Chapter 12
The twenty-four-hour pharmacy was surprisingly crowded for four thirty in the morning. Rob waited at the counter, hoping they’d hurry up. Stacey was sleeping in the car. She hadn’t made it out of the hospital parking lot before passing out. Fortunately, the light snore coming from her was reassuring that it was, indeed, normal sleep. But he wanted to get her tucked into bed now. The delay was chafing.
The clerk waved him over.
“We’ll need to see some identification.”
Rob pulled his wallet from his pocket and flipped open to his license.
The clerk cocked a brow at him. “This isn’t your prescription.”
Rob’s already thin patience snapped. “No, it isn’t. It’s my girlfriend’s. She’s spent the entire night in the ER after being T-boned by some asshole who ran a red light. Right now she’s so exhausted that she’s sleeping in my car, with bruised ribs and a broken leg. In six hours we have to be at the orthopedist’s office so he can schedule surgery. Now, do you want me to yank the rental wheelchair out of the trunk, wake her up, and wheel her in here so you can see her face yourself, or can you let me sign for her meds since they aren’t even fucking narcotics?”
Totally true? No. Completely believable? Judging from the clerk’s pale expression and deft motions at the cash register, most definitely.
“Have a nice morning, sir.”
Rob nodded curtly and took the bag of meds. It wasn’t like him to be a dick, but goddamn it, tonight was more than enough. Stacey had had enough. He wouldn’t put her through one more minute of irritation.
Back at the car, he got behind the wheel. Stacey moved in her sleep, wincing and mumbling something.
“It’s okay. We’ll be at my place in just a few minutes.”
He hit the highway and counted the exits. The road was lonely, only one or two other vehicles running the blacktop with them. The radio buzzed low, giving just enough sound to distract Rob from Stacey’s soft breaths. His exit, finally. Second road on the right. He let out a sigh of relief as he cruised into his driveway.
His condo was nice. Not luxury, by any means, but there was some space to breathe, a small yard for Custard to play in, and lucky for him, a spare bedroom. He wasn’t so much of a bastard that he’d force her to share the bed when she felt like shit.
Glancing at the drizzly night sky, Rob hurried to the trunk of the car. The wheelchair was easy enough to expand and set up by the passenger side. It quickly became dotted with rain.
“Stacey,” he said as he opened the door. “We’ve got to hurry so you don’t get too wet. It’s starting to rain.”
“Hmmm?” She blinked at him, blue eyes confused. “Wet?”
Not waiting to explain further, he helped her swing her legs out of the car. Then, with gentle, easy movements, he transferred her to the wheelchair. Fortunately the home health tech who had attended his dad last time had given Rob some tips, and he was grateful for them now.
“Sorry,” Stacey said as he unlocked the brakes, rain falling in fat drops all around them. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you there.”
“It’s okay. Come on. We’re going to get you to bed.” He wheeled her quickly up the brick walk.
His place wasn’t exactly wheelchair-friendly, but it beat a third-floor walk-up all to hell. He maneuvered the chair up the two steps of his front stoop, and by the time he’d unlocked the door and wheeled Stacey into the foyer they were both drenched.
A huge brown ball of wrinkles, slobber, and love greeted him with a thumping tail as she sat watching Rob remove his coat.
“Stacey, this is Custard.”
“Hi, Custard,” Stacey said, the smile on her pale face making Rob’s tension ease just a bit. She held out a hand and Custard covered it with kisses.
“Come on, girl, time for a potty break.” Rob patted his knee and moved toward the back door. There was an awning that extended past his patio, so Custard at least could enjoy the night without being soaked. Once the dog was outside, Rob went back to his patient.
“It’s really nice of you to do this. Are you sure you’re up for it, though?” Stacey had obviously spent the last few minutes fighting a sense of guilty obligation. It was written all over the down-turned corners of her pink lips. “Maybe tomorrow I can go—”
“Save it,” Rob said, wheeling her into his bedroom. “I promised Dr. Calhoun. Forty-eight hours in my company can’t be so bad, can it? Am I that much of a bastard?”
“No, no, that’s not it at all,” she said, twisting her head to look at him. The movement was too much, and she gasped, stilling instantly. A pang of guilt gripped him. He shouldn’t tease her right now.
“Sit right here,” he said, locking the wheelchair brakes.
“What choice do I have? What am I going to do, power-roll down the highway?” She sounded grumpy, and he was kind of glad. At least some of her spirit had come back. He liked the vinegar-filled Stacey. He went into his closet and rifled through his things. Grabbing an old T-shirt, soft from repeated washings, and a pair of baggy basketball shorts, he came back into the room.
“Here,” he said. “It’s not exactly fancy, but it’ll be more comfortable than sleeping in your wet stuff.”
Stacey took the shirt and shorts from him. Her cheeks reddened as she looked at the labels.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know how to say this out loud. God, this is embarrassing.”
“What is it?” Had he done something to hurt her feelings? “Just tell me.”
She didn’t look at his face, choosing instead to focus on his feet as if they were the most exciting things in the room. “Your clothes won’t fit me. They’re too small.”
Oh. Oh. Jesus Christ, he was an asshole.
Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I can probably squeeze into the shirt, but I’d be afraid of stretching it out.”
“It’s okay,” Rob said. “Don’t worry about it at all. I just wanted you to be comfortable, and I wasn’t thinking. Here”—he ducked into the bathroom and came back a second later—“you can wear this if you want.”
His robe, a comfy, beaten terry-cloth affair, seemed to ease some of her disquiet. “Thanks.”
He moved the chair to the edge of the bed. At his direction, Stacey wound her arms around his neck. There was a faint hint of her perfume, along with the slightly antiseptic smell of the hospital clinging to her. Damn it. He hated that this was happening to her. She didn’t look in his eyes as he lifted her from chair to bed. Probably for the best. This proximity had him wondering about kissing her again. Joining her in the bed. Soothing her sore and broken body with sweet caresses.
Had to be the exhaustion talking.
“Want me to help you get changed?”
Her head shake had to give her whiplash if the wreck hadn’t already. “Nope, I can do it, thanks.”
For a moment he wondered if he should be hurt or offended, but he let it go.
“I’ll let you get changed, but I’ll be just on the other side of the door. If it starts hurting too much, call me and I can help.”
“I can do it.” Stacey waved him off. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t argue, even though he was pretty sure she should have help. As he moved down the hall, Custard was already standing at the back door, her tail wagging lazily.
“Come on in, slobberchops.” Rob locked the door behind Custard and gave her the Milkbone she’d been eyeing since paw hit hardwood. With his mutt crunching on her treat behind him, he moved down the hallway to wait outside the bedroom door.
A muffled curse made him lay a hand on the door. “Stacey? Are you okay?”
“Goddamn it.” She yelled it, so he pushed the door open.
“Stacey, don’t—”
He stopped dead. She stared at him, blue eyes wide. She’d removed her top and bra, and was sitting shirtless on the edge of his bed, trying to reach the T-shirt that had slipped onto the floor. And she had the most beautiful, full, round breasts he’d ever seen.
“Goddamn,” he echoed.
* * *
She had died. The car accident was finally over, and the archangel had decided that she belonged in hell. Her punishment was for Robert Liston to see her naked.
A sound—almost a squawk—escaped her, but she couldn’t move. Her muscles had seized up in protest against the movements she’d made, and she was frozen in that position. One arm reaching toward the floor, the other hand braced against the bed, and her breasts hanging free.
For an impossibly long moment, he stared, and she stared back. Why wouldn’t he say something? Why couldn’t she move? The pain in her body warred with her mind’s frantic need to jerk backward, cover herself, and the stalemate wouldn’t break.
“I’m sorry,” Rob said, finally turning his head to the side. “It sounded like you were hurting.”
“I was. I am. But—shit,” she wheezed as the discomfort flared again. “I need help. I dropped the shirt and I could use a hand sitting upright again, but I’m half-naked and I’m so, so fucking sorry you had to see that.”
He moved toward her, keeping his head turned. “Stacey, I invaded your privacy. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“A sight like that should come with a warning label,” Stacey tried to laugh, but it came out strained.
“You’re right.” His agreement stung for approximately half a second as he reached for the shirt. “A warning label. It would read, Caution all heart patients and those suffering from premature ejaculation: seriously beautiful breasts ahead.”
Rob held the shirt between them, blocking his view of her body. She stared up at him, unable to think, to move. He knelt.
“Put your hand on my shoulder and try to brace against it. I’ll move up slowly until you’re sitting again. Ready?”
She nodded.
“One, two, three.”
The pain flared, but once she was upright again it settled to a much more manageable level.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the shirt Rob handed her and covering her chest.
“If I promise not to look, can I help you get the shirt on?”
“Okay.”
Together they got her dressed, and though the shirt was snug, as predicted, it did cover her. And the material was soft. Best of all, it smelled like him.
“If you lie back, I’ll help you take your pants off.”
She’d dreamed of hearing those words from a man as sexy as him, but never in these circumstances. She sighed. “There’s not really a way around that, is there?”
“Not unless you want to sleep in them.”
She didn’t. She really, really didn’t. But she also didn’t want Rob to see her thighs. Her upper half had been bad enough, but at least he’d thought her breasts were okay.
“They’re pretty comfortable, so I’ll be okay staying in them. They didn’t get too wet in the rain.” She glanced around the room. It was obviously the master bedroom, with a walk-in closet to the right of the door they’d entered. Opposite was the bathroom. Inside she could see a large walk-in shower, tiled with slate and brushed nickel fixtures.
“Do you have a guest room?”
“Sure do,” Rob said, pulling the covers back, “And Custard and I will be very comfortable in there. Here, lie back.”
Rob gently let her down against the pillows. She watched him as he pulled the covers up over her legs, fluffed her pillows, and brushed her hair back from her forehead.
“You’re really good at this,” she said, as fingers of sleep reached up and curled around her consciousness.
“Nice of you to say.”
“You were probably a nurse in a former life. Maybe Florence Nightingale.”
Rob’s laugh, velvety and warm, caressed her ears. “Maybe I was.”
“Thank you for watching me.” Her voice sounded small, faraway, like a child in a tunnel. “I don’t have anyone else I could call tonight. My friends are all busy with stuff of their own. My family is far away and terrible. I was so lonely, but then, there you were, and I didn’t have to worry.”
“Sleep now,” Rob said, his knuckles brushing against her brow. She closed her eyes and relished the sweet, simple touch. It was nice. Almost as nice as the kiss they’d shared. She said so aloud, not caring about being embarrassed anymore. She was too tired to care about that.
“It was a nice kiss.” Was that a smile in his voice?
“Can we do it again later?”
He laughed again. God, she wished he’d keep doing that. “If you’re feeling better, and still want to.”
“I will always want to.” She let herself descend into sleep then, the night finally over. She thought she felt a brief touch on her brow once more, but she couldn’t be sure.
* * *
Soon, much too soon, an alarm was beeping in her ear.
“Gah,” she grunted, and started to roll over to hit the SNOOZE button. The motion brought fresh, sharp pain in her leg, and the sensation ripped her breath away. Freezing, she waited for the wave to pass. Finally it had settled enough for her to manage movement. Carefully, slowly, she reached for the clock on the bedside table and slid the button to the off position.
Where was she? Oh. Right. Last night. The wreck. The hospital. The cop. Rob. Rob’s place. Her boobs. Oh God.
She wanted to retch, but the thought of such a sudden, sharp movement made her whole body ache.
Staring at Rob’s ceiling, she wondered what the hell she was going to do now. Forty-eight hours, they’d said at the hospital. She had to stay under observation for forty-eight hours. That meant staying here with him, unless she could find someone else to volunteer. But even if she could, did she want to?
She bundled the covers tight under her chin. He’d paid her a really nice compliment last night when he’d walked in on her changing. If things were different, she’d probably have been really flattered and maybe taken it as a sign he wasn’t so indifferent to her. But with her situation the way it was, how could she?
Glancing at the clock again, Stacey groaned. It was nine thirty. The orthopedist was supposed to see her at eleven. That meant she needed to try to start moving soon if they were going to leave by ten thirty, as Rob had suggested. Besides, she really had to pee.
Moving the covers off, she gingerly scooted to the edge of the bed. A quick glance to gauge the distance, and a hand to brace herself on a friendly nightstand, then—
“Ah,” she breathed as her weight went onto her good foot. There. She was upright. A little wobbly, her head a little bit spinny, but upright nonetheless. Now all she had to do was hop on one foot to the bathroom door. Once she was there, she could steady herself on the jamb before moving into the room.
Stacey stared toward her intended destination. It was a good plan. A pretty solid plan, as plans went. So, why couldn’t she force herself to move?
“This is going to hurt,” she said aloud. “You can do it. It’s only what, six, eight feet?”
Nodding, she held her breath. Only one hop done before a knock came at the door.
“Stacey, I’m back, are you awake?”
She was gritting her teeth and trying not to fall over. “Uh-hnn.”
“Are you okay? Can I help?”
Two more hops. Could she be a little lighter on her feet? It sounded like she was trying to stomp holes in his flooring. “Unn-nnn.”
“I’m coming in.”
Oh no, he couldn’t. She was even with the door. Once he swung it open he’d . . .
She didn’t fight it this time. There was no point. The door opened and she waited for him to catch her.
She wasn’t falling, but that didn’t seem to matter.
“Why didn’t you call me? Christ, you could have fallen and hit your head again.”
“But I didn’t,” she pointed out as he scooped her into his arms. Christ, she’d never thought she’d find a guy who could actually do that. Her arms wound around his neck instinctively and she held on tightly, trying to ignore how good it felt to be held this way. “You’re going to give yourself a hernia if you don’t put me down. I’m way too heavy for this.”
“Let me worry about that. Listen. When you get some crutches, or a cane, you can hop around all you want to. But before then, ask for help.”
“You going to put me on the toilet so I can pee?” She delivered the line coolly, pleased with her snappy comeback in the face of his proximity.
But when he didn’t answer, just carried her toward the toilet, panic welled inside her.
“No, seriously, I was joking. Don’t. Please, I’m humiliated enough.” She didn’t want to beg, but damn it, for this, she’d beg.
He gently set her down on her good leg beside the toilet.
“Go ahead. I’ll be in the closet grabbing a few things, so if you fall or need help, yell and I’ll be right here.”
“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks hotter than the desert sun. Thankfully, he closed the bathroom door behind him. The snap of the latch made her jump.
If ever she’d fantasized about a guy nursing her back to health, she’d been so very, very wrong. If she survived the next forty-eight hours with any dignity intact, she’d consider it a home run.