The Gift of Love

by Lori Foster

  “What’s really going on here, Keenan?”

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Keenan. Please.” To his absolute horror, she gently took his hand, kissed it, then pressed it to her heart and held it there. As though she held him there. As though she’d do anything, understand anything, protect him from anything. As though she needed him to need her. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

  Just like that, she stripped him of all his defenses.

  “I’m scared,” he said simply.

  This didn’t seem to surprise her because the warm glow in her eyes never wavered. “Of what?”

  “Of letting her see who I really am.”

  “She knows who you really are. She never even knew you before the accident.”

  “She’s never seen my legs. She’s never seen the ulcers I get sometimes, or seen me struggle to get dressed in the morning. She’s never had to take care of me when I get sick, or—”

  “Keenan,” she said, bringing him up short.

  God. Those repressed tears burned him again, trapped in his throat this time. There was so much kindness in Lisa’s expression, so much love. It just tore him up.

  “We’ll all get sick if we live long enough. I just vowed to stay with Cruz in sickness and in health. I meant it. So did he.”

  This was so frustrating. What could he do to get her to fully understand? Would he have to bare his single darkest secret? Would that do it? Fine.

  “I don’t want to see pity in her face. Not ever. Not Diana. Do you get that? I want her to see me as a man.”

  Atticus, in his unerring way, cooed softly up at him in a monkey don’t worry, man, it’ll be okay, and patted his arm for emphasis.

  “You are a man, Keenan,” Lisa said. “And everyone knows that but you.”

  five

  This was such a bad idea, Diana thought.

  It was nearly one in the morning. She’d already had one piece of wedding cake—well, one and a half, to be honest—at the reception. But… she had brought home this one teeny-tiny piece, which was a souvenir for all the guests. And it was spice cake with gooey cream cheese icing, her favorite. And she had just endured yet another of Keenan’s rejections and what was, all in all, the most crap-tastic night of her life.

  She deserved this cake. She’d earned this cake. She needed this cake.

  Dammit.

  Tomorrow, she could worry about that twenty pounds she needed to lose, go to the gym to atone for all her sins, and that sort of nonsense. For tonight, however, a little self-medication was definitely in order. She was only sorry she didn’t also have a fifth of tangerine vodka on hand. She could make cosmopolitans or something, and drown her sorrows by pickling her brain.

  Ah, well. The cake would do nicely.

  Unwrapping the plastic and setting aside the pretty little flower garnish, she took a giant bite from the icing-covered end. Oh, man. Talk about heaven. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, the better to let the sugar high speed directly to her brain.

  Yeah. That was better. Much better.

  A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned in time to see Scout, already crated and bedded down for the night on her fake shearling pillow, give her a doleful look. Of course, all of Scout’s looks were doleful, seeing as how she was a basset hound, but tonight even her droopy ears seemed especially disapproving.

  “Don’t you judge me,” she told the dog. “I’ve had a rough night.”

  Scout merely stared, apparently too disapproving of Diana’s gluttony to do more than yawn and rest her head on her paws.

  Diana took another bite, smudging the icing on the corner of her mouth and not even caring. It wasn’t like anyone was here to see her. Anyway, she needed to wallow in her despair, just for a minute, and now was not the time for napkins.

  After the bride and groom left the reception, she all but took Evan’s arm and frog-marched him from the dance floor, forcing him to take her home. Not that she’d been a fun date anyway, what with disappearing with Keenan and then spending the rest of the night trying not to cry. Finally, she’d bade Evan a fond and celibate farewell and climbed out of his car, ignoring the bewildered hurt in his eyes. Poor guy. It wasn’t his fault she was in love with someone else.

  Then she’d come up to her small but cozy apartment, taken her shower, and thrown on her T-shirt, Hello Kitty boxers, and matching fluffy slippers, all of which were childish but comfortable as a cloud lined in satin. When a girl was nursing a broken heart, it was important that she do so in complete comfort.

  Thus outfitted and despite the late hour, she’d come straight to the kitchen and eyeballed the cake in a losing battle to have some discipline.

  Now here she was, Miss Piggy herself. Not that she cared.

  She took another bite of cake.

  It was time to face facts with Keenan: they had no chance. Not for lack of trying on her part, God knew, but there was nothing else she could do with a man so determined to be a martyr.

  Well, screw him, right? Since he was deep into his Greta Garbo act, wanting to be alone and all, let him cuddle up to Atticus on those cold winter nights. They could keep each other company. That would serve Keenan right, although it hardly seemed fair to the monkey.

  Keenan. jerk.

  She took another bite of cake.

  What she needed to do was quit her job at the firm and find another one somewhere else, where she didn’t have to see Keenan. That wasn’t healthy, working with the object of her obsession on a daily basis. A change would be good for her. In fact, maybe she needed a whole new city. Boston was great, but she’d also enjoyed the time she spent in Atlanta, and—

  She paused, listening.

  What the hell?

  Was that someone knocking at her door? At this hour?

  Putting the cake on the counter, she padded through the foyer and peered out the peephole.

  And saw the top of Keenan’s head, with Atticus perched on his shoulder.

  Oh, God.

  Her pulse went haywire. After swiping her hand over the back of her mouth and then running her fingers through her messy hair, she gave up on any remedial measures to improve her appearance. That train had already left the station the second she’d put on the Hello Kitty jammies.

  She swung the door open. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Keenan said.

  Atticus, now relieved of his bow tie, waved and chirped a hello.

  “Hi, Atticus,” she said, scratching his head.

  The pleasantries dispensed with, she focused on Keenan, who seemed somehow sharper than he’d been earlier, almost as though he hummed with a quiet energy he hadn’t had before. He’d changed, too, and now wore a T-shirt and dark track pants.

  “What are you doing here? Why didn’t my doorman tell me you were coming?”

  He shrugged. “I think he went to the bathroom or something. I waited until someone else came out and I slipped in.”

  “Diabolical,” she muttered. “I’m going to have him fired first thing in the morning.”

  Keenan gave her that new look again, the one that was so darkly indiscernible it was like staring into the heart of a black hole. “Take it easy on the poor guy. I really wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  “Umm…”

  Having just decided that Keenan was out of her life and she’d be better off moving to San Francisco or some such, it wasn’t a good idea to let him in so he could give her any more mixed signals. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem too interested in her answer. Without waiting for her to move aside, he rolled forward with a couple of quick swipes at his wheels, and before she knew what’d happened, he was settled in her softly lit living room, right next to the sofa.

  O-kay.

  Shutting the door, she followed him.

  Atticus, meanwhile, was going nuts. He’d spotted Scout in the crate and was chattering wildly, pulling on his blue leash and wanting to greet this new furry creature. Scout raised her head off the
pillow and showed her excitement by making the most wildly enthusiastic gesture she was capable of: she raised her eyebrows and sniffed the air.

  “Do you mind … ?” Keenan asked.

  “Ah … no,” Diana said, with no real idea what they were talking about.

  But Keenan unhooked the leash, and Atticus, needing no further encouragement, jumped down and scampered across the floor to the wire crate. Which he opened. Before Diana could think to splutter a protest, he’d clanged the door shut again and headed straight for the food dish, helping himself to some kibble.

  Scout, looking beleaguered, watched and tried to sniff Atticus’s diapered butt.

  Keenan grinned. “Looks like they’re going to be friends.”

  Diana had no interest in pets at the moment. “What’re you doing here?”

  He gestured to the sofa. “Can you sit down with me? Please?”

  A husky new note in his voice did delicious things to the pit of her belly, or maybe it was the way his appreciative gaze traveled over her body in a lingering sweep.

  Whatever. She sat.

  He eased closer, bringing all that masculine intensity with him, along with the fresh scent of soap and deodorant, as though he’d just showered. Diana tried to be brisk and unaffected, to look him straight in the eye with a cool gaze that couldn’t be ruffled, but that was about as successful as pretending not to notice while a solar eclipse occurred overhead.

  Keenan dove in without preamble. “I screwed up earlier.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I kept thinking how I’d’ve handled our situation if I wasn’t in the wheelchair, but that’s stupid.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah. Because inside, where it counts, I’m the same guy. That’s what was throwing me off.”

  Diana hated to be dense, but she felt like she should ask. God forbid she hear something in this conversation that wasn’t really there. Her hopes had already been smashed and pulverized enough for one night, thanks. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying—can we try this again?”

  No. No, they could not try this again. They’d been over this ground several times before, each time leaving her bruised and battered, and there was nothing more to say. She had half a slice of cake to finish eating, and then, when she was done with that, she was going to Google “Seattle” and “Phoenix” and see which city was hiring more architects. Then she was going to type up her letter of resignation.

  No. The answer was no.

  “Sure,” she said.

  He grinned, subjecting her to a potent combination of devastating man and boyish dimples, and she realized, for the first time, how tense he’d been. She was marveling over the thrill of having such power over a man like this, when his smile faded, leaving only naked heat.

  Taking her hand, he held it in his warm grip.

  “Hi,” he said again.

  Breathless, she opened her dry mouth. And tried to speak. And tried again.

  Finally, on the third attempt, she managed it.

  “Hi.”

  He lowered her hand to his lap and turned it over, palm up. And then he used his damaged fingers to trace a path from palm to wrist and back again, over and over again, that had her skin shivering and a deep ache developing high up, between her thighs. When she’d begun to squirm in her seat, he looked up at her, his eyes a glittering flash of brown crystal.

  “I’m in love with you,” he told her, his voice a seduction in itself. “Did you know that?”

  At the moment, she didn’t know anything, not even her name. “No,” she breathed.

  “Hmm.” Looking down again, he took her hand and raised it to his mouth. With a gasp, she traced the bow of his top lip and the plump curve of his bottom lip, enjoying all of his tender textures, until …

  He sucked her first two fingers into his mouth, hard.

  “Oh, God,” she said, and the ache between her thighs became a clenching need.

  In no particular hurry, he pulled her fingers out, scraping them gently against his teeth and working them with his tongue, the suction hot, wet, and so arousing she nearly came from it.

  “I want you,” he said when his mouth was free again.

  That gaze flickered up to her again. Hot. Primitive. Undeniable.

  “I want you, too.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

  Her lips curved with pleasure, but managing a full smile just now was beyond her. “Good.”

  “I don’t want you seeing Cro-Magnon man or anyone else. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  One of these days, when he’d satisfied the raging need in her body and cooled her hot blood, and she was able to regain her senses—in, say, ten years or so—she really meant to tell him not to speak to her this way, with his pronouncements and directives. Grown women like her didn’t need a man bossing them around, and she needed to nip this bad habit in the bud. Someone was acting like a caveman, true, but it wasn’t Evan.

  But…

  Until then, she’d let him claim her all he wanted.

  And she’d claim him.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Which way to your bedroom?”

  She got to her feet. “This way, but—what about them?”

  They both looked around at Atticus and Scout, neither of whom seemed to need supervision at the moment. Atticus was lifting the dog’s ears, presumably inspecting for fleas, and Scout had her snout back on her paws, submitting but staring at the monkey with her mournful brown eyes. Every time Atticus’s frenetic movements brought him close enough, Scout would swipe at him with her great tongue, trying to get him clean.

  The mutual grooming could go on for a while, which was good.

  Diana fully planned to take a while with Keenan. “Let’s go.”

  She led him down the hall. The lamp next to her big sleigh bed was lit and, knowing how Keenan felt about his body, she turned it off. The last thing she wanted to do was make him self-conscious, and—

  “Hey. Turn that back on. I want to see you.”

  “But…” Diana hesitated, her hand still hovering near the lamp. “I thought—”

  “And I want you to see me.”

  Well. She turned the light back on.

  Now wasn’t the time to get shy, but she did have a flaw or two and she couldn’t stop herself from flushing furiously. Plus, he meant so much to her, and she didn’t want to make some blundering mistake that would spoil the moment. And she fully intended this to be the last first time she ever made love with anyone in her life.

  Staring into his brown eyes, watching as he heaved himself out of his chair and onto the bed, where he propped himself against the many pillows, she let instinct take over. All they needed to do was touch each other. The rest would take care of itself.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She went, climbing up and straddling his legs, settling on her knees. Moving together, they lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it off over his head, and there he was. A sculptor’s dream, heavily muscled with the kinds of chiseled ridges and curves that those health magazines purported to help men achieve. Over that was a layer of the smoothest brown skin that she could ever hope to see.

  “Oh,” she said, because she couldn’t look at him and be eloquent at the same time.

  Cupping her face, he pulled her down, closer, and then they were kissing with all the heat and hunger they’d had earlier, nipping and sucking, as though there’d been no interruption at all. The most wonderful rumbling noises vibrated in his chest, humming through both of them, and it was like the animal in him was gathering strength, preparing to break free.

  The animal in her had already gone wild. It wasn’t enough to kiss his mouth. She had to run her tongue down the strong column of his neck, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin, nuzzling his collarbones, suckling first one flat nipple, and then the other. The whole time, he ran his hands over her back and shoulders, touching everything he could reach.

  “Where is
your spot?” she whispered.

  Keenan went utterly still and watched her with narrowed eyes, as though he didn’t trust his ears. “What?”

  “Your spot. I’ve done a lot of research, and I know that a lot of people with spinal cord injuries have one hypersensitive spot that’s really—”

  “Here.” He indicated the back of his neck, at his nape. “Right here.”

  Easing him forward a little, so eager she shook with it, she ran her tongue around the smooth column, until she got to that spot. Then she latched on and sucked.

  Keenan cried out and jerked away. She was afraid she’d hurt him—until she saw the awe in his expression, the naked heat.

  A pregnant moment passed, with only their panting to break the silence. He recovered first. Running his stiff hands down the sides of her breasts, he squeezed them together. She moaned and dropped her head back, ready to do anything and everything for him.

  “Take this off,” he said, fumbling with her T-shirt.

  She couldn’t sweep it off fast enough, tossing it to the floor in a flash of pink and trying to make a joke because this moment was strained to the breaking point with meaning and she wasn’t sure she could handle the climbing tension.

  “Don’t you like Hello Kitty?”

  “I like it just fine. On the floor.”

  She started to laugh, but the noise died in her throat when he scooted lower, just a little, and caught one of her nipples in his mouth.

  Ah … his mouth. The things he did—God, what was he doing?

  Stroking and sucking with his tongue, scraping the nipple with his teeth—just there, with just enough pressure to make her writhe and cry. And then he shifted and she was tumbling to the bed beneath him. He loomed over her, bracing on his arms and blocking out the light… the bedroom … everything that wasn’t him.

  His mouth didn’t miss a single inch of her torso. He savored it all, licking and nuzzling lower, dipping into her belly button and making her hips jackknife off the bed, until—

  “Take these off for me,” he said.

  Her mind spun because this was the real Keenan, the one she’d always known was there, commanding and confident, and he stole her breath. Somehow she’d known he’d be like this, if she could only get past his armor.