Come Lie With Me (17 page)

“You stayed with him for three months? Isn't that how long you told me your marriage lasted?”

“Not even that long. That I stayed with him, I mean. I can't remember…. He pushed me down the steps one night, and I landed in the hospital with a broken arm and a concussion. I was there for several days, and a nurse figured out that I hadn't simply tripped while going down the steps. She talked to me, and a counselor talked to me. I didn't go back to Scott. When I was released from the hospital, the nurse let me stay with her.”

She was calmer now, the memories easier to bear. In her normal voice she said, “Scott's family was horrified by what had happened, they were good people, and when I filed for divorce they forced Scott to go along with it. They gave me a lot of support, paid for my training as a therapist, kept Scott away from me, even got him into psychiatric counseling. It must have worked; he's remarried now, and they seem very happy. He has two daughters.”

“Have you kept in touch with him?” Blake asked incredulously.

“Oh, no!” she denied, shaking her head. “But while
his mother was alive she kept track of me, sort of looked after me like a guardian angel. She never got over what had happened to me, as if it were her fault because Scott was her son. She told me when he remarried, and when her grandchildren were born. She died a couple of years ago.”

“So he lived happily ever after, and you've been dragging a ball and chain around with you for all these years,” he said angrily. “Afraid to let anyone touch you, keeping people pushed away at a safe distance…only half-alive!”

“I haven't been unhappy,” she said wearily, her lashes sweeping down. She was so tired…. He knew all of it now, and she felt so empty, as if all the terror that had filled her for so long had seeped away, leaving her hollow and lost. The warmth of Blake's body was so comforting in the chilly room; the steady rumble of his heartbeat in his strong chest was so reassuring. She could feel the iron in the bands of flesh that wrapped around her, feel the security of his strength. She'd given him that strength; it was only right that she rely on it now. She turned her face against him, inhaling and tasting on her tongue the heady scent of his body. He smelled of man, of sweat, of a clean grassy scent that eluded her when she tried to search it out. He had the musky smell of sex, a reminder of the incredible night. With a slow, gentle sigh, she slept, all of her senses filled with him.

When she woke she was alone in the bed and the brightness of the room told her that the morning was almost over. She wasn't fortunate enough to forget, even for a moment, the events of the night. Her eyes went to the gallery, but the wheelchair was gone, and she wondered how Blake could have left her bed and
taken the wheelchair without waking her; she was normally the lightest of sleepers, coming awake at any unusual noise. But she'd been so tired…she was still tired, her body heavy and clumsy feeling, her reactions slow.

She eased out of bed, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness of her body. How could she have been so stupid that she'd let Blake make love to her? She was trying to get through these last days with him with the least amount of emotional damage, and she'd made it impossibly complicated. She should never have tried to arouse him; she didn't know anything about handling men, or handling herself, if it came to that. He'd said, “I need you,” and she'd melted. A real pushover, she told herself contemptuously. He must have seen her coming a mile away. Then, to top it all off, she'd told him about Scott.

She writhed inwardly with embarrassment. She'd managed for years to control herself, to keep herself from wallowing in the slimy pool of the past. So she hadn't been comfortable with men; what of it? A lot of women managed very well without men. When she thought of the way she'd clung to him, weeping and moaning, she wanted to die of shame. Her solitary nature hated the thought of displaying so much of herself to anyone, even the man who had taken up her days and nights for months.

Willpower had a lot to say for itself; it steadied her nerves, gave her the courage to shrug her shoulders and step into the shower as if there was nothing unusual about that morning. She dressed as she normally did, then went straight to the gym, where she knew she'd find Blake. There was no point in putting off their meeting, because time wouldn't make it any easier. It was best to face him and get it over with.

When she opened the door he glanced at her but didn't say anything; he was lying on his stomach, lifting weights with his legs, and he was counting. He was totally engrossed in the demands he was making of his body. With a slow but steady rhythm he lifted each leg in turn.

“How long have you been doing that?” Dione asked sternly, forgetting her discomfort as her professional concern surfaced.

“Half…an…hour,” he grated.

“That's enough. Stop right now,” she ordered. “You're overdoing it; no wonder your legs give you fits! What are you trying to do, punish your legs for the years they didn't work?”

He relaxed with a groan. “I'm trying to get away from the walker,” he said irritably. “I want to walk alone, without leaning on anything.”

“If you tear a muscle you're going to be leaning on something for a lot longer than necessary,” she snapped back. “I've watched you push yourself past the bounds of common sense, but no more. I'm a therapist, not a spectator. If you're not going to follow my instructions, then there's no use in my staying here any longer.”

His head jerked around, and his eyes darkened to a stormy color. “Are you telling me that you're leaving?”

“That's up to you,” she returned stonily. “If you'll do as you're told and follow your training program, I'll stay. If you're going to ignore everything I say and do what you want, there's no point in my wasting my time here.”

He flushed darkly, and she realized that he still wasn't used to giving in to anyone. For a moment she expected him to tell her to pack her bags, and she pulled herself
up, braced for the words that would end her time with him. Then he clenched his jaw and snapped, “All right, lady, you're the boss. What's the matter with you today? You're as touchy as a rattler.”

Absurd relief washed over her, at both her reprieve from exile and the familiar, comforting ill-temper apparent in his words. She could handle that; but she knew beyond a doubt that she wouldn't have been able to handle the situation if he'd made any reference to the intimacy of the night, if he'd tried to kiss her and act like a lover.

She was so determined to regain the therapist-patient relationship that during the day she resisted his teasing and efforts to joke with her, turning a cold face to his laughing eyes. By the time they had finished they were snarling at each other like two stray dogs. Dione, having eaten nothing all day, was so hungry that she was almost sick, and that only added to the hostility she felt.

Her body was rebelling against her misuse of it when it was finally time for dinner. On wobbly legs she made her way down the stairs, her head whirling in a nauseating manner that made her cling to the banisters. She was so preoccupied with the task of getting down the stairs in one piece that she didn't hear Blake behind her, didn't feel his searing blue gaze on her back.

She made it to the dining room and fell into her chair with relief at not having sprawled on the floor. After a moment Blake made his way past her and went into the kitchen; she was too sick to wonder at that, even though it was the first time she'd seen him enter the kitchen in the months she'd been living there.

Alberta came out promptly with a steaming bowl of soup, which she placed before Dione. “Eat that right now,” she ordered in her gruff, no-nonsense voice.

Slowly Dione began to eat, not trusting her queasy stomach. As she ate, though, she began to feel better as her stomach settled; by the time she'd finished the soup the trembling in her body was subsiding and she wasn't as dizzy. She looked up to find Blake seated across from her, silently watching her eat. A wave of color heated her face, and she dropped her spoon, embarrassed that she'd begun eating without him.

“Lady,” he said evenly, “you give the word
stubborn
a whole new meaning.”

She lowered her eyes and didn't respond, not certain if he were talking about how hungry she'd been or something else; she feared it was the “something else,” and she just couldn't carry on a calm, ordinary conversation about what had happened between them.

She made an effort to call a truce between them, though without lowering her guard an inch. She couldn't laugh with him; her nerves were stretched too tightly, her emotions were too ravaged. But she did smile and talk, and generally avoided meeting his eyes. In that manner she made it safely through the evening until it was time to go to bed and she could excuse herself.

She was already in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard him call. It was like an instant replay of the night before and she froze, a film of perspiration breaking out on her body. She couldn't go in there, not after what had happened the last time. He couldn't have cramps in his legs, because she'd heard him come up not five minutes before. He wasn't even in bed yet.

She lay there telling herself fiercely that she wouldn't go; then he called her name again and years of training rose up to do battle with her. He was her patient, and he was calling her. She could just check and make cer
tain that he was all right, and leave again if there was nothing wrong.

Reluctantly she climbed out of bed, this time reaching for her robe and belting it tightly around her. No more going into his room wearing only her nightgown; the thought of his hands on her breasts interfered with the rhythm of her breathing, and an odd ache began in the flesh that he had touched.

When she opened the door to his bedroom she was surprised to see that he was already in bed. “What did you want?” she asked coolly, not leaving her position by the door.

He sighed and sat up, stuffing his pillows behind his back. “We have to talk,” he said.

She froze. “If you like to talk so much, maybe you should join a debating team,” she retorted.

“I made love to you last night,” he said bluntly, going straight to the heart of the issue and watching as she flinched against the door. “You had a rough deal with your ex-husband, and I can understand that you're wary, but last night wasn't a total disaster for you. You kissed me, you responded to me. So why are you acting today as if
I'd
raped you?”

Dione sighed, shaking her long hair back. He'd never understand something that she didn't really understand herself; she only knew that, in her experience, caring led to pain and rejection. It wasn't so much a physical distance she wanted from him as an emotional one, before he took everything she had and left her only a shell, empty and useless. But there was something he
would
understand, and at last she met his eyes.

“What happened last night won't happen again,” she said, her voice low and clear. “I'm a therapist, and
you're my patient. That's the only relationship that I can allow between us.”

“You're closing the barn door after the horse is already out,” he said with maddening amusement.

“Not really. You had doubts about your ability to have sex after the accident, and that was interfering with your training. Last night removed those doubts. That was the beginning and end of anything sexual between us.”

His face darkened. “Damn it,” he growled, all amusement gone. “Are you telling me that last night was just a therapeutic roll in the hay?”

Her lips tightened at his crudity. “Bingo,” she said, and stepped out of his room, closing the door firmly behind her.

She returned to bed, knowing it was useless to think of sleep, but making the effort anyway. She had to leave. She simply couldn't stay until the first of the year, not with things as strained as they were now. Blake was almost fully recovered; time and practice would accomplish the rest of it. He didn't need her any longer, and there were other people who did.

Her bedroom door opened and he stood there, without the walker, moving slowly and carefully as he closed the door and crossed the room to her.

“If you want to run, I can't catch you,” he said flatly.

She knew that, but still she lay where she was, watching him. He was nude, his tall, perfect body shamelessly exposed to her gaze. She looked at him and couldn't help feeling a thrill of pride at the ripple of muscles, the fluid grace of his body. He was beautiful, and she'd created him.

He lifted the sheet and got into bed beside her, immediately enveloping her in the warmth of his body.
She wanted to sink into his flesh, but instead she made one more effort to protect herself. “This can't work,” she said, her voice cracking with pain.

“It already has; you just haven't admitted it yet.” He put his hand on her hip and pulled her to him, nestling her against him down the entire length of his body. She sighed, her soft breath tickling the hairs on his chest; her body relaxed in traitorous contentment.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, his lips gentle, his tongue dipping into her mouth briefly to taste her, then withdrawing. “Let's get one issue settled right now,” he murmured. “I've been lying to you, but I thought it best to keep from frightening you. I wanted you since…hell, it seems like from the first time I saw you. Definitely since I threw my breakfast at you, and you laughed the most beautiful laugh I'd ever heard.”