Exposed

by JC Harroway

  ‘She always said a creative mind is a messy mind.’ Dan’s voice startled her, but she kept her back to the doorway until she had her sniffles under control. ‘I’m afraid I’m just as disorganised.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, turning at last. ‘I shouldn’t have snooped.’ She sniffed back her tears. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  He leaned against the doorway wearing only a pair of pyjama bottoms. ‘I don’t mind.’ Dan shrugged, undeterred by her obvious upset. Of course, tears wouldn’t faze Dan. Nothing did.

  ‘Did you take this?’ Eden pointed at the portrait.

  He nodded, stepping further into the room. ‘Although she set up the shot. I just pressed the shutter.’ His body, so close to hers, warmed the air between them. Eden shivered. She should have stayed in his bed, snuggled beside him. Oblivious to the depth of his affection for a woman she could never compete with. Not that competing with other women was Eden’s style.

  ‘She was beautiful.’

  He nodded, his focus on Eden. Not the portrait. But then he probably didn’t need to look at pictures to recall the woman he loved.

  ‘And very brave.’ Her voice scratched past her throat.

  A slow nod of acknowledgement. ‘She was.’ His hand lifted, brushing the hair from her face and cupping her cheek. ‘Just like you.’ The pad of his thumb traced her lower lip. ‘Most women are brave. Your bodies demand it, designed to do amazing things—create life, nurture, nourish. And yet you’re fiercely protective if you need to be.’ He lowered his mouth, pressing his lips to her forehead in a slow, easy glide.

  Not all women. Motherhood wasn’t for everyone. Megan, she was certain, would have excelled at motherhood. Her thoughts skittered down a dark alley, and she fought to retrieve them. ‘You should frame this.’ She pointed at the black and white shot, stepping back from Dan’s warmth, restless.

  Dan shrugged. ‘It’s part of a collection Megan was working on. It was to be part of an exhibition and, later, a fundraising calendar.’ He moved to the shelves filling the far wall, pulling a lever arch file from the top.

  She stood beside him as he flipped open the folder. ‘She took all these images before she became too sick. The Beauty of Trauma, she called it.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘She had a flair for the dramatic.’

  The photos depicted women of all ages in differing stages of undress and each telling their own tale. A young lower-leg amputee, an elderly woman who’d undergone a double mastectomy, a mother holding her newborn baby, the umbilical cord still connecting them. All black and white, all artistically filtered to convey mood and respect modesty. It was a stark, thought-provoking and powerful set of images and Eden wished she’d known the woman who’d conceived the idea.

  ‘You should finish it.’ Her words echoed around the stilted silence that had filled the small room. Dan looked up from the pictures, his brows pinched together.

  ‘The exhibition. The calendar. You should finish it. It’s a beautiful concept.’ She closed the folder. If only she could she close down her tumultuous emotions as easily.

  He swallowed, his throat working. To contain his own emotions? Eden’s feet tingled. She longed to leave this room and all it represented. Simply walking in here had awoken all her insecurities, displaying them as clearly as if they too lined the walls in pictorial evidence.

  But Dan wasn’t done. When he spoke, his tone had turned confessional. ‘It was a year before I could even come into this room.’ His eyes begged her to listen, to understand. And she would. After the understanding and care he’d gifted her, the least she could do was hear him speak about the woman he loved. But why did she want to thrust her fingers into her ears and scrunch her eyes closed?

  ‘I have thought about finishing it. But I’m not as talented behind the lens as she was—landscapes are more … forgiving.’ He shrugged one shoulder and reached for her cold hand.

  The touch reverberated through her, both achingly welcome and strangely uncomfortable. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to withdraw her hand from his calloused grasp. ‘You could do it. You’re a smart guy. And Megan has already given you the artistic direction.’

  Dan stared for long, doubt-filled seconds. The urge to fidget wracked Eden’s strung-out body. Had she overstepped the mark? It was none of her business, after all. He hadn’t once pried into her own grief process, suggesting therapies or offering pop-psychology and it was his profession. Why was she interfering in something so personal to him? Perhaps she needed a way to deal with seeing Megan’s portrait, which cast the previously fictitious woman into stark, breathtaking reality.

  He tugged her hand until her chest collided with his, twisting their still entwined hands behind her back so she was pressed close. His delicious scent filled her head, sending her mind spinning off on a tangent that had nothing to do with accidents or dead wives and everything to do with how this man made her feel. She rested her forehead in the dip between his pecs, his chest hair tickling her skin.

  Gently, he lifted her chin, demanding eye contact until she was as exposed as if he’d removed his T-shirt from her body. His warm eyes skittered over her face and then he dipped his head, sealing his mouth over hers and stealing both her niggling doubts and her faltering breath with his slow and intensely passionate kiss.

  She leaned into him, engulfed by his warmth and surrounded by his solid bulk—an anchor in a storm. His hands left hers, scooping beneath the shirt to cup her naked buttocks and grind her belly into his growing erection. He broke the kiss, his lips feathering down her jaw and along the angle up to her earlobe.

  ‘Would you pose for me?’ His whisper sent shock waves of lust sizzling to her core until the words registered, dousing her in ice-cold water.

  She pushed back, putting a few inches between their chests, but still captive from the waist down. ‘What do you mean?’

  The lust fog lingered in his eyes and he dipped his head, as if to recapture her mouth. At her avoidance duck, he sobered. ‘The calendar—would you pose for me? I’ll finish it if you’ll be the subject.’

  His hands continued to knead at her buttocks, his face soft with arousal as he tried, once more, to capture her mouth and continue their midnight make-out session.

  For Eden, the moment was well and truly over. She ducked away, avoiding his roving mouth and twisting free of his arms. ‘Are you serious?’ Prickles snaked up her spine and her head swam. A bubble of excitement fizzed to the surface inside her, only to be popped by the fear constricting her throat.

  Dan’s seductive smile dropped, a frown now bracketing his lust-glazed stare of moments ago. ‘Yeah. I thought …’

  Her head buzzed, filled with a swarm of irate insects until she though she might explode.

  ‘I’m not a project, Dan.’ She swallowed, her throat tight, and all she wanted to yell at him banked up, fighting to be free.

  Shock registered on his face. ‘Of course not. I—’

  ‘I’m not your dead wife, and I don’t need to be fixed.’ Words spilled over themselves running free from her mouth without passing the filter of her brain.

  His face hardened, his lush lips thinning and turning in on themselves. ‘I know that. I’m not trying to—’

  ‘Oh, yes you are. You think you can heal me and my fucked-up self-esteem by taking a few naked snaps of me.’

  Stop. Stop now.

  She’d never seen Dan angry. She suspected not many people had. But his shoulders lifted and his fists clenched at his sides as his features distorted into something ugly.

  ‘You’re wrong.’ The chill of his rebuke froze the remaining air in the room.

  But she couldn’t stop. She’d peered over the edge of the precipice and her feet scrambled back from the edge, certain the freefall wasn’t for her.

  ‘Am I?’

  Dan nodded, his fists relaxing as he reached some internal decision. His body shrank a fraction and his eyes held hers, open, honest, clear. ‘I want all of you, Eden. Not just the parts you like.’
>
  The air in her lungs vaporised, leaving her light-headed. This was supposed to be casual, a stopgap. What was he doing? What was she doing? One minute she was harbouring resentment for a dead woman, and the next she was angry because he’d dared to take this beyond casual? Her gaze chickened away from his, scanning the environment for exit points before she pulled up her metaphorical big-girl panties.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m going home.’ Slipping past him, she left the workroom and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Eden, wait.’ In two strides he’d followed, his hand capturing hers on the banister, his eyes pleading.

  ‘I need to get home, Dan. I have things to do.’

  He didn’t stop her from running.

  * * *

  Dan pressed his foot to the lever at the bottom of the bin, raising the metal lid. He peeled back his latex gloves, tossing them inside, and released the foot peddle with a satisfying thwupmf. He jutted his chin in greeting to his colleague as the other man bustled into a curtained bay in the hectic emergency room.

  The night shift had brought a relentless stream of the intoxicated, walking wounded, and more serious heart attack and stroke victims. Spasms wracked Dan’s back muscles. He’d spent twelve hours on his feet, his shift ending two hours ago, but he’d decided to stay and help out his replacement clear the backlog. Anything to keep his mind from Eden and to hold his fury in check.

  She boiled his blood. The clichéd phrase couldn’t be more appropriate.

  They’d been making progress, hadn’t they? Moving towards something mutually hopeful? He understood her anger but, true to form, she’d jumped to conclusions. Yes, intellectually he saw her point. She was a smart lady, and it didn’t take a genius to work out her issues meant exposing herself to the camera would be her worst nightmare. But he hadn’t meant to insult her—his suggestion had been largely a selfish one. To him, her body was beautiful, the arch of her spine, the curve of her delicate shoulders, the column of her elegant neck. On an aesthetic level she represented any artist’s dream. But she didn’t see herself that way. Perhaps she never would. Not that he was unsympathetic. His timing could have been better. Face it—his timing had sucked.

  That realisation had him slamming into the staff changing room, seconds away from damaging hospital property with his fists. For a smart man … he could be really dense. Had he wanted to fix her? Part of him would always try—hardwiring. But a bigger part of him wouldn’t change anything about her. She was feisty, beautiful, smart and witty. Her courage radiated from her, a force field. Perhaps raising the subject in Megan’s studio, surrounded by her image and her work wasn’t very sensitive. And why had he suggested she pose for the calendar? He winced, the answer there, always at the forefront of his mind.

  Guilt.

  It never left him. He’d let Megan die. Hadn’t spotted the signs of the cancer ravaging her body, despite his years of training. And now she was gone and he’d … moved on?

  Removing his scrubs, he tossed the balled up greens in the industrial-sized laundry bag and pulled his civvie clothing from his locker. Perhaps he should make a detour to Eden’s house this morning, before he collapsed from lack of sleep? Apologise for the foot-in-mouth disease that afflicted him.

  He’d had no contact from her for two days. His shift pattern meant he’d already worked thirty-six hours since returning from the US. His calls went to voicemail, his texts unanswered. He got it. She was pissed with him.

  He was pissed with himself. He’d moved too fast. Declared his hand, scaring her off. But he wanted more than a casual fling, for the first time in two years. After the night she’d come to his hotel room, and stripped before him, he’d thought they’d been on the same page.

  But her face two nights ago in his studio? She’d disabused him of that notion pretty quickly. So she saw him as a quick fuck? A way to pass some time, claw back a bit of self-confidence in the intimacy stakes? Dan grasped the back of his neck with both hands, his fingers laced behind.

  This was what used felt like.

  Well, fuck that.

  Stuffing his belongings inside his bag, he trudged out into the early morning bustle of the A&E reception area. Perhaps he needed a coffee? Instead of leaving via the staff exit and heading to the car park, he detoured past the rows of waiting patients, along the corridor housing the laboratories and up the flight of stairs leading to the hospital’s main entrance. The café was mercifully quiet, having served the early rush of staff arriving for the day and yet to battle the hordes of midmorning caffeine addicts.

  Within minutes, he’d scored himself a takeaway and was heading for the stairway that would lead him past the surgical day unit reception and back towards the staff car park.

  His feet stalled, the coffee sloshing inside his cup. ‘Eden?’

  She turned away from her companion, a petite blonde with luminous, worry-tinged eyes, and faced him.

  ‘Dan.’ Her gaze skittered around the foyer, landing anywhere but on him.

  The air-conditioned air thickened, oppressive and cloying. He swallowed back panic. She was standing, talking, even avoiding his stare—she couldn’t be seriously unwell or hurt. But why was she here?

  A pink flush crept up Eden’s neck and she lifted the small bag she carried, holding it to her chest like a shield. ‘This is my friend, Sam.’

  She had a friend? He’d never heard of a Sam. And why hadn’t she called him? Answered his texts? Told him she’d be attending hospital today?

  ‘Sam, this is Dan. One of the other volunteers on the Ruby Challenge.’

  What?

  One of the volunteers?

  The friend stepped forward, her hand out stretched in greeting and her eyes sympathetic. Clearly, Sam had never heard of him either.

  Bile forced its way into his throat, and he was grateful that he hadn’t yet sipped the coffee. Brief introductions over, he turned his attention back to Eden. ‘Are you okay?’

  She met his gaze hesitantly, before she found the strap of her bag fascinating. ‘I’m fine. You?’

  What were they, fucking strangers? He’d have laughed then at the irony of his thoughts. It seemed that’s exactly what they were. ‘I’ve just finished a night shift. Want to grab a coffee with me, both of you?’ He flicked his head back towards the main entrance and the café.

  ‘Sorry. We can’t,’ said Eden, without even the common courtesy of a moment’s hesitation.

  Sam shuffled her feet, her stare fixed to the hideous geometric pattern of the ancient hospital linoleum. At least she had the good grace to find this interaction awkward. Eden seemed completely unaffected.

  His tired brain was fuzzy, unable to keep up with all the thoughts tumbling inside. ‘Are you a patient here?’ He was intruding, invading her privacy, but he didn’t give a damn. They’d become friends, made love, formed a relationship. Why wouldn’t she tell him something so important? And why did he feel … dismissed?

  ‘I … It’s just a day surgery, nothing major.’ At last she lifted her enormous eyes to his, the connection scrubbing him raw. Ringed with fatigue and glinting with something close to fear, her stare held. Defiant. Resolute. Terrified?

  His fingers flexed around the coffee cup, the contents under threat. He lowered his voice and took a half-step closer. ‘Why wouldn’t you tell me this? I can stay with you. Be here when you come out of theatre?’ He reached for her, needing the bodily contact of his hand on her arm.

  She shook her head.

  Sam intervened. ‘It took me thee weeks to persuade her to let me drop her off and pick her up. And that’s only because she’s not allowed to drive after, and I threatened to call her father back from Spain if she didn’t say yes.’

  The look Eden shot Sam was laced with venom. How long had these two been friends?

  Sam scowled, unrepentant. ‘She won’t allow anyone to stay with her.’

  So he was lower than ‘anyone’? Dan’s teeth ground together as he sucked in air through flared nostrils. He’d never felt smaller
, more inconsequential, more … impotent.

  ‘I can stay with you now. Take you home afterwards. I have nothing else to do.’ Sleep could wait.

  At her small headshake, fire raged through his blood. He refused to slink away like some obedient dog told to curl up quietly in its bed. She’d have to spell it out for him. Every syllable of every word.

  Perhaps sensing she’d crossed a line, she offered him a few scraps. ‘I’ll be fine. I didn’t tell you because it’s no big deal.’ She lifted her burned hand, pushing it from her sleeve, palm up. ‘I have some contractures. The surgeon is going to release them so I get better function in my hand.’ She shot a look at Sam. ‘This surgery has been scheduled for weeks.’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘I know what contractures are, Eden.’ He wouldn’t let her off the hook. He swallowed down his natural inclinations, his understanding, his compassion. Right now, she barely deserved them.

  Her stare dropped, but she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘Well, I have to go. Check in.’ She leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek and turning to bestow the same dismissal on Dan.

  With concrete-filled shoes, he watched her speak briefly to the receptionist before disappearing through the swinging doors into the surgical day unit.

  People moved with purpose around him, a film reel of activity far removed from the silence screaming in his head. He’d been blindsided, a blow to the chest so vicious, he expected a crash team to emerge with a defibrillator and shock him back to life.

  When Sam spoke, he jumped, unaware she still stood beside him, staring at the doors through which Eden had retreated. ‘I’ll take that coffee, if it’s still on offer.’

  He nodded, face grim, and led the way back to the café.

  Chapter 13

  It was late when Sam pulled up outside Eden’s darkened home. The surgery, as usual, had run over and she’d been last on the list. Endless hours with nothing to keep her company other than her own regrets and the haunting image of betrayal in Dan’s eyes. She glanced at the unappealing blackness at her windows. The house would be cold and silent—more time to think about Dan and the way she’d treated him. Or mistreated him.