by Alta Hensley
She was gorgeous, tiny perfection in his eyes—just the perfect complement to him—small and rounded where he was big and angular. His body wanted him to cover her, plunge himself inside her and take his pleasure within her. Instead, he moved as slowly as he could, keeping his eyes locked with hers, making sure he didn't alarm her in any way as he nudged her legs open and lay gingerly between them, unable to control a blissful sigh as his errant penis settled between those puffy lips.
"Oh, God, Elodie, I want you." Clay supported his upper body on his hands above her.
She looked up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, saying in a clear, soft voice, "Then take me."
Her words flooded through his blood vessels, dilating every one he owned, until they got to his groin, making him contract painfully several times. Stunned, he looked down into her eyes and saw no hesitation there, absolutely none. He almost gave in. Almost.
Instead, he reached between her nether lips, gratified to find that his finger was instantaneously covered in her tribute, which he brought up to cover her clit, rubbing lightly, teasingly, making her arch into him and reach out to clutch the sheets, sucking air in through her tightly clenched teeth.
"Clay!" She dragged the word out throatily as she writhed and twisted as much as she could beneath him, as if her very life depended on the tip of that finger.
He had been right that time when he'd wondered about it. She did light up from within, even before the culmination. Her mewls and cries made him crazy. He was delighted to see how responsive she was—she seemed to be as uncontrollably passionate with him as he was with her.
He left her a few strokes from the top, knowing her need met his as he positioned himself just slightly inside her, then caught her eye and began to press himself deeper. She was unbelievably tight, her hot pussy grabbing onto him and fitting him like a second skin. He could barely stand the slow pace he'd set for them, but he didn't want to hurt her, and judging by just how tight she was, he was glad he hadn't just decided to take her with one hard thrust.
Instead, he drove the both of them crazy, settling himself into her by centimeters, letting his own weight set the pace as his spiked flesh seared its way deeply inside her. By the time she was fully impaled, Elodie had already begun to shift restlessly beneath him, trying to encourage him to begin the rhythm that would carry them both to ecstasy.
Clay could hold himself back no longer. He had to move! Elodie clutched at his back, arching herself to meet his every thrust, moaning as he scraped the delicate tissues within her with each snap of his hips, building her pleasure to the point where she thought she was going to pass out beneath him before hurling her off the mountaintop into the abyss of the purest paradise.
He followed a stroke or two later, crying out her barely discernable name in a voice he didn't recognize, it was so gravelly and animalistic. Clay flexed his butt several times afterwards, driving himself into her as much as he could, eking out every iota of pleasure before collapsing on top of her, burying his face into her hair where it lay on the pillow around her head, panting it into his mouth but not caring in the least as he tried to come to grips with what had happened.
Chapter 12
Elodie lay beneath him, still clutching at his shoulders although her quakes had been reduced to small, trembly tremors. Her eyes were wide open, as if she'd just seen a ghost, and she had.
April.
She felt April's presence there—in that room, despite the change of furniture—as surely as she'd ever felt anything else, and the stark reality of what she'd done made tears seep into her eyes. When she finally had to close them, the moisture dribbled down the sides of her face and into her hair.
What had she done? Was she crazy? How could she have been so adamant about not wanting to get involved with Clay, and then end up doing exactly that? Where was her brain? She was lying in her sister's bedroom, with her sister's husband lying on top of her. It didn't matter that April was gone—it didn't matter one bit!
She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn't help it. She felt dirty. She felt as if she'd crossed the point of no return. Elodie didn't recognize her own behavior. Obviously, she'd begun thinking with her overactive sexual need rather than her brain. She never meant to dishonor April's memory in such a way. That was the last thing she'd ever wanted to do, and yet it was exactly what she'd ended up doing. She felt sick, as if her stomach wanted to rebel against her behavior as well as her mind.
Elodie wanted to melt into the bed beneath her, to disappear, to be forgotten and forgiven. But that wasn't likely to happen here, lying under her dead sister's husband. The only thing she could think of right now was being alone, and doing some sort of penance. She didn't know what, but it wasn't going to be pretty, she knew that.
But Clay didn't seem to be going anywhere. In fact, she could swear she could hear him snoring in her ear, and that was the last thing she wanted. She had absolutely no intentions of sleeping with him tonight, so she began to shift herself subtly beneath him, hoping to either wake him enough to get him to roll off her, or be able to sidle out from under him so that she could get up, get dressed, and leave.
He didn't seem to wake up, but he did roll to one side, so that the only part of him that was really still over her was his arm, which she was able to gingerly, very gingerly, scoot under, holding his wrist up by her fingertips as if it was a particularly odious snake, then replacing it on the mattress where she had been. She gathered up her clothing as carefully and quietly as she could, all the while checking him nervously where he lay on the bed, glancing down at him, ready to sprint out the door at a moment's notice if he should wake.
But he didn't, thankfully.
Elodie paused at the door, though, looking over her shoulder at his broad back. She had a lot to think about, a lot to reconcile before she could see him again. She hoped he'd understand about that, although she didn't have a lot of hope. What Clay wanted, Clay got, one way or the other.
She shrugged and closed the door behind her without making a sound, wending her way through the house and out to her car mindlessly, deliberately not thinking about anything but getting herself home, not seeing anything in front of her except a vision of a very unhappy April glaring down at her.
She needed to be home.
*****
When the phone rang in the middle of the night, it was never a good thing, unless you knew someone who was pregnant, and Clay didn't recall anyone expecting a baby amongst anyone who had his private number. Unfortunately, the nature of his business meant that there were occasional dead of the night phone calls from a foreman if cattle or horses got loose or sick, so he was instantly, fully awake.
He picked up the phone and punched the talk button. "Carver."
"Clay Carver?"
He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching to turn on the lamp. "Yes."
"Do you know an Elodie West?"
His head swiveled around so that he could look at the other side of the bed, where she should have been sleeping as soundly as he had been. But it was empty, and when he touched the sheets, cold.
Dead cold.
Clay was beginning to have an uncomfortable flashback to the phone call he'd gotten five years ago about April. But he swallowed hard and said, "Yes."
"I'm Officer John Clark, Mr. Carver, of the Harden P.D."
"And?" he asked impatiently. He wished the damned man would just spit it out, whatever the news was.
"Your name was in her wallet as her emergency contact. There was an accident. Ms. West was taken to the hospital."
Every corpuscle of blood he owned froze in his veins. Not again. He wouldn't—he couldn't—live through it again.
"Was she—" he corrected his tense, "is she all right?"
"I don't know, sir. She was alive when I last saw her, although she's hurt pretty bad."
Clay shot up and began gathering his clothes. He almost shut off the phone before asking, "Where'd they take her?"
"Libe
rty Med."
He hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed, shucking into his jeans without underwear and throwing on a t-shirt while calculating how long it was going to take him to get to the hospital, who he knew that he could call before he got there to see what was going on with her—if they'd tell him anything.
Clay fired up his pickup, and laid rubber getting out of the driveway and down the dusty road off the ranch. He tried to stay positive in his mind during the fifteen-minute drive, but it was hard. This was just way too close to home—to his heart. It was the nightmare of five years ago replaying itself. He was afraid that, by the time he got there, she was going to be gone, just like April had been, and again, he wouldn't have had a chance to say goodbye to another love.
Another love.
He loved April.
But now, he also loved Elodie.
And Elodie was here with him—at least for now, he grimaced. He couldn't bear the idea that he might lose her, too, especially having just come to the realization that he loved her as he'd loved April. The same, he thought, but different, because Elodie was as different from April as the sun was from the moon. He was a different person than he'd been with April, a little older and little wiser, and much more of a workaholic than he'd ever been with April, who had done her level best to distract him from his work at any given opportunity, up to and including calling him for phone sex on occasion.
Since her death, he'd thrown himself into his work, and Elodie had only just begun to scratch the surface there—in fact, she'd always tried to be very careful about not interrupting him. He didn't think she'd ever called him during a work day at all.
There was so much more for them to do—besides phone sex at work. They had just begun to come together, really, after all that time of barely knowing each other. He wanted it all—he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, if she'd have him.
If she lived to be asked, it was the first thing he was going to say to her when he saw her, he swore. The very first thing.
Clay put his accelerator to the floor, flying down 295 well past the fifty miles an hour speed limit around the city, then cutting off on exit four over to Danforth street to get to Liberty Med. He parked in the E.R. parking lot, in a police car spot—damn the consequences and the parking garage—stalking through the sparsely populated lobby and past the receptionists as if he owned the place, his eyes sweeping for any sign of Elodie, calling out her name and opening doors he shouldn't have, attracting a following of nurses and, eventually, security guards.
Chapter 13
"Sir, sir, you're going to have to go back to the waiting room, sir." A large man who wasn't quite Clay's size tried to convince him and corral him back there, but Clay wasn't going anywhere except to Elodie's side.
"Elodie West?" The receptionist heard him yelling "Elodie", and knew immediately who he was. "Are you Clay Carver?"
"Yes—where is she?"
"What's your relationship to her?"
The look Clay gave her made the small round woman look away uncomfortably. "Where is she?" he repeated, his tone making it perfectly clear that he didn't intend to ask again.
"If you'll just take a seat—"
Since she didn't seem to be prepared to be any help, Clay pushed off the smaller security guards and barreled into the exam area, where there were about twenty beds with curtains pulled around them, surrounding the nurses' area in the middle. "Elodie?" He was fully prepared to peep into all of them in order to find her, and he started doing just that when an older, white-haired man came up to him.
"Clay?"
He knew Dr. Jay Douglas from way back, and it was the first time he felt like he'd seen anyone who was going to be of any help to him. "Where is she?"
"I just want to take you to a place where we can talk before you see her."
"Is she alive? Is she dying? What the fuck is going on? No one's told me a thing, dammit, and I want to know if she's okay!" All of the fear and frustration that had been building in Clay since he'd gotten the call—the first call five years ago—came into play, and Jay just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But even though he was older, he was at least as big as Clay was, and he was able to guide the younger man to an unused cubicle where they could both sit down.
His voice breaking as he sank into an uncomfortable orange plastic chair, Clay said, "If she's dead, man, just tell me. Don't drag it out."
"She's not dead, Clay. She's not dead." His tone was soft and quiet.
With tears in his eyes, Clay pinned Jay with his gaze. "Yet? Is there a 'yet' coming?"
"No, she is not in any immediate danger of dying. But I'm not going to lie to you. She's badly busted up, and all I want to do before you see her is prepare you. She's got a lot of tubes and wires coming out of various parts of her, and she's bruised and swollen everywhere. I think you could safely touch her left elbow, but that's about it right now. She went through the windshield, and was found about twenty feet away. She has broken ribs, a broken right arm, road rash on her face, a broken ankle and a concussion. She's going to be here for a little while."
Clay nodded, relief flooding through his body and making him feel weak as a kitten. "What happened, do you know?"
"Someone ran a red light—or what they're saying was a yellow light. He was in an SUV, and she—"
"Drives a little rattletrap cracker box," Clay interrupted, punching himself mentally because he hadn't replaced that awful thing for her, despite any protests she might have voiced.
"Yeah."
Clay ran his hand over his face and into his hair. "I want to see her."
"Follow me. But you can't stay."
"Of course I'm staying. As long as she needs me."
Jay held open the curtains to an exam room in the corner. When Clay first saw her, he wanted to start crying again, but didn't, in case she was awake. He didn't want her to become frightened if she saw him bawling all over her.
She was swathed in casts and bandages from head to foot; there wasn't much left for the gorgeous hospital johnnie to cover. Her face was swollen and bruised between the bandages, and he could see spots where the blood from the road rash cuts and scrapes had bled through. Her arm and opposite leg were in casts, and her eyes were closed. At least, he thought her eyes were closed. Her face was so swollen that it was hard to tell.
As if he knew what Clay was thinking, Jay said, "She's had some pain meds, so she's probably asleep. If you're gonna stay, then I'll have the nurse bring you a chair."
Clay wasn't paying him one bit of attention. His eyes were for the patient. Jay sighed and remained in place for a second. "West. Is she related to April?"
"Sister."
Jay nodded. "I'll be keeping an eye on her. She's going to be admitted, and the both of you will be more comfortable there."
Clay didn't notice whether or not he left. Jay had been right, though. About the only place he could touch her skin was her left elbow, which was exactly where he put his hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, and hoping that his touch would help her know she wasn't alone.
"I'm right here, honey. It's Clay. I'm right beside you, and you're gonna be fine. Sleep all you can, baby. It's good for you, and it'll help you heal. I'll be right here when you wake up, I promise." He tried to keep his voice as steady as he could, but it was a real struggle.
A tall, thin woman in a nurse's uniform appeared with a chair, and Clay barely thanked her before sinking down into it and resuming his former position.
He stayed that way for hours, until she finally began to stir, moaning with each movement. Clay was instantly at her head, and although he itched to touch her he didn't, for fear he would accidentally hurt her. "Sh-shh-shhh, sweetie. It's okay. It's Clay. I'm right here."
Those green eyes opened—barely—and seemed to be only slightly fuzzy. "Cl…ay?" Her voice was raspy and uncertain.
"Yes, baby, I'm right here." He leaned toward her, still excruciatingly careful not to touch her anywhe
re that might hurt, which seemed to be pretty much everywhere.
"Where am I?" she croaked.
"You're in the hospital, sweetpea. You had an accident."
"I did?"
"Yeah. But you're going to be fine."
"I am?"
"Yes, you are. And I'm going to be right here with you always, okay?"
She tried to nod, but that wasn't a good idea. Her yelp of pain made him start.
"Elodie, I just want you to stay still. You're pretty hurt, but you're going to be okay. It's nothing that can't be fixed, and your headache is a concussion. You're gonna be in the hospital for a few days, but it's nothing more serious than some broken bones that'll heal right up, baby. No problems. You just go back to sleep, and I'll stay right here next to you."
She was asleep again before he finished his sentence, and he wasn't at all sure that she was going to remember anything of what he'd told her the next time she woke up.
That wasn't until after dawn, when he'd spent the entire night in an extremely uncomfortable chair. Nurses had been popping in and out for quite some time because they'd found her a room, and no sooner had she awakened than the transport team arrived to take her upstairs.
"Clay?" she asked, sounding like a worried little girl.
"I'm right here, Elodie. Right here."
*****
His soothing tones washed over her, taking her tension and fear with it. If Clay was here, everything was going to be all right.
She couldn't remember much about what had gone on yesterday—at least not after they'd made love—but she knew she was in a hospital; she recognized the airiness of the wardrobe. Her arm and one leg were immobilized by casts, and her head hurt like a bitch—worse than any migraine she'd ever had. She felt as if it was trying to split open, like some sort of alien from a sci-fi movie.