"Your temperature is still high," she said. "I'll get medicine."
She went into the kitchen and brought him aspirin and water. He downed it, then lay back against the pillow again.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked.
You, he thought. That's what I want. What I need. That's the only thing on this earth that will make me feel better right now.
"No," he said. "Nothing."
She rose from his bed and went to the door. When she turned back, the light from the other room formed a warm aura around her.
"Call me if you need me."
Wendy slipped away, closing the door behind her, leaving him in darkness once again.
* * *
The next morning, Wolfe told Wendy he felt better, and this time it wasn't a lie. But better than death still wasn't great, and getting out of bed was pretty much out of the question. When he mentioned that daytime television bored him to tears, she asked if he wanted a book to read, but he still felt too sick to focus on the words.
To his surprise, she retrieved the mystery novel he'd bookmarked a few nights ago and began to read to him instead. He started to tell her it wasn't necessary, but the actress in her came out from the first sentence she spoke, and he could tell she was actually having a good time playing all the characters. Most of the time he couldn't concentrate enough even to comprehend what she was saying, and of course her running commentary on who she thought the murderer was more or less screwed up the whodunit experience. But her voice, so soft and sweet, filled the silence, making him forget his body aches and his pounding head and his jumbled-up stomach.
But as the day wore on, he thought about the accusations he'd thrown at her. Doubt began to crowd his mind, followed by a sense of shame that made him feel even worse than his flu symptoms did. When she looked at him, it wasn't carefully calculated premeditation he saw in her eyes, but genuine concern. And that drew him to a conclusion he hadn't wanted to face: maybe she'd been telling him the truth the other night. Maybe she really had wanted to make love with him. And if that were true, then the things he'd said to her…
Tell her you were wrong. Tell her you're sorry.
He wanted to say the words, but he just couldn't do it, because he still had that deep-seated doubt in the back of his mind that told him that if he did, somehow the joke was going to be on him. It wouldn't be the first time in his life that wishful thinking had led to a wake-up call that had taught him to be even warier than before, and he knew he couldn't bear it if it happened again.
He slept away most of the afternoon. When evening came, Wendy brought him dinner. After he ate, she took the dishes to the kitchen and then returned, asking him if he needed anything else. When he said no, she started to leave the room.
"Wendy?"
"Yeah?"
"It's almost seven. One of those weird reality shows is coming on."
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you stay for a while?"
She froze, clearly a little surprised. "You hate those shows."
"I know. It'll probably only make me sicker. But…" He paused. "Just stay. You know. If you want to."
He pulled up a pillow beside him and rested it against the headboard in silent invitation. She came forward tentatively and climbed onto the bed. He handed her the remote. She looked at it as if it had fallen from the moon.
"You're giving me the remote? Are you too weak to push the buttons?"
"Better enjoy it while you can."
She flipped to the show. It turned out to be every bit as stupid as Wolfe had imagined it would be, but Wendy's comments about the people involved kept it from being deadly dull. And when it was over, she switched to a cop drama, telling him it was only fair.
They watched that show for the first fifteen minutes, and then a commercial came on. Wendy muted the sound. "How are you doing? Can I get you anything?"
"No. I'm fine. Are you sure you're not a nurse in disguise?"
"Like I said, I come from a family of eleven. Somebody was always sick. I might not have been able to cook, but I could do the nurse thing."
"Division of labor?"
"It was the only way to get everything done. Everybody had their jobs, like cogs turning a wheel."
"Must have been something having a family that big."
"Yeah, it was something, all right. One more crowd to get lost in. Most of the time I just felt invisible."
"Invisible?"
"Yeah." She pondered that for a moment. "It felt so weird sometimes. As if I was right there in the room, but nobody could see me. I'd sit at the dinner table sometimes and think that there was such a crowd around the table that if I just didn't show up one night, it might take them a couple of hours even to realize it. I know that sounds strange that I could have so many people around and still feel alone, but that's the way it was."
She stared straight ahead, an uncharacteristically dark expression on her face, and for the first time Wolfe got a sense of the child she must have been—surrounded by so many people yet never feeling as if she belonged.
Then she smiled. "But when I was a senior in high school, I had the lead in those plays I told you about." She settled back against the pillow, a faraway look on her face. "That curtain would go up, and for those few hours, hundreds of people were watching every move I made. Hanging on every word I said. They put my picture in the newspaper. Friends and family sent me flowers. People stopped me in the hall at school and told me how wonderful my performance was. I loved it. For once in my life, everybody knew I existed." She turned to face him. "That seems silly and shallow to you, doesn't it?"
"No," he said, and meant it. "Not the way you say it."
"It's okay if you think so, because sometimes it sounds that way even to me. But then I think back to the summer following my senior year when my father got me on at the factory. I thought I'd died and gone to hell. Working there made me feel even more invisible, because I went from being one out of eleven to being one out of a thousand. Sometimes I felt as if I was slowly fading away, and one day I'd disappear altogether." She sighed. "That's my biggest fear, you know."
"What's that?"
She turned her head on the pillow with an earnest expression. "Making no mark. Having my life be like a rock that falls into a pond but never makes a ripple. I had a dream one night that I died and my headstone was blank. Not a solitary soul knew or cared that I had lived or died. But if I'm famous, the whole world will know me. I'll have one of those great big funerals that everybody comes to and people I don't even know are boo-hooing because I'm gone. That would really be something."
Wolfe winced. "How about we don't talk about your dying?"
She grinned. "But that's when you know whether you've really made it or not. When you die."
"I'd like to argue with that logic, but I'm still not a hundred percent here."
"I'm just making a point." Her voice quieted again, this time full of emotion. "I'm going to be famous, Wolfe. Some day the whole world is going to know my name. You just watch me."
The look on her face was so uncharacteristically intense it took Wolfe by surprise. And all at once he realized the most startling truth.
She was lonely.
Outside she was a beautiful, energetic, confident woman, but inside was a little girl who was screaming to be singled out from the crowd, screaming for somebody to say she was special. When she was on stage she felt that high for the first time, and now she craved it over and over. He only hoped that if she ever got what she wanted, it really did make her happy.
They watched the rest of the cop show, but as the minutes passed, Wendy's eyes grew heavy. By the end of the episode, in spite of all the gunfire and the sirens and the nonstop shouting, she'd fallen asleep, one hand tucked beneath her pillow and the other hand clutching the remote. The collar of the shirt she was wearing rested halfway down her upper arm. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, a striking contrast to the pale expanse of her neck and upper chest.
&
nbsp; God, she was beautiful.
For the longest time he just lay there staring at her, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the brush of her dark lashes against her cheeks. Finally he slipped the remote out of her hand and clicked off the TV. The moment the sound disappeared, Wendy opened her eyes. She rose suddenly, sitting up and blinking sleepily.
"Sorry," she said. "Just closed my eyes for a minute. Guess I fell asleep. Better go to the sofa."
She started to get up, but Wolfe caught her arm. "Is it more comfortable here than on the sofa?"
She blinked sleepily. "A bed of rocks would be more comfortable than the sofa."
"Then stay."
He fixed his gaze on hers without wavering, reinforcing his invitation. She didn't say anything. Instead, she merely turned and flipped out the lamp, then settled her head back against the pillow. Wolfe lay down beside her, and her hand crept over to rest against his arm.
"Wolfe?"
Her voice sounded so sleepy that he knew she was barely awake. "Yes?"
"What we did that night…"
His heart skipped. "Yes?"
"I wanted you. So much. That's the only reason I wanted to make love with you. I just can't bear to have you think anything else."
He started to respond, but then she closed her eyes with a soft sigh, and seconds later her rhythmic breathing told him she'd fallen asleep again.
"I know, Wendy," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. "I know."
* * *
When Wendy woke up the next morning, she glanced beside her, surprised to see that Wolfe wasn't there. Then she heard the muffled sound of shower spray.
She closed her eyes again, knowing she should still be angry at him. After the terrible things he'd said to her, she should be storming out the door as soon as he was well. Instead, her anger had disappeared completely, and the fight she'd promised him when he got better had simply melted away into nothingness.
A few minutes later the shower fell silent. Soon Wolfe came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. His dark hair was slicked back, and he'd just shaved. For the first time in two days, color had returned to his face.
She smiled. "You look better."
"I feel better."
"Come here."
He walked over to the bed and sat down. She placed her palm against his forehead, then his cheek. "No fever."
She let her hand linger there a few seconds too long and saw the shift in his expression that told her he'd recognized that fact. She still wasn't sure what he believed about her motives and what he didn't, so she pulled her hand away. For all she knew, now that he was better, he was going to tell her to leave. She felt a flutter of apprehension at the thought. As of right now, she had absolutely nowhere else to go. But the truth was that whether she had a place to go or not, this was the place she wanted to be.
Before he could say the words she didn't want to hear, she slipped out of bed and told him it was her turn in the shower. On her way to the bathroom, she stopped at his dresser. As she'd done every day while she was here, she removed the bracelet she wore and laid it on the dresser, then swept her hair to one side and reached up to unhook her necklace.
At that moment, she glanced in the mirror and saw Wolfe rise from the bed. He came up behind her. Taking the necklace from between her fingers, he unfastened it, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck, then lifted it off over her head. He refastened it and laid it on the dresser, then circled his arms around her, engulfing her in a warm embrace, his lips only a scant inch from her ear.
"Thank you for taking care of me."
Wendy's heart skipped crazily. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected him to hold her so close, to speak so softly, and she scarcely knew what to say.
"I just couldn't bear the thought of you being here sick and alone," she told him. "Not after everything you've done for me."
His lips fell against her neck, kissing it softly. "Is that the only reason you did it?"
As Wendy realized what was happening, she felt a surge of exhilaration. She closed her eyes and brought her hands up to grasp his forearms, drawing in his clean, fresh, masculine scent, reveling in the feeling of being in his arms again.
"No," she said. "I did it because I wanted to be here. With you."
He dropped his hand to her waist, flattening his palm against her stomach. He eased her back against him, and when he spoke again she felt his warm breath against her neck.
"Other women," he said. "The way they look at me sometimes. Or don't look at me. It's been that way since I was thirteen years old. And then you came along. So bright, so beautiful, the kind of woman who can have any man she wants. So I just didn't understand why in the hell you wanted me."
Suddenly Wendy remembered the clerk's reaction at the thrift store, when she'd looked at him as if he intended to rob the place. When they'd gone to the grocery store that first night, a woman stocking the shelves had watched every move he made, as if he was getting ready to shoplift something. Wendy had seen firsthand exactly what he was talking about, and it angered her to think that people had judged him that way his entire life.
Then she felt a surge of shame. After all, hadn't she reacted that way herself the night he'd first picked her up? Hadn't she accused him of being a rapist and a murderer, mostly because of the way he looked? How must that have made him feel?
You're a beautiful woman. And beautiful women don't just throw themselves at a man like me.
As she remembered his words from two nights ago, she felt a sudden jolt of understanding. The moment he'd said that, she'd been focused only on the way she felt, so angry and hurt and … oh, God. How could she not have heard what he'd been saying?
He tightened his arms around her, touching his lips to the skin just below her ear. "The things I said to you the other night. I'm so sorry, Wendy. I just didn't believe … I couldn't believe…"
"Wolfe," she said softly, turning in his arms and staring up at him. "Believe."
She circled her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Then she pulled away slightly, staring up at him. Several seconds passed, the air between them growing hotter and heavier with every breath they took.
"You have no idea how much I want you," Wolfe whispered.
"Then maybe you'd better show me."
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Wolfe slipped his arm around Wendy, pulled her right up next to him and kissed her with a sudden intensity that was so unexpected and so wonderful, she could barely catch her breath for the elation she felt. Five minutes ago, she hadn't been sure of anything where Wolfe was concerned, and now his mouth was moving against hers with the kind of mindless gotta-have-you passion that she'd been craving. Being held by a man of such overwhelming strength woke up something hot and exciting inside her, but she knew this same powerful man would beg forgiveness for the faintest bruise he might inflict on her. To feel so safe and so cherished made her knees weak with desire, and she vowed that this time absolutely nothing was going to come between them.
Before she could think straight enough to wonder what was coming next, he broke the kiss and swept her into his arms. To her surprise, he bypassed the bed and headed for the door, only to stop suddenly.
"Damn it."
He put her down. "Don't move," he said, then strode back to the dresser, yanked open a drawer and pulled out a condom. He started to shut the drawer, paused, then opened it again and grabbed two more.
Wendy smiled. "Ambitious, aren't you?"
He stuffed the condoms into his jeans pocket as he strode back toward her, then lifted her into his arms again. "No interruptions this time," he said, and carried her into the living room, where he lay her gently on the rug. Wendy's heart soared.
"You like your gift," she said.
"Yes. Especially when you're lying on it."
"Naked?"
"You're reading my mind, sweetheart.
"
Already he was tugging on her T-shirt. She sat up so he could pull it off over her head, her hair swooping through the opening. She'd barely lowered her arms before he was pressing her down to her back again and going for her panties. In moments he had them off.
He stopped. Stared. Then he stretched out beside her, resting on one elbow, and trailed his hand from her breasts to her abdomen and up again, watching what was passing beneath his hand with an expression of total appreciation. He pressed his hand to her breast, squeezing it softly, his calloused fingertips rasping gently across her skin. Then he strummed her nipple with his thumb, watching as it rose to a peak. Shivers of hot pleasure streaked through her, escalating wildly when he bent and passed his lips back and forth over her nipple, then closed his mouth over it and sucked gently. She writhed beneath him, but he placed a palm against her abdomen, stilling her, as he continued to tease her. Then he eased over to place a gentle kiss against her other breast.
"You're perfect just the way you are," he said, "Don't you ever forget that."
She knew he meant it. He truly did. And it astonished her. "Your jeans," she said, barely able to speak. "Take them off."
She rose a little and tried to reach for the buttons, but he pressed her back against the rug and dipped down to give her a long, lazy kiss, followed by another, and another, each one blending into the last. At the same time he slipped his hand lower, smoothing it up and down one of her legs, over and over. She tried reaching for his buttons again.
"Wolfe, please."
"Relax, sweetheart. We've got nothing but time."
"Fine. We can take all the time in the world once you're naked."
But all he did was smile at her, then lean in to kiss her, which was very, very good, but she wanted more. Way more. The only thing better than a gorgeous, bare-chested man in a pair of tight jeans was that same man out of those jeans.
"Wolfe?"
He kissed her again.
"Your jeans…"
When he ignored her and leaned in for yet another kiss, she ducked out from underneath him and sat up, giving him an admonishing look.
TALL, DARK AND TEXAN Page 12