CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frankie~
She heard Cam as soon as he transitioned to lighter sleep and his body began to wake up. She had also felt him earlier as his sleep waves changed and he roused. She had sent him back to sleep then. Now it was time for him to be up.
The more she sang to him, the more attuned they seemed to become. General Custer. Eleanor had not warned her that deploying her phoenix healing songs would bond her more tightly to her lover.
Yet she could hardly stop when Cam was finally showing improvement. Not that she wanted to. Her common sense told her to run. Her foolish heart wanted to be close to her bear in every way possible. She was going to wind up one sorry, broken-hearted phoenix.
Cam went tottering down the hall to the bathroom on his cane. It was probably a little cruel to have deprived him of the walker. But Eleanor had insisted that six weeks after surgery he should be entirely on the cane. And that he should be taking longer and longer walks. He wasn’t healing slowly for a shifter. He was just healing slowly period.
Could she speed up his recovery enough that she could keep her heart intact? Not if this melting sensation in her midsection was any indication. Even as she wondered if she could spare herself grief, she was changing her melody so that it resonated better with Cam’s waking brain. At this rate her love-softened heart was about to become a sacrifice on the altar of his obstinacy.
She would have to defer any decision. It was time for Cam’s next dose of meds and something to eat. She wasn’t a fabulous cook, but she had cobbled together a casserole out of what was in the cupboards and fridge. Cameron had never been a fussy eater. She had never met a serviceman who was. He had learned to eat and enjoy eating field rations. This tuna casserole might not be much, but it was better than that.
There would be no more meals on the couch. He was probably still too tired from their outing to make it to the main house for dinner. But he could sit at the kitchen table and eat with her like a civilized person. She laid the table and took the casserole out of the oven, before she went to the living room to supervise his meds.
He was sitting upright on the couch, his cane resting between his legs. The first time she had seen him willingly stay erect.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
He shrugged. But he didn’t wince. Definitely an improvement – even if he couldn’t feel it for himself. He would make even more progress if she could just get him to take bear. Tapping into his animal strength and vigor should almost instantly give him a sense of well-being and restore his aura. It might even have a positive effect on his depression. But first, the pills, and some dinner.
“It’s nearly suppertime,” she said.
He sniffed. “Something smells good.”
“Tuna casserole.”
“My favorite.”
Despite her worry, she grinned. “Tuna casserole is nobody’s favorite.”
“If you made it for me, it’s my favorite.” The silver-tongued devil.
She handed him his pills and a glass of water. He didn’t just throw them into his mouth, he looked at them. “Where are the blue ones?”
“You don’t get those at supper.” Or indeed at all. She, Eleanor, and the pharmacist had conferred. Given that those particular antidepressants interacted poorly with almost everything else he was prescribed, he shouldn’t be taking them. Frankie had made the unilateral decision to withhold them. So far he was not exhibiting any withdrawal symptoms.
He shrugged and swallowed the handful. Drank the water and held out the glass again. She filled it and he drank that too. All this water was making his skin look less stretched and pasty. But he was still a long way from handsome.
“Let’s go. Supper’s ready.”
“It’s a long way to the kitchen. Where’s my walker?”
The cottage was small. The living room couch was less than twenty steps away from the kitchen table. “Not in the house. You’ll never get your strength back unless you get your legs used to bearing your weight.” She tapped the cane. “From now on, you use your third leg. Your walker is only for outdoors.”
“Huh.”
* * *
Cameron~
He was a pathetic fool to be enjoying this meal so much. Frankie had cleared away the rubble he had left making himself that half-assed breakfast. His feet hadn’t stuck to the floor even when he passed in front of the fridge, so she had mopped up the residue from the orange juice he had spilled. Hard to believe Warrior Woman was waiting on him hand and foot without a single smart remark. But she was.
The tuna casserole and green beans were good. Hot. Filling. Satisfying. He felt no need to make conversation. He concentrated on getting his food into his mouth without leaving any on his chin. Frankie passed him the dish of beans. Shift. Coordinating holding the bowl and transferring the vegetables to his plate took forever. His pleasure in the meal vanished.
Frankie made no comment. His impatient phoenix just held the bowl as if his turning helping himself to green beans into an all-day event was normal. He noticed that she was humming. The melody hovered in the air like the scent of the casserole. A background phenomenon just on the edge of awareness.
“Stop it,” he ground out.
“What?”
“You’re singing at me – again.”
She set the bowl of beans carefully on the table and laid the tongs across the top with equal care. She nodded. “I am. What of it?”
“You’re manipulating me.”
Her face stiffened, but the humming continued. “I wouldn’t call it manipulating. I am trying to stabilize your brain, so it sends the right messages to your body.” She picked up her fork.
“Without so much as asking me if I cared to be hypnotized?”
“As far as I can tell, there’s nobody home to ask,” she shot back. “And it’s not hypnosis. I’ve explained that to you before.”
She had. He hadn’t believed it three years ago. He didn’t believe it now. Now that he was focusing on it, he could feel the humming vibrating in every part of his body. “You know what your problem is, D’Angelo? You always think you know best.”
“Probably because I usually do. I suppose you’d rather spend the rest of your life languishing on the couch like some fragile, Victorian maiden?”
He saw red. “Don’t try to justify your invasion of my privacy, D’Angelo.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Listen up, bud. You’ve made more progress in the last few days since I staged my ‘invasion’.” Her fingers made scare quotes. “Than you’ve made in the last month.” She rose from the table and shoved her chair back under it. “You should be grateful that I’m spending my leave playing nanny.”
“I’m not a child,” he said through his teeth. He wished he could just get up and leave. He didn’t have the energy for a real fight.
“Then stop being childish. I’m a phoenix. I sing. Deal with it.” She stared him down.
He felt those blue eyes like lasers on his own. He tried to explain. “I’m cool with your singing – right up until you start using it to manipulate me.”
“I’m not manipulating you, jackass. I’m healing you. That too is my gift.” She set her jaw and glared at him.
He couldn’t muster an argument. But that didn’t mean he wanted her walking in and out of his head without so much as knocking. “Maybe I’d rather heal slowly than have you in my head.”
“I wouldn’t enter that cesspit if I could.” Her voice rose.
He watched her stomp off to the sink and scrape her plate into the composter. She was rigid with outrage. But at least she wasn’t treating him like an invalid any more.
“Is that why you turned down my Gift of Immortality?” Her voice shook. She left her back to him.
“I turned it down, because I’m a goddamned bear. I offered you a bear bond. But no, Frankie D’Angelo has to have everything her own way.”
That got her marching back to him. She leaned over the table, arms spread, palms flat. Her glorious rack heaved. His tongue was suddenly dry. “You turned down immortality because you thought I was inflexible?” She was incredulous. Incandescent with rage.
“And haven’t you been congratulating yourself for the last week that I did, D’Angelo? Otherwise you’d be stuck married to a fricking cripple. A cripple with no job and no prospects.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Stuck with a cripple? Stuck with a cripple?” She was hissing like a tea kettle, he fully expected to see steam coming out of her mouth. But at least the humming had vanished. “I gotta tell you, Bear Boy, that if that’s your idea of true love, it’s no wonder you turned down your chance at a Phoenix Bond.”
“I only meant that you must be glad you’re not married to a hamstrung gimp.”
“Gimp? Gimp? What sort of language is that? What century are you from, Bear Boy? No, I’m not rejoicing because I avoided having an injured mate. What part of fated don’t you understand?” Her voice broke. “Married. Not married. Transformed. Not transformed. It’s all the same, you idiot. You are part of my soul. My problem is that you don’t reciprocate my feelings.”
She pushed up and stood military straight. “Finish your supper, Airman. It’s bedtime.”
Damn right. He reached out an arm and yanked her onto his lap. Shut her up in the most effective way he knew. She didn’t even struggle, she simply surrendered to his kiss and then fought him for control. That was his phoenix. Even in defeat, she was a warrior.
Part of her soul? She certainly tasted as if she were part of his. The thought made his head spin. He held on to her in case she might evaporate as all his fantasies of her did. She clung just as tightly and tangled her tongue with his. The frenzied mating was agony and bliss. His injured leg protested her weight even as his arms rejoiced to hold her.
What he needed to do was carry her off to bed. But he couldn’t stand up unassisted let alone with six-foot-three of muscular female in his arms. He angled her head so he could explore her mouth better, and traced one ear with his finger, before drawing it down the side of her neck. The little caress still made her crazy. Her scent bloomed. She was fragrant with desire.
Just as he was about to cry uncle, and admit he could no longer support her weight, she slid backward and gracefully swung one long leg clear of his torso. When he got his breath back, her soft, warm breasts were pressed into his chest. Her ripe ass was two inches clear of his lap and her legs were firmly planted on the floor either side of his chair.
She leaned in and took possession of his mouth again. He cupped her butt and squeezed. Let go. Squeezed again. Found the rhythm that drove her wild. It had been a lifetime since he had had a handful of Frankie D’Angelo’s delectable backside and he might never have one again. She swiveled her hips in response to his massage and filled the air with the heady perfume of her arousal.
His breath was a rasp in the air. Hers was thick but steady. Her tongue teased the roof of his mouth, withdrew, traced the outline of his lips, catching on the freshly shaven skin. How could such a tender caress make him so hard? His woody was trying to climb out of his jeans.