me.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “The best kiss I’ve ever had? That’s a pretty high bar.”

  His eyes fastened on her mouth, full and soft and so damn expressive it felt like he could read volumes in the slightest twitch of her lips.

  “Is it a bet?”

  “Well . . .”

  His hands tightened in her hair. “Is it a bet?”

  Her head tilted back in challenge and invitation. “What do I get if I win?”

  “If you win, I’ll kiss you again.”

  He spun them around so Simone’s back was against the wall. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her up, and when her legs went around his waist, he leaned in close.

  His erection was cradled against her center now, and they were face-to-face. His heart was pounding hard enough to shake him and he couldn’t seem to find his breath.

  But the only thing he wanted to breathe in was Simone.

  When he brought his mouth to hers it was like tasting sweetness and fire at the same time. Her arms were around him, her legs were around him, and her scent engulfed him in an erotic wave.

  His lips urged hers apart and his tongue slid inside.

  The hot silk of her mouth was like a drug. Her tongue found his and they stroked and tangled, a thousand strands of need and desire binding them together.

  His body throbbed against hers. If his lust drove them right through the brick wall and left the two of them lying in the rubble, he still wouldn’t be able to tear his mouth away.

  Simone was making small, desperate sounds. Her arms were locked around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest, and as their tongues swirled together she urged her lower body against his, grinding into his erection until he thought he’d lose his mind.

  When he finally broke the kiss, he could barely stand upright. He leaned his forehead against hers and tried to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling as he gasped, his pulse thrumming in his veins. Shock waves of desire still arrowed through him.

  After what seemed like a long, long time, he pulled back enough to let Simone slide down until her feet hit the sidewalk. She pressed her face against his chest for a moment and then looked up.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. Her mouth looked tender and swollen, and he swept the pad of his thumb softly across her bottom lip. “I guess you’re coming with me to Ireland.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Nope. Sorry. Definitely top three . . . maybe even top two. But not my best ever.”

  He leaned in again. “I think you’re lying. Let me kiss you again and I’ll make you admit it.”

  She smiled up at him. “Let’s go somewhere more private. My place is only a few blocks away from here.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Zach felt light-headed, almost drunk, but the fierce urgency from earlier was gone. He and Simone would be together tonight. Nothing was going to stop that from happening.

  He put his arm around her waist to steer her around pedestrians and lampposts, and when she snuggled against him, his grip tightened.

  Her flat was on the second floor of a walk-up. They stumbled up the stairs like two teenagers, giddy with anticipation. Simone had her key out before they reached her door, but just as she slid it into the lock, the door across the hall opened and an old man came out.

  His feet were bare and he was dressed in pajamas. His white hair was wild around his face and he held his left wrist in his right hand.

  Simone started forward. “Noah! Are you all right?”

  “I think I broke it.”

  “Your wrist?”

  The old man nodded. She took his arm between her hands, probing with gentle fingers.

  “What happened?”

  Noah took a deep breath. “It was Henry. He didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course not.”

  “—but he didn’t want to take his meds tonight and he pushed me away. I fell against the wall and something popped in my arm.” He closed his eyes. “It hurts like hell.”

  “You need to get to the hospital,” Simone said firmly.

  “I can’t leave Henry. You know I can’t.”

  Simone patted him on the shoulder. “Of course you can. I’m here, aren’t I? I stay with him all the time.”

  “Not when he’s this upset. I’m the only one who can handle him when he’s agitated. And anyway,” he added, eyeing Zach for the first time, “it seems like you’ve got better things to do tonight.”

  Simone smiled. “Noah Levy, meet Zach Hammond.”

  The other man’s eyes lit up. “Your director?”

  “In the flesh,” Simone agreed as Zach shook Noah’s good hand. “Zach was just walking me home after tonight’s show, so don’t worry—you’re not spoiling my evening or his. And anyway, you know you’re my number one man. Well, you and Henry together. I’m still trying to decide between you. Maybe once you finally give up the whole gay lifestyle thing, you guys can duel over me.”

  Noah smiled for the first time. “Sweet-talker. Seriously, though, kid . . . I can’t ask you to do this. An hour or two while I’m out shopping is one thing, but you know what emergency rooms are like. I could be gone all night.”

  Simone pooh-poohed his objection. “Go get yourself dressed. Henry and I will be just fine.”

  Zach did his best to hide his disappointment as Noah went back inside the apartment. After the door closed behind him, Simone looked up with a rueful smile.

  “It’s fate,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “Us. That first night, you got your mysterious phone call. The next day it was Jessica. Now . . .” She shook her head. “For whatever reason, we are clearly not meant to be.”

  “Not tonight, no, since you’re staying with your neighbor. But I’m staying with you. No ulterior motive,” he added. “I just want to help.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s really nice of you, Zach, but this is not your scene.”

  He stared at her. “Not my scene?”

  “Definitely not.” She glanced at Noah’s door, her face sad. “Henry has Alzheimer’s. Taking care of him is painful and messy and unromantic.”

  He frowned. “And you think I can’t handle that? Based on what, exactly?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Zach. There’s nothing wrong with being rich, but you can’t pretend it prepares you for the harsher side of life. Taking care of Henry means giving him medication he doesn’t want to take and getting yelled at for no reason and helping him use the toilet. Are you really signing up for that?”

  Okay, so maybe he hadn’t taken care of anyone with Alzheimer’s before—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle it. And even though he’d never done this before and Simone obviously had, there was no way in hell he was going to leave her on her own with a man who’d broken his lover’s wrist, accidental or not. Simone was all of five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  “I’m staying,” he said firmly.

  She looked exasperated. “Seriously, Zach, I’ll be fine. You get points for offering, but—”

  “I’m staying.”

  She started to say something, but the apartment door opened and
Noah came out.

  Zach spoke before Simone could.

  “If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like to stay while you’re at the hospital. I know I’m a stranger to you, but I’m sure you’ll agree it would be better for Simone to have some help.”

  Simone looked irritated. “I told you I don’t—”

  Noah held up his good hand. “He’s right, kid. I’d feel a lot better if you had someone with you. Henry is quiet now, but that could change. If this guy’s willing to help out, I say take him up on it. Okay?”

  Simone sighed. “Fine. Zach will walk you downstairs and get you into a cab. Call me once you’re at the ER, all right?”

  “I will.” He smiled at Zach. “Simone’s the one who made me get a cell phone. Now I’m all down with the texting and the OMGs and the—”

  “Dude with broken wrist,” Simone admonished. “Get your ass to the hospital.”

  Noah saluted smartly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Zach walked with him downstairs, flagged a taxi, and helped Noah into it. Then he went back to the second floor and pushed open the door Simone had left ajar.

  Noah and Henry had a one-bedroom flat. The main room consisted of a tiny kitchenette and a living room filled floor to ceiling with books. Shelves had been constructed out of cinder blocks and boards, and every inch of available space was utilized except for one spot against the wall reserved for an ancient upright piano.

  The scent of the place was pungent—old paper and leather bindings mixed with the indefinable odor of age and illness, musty and cloying and faintly medicinal.

  He heard the sound of Simone’s voice from the bedroom. He crossed to the doorway and looked in.

  The living room, while small and cramped and packed to the rafters with books and knickknacks, was also exquisitely neat. The bedroom was a different story. Clothes were strewn everywhere, bureau drawers and closet doors were open, and takeout food containers and Styrofoam cups littered the floor.

  Henry was sitting up in bed, with Simone in a chair beside him. Where Noah was short and pudgy, Henry was tall and bony. With his proud, eagle-nosed profile and deep-set eyes, it was obvious that he had been a very handsome man at one time . . . and, indeed, still was.

  Now, though, the eyes that must have once been keen and piercing were confused, lost, childlike.

  “He left me. He shouldn’t have left me,” he insisted, his voice obstinate. Suddenly his eyes filled with tears. “It’s because he doesn’t love me, isn’t it? No one loves me.”

  Simone put an arm around him as she kissed the top of his head. “You know that isn’t true. I adore you, Henry.”

  He scowled. “Then why won’t you play for me? You never play for me anymore.” He shook his head back and forth as tears trickled down his cheeks. “I can’t remember the old songs. You have to play them, Leslie.”

  “Leslie?” Zach asked.

  Simone looked up with a quick smile. “Noah and Henry think I look like Leslie Caron. I’d never heard of her, but apparently she was in one of those big forties musicals with Gene Kelly.”

  “An American in Paris. And they’re right,” Zach added, leaning against the door frame. “You look just like Leslie Caron in that movie.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “You’ve never seen it? How is that possible?”

  “I love the theater, but I’m not a big musical fan, and I’m definitely not one for the tap dancing. I’ve never really seen the point of it.”

  “Foolish child,” Henry said magisterially, waving an impatient hand. “The musicals of the forties were the pinnacle of American moviemaking.” He glared at Zach. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zach said. “I certainly do.”

  The old man’s mouth trembled as his eyes blinked rapidly. “Then you’ll play for me,” he said uncertainly. “Won’t you?” He looked accusingly at Simone. “Leslie always says no.”

  She gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. “Only because I don’t play the piano, darling.” She looked at Zach. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you do?”

  “I can play the piano, but—”

  “Awesome. Do it.”

  Zach felt a little taken aback. “Um . . .”

  “Something from a musical. Come on, Zach—you said you wanted to help.”

  He might as well give in gracefully. “All right, then. How about something from Cats?”

  “Good lord, no,” Henry said indignantly. “Andrew Lloyd Weber is a melodramatic hack with not one whit of true artistry. If you play one of his vile tunes, you shall be ejected from this demesne.”

  “Got it. How about Gershwin?”

  Henry relaxed back against his pillows. “Gershwin was, of course, a genius,” he said. “That will be acceptable.”

  As Zach sat down at the piano in the living room and prepared to play Gershwin tunes, he reflected that the evening hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d hoped. He’d imagined himself in bed with Simone by this time, kissing every inch of her sweet body until she was begging for more.

  Instead, he was playing the piano while she cared for her elderly neighbor.

  But he didn’t mind as much as he’d thought he would.

  Well, no—that wasn’t entirely accurate. He minded like hell that he and Simone weren’t naked right now. But seeing the way she’d come to her neighbor’s aid without the slightest hesitation gave him another glimpse into Simone’s character—a character he was starting to admire.

  He flexed his fingers over the piano keys and started to play.

  He figured he couldn’t go wrong with An American in Paris, so he started with “I Got Rhythm,” moved into “’S Wonderful,” and finished up with “Our Love Is Here to Stay.” He could hear Henry singing along from the bedroom, and he called out, “I don’t hear your voice, Simone.”

  “That’s because I can’t sing.”

  “I don’t believe that. With your wonderful speaking voice?”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Henry put in. “Leslie is a lovely girl, but she can’t sing her way out of a paper bag.”

  Zach came to the end of a song and paused, his fingers hovering over the piano keys. “It can’t possibly be that bad.”

  “Okay, you asked for it.”

  He turned to see Simone standing in the doorway between the rooms. She took a deep breath and started to sing.

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear—”

  He held up his hands. “All right, I believe you. Please don’t make those sounds ever again.”

  Simone grinned at him. “I told you so.”

  She’d kicked off her shoes and was standing there in her bare feet, her dark hair curly and tousled around her lovely face.

  After a moment she frowned at him. “What?”

  He realized he’d been staring. “Nothing. Shall I carry on playing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder into the bedroom. “Maybe something quiet? I’m going to sit with him a bit and see if he’ll fall asleep.”

  Zach nodded and turned back to the piano, playing mellow tunes one after the other until Simone came out again.

  “He’s asleep,” she said, crossing the room to sit beside him on the piano bench.

  Zach pulled the cover over the piano keys. “That’s good,” he said, turning to face her. “I was running out of songs. So how often do you do this kind of thing?”

  She shrugged. “Whenever I can.”

  “Can’t they hire help? A home-care worker or something like that?”

  Simone shook her head. “Do you know how expensive that is? They’re on a fixed income that’s low enough to begin with.”

  Zach tried not to be one of those wealthy people who forget what money can buy—not only luxuries, but things the well-off take for granted .
. . like support in caring for someone who needs full-time attention. The fact that Noah and Henry couldn’t afford that meant the burden fell on Noah. Zach knew enough about Alzheimer’s to realize that while there would be some good days, some days would be unbearable.

  “There’s no family in the picture?”

  “No. And Noah won’t even consider the idea of a home . . . especially since all they could manage would be a Medicaid facility. Henry said once he’d rather be dead than in one of those places, and Noah would rather die than let it happen.”

  She shifted a little on the bench, leaning back against the piano with one leg tucked under her. The lighting was soft, coming only from a table lamp across the room and a wall sconce above the piano, and the only sound was muted street noise.

  He was facing the piano while she had her back to it, their thighs separated by a few inches.

  “So you’re all they’ve got,” Zach said softly, his eye tracing the delicate brushstrokes of her face from temple to cheekbone to jaw.

  “It’s not quite that dire. They have a health-care worker who comes in once a week for relief, and they’ve got lots of friends. The only problem is, most of their friends are in their age bracket, and not many live close. So I’m not all they’ve got, but I’m definitely the most convenient.” She sighed. “I just wish I could do more. Not just for Henry, but for Noah. There’s nothing worse than watching someone you love be taken away from you bit by bit. Compared with that, death is easy.”

  She sounded very certain, which made him wonder.

  “Did you lose someone to Alzheimer’s?”

  As soon as the words were out, he wondered if the question was too personal, but Simone just shook her head. “Not Alzheimer’s, no.”

  That was all she said, which was a pretty good cue to drop the subject. But he couldn’t help asking, “What was it, then?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I’m interested.”

  She hesitated a moment and then shrugged. “My mom died of ALS.”

  Jesus. He didn’t know very much about it, but he’d heard it called it one of the cruelest diseases in the world.