Twenty-five
AT JASON’S INSISTENCE, being like-minded with the doctor in thinking that a grande skim latte definitely did not constitute an adequate breakfast, he and Taylor stopped for lunch after leaving the hospital. Given her weakened condition, Taylor decided it was only fair that she got to pick the restaurant. Back when she was younger, any time one of the Donovan children got hurt (which with three boys and Taylor was quite often), her father treated the whole family to Mc-Donald’s cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes. Feeling nostalgic, she told Jason she wanted to honor that tradition.
To which he promptly responded that Aston Martins did not do McDonald’s drive-thrus.
But then he went anyway.
They brought the food back to Taylor’s apartment so she could pack an overnight bag. While they were eating their cheeseburgers in her kitchen, Taylor jokingly pretended to pass out cold on the table while handing her pickle over to Jason.
Oh boy, did that little ruse cause quite a bit of panic and mayhem.
Come on, she laughingly apologized to Jason, she’d only been kidding around. She stood out on her driveway, where he had locked himself in his car refusing to speak to her until she swore to never do that again.
But a little while later, as the adrenaline rush of the car accident wore off, Taylor began to feel in earnest the effects of the concussion. She was already yawning as they pulled into Jason’s driveway. As the metal security gates parted grandly before them, she stared in awe at the house that would be her home for the next twenty-four hours. She suddenly felt one of her “realizations” coming on, so she made a quick joke inquiring about the whereabouts of the servants. When Jason replied that he had given them the weekend off, Taylor realized that she had no clue whether he was being sarcastic or serious. What she did realize, however, was that she and Jason would be completely alone for the next twenty-four hours.
Thank god she had just gotten a bikini wax.
Hey—only in case she wanted to go swimming in Jason’s pool.
Of course.
TAYLOR FOLLOWED JASON up the grand three-story staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. Halfway up, she stopped to rest on the landing. The doctor had warned her that, in the next twenty-four hours, she might experience drowsiness, confusion, fuzzy thoughts, and even potential changes in her personality. Taylor’s symptoms could possibly be more extreme, he had said, considering that she had been so sleep-deprived prior to the accident.
“What, doesn’t everybody get by on four hours of sleep nowadays?” she had innocently inquired. The doctor had given her another one of his looks. No, indeed they did not.
By now a few steps ahead of her on the staircase, Jason looked back when he realized Taylor had stopped.
“Why are there so many stairs in this place?” she pouted, leaning against the wall for support. She suddenly felt so tired. At least she wasn’t experegiging any fuggy thofts.
In two bounds, Jason crossed the steps between them. “Look at me.” With a firm grip on her chin, he peered intently into Taylor’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” She tried swatting his hand away.
Jason’s gaze fixated first on her right eye, then her left. “Checking to make sure your pupils are even.” He pulled back. “How do you feel?”
“I’m tired,” she complained. “Can’t you just get me to a bed?”
Damn. Even through her fuggy thofts, Taylor knew how that sounded.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Jason grinned. “Well, Ms. Donovan . . . all you had to do was ask.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. She sure had set herself up for that one all right.
Stupic conprussion.
JASON OPENED THE door to the guest suite, carefully watching Taylor to make sure she didn’t stumble or anything as she stepped in. He’d tried to help her up the stairs, but after several cranky “I got it, I got its,” he figured it was best to simply leave her be. Not that he didn’t find the whole thing pretty darn amusing, seeing her acting so un-Taylor-like.
Jason walked through the room, making sure everything had been properly set up for her arrival. He had designed his guest suite to have the feel of a luxury hotel. Lush cream damask silk bedding adorned the king-size four-poster bed. The adjoining sitting room boasted a chaise lounge that stretched before a crackling fireplace. He realized that the fireplace was a little unnecessary and flashy, but then again, so were a lot of things in Beverly Hills.
One look at the sitting room was apparently all Taylor needed.
“Ooh . . . a fire,” she said, wide-eyed.
Jason carried her suitcase into the bedroom, keeping an eye out to make sure she didn’t trip headfirst into said fire. Thankfully, she settled safely onto the chaise and leaned back against its pillows.
“Oh, excuse me? Mr. Andrews?”
She called out to him through sleepy eyes. Tired though she was, she still managed to have that devious little grin of hers.
“What time is the turndown service at this establishment?”
Jason headed into the sitting room to join her. “Anytime you’d like. Do you have any special requests for the turndown service this evening?”
Taylor curled up, tucking her feet under the cashmere throw blanket that rested at the foot of the chaise.
“I do,” she said coyly.
Jason knelt down in front of the chaise lounge so that they were eye level. “And what might that request be?” he asked huskily.
With her head on the pillow, all snuggled in, Taylor smiled up at him.
“Warm cookies. Chocolate chip, preferably.” Then she closed her eyes and fell peacefully asleep.
Jason sighed. He’d been hoping she might say something else . . . Oh well.
He pulled the blanket up, draping it over her shoulders. He stood up to leave and had just made it to the door when—
“Jason?”
He turned around to see Taylor peeking up at him, her eyes barely open. He wondered whether she was talking in her sleep.
“You know . . . if you like warm cookies, too, you could always join me later tonight.” She winked coyly at him.
Then she conked out, fast asleep.
JASON PACED IN his bedroom.
Okay.
So.
This was an interesting predicament.
She wasn’t herself this evening, he told himself. She didn’t know what she was saying.
The doctor had warned them about fuzzy thoughts, confusion, and possible changes to her personality. This was all part of the concussion.
Or was it . . . Jason slyly mused this over.
All right, all right. He pulled himself together. He may have been a lot of things, but he was not the kind of guy who would seduce a helpless woman.
Well, at least lately he wasn’t that kind of guy. Truth be told, until about a month ago, he didn’t have much of what some people liked to call “scruples.” And the sans-scruples Jason would’ve known exactly what to do in this situation.
As he continued to pace in front of his bed, Jason ran through several points of fact he believed to be highly relevant.
Fact one: Taylor Donovan was hardly any sort of “helpless” woman. In fact, she’d probably consider it an affront to her feminist sensibilities just to be thought of that way.
Fact two: Was it really seducing, per se, if the woman initiated things?
Fact three . . .
Jason drew a blank. Wait—there had to be a three. There was always a three.
But indeed, there was no three.
Because deep down, in his heart of hearts, Jason knew that letting anything happen with Taylor that night would be the wrong thing to do. He’d wanted her to stay with him because he’d felt things earlier that day that he’d never felt before about any woman—first when he heard she’d been in a car accident, and then the enormous relief he felt when he rushed into the emergency room and saw she was okay.
He had not invited Taylor over so that he could take advantage of fortuitous circumstances. Even if they were turning out to be some really fortuitous circumstances.
Jason sat down on his bed with a resigned sigh.
Fucking scruples.
A PHONE RANG somewhere in the distance.
Taylor came to on the chaise lounge. She realized the ringing was coming from inside her room. Her damn cell phone. She really needed to turn that thing off once in a while.
Taylor dragged herself over to her suitcase, where she’d packed the cell phone inside. She fell back on the bed and answered. It was Derek.
Yes, yes, she assured him, she was fine. Yes, she would be back in court on Monday. No, she was not playing hooky, smoking pot, and banging bongos naked with Matthew Mc-Conaughey. That was next weekend’s plan.
After hanging up the phone, Taylor yawned and stretched out on the bed, trying to shake the sleep from her head. Funny—she didn’t even remember lying down. The last thing she recalled was climbing that Mt. Everest of a staircase as she followed Jason to her room. And then . . . nothing. Although for some strange reason, she had a craving for chocolate chip cookies.
Even though she’d only been awake for a few minutes, Taylor felt as though she could lay on that bed forever. Maybe they had room service at Casa Andrews. She imagined herself picking up the phone on the end table to order. “Um . . . yes, hello. I’d like one Sexiest Man Alive, please. How would I like that prepared? Hmm . . . naked, if you have it.”
Taylor covered her mouth and giggled sneakily. Now there was an idea . . .
Right then, there was a knock at her door.
Jason! He’d somehow read her mind! He knew the things she’d been thinking, the naughty things she’d been thinking! About the bed and the chaise and then the sunken tub in the bathroom and then that thing she’d briefly considered about the top of the dresser and—
Jason knocked again. More insistently this time.
“Taylor? Can I come in?”
Taylor ran over to the chaise lounge to make it look as though she’d just woken up. She quickly mussed her hair. Then smoothed it. Then straightened her clothes and casually positioned herself just so.
“Sure, come in,” she called out calmly.
Jason poked his head inside the door. “Oh good, you’re awake.”
“Yes, just.”
Jason cocked his head questioningly. “I thought maybe I should order us dinner.”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
He gave her a strange look. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
“It’s the fire.” Taylor pointed.
Jason nodded. He paused awkwardly.
“Pasta, then?”
“Yes, delicious.”
“Good. I’ll see right to it.”
“Lovely. Excellent.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Jason left, shutting the door behind him. Taylor fell back on the chaise, exhausted.
Sometimes this witty repartee of theirs was so damn draining.
AS PROMISED, THEY had pasta for dinner. Wolfgang told Jason that he normally didn’t make personal deliveries, but for him, he’d make an exception. As long as Jason would in turn be willing to drop by Spago sometime that week with a few dozen of his paparazzi friends.
Unfortunately, Jason wasn’t sure Taylor even tasted the dinner he’d so lovingly and thoughtfully commanded be brought to them. About three forkfuls in, she’d abruptly stood up from the dining-room table and, tottering about like a drunk person, carried her plate into the living room while declaring couches to be far more comfortable places to eat. By the time Jason had followed her there, she had already abandoned her plate on the floor in front of his couch and appeared to be settling in for a long winter’s nap.
Thinking he might as well get comfortable, too, Jason took a seat next to her. With the push of one remote control button, the 110-inch screen of his projector television smoothly dropped down from the ceiling. He quickly found the Lakers game and dug into his lobster diavolo, thinking Taylor hadn’t exactly been wrong about the whole eating on the couch thing.
Somewhere during the second half of the game, Taylor shifted in her sleep and rested her head on Jason’s thigh. He looked down at her, curled up next to him on the couch, and realized there was no other way he would’ve rather spent his Friday night. Despite the fact that she was essentially comatose, she somehow made his whole house feel different just by being there. Before it had been just a house—a very impressive house no doubt, but a house nonetheless. But for some reason, with Taylor there it felt more like a home.
The game ended and—as much as he didn’t particularly mind having her head in his lap for hours on end—Jason figured he should probably get Taylor upstairs where she could sleep more comfortably. Since walking obviously wasn’t an option, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the staircase to the guest bedroom. Taylor roused at this and, when she saw where they were going, giggled and mumbled something about Gone with the Wind and Scarlett O’Hara not getting any sex for two financial quarters. This apparently made a lot of sense at least to her because, with a lazy smile, she wrapped her arms around Jason’s neck and slowly ran her fingers through the back of his hair.
And that was pretty much the point when he realized there was trouble on the horizon.
Jason carried Taylor into the guest room and to the bed, then stood her down beside it. He figured that was far enough and that, if he was serious about being a gentleman that night, he would make a fast getaway.
But instead of letting go, Taylor tightened her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. She gazed up at him from beneath her long lashes as one of her hands drifted down from his neck. With a finger, she gently traced a path along his chest, then down his stomach . . . Jason sucked in his breath as his abdominal muscles tightened at her touch. This was certainly new territory for them.
“I’ve thought about this,” she murmured in a breathless voice. “What it would be like . . .” She peered up at him. “Did you know that?”
Without waiting for an answer, she began to kiss his neck, teasing him. Biting back a moan, Jason closed his eyes. It was too much—her hands suddenly were everywhere.
“Taylor . . .” His voice came out in a ragged intake of breath. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh . . .” she whispered in his ear. “I’m the lawyer—I’m the one who asks the questions, remember?” Then she pulled back, her lips hovering just before his.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
His eyes locked with hers.
“Yes.”
She cocked her head. “Then what are you waiting for?”
With that, Jason took her by the back of her neck and kissed her. Her lips parted eagerly, and their tongues met as the kiss deepened. Jason didn’t know how long that went on for, and he wasn’t sure who led who, but at some point he realized that they had made their way to the bed and Taylor was lying beneath him. Her hands were at his waistband, pulling impatiently at his shirt, and her legs wrapped around him. Jason’s mouth trailed teasingly along her collarbone, then dipped toward the V-neck of her shirt. Now it was her turn to moan.
“Jason . . .” she whispered urgently.
More than anything, he wanted this. Wanted her, wanted to do all the things he knew would have her moaning his name all night. But something made him pause.
He pulled back to look at her. He saw that Taylor’s cheeks were flushed, her hair strewn wildly over her shoulders. She looked gorgeous and alluring and he was tempted as all hell but—there was one problem.
It was her eyes.
Like always, her eyes told him everything. They were dark and intense, but they were missing that knowing little gleam she always had. And without that gleam, Jason knew it wasn’t really her—the Taylor he wanted—that he was kissing right then.
So he pulled back, unwrapping himself from her. “We’re not going to do this. Not like this.”
Surprised, Taylor looked up at him through half-lidded eyes as she stretched out across the bed. “Not like this?” She smiled. “Fine then, I can be on top. Unless you had something else in mind . . .”
With that, she giggled.
And if her eyes hadn’t told Jason everything he needed to know, that giggle sure did. He pulled the blanket out from under her.
“You’re going to sleep, Taylor.”
She pouted at this. “Awww, come on . . . don’t I get to see the Sexiest Man Alive’s sexy bits?” She cracked up, thoroughly amusing herself.
Jason pulled the blanket over her. “I think it might be best if we save that show for another time.”
Taylor reached for the blanket reluctantly, blinking up at him with one last disappointed look.
“No bits?”
He shook his head firmly.
“No bits.”
She yawned, then with a dramatic sigh and a huffy “fine,” she drifted off. Jason was just turning to leave when she opened her eyes halfway.
“But I just wanted one night where I didn’t have to see the steps.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but the strange, almost sad expression on her face made Jason sit down on the bed. “What do you mean?”
Taylor gazed up at him as she explained, speaking in a soft voice.
“I bet other women don’t have to think around you. But I do. Because I see the steps: if I do this, then this will happen, then this and this . . .” She trailed off, then sighed exhaustedly. “It’s a lot of thinking sometimes,” she confessed.
Jason tried to fight back his smile. He kind of liked Concussed-and-Nearly-Comatose Taylor. She gave him great insight into what the real Taylor had going on in that head of hers.
“I like that you’re always thinking,” he told her.
She frowned. “You said I’m difficult.”
“Yes. But I like that about you, too.”
Seeming at least somewhat mollifield by this answer, Taylor nodded solemnly and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She quickly drifted off to sleep again. From her steady breathing, Jason could tell she was out for good this time. He checked the clock on the nightstand, making a mental note of the time he would have to wake her next. Then he got up and headed to the door.
With one last look over his shoulder, Jason turned off the light to Taylor’s room and quietly shut the door behind him.
Tomorrow, he thought as he headed down the hallway to his bedroom. They would talk about all of this in the morning.