Slowly, carefully, she leaned in to brush her mouth over his. The sweet, simple gesture scorched through him like an arcing current. Helpless to control his physical reaction, he closed his eyes as a shudder tore through him. Overwhelmed by a relentless need to touch her, Curt captured her face in his hands. Still staring into her luminous eyes, he kissed her. Swallowing her relaxed sigh, he took it deeper. Knowing he had no words for what he was feeling, he tried to show her how much she affected him. How much she'd helped him. How much—God help him—he needed her.
When they made love this time, it was quieter. Softer. More intimate. More giving and taking. As though every single thing about Shannon was comforting him. Her soft, breathy sighs echoed through his brain. Her passion-drugged eyes. The beautiful, flowing hair skimming his ribs. Curt vowed he would always remember this version of her. Wild, beautiful, sexy and so giving of herself that pain squeezed his chest.
Easing back against his pillows a few minutes later, he smiled as Shannon slowly drifted back. "Babe? You okay?" Her gaze still unfocused, he nestled her against him. Fighting a grin, he realized he loved watching her recover.
"Never better." Her contented sigh made him reach for her hand. Dragging it across his chest, he placed it over his heart, appreciating the comforting weight. Though he was determined not to analyze what had just happened, nor the events leading up to it, Curt couldn't avoid acknowledging that Shannon had helped. In her quiet, soothing way, she'd neutralized the worst part. The aftermath . . . when the dark closed in and he felt most alone. His eyes drifting shut, he raised her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Willing away the nagging feelings, he allowed exhaustion to close in. But, his brain couldn't resist whispering the unwanted thought. What if she were always there? Would the nightmares finally end?
STEPPING BACK, SHANNON admired the golden, buttery color she'd applied to the walls the next day. The reception area now looked friendly and inviting, rather than institutional and sterile. Felix had helped her select the appropriate paint for the depressing, concrete floors—her next project. Once the paint dried, she could hang the curtains she'd run up on the portable sewing machine she kept in the room at Kerry's place. The urge to rehab furniture had been growing with each passing week. She'd never gone this long without having a project to work on. Curt's forlorn, broken-down reception area chairs would be her next victims.
Thinking of him made her smile. Stretching tight muscles, her body was pleasantly sore from their night together. It had been several long months since she'd slept with someone. Her sex life with Brad had been radically different from what she experienced with Curtis. In comparison, being with Brad now seemed—dull . . . their everyday interactions forced. Stilted. As though she'd been trying to create a version of together they could never be.
Being with Curtis felt natural and easy. Thinking of him, sleeping hard when she slipped out of bed that morning, she wanted to be there again. Wanted to watch him sleep peacefully, free of the nightmares haunting him. From the pain in his knee. Asleep, Curtis looked ten years younger, his spiky, tangled lashes resting dark on his skin, blond stubble grazing the beautiful planes of his face.
Looking back, it was hard to remember exactly what had drawn her to Brad. He'd been a taker, happy for others to do his work. Her ex had been content blaming others for his failing business, his fondness for easy pleasure over hard work, and finally, his cheating. When she compared the two, she appreciated Curt's lack of complaint. Though his unsettling ownership of everything bad that had happened to him stemmed from a burden of guilt, Curt didn't strike her as the type of man who made excuses for himself.
Realization shivered over her. Did her choice in men say something about her? Was she drawn to guys who needed fixing? Like the broken lobby chairs? Was she trying to fix Curtis? Or make amends for what she'd done? Brad had taken her money and her pride. And run off with the waitress—blaming her for being overbearing. For smothering him.
"Am I doing the same to Curtis?" Frowning, she stared at the walls, no longer seeing her efforts. Was she helping him for the right reasons? Or was she desperate to fill a gap in her own life? She'd sought out Curt, truly believing she'd wanted answers. Until they met—and she realized her teenaged perceptions no longer applied. Instead, she'd been irresistibly drawn to him. To his strong-willed isolation. His strength in light of the suffering he'd endured. Her acknowledgment that she was partially responsible.
Two weeks earlier, offering her nursing skills to a friend in need had felt like the right reason. But, MaryJo and Travis could have found someone else. Her brain gnawed at the truth. If she hadn't stepped in—they would've managed. Chewing her lower lip, she tasted the metallic tinge of blood, suddenly overrun with self-doubt. Had she pushed herself on them? In a bid to correct a long-ago wrong? Was it her desire to settle into a normal life? Or the illusion of one? After drifting for so long, she wanted roots. She wanted a home. She wanted love. Was she using that wish to insert herself into Curt's life? What would happen when he discovered her secret? When he met the real Shannon. The one who had deliberately hurt him.
"Looks pretty nice in here. You picked a great color." Startled, she forced a smile when Billy drifted through the shop door. Heart pounding, she wondered how long he'd been standing there. Felix followed, close on his heels.
Even Felix had warned her. In his polite, kind way, he'd suggested she was inserting herself where she didn't belong. Schooling her expression, she was grateful to shelve the deeply troubling thoughts. "I thought the buttery color would warm up the room."
Felix's eyebrows scrunched. "Whadya think Curt's gonna say?"
Hell if she knew. That she was pushy and obnoxious? That she'd taken it upon herself to change something he would have said 'hell, no' to? Though her inner coward wanted desperately to surface, she would have to feign defiance for the guys. Hands on hips, she turned to face him. "If he's smart, he'll admit he loves it."
The old man's leathery face split in a grin. "You're a lot braver than I gave you credit for, Sugar."
"He said I could organize the reception area any way I wanted." So—she'd stretched the definition a bit. Shannon turned to examine her work. It looked better. Way better. Curtis would see that. Hopefully.
"I thought I understood the word 'organize', but—apparently it means something entirely different." Billy cracked up. "That's a chick's interpretation if ever I heard one."
Dave joined them in the lobby. "Does she know that Curt's not all that into change?"
Billy shrugged. "It does look better, though, don't you think?"
Raising her gaze to the ceiling, Shannon defended her work. "Guys, it was hideous in here. When I came for my interview, I sat in a broken-down chair that wobbled. The windows were filthy. It looked like a cinderblock prison cell."
"Those were perfectly good chairs. We've had 'em for years." Felix's eyes sparked with humor. "Now, I won't argue with the color. It's definitely brighter in here. And maybe a little cleaner."
"It's a lot cleaner." She shot him a glare. "And wait until you see the chairs refinished," she suggested, hoping to win them over. "You won't recognize them."
Billy put a pot of coffee on. "Personally, I like the new mugs. I don't cut my lip anymore." Dave nodded. "And the fruit is nice. But, Shannon, you haven't made cookies in a few weeks."
"She's takin' care of Curt, dummy." She smiled when Billy defended her. "When is she supposed to have time to make cookies?"
"I'll make some tonight," she promised. "And bring them in tomorrow."
"Well, I guess we could help you with the floors, then." Dave looked to Felix for approval. "My guys will be done at the Parkview project by two today. I suppose we could paint for an hour or two to help you finish."
As the phone on her desk started ringing, Shannon swiped her yellow fingers with a smudged rag and crossed the room. "That would earn you a double batch of cookies, Dave." As the guys drifted back to the shop, Shannon picked up the phone.
"Is Curtis in?"
The female voice was increasingly familiar. Likely a salesperson, Shannon knew she'd called several times over the past week. "He's out until next week. Can I take a message?" Before the other woman spoke, Shannon knew she would decline. Cold callers never left their number—correctly assuming they would never hear back from their intended victims.
"No, thank you. I'll try again later." AKA, a few hours from now.
"Hopefully next week, instead of tomorrow," Shannon muttered after she hung up.
"YOU SEEM UNUSUALLY happy for a Wednesday morning." Travis turned to stare at him as he started the engine. "What gives?"
Curt leaned back against the headrest, still panting from the journey to his brother's truck. "I'm hoping the doc says I can start putting weight on it. Maybe start PT this week instead of next."
He felt the weight of his brother's stare through his shades. His wheels were turning. Let it go, Trav. Nothing you need to know about. "No. That's not it."
"Can we get moving? My appointment is at ten." He pointedly stared out the side window.
Shifting the gear, Travis turned his attention to backing out of his driveway. "MaryJo said to remind you about the barbecue Saturday."
"I'll try to squeeze it into my crowded social calendar." He fiddled with the radio station, searching for the baseball scores.
They'd made it to the third stop light before Travis slammed on the brakes. Curt braced himself on the dashboard. "Jeez—do you drive like that with your kids in the car?"
"You slept with her," he announced. "You had sex with Shannon." Triumphant, he turned to stare at him.
His face heating, Curt hated that his brother knew him so well. "I can't imagine how that information would be any of your business."
His grin widened. "Okay—that's a big, fat 'yes'. Was she good?"
In the space of a heartbeat, he went from zero to punch-in-the-face. "Don't ever talk about her like that-"
"Whoa—I'll take that as another 'yes'." Travis choked back his laughter. "Now, you know how I felt when you said MaryJo had a world-class ass."
His anger dissipating, Curt glanced at his brother. "Shit—that was-" He paused to do the math. "Six . . . almost seven years ago. How can you possibly remember that?"
Shrugging, Travis picked up speed as the light turned green. "Just like you'll always remember what I just said."
A reluctant smile hovering on his lips, Curt conceded the point. "So, you've been waiting . . . all these years, just to get me back?"
"You know what they say about revenge, bro."
"Okay. Six and a half years late, I apologize. I haven't admired your wife's ass since then," he lied. Unable to resist the impulse to jerk his brother around, he smirked. "In my defense—it is a world-class ass."
Shaking his head, Travis chuckled. "Damn straight it is." His gaze slanted to the passenger seat. "Not that I want to hear another word about it from you."
"SO, THAT'S GREAT NEWS, right?" Travis paused to place their order at the drive-thru window nearly two hours later. "Shannon gets to go home sooner than we thought."
Surprised by the ambivalence he was experiencing, Curt absently nodded. "Yeah, it's great." Doc Sullivan had told him—he'd be okay . . . alone. He could wean back on the pain meds and start taking stairs. Though the news was promising, he wondered how he would fare in actual practice. Doctors always made tasks sound easier than they were for the patient who had to perform them. He was easily winded. He'd nearly slipped in the shower. Dropping the soap meant opening another bar . . . not bending to retrieve the old one. Crutching from the parking lot to the doctor's office and back again had wiped him out. And right now—the only thing he wanted more than lunch was to collapse on the couch and put his leg up so he could ice the shit out of it.
Further confusing him—he wasn't sure how he felt about the Shannon thing. About letting her go. Especially after last night. He'd been enjoying the process of getting to know her—in the way that only happened when sharing close quarters. And, hell—Travis was right. The sex had been amazing. He definitely didn't want that part to end yet.
When he'd awakened alone that morning, Curt had experienced a wave of doubt. She'd helped him with the intense aftermath of his stomach-churning nightmares. Would that change the way she viewed him? Would she think he was pathetic? Weak? Would she be turned off now? Witnessing all his baggage? Her knowledge of his most private, vulnerable moments made him a little queasy. He was both eager and dreading the coming night. What would her beautiful eyes reveal?
"Dude—take this." Travis passed him an iced tea, disrupting his fragmented thoughts. Taking a long swallow, he set his cup in the drink holder. Three bags later, they finally pulled away from the window.
"What the hell did you order?"
"Once I drop you off, I have to work late tonight," his brother explained around a mouthful of fries. "We launch the new software in four weeks, so this has to be lunch and dinner."
Curt stared at his brother with a sense of wonder. No matter what he ate, Trav remained lean and rangy. "You own a giant software company. You can't get a few pizzas delivered tonight?"
"MaryJo will smell that on me." Polishing off one burger, he opened another. "The fry smell will wear off in a couple hours. And I have a toothbrush at work."
Shaking his head, he cracked up. "Most guys worry they'll get caught sleeping around. You—you worry about your wife catching you with fast food."
Travis colored slightly. "What can I say? She worries about me."
"So, you lie to her?"
"I don't lie," he corrected. "I just . . . omit the truth. Occasionally."
"My brother is so whipped." No way would that ever happen to him. Dismissing the Shannon issue from his head, Curt smiled. Their relationship would likely be different once they were back to working together, but they would just have to work it out. Would they date? Would they just be friends with benefits? Should he be sleeping with someone who worked for him? Or would the whole thing become incredibly awkward? Spending more time with her now might make that part easier to figure out. And the sex wouldn't hurt, either.
"I'm whipped?" His brother's eyes sparked with challenge. He knew that expression. It was the look Travis wore when he was about to pummel Curt . . . at anything. Basketball. Checkers. Control of the television remote. Chances were good, he wasn't going to like what he heard next. "Okay, smartass—how long before you tell Shannon what the doctor said today? You know—that you can take care of yourself?" He raised a brow. "That she's free to go home?"
"It was a suggestion," he shot back. "I practically fell on my ass this morning in the shower."
"You can shower at PT."
"Yeah, but I can't drive yet, remember? How am I gonna get there?"
"I can probably pick you up in the mornings." Travis appeared to be warming to the topic.
"With a software release in four weeks? Working fifteen hour days, with a wife and three babies at home." He nodded. "Wow, you're more amazing than I thought."
"Fine—I'll help you shower in the mornings—but I'm not . . . touching you. Even if you fall." His expression of revulsion had Curt cracking up. Why the hell had he taken the bait?
"Can we forget I mentioned this?"
"But, I'm big and strong. Shannon is small and weak. If you were to fall-" Travis' attempt at a serious face sucked.
"Okay, you win," he admitted. "I'll tell her tonight. Okay? Can we stop this now?"
Travis shot him a look of satisfaction. "Who's whipped now?"
"KERRY? ARE YOU HERE?" Shannon dropped her keys on the foyer table. Her sister answered from the kitchen. "I need a few things from my pile."
"Can you stay for dinner?" Her sister poked her head around the corner. She was so pretty—a younger, kinder version of their mother. And so completely different from her. Kerry's hair waved beautifully, dark chocolate to her pale, nothing-special brown. There was a time she'd hated Kerry for her waves, when her own ha
ir was so stubbornly straight. But, the blow had been softened when Kerry confessed her own jealousy of her straight hair. True sisters. Always wanting the opposite of what they possessed. Despite their coloring difference, their faces held a definite resemblance. They'd both heard it too often for it not to be true.
"Sorry, no. I have to make dinner for Curtis. Besides, I figured you'd be spending time with Theo." Shannon frowned. "Shouldn't he be here by now?"
Uncharacteristically, Kerry rolled her eyes. "Not tonight. Thankfully, he's working late."
Flopping on the couch, Shannon wondered what was up—and whether her sister would confide in her. "Everything okay?"
"Sure." Her sister was slow to respond. Another clue to . . . something. "He's just a little . . . overwhelming at times."
"Overwhelming—in a good way?" Treading carefully, she knew when a conversation had the potential to backfire. Criticizing a boyfriend when they were on the outs was always sketchy. Because when they got back together . . . words spoken in sisterly loyalty could be thrown back in her face. "Is he treating you well?"
Kerry hesitated. Again. Not a good sign. "He's sort of . . . intense lately."
"Is he stressed about work?"
When her sister nodded, Shannon released the breath she'd been holding. Okay, no major problems there. They'd work it out. "I'm sure it will pass. You're so good together, right?"
"Yeah. It'll pass." Kerry nodded toward the kitchen. "I need to stir my pasta. Want to come in?"
Rising, she followed her. "Actually, there's something I wanted to talk with you about."
"How's your patient? Is it weird taking care of your boss?" Kerry stirred her pot, moving around the compact kitchen like a pro.
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