A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (13 page)

“For what it’s worth, I’m no Casanova myself.”

“How many women have you been with?”

“Three.”

That’s not very many
. “Okay.”

“Thousand.”

“Charlie!”

He snickered at his own joke as he raised a hand to touch her cheek. “Right now, there’s only one woman who matters.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, then with more pressure.

She willed her mouth to relax and glide with the rhythm of his overtures, and their kissing became a sensuous exchange that awakened urges she had thought long gone.

She felt his hand move to the front of her blouse and begin to unbutton it. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heartbeat, which tapped faster than Fred and Ginger ever had. After what seemed like eons, she realized he hadn’t even gotten the first button unfastened.

He broke their kiss. “My coach would be very disappointed in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t even get to second base.”

“Oh!” She giggled softly. “I suppose you want me to unbutton it.”

“Well, that would be nice.”

“All right.” She started to do so, but her hands trembled. She didn’t want him to see her naked, eighty-one-year-old body, no matter how low the lighting was. “Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“This makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Hmm.” He gnawed on his bottom lip. “How about this: I’ll go over to the other side of the bed, we can turn our backs to each other and take our clothes off, and then we can slide under the covers. Would that be better?”

“Yes, much better.”

“Okay.” He got up and kept a hand on the bed to guide him as he walked around it.

Helen stood and quickly slipped out of her blouse and slacks. Then she couldn’t decide where to put them. She finally laid them on the floor next to the nightstand and slid under the covers before removing her underwear.

He took longer to disrobe, so she tried not to peek at him. Then the second he got into bed, she recalled an unpleasant necessity: Lubrication! She couldn’t do this without lubrication. “Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I forgot I’m going to need . . . do you have any K-Y Jelly?”

He paused. “Oh. Uh, I doubt it, but I’ll go check.” His joints cracked a couple of times as he put his boxers back on and left the room.

The longer he was gone, the more she had to force herself to breathe normally. What if he wanted to do something kinky? She didn’t even know what qualified as kinky these days. Her sex life with Stanley had been pretty conventional—
too
conventional, really. She always figured that may have been what led to his dalliances. She tried to introduce variety, for her own sake as much as his. But Stanley always wanted to do it the same old way, the selfish son of a— Uh-oh. What if . . . Could he see her now? She knew that was ludicrous, the man was dead, after all, but she could never do this in her own house. What about Charlie’s wife? Could
she
see them?
Oh, stop being such a silly old—

Charlie returned. “I’m afraid I can’t find any.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Would hand lotion work?”

“No, that could cause . . . problems.” She wasn’t about to explain the intricacies of yeast infections. “Do you have any vegetable oil?”

“Uh, olive oil.”

“That would work.”

“Okay. I’ll go get it.”

Now she would have to go to the bathroom to insert the olive oil, which meant she would have to get dressed again.
Damn
! Or maybe . . .

When he returned, she asked, “Do you have a robe I could use?”

“Uh, yeah.” He gingerly placed the olive oil on her nightstand and went to the closet.

She heard another thump.

“Ow!”

“What now?”

“Stubbed my toe on the chair.” He limped back to her with a plaid flannel robe that smelled musty.

“Thank you.”

She put the robe on as modestly as possible and scooted to the bathroom. After struggling a bit to get the cap off, she poured a tiny amount of oil into her palm. “Just a dab’ll do me,” she murmured.

When she returned to the bedroom, he was in bed facing away from her, clearly respecting her privacy. She slid out of the robe and into the bed, and he turned over to face her.

“So do I get to dip my breadstick in the olive oil?”

“Oh, Charlie.” She chortled.

“C’mere, my little cannoli.” He put his arm around her, and she cuddled up to him. “You can still back out if you aren’t ready yet.”

“I know.” But by then, she was definitely game. Unfortunately, after a few minutes of foreplay, it became clear that his body wasn’t. She tried to rectify the situation manually, but then a cramp seized her arm and she cried out in pain.

“Helen? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She moaned as she massaged the cramp.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded as pathetic as a wayward Boy Scout. “I should have known, at my age . . .”

“You don’t need to apologize, Charlie. It’s perfectly natural. It happened to Stanley all the time.”

“Did it? Hmm. I guess I’ll have to get some of that medicine.”

“It’s no big deal.” She snuggled up to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “The important thing is that we tried. I think we did pretty well for a couple of old geezers.”

“I feel like I let you down though.”

“Not at all. You need Viagra, I need K-Y Jelly. We’re human. Well, old humans. At least you didn’t have a heart attack on me.”

“Oh, great. Now you’ve probably jinxed me for the next time.”

The next time. She liked the sound of that.

“Hey, wait a minute.” He released her and got out of bed.

“What are you doing?” It sounded like he was digging in a drawer.

“Just a sec. Ah, here it is.”

Then she heard the quiet, steady sound of a little motor.

“The battery still works. Great!”

Valerie hobbled into the house on her crutches, dropped her shoulder bag on the kitchen table, and collapsed into one of the chairs. Her first day back in the office had exhausted her, and the cast she now wore made it even harder to get around. She ended up dozing off right there.

The doorbell woke her. She groaned. She couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to see. Except maybe . . .

She pushed herself up, tottered to the front door, and opened it. A joyful rush of adrenaline revived her when she saw Keith standing there grinning and holding white boxes of Chinese carryout.

“I don’t know if the Chinese have angels, but you certainly look like one,” she said.

He entered and headed for the kitchen. “It’s actually Thai food. I figured you could use a little treat after your first day back. How did it go?”

She followed him and got out plates and silverware. “When was the last time we talked? Friday morning?”

“Right.”

“So you haven’t heard the happy news.”

He sat at the table and began opening cartons. “You don’t sound very happy.”

“You wouldn’t either if you’d just had the financial rug pulled out from under you.”

He stopped and peered at her. “What do you mean?”

She joined him at the table and gently laid a hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Your job is safe. For now, anyway. But our biggest investor, well, our
only
investor, besides Pam and me, decided to pull out.”

“Why?”

“It seems he made some investments in China that did not bring him good fortune.” She dished some of the food onto her plate. “Pad Thai?”

“Yeah. So what are you going to do?”

“Well, after much deliberation with my accountant, I’ve decided to take out a second mortgage on this place, plus dip into my savings more.”

His eyebrows drew together. “That’s taking an awful lot of risk on yourself.”

She arched one of her own eyebrows. “Seeing you is taking an awfully big risk, isn’t it?”

He smirked and stood. “What do you want to drink?”

“A chocolate martini.”

“Don’t make me play nurse killjoy.”

“Diet Coke then. Actually, I’m not the only one taking on this risk. Pam has agreed to dip more into her savings, too. We both believe very strongly in Triple-H.”

“That’s very cool of her.”

“She’s a very cool gal.”

He returned with the drinks. “So why is seeing me risky?”

“You’re a handsome younger man. I might get my heart broken.”

“That’s it? You’re afraid I might hurt you?”

“I didn’t say I’m afraid. I just said it’s a risk.”

The corners of his mouth curled up with skepticism. “It’s not like we’re talking about a May-December romance here. It’s more like May-June.”

“Hmm.” She liked that. Especially the word
romance
. Except . . . “I’d say it’s more like May-July. You’re still in your thirties.”

“Mid-thirties. I’m no spring chicken.”

“True. You’re more like a spring cock.”

He bunched up his paper napkin and threw it at her.

She successfully ducked the missile. “So how did your day go? I’ve been wondering how you’re liking the job these days.”

He hesitated just long enough to worry her. “I like it a lot.”

“That was totally unconvincing.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Was it?”

“You can be honest with me. If you’re not happy, I’d like to know about it. Then maybe we can address whatever’s wrong.”

He pushed his food around on his plate. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what’s wrong.” He met her gaze. “I really do like the job. It’s just that . . . I don’t know, it seems like something’s missing. Maybe I expected too much after I got the physical therapy degree. Like that would somehow guarantee my happiness.”

His words reminded her of an
Opal
show she’d seen once about career satisfaction. “Well, I’m the last person who should be giving advice on how to find your bliss outside of work, but maybe that’s what you need to do. Examine the other areas of your life to see whether you’re getting the kind of fulfillment you want from those.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” Then he trained his focus on her eyes. “I know one thing I’ve been thinking is that I might be ready for a real relationship again.”

Her muscles seized up. Was
she
ready? And even if she wasn’t, could she pass up a luscious opportunity such as the one sitting there with her? He probably expected some kind of response, but her mind went AWOL.

He put his fork down and leaned back. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you got started running child-care centers.”

Thank God
, something she could talk about. “Actually, it was a combination of career planning and serendipity. I majored in early childhood education because I figured I could work in that until I had a family of my own. Then when the original owner of Mother Hubbard retired, she offered me a great deal, and I bought the company. And by then I’d given up any hope of having my own kids. You see, I . . .” She looked down as her sinuses burned with the effort to hold back tears. How could the memory still be so painful? “I miscarried four times, and Greg was dead set against adoption.”

“Four times.” His voice was hushed. “Wow. And I thought once was bad.”

She raised her gaze back to him. “At least you can appreciate how devastating it can be.”

He nodded slowly. “Most guys just don’t get it.”

She forced a sad smile. “So I’ve been very fortunate to work in a place where I can get a kid fix whenever I need one.”

“Hmm. That is cool.” He took a drink of water. “You know, I should probably be honest with you about . . . one of the reasons I struggle with job satisfaction.”

That aroused her curiosity. “Okay.”

He rubbed one side of his light five-o’clock shadow. “I think I told you my original goal was to be a doctor.”

“Right.”

“Well, I usually tell people I didn’t pursue that because I didn’t want to be a slave to my job. But the truth is, I’m dyslexic.” He watched her intently, clearly gauging her reaction.

Trying to downplay her surprise, she said, “I . . . never would have guessed.”

“Obviously, I’ve overcome it well enough to get two degrees. But it took much longer than it would the average student. And medical school, well, that would have taken forever.”

She nodded and reached over to take his hand. “You must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished, despite the dyslexia.”

“Yeah. I am. But I still have this . . . anger, I guess, that I couldn’t do what I really wanted to do.”

She could feel the tension in his hand. “But think about what you
have
done. It’s wonderful. And trust me, career success is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

He put his other hand on top of hers. “Do you practice what you preach? I mean, do you get fulfillment from things outside of work?”

She sighed. “Not lately. I used to think my marriage was fulfilling, but after we were separated for about six months, I realized my life wasn’t much different without him. It’s amazing how you can live with someone and yet grow so far apart. Of course, he blamed it all on me being a workaholic, and I’ll admit I am. But he withdrew from the marriage, too. I’m still not entirely sure why.”

He squeezed her hand. “Are you sure it’s over?”

“Oh, it’s over all right. He saw to that.”

“I mean, are you sure it’s over for you?”

Her cell phone rang, saving her from his question. She dug the phone out of her shoulder bag. “It’s Pam.” She answered it. “Hi.”