Page 19 of Sexy as Sin
Only if I want there to be,he didn’t say. “I had them turn down the drugs some, is why.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Lots of things hurt.” In fact, it hurt quite a lot, but he hated feeling drugged and groggy more. Not to mention nauseated. “Fortunately, the break wasn’t too high up, or this would be worse. I’ve got titanium in me now, it seems, a rod right down the middle of the bone. On the one hand, I’m destined to be patted down at every security checkpoint in every airport for the rest of my life. On the other hand, I may have superpowers now. Also, I have strong bones, or so my surgeon says. That’s good. I’ll be weight-bearing in a few weeks. It’s a miracle.”
“Your surgeon. The hot one? Sure she wasn’t just buttering you up because you’re cute? And I reckon you already had superpowers. That’s the man I saw.” There it was. The sunshine, then the flash of vulnerability that drew him to her like... like something too strong.
“Glad you think so.” He tried to think of something else to say, but couldn’t. It was hard to be suave when you were lying on your back and dressed in a hospital gown and nothing else.
“I think you must,” she said. “Because, mate, what did I do yesterday? I got in a stranger’s car and took him home. I went for a walk with you when I should have been working. And I watched you not scream when anybody else would have. Those are superpowers, Batman. Or close enough.”
Red mouth, blue dress, pale skin, and once again, no bra. He was losing his focus again, and it wasn’t just the drugs. He might not be ready for a bout of athletic sex, but if she sat beside him on the bed, bent over him, and brushed her lips to his... He could handle that. He could take not being in charge this time. Besides, his hands still worked fine.
“I have some surprises for you,” she said. “Ready?”
Yeah. He was. She reached into her flowered tote, pulled out the kind of collapsible mini-cooler you’d put a six-pack in, and showed him the Popsicles. “I thought the food might not be too flash here. And that this would be easy on your stomach.”
“That,” he said, “looks almost as good as what I had in mind.”
“What?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer, said, “Righty-ho, then. Not asking. I also have a strawberry-mango smoothie in a thermos, with a bit of protein powder in. We’ll break that out later, depending on how you go with the ice block. And something else, too.” She pulled another item from the bag. It was navy blue. It was plain. It was...
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s it.Except for the IV. That’s inconvenient, because I want it.”
“We thought of that.” She spread the thing out in her lap. “I’d like to take credit for this brilliance, but I can’t. My flatmate Azra did a degree in fashion in London. She’s doing an internship now with Wollongong. Surfer chic,” she added at his blank expression. “At least that’s what she calls it. I’m fashion-clueless, myself. Fashion-agnostic.”
“Except for your dresses.”
“Chosen by Azra. So you see.” She held up the T-shirt. “She’s fixed you three of these, with snaps on the right shoulder and down the right side, so we can get around the IV. Awesome, hey. Navy blue, black, and gray. I wanted to do red, cheer you up, but she said, ‘He won’t be any more comfortable in red than he is in a hospital gown.’Iwanted to know how she knew that, and she said, ‘His suit. His white shirt.’ I said, maybe he doesn’t always wear suits, though, and she looked at me like I was stupid and said, ‘No red.’ So you see. Tell me I’m right, that you wanted red, and I’ll go home and tell her I’ve won.”
He couldn’t stop smiling. Must be the drugs. “You haven’t won. Give me that thing.”
“Before dinner? Youaredesperate. And—oh.” She pulled out a few more items. “A few pairs of undies, and a couple PJ bottoms. And I just realized the nurse said you had a catheter. So not now. But whenever. And why am I so embarrassed?” She was laughing, and so was he. It hurt.
“If you’ll notice,” he said, “I no longer have a bag of urine hanging from my bed. I’ve graduated. And I would be so grateful for a T-shirt, you cannot imagine.”
“Good. Brilliant. Well... here, then. You can match. Dark blue and dark blue. Boring, but... And before you say anything,” she hurried on, color tingeing her cheeks, “Azra did the, ah, sizing, and the choosing, too, not me. She said large on the T-shirt, because of the, uh, shoulders. She got the briefer type of undies to be easier over the leg, which is why you’ll look like a pinup boy instead of whatever conservative thing you’d normally do, but she sized up there. Waist-wise, that is. Difficulty on and off, and so forth.” Her color was even higher now. “And I also just realized that you’ll need help. Fine. I’m here to help. If you hadn’t been in a suit practically every time I’ve seen you, surely this scene wouldn’t be nearly as awkward.”
“You can help with the T-shirt.” He pushed the button on the remote to raise himself higher in the bed and didnotwince at the firework of pain that blossomed hot, then set in to keep the ever-present throb company. “You’re not helping with the underwear or the PJs. That’s what the nursing staff gets paid for. At least I hope they do, because I’m fairly desperate to be wearing actual clothing.”
He was fumbling at the shoulders of the gown, and now, shewassitting at the side of the bed, exactly like his little flash of fantasy. Then she was undoing the snaps, her hands brushing his shoulders, and he got that scent again. Like dessert. Like... Boston cream pie. His favorite. Impossibly tender yellow cake, the wonderful surprise of the creamy vanilla-custard filling, and the rich, decadent swirl of bittersweet chocolate on top. That was her all the way. He wondered if she knew how to make it. And if she’d be willing to sit here and feed it to him. And then, possibly, kiss him. Too much sweetness.
His leg hurt like crazy, but it was worth it. She pulled on his hideous gown, and he lifted up to help her out, grabbing for the sheet along the way, and had to stifle another of those embarrassing groans. Her hands stopped in mid-pull, with the gown halfway up his chest, and said, “It hurts too much. I’m sorry, Brett. This was stupid.”
“No,” he said through his teeth. “Not stupid. I’ll push my pain button if I have to, but I am going to wearclothes.”
She laughed, even though she still looked troubled, and unsnapped the sleeve on his IV side for him, and he yanked the gown the rest of the way off and started on the shirt. She let him put it on, including the fumbling work to get it around the tubes, which was better. He didn’t need to feel four years old, thank you very much. But when he started on the shoulder snaps, an awkward job one-handed and hurting, she said, “Crikey, you’re stubborn. Would you stop that and let me do it? I promise not to peek.”
He sighed, let her snap him up, enjoyed her Boston cream pie scent some more, and said, “So you really do say ‘Crikey.’ I wondered.” Trying to keep it light, to keep her comfortable. To keep herhere.
“Could be I’m colorizing a bit. Entertaining the troops. It’s my patriotic duty. Lean forward and let me pull down the back. I’m the pretend-girlfriend, remember? This is a girlfriend job.” He did lean forward, and accepted the flash of pain as a price he was glad to pay, because her hands smoothed the fabric over his back, his chest, and he looked at those tendrils of hair on her forehead and the red lipstick, sweated some, and thought, a little hazily,You dressed up for me, though. And you smell so good.
She looked a little flustered by the time she sat down again, and he had to lean back and get his breath for a second, let things settle down. Damn, that was annoying. She said, “I’ll leave the rest of this here. That’s enough for now.”
“Nope.” He’d pressed the call button midway through his change, and finally, the woman he’d summoned came in. Not a nurse. The aide, on the evening shift. Blond, a little maternal, and a whole lot cheerful. He smiled at her and said, “Hi, Marla. Can I get you to help me with something?” He told Willow, “Give me five minutes to get decent.”
“Brett...” she said. “No. It hurts too much.”
“Go read a magazine or something,” he said. “I don’t get naked on the second date.”
