Beneath the Surface (34 page)

She smiled, and he tensed, could only imagine what she would say.

“The best. You slept most of the time. Which is what you needed.”

EJ flung off the comforter, sat up and raked a hand through his hair. He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She blushed and he chuckled at the color that rushed to her face before he stood up on unsteady legs and aimed his body at the bathroom.

“Where are you off to?”

“I need a shower.”

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Beneath the Surface

She just glared at him with a stern don’t-overdo-it look on her face.

“I’m all better, thanks to you. Trust me,” he assured her.

“Okay. I’m going to go tidy up a little. Make myself useful.”

He smiled, and went into the bathroom. He didn’t think she could have been anymore useful had she worked on his manuscript for him.

Damn, two days lost time.

He’d missed enough writing with traveling and promoting without having to deal with an illness knocking him down and out for the count for two days.

EJ tried not to stay away from his writing for more than a day. Even if he was blocked he forced himself to sit in front of his PC, free-write and let his imagination loose at least until a flower of genius popped up among a field of crap.

He quickly showered and shaved, threw on some shorts, sweatpants, a NYU Tshirt and followed his nose to the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Had I known that I was involved with Florence Nightingale and Suzy Homemaker I would have gotten sick a long time ago just to partake in the fruit of your skills.”

“Don’t be a wise-ass or you won’t get any of this delicious fare.”

He stood leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest as he watched her flip, scramble and set breakfast on the table in a mouth-watering display of sausages, omelets and French toast and could tell everything
was
delicious.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come and eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” EJ saluted, came to the table and sat opposite her. “Looks great.”

“Wait until you taste it.”

“Is that a warning or a seal of approval?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a while since I cooked breakfast, but I guess it’s like riding a bike. You never forget how.”

“That’s assuming you could cook in the first place, right?” He frowned as he sliced into a sausage link with his fork. “What do you eat for breakfast when you’re at home?”

“Mostly oatmeal, or cold cereal.”

“And you cooked just for me?”

“If you keep being a wisenheimer, I may be forced to replace that plate with a bowl of mush.”

He laughed, poured syrup over his French toast, speared a corner and chewed with relish.

For the next several minutes he made short order of the two pieces of French toast on his plate, the sausages and the two-eggs omelet and went back for seconds of French 197

Gracie C. McKeever

toast so that by the time he was through, he’d washed down a total of six with a large glass of OJ.

Tabitha was only halfway through her breakfast by the time EJ sat back, rubbing his belly. She stared at him and smiled. “Good to see your appetite’s back.”

“Everything was delicious!”

“Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table as he peered at her. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day? You’re not going to leave me and go to work are you?”

“I hadn’t planned to but now since you’re up…”

“Don’t go.” He caught her free hand resting on the table. “Spend the day with me.”

“I’ve already spent the last couple of days with you around the clock.”

“That doesn’t exactly count. I was unconscious.”

“And I had my way with you, too.”

He raised his brows at the idea that she had taken advantage of him in his weakened state. Not that he minded, he’d just prefer remembering if it did happen. “Did you tie me up again?”

“I didn’t need to. You were totally at my mercy.”

He held her gaze, waited for her to crack first and was rewarded when she suddenly broke out into gales of laughter as she slid her hand out of his and covered her mouth.

“I had you going there, didn’t I?”

“You always have me going, woman.”

Her face turned suddenly serious as she said, “I do have to go soon. I haven’t been back to my house in days, and Frankie’s not the most reliable cat sitter. Last I heard Vogue was still alive and scratching but I don’t want to push my luck.”

He put his hands together as if in prayer and gave her his best Oliver Twist look

“Please, one more day?”

She chuckled. “Okay, one more day.”

“Good,” he said then looked at her as a thought occurred to him. “So you wound up sleeping in my T-shirts after all?”

“They’re comfortable but I will need to go home and change eventually.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said, suddenly ecstatic at the thought of her spending the day with him. It had been too long, since Colorado that he’d enjoyed going to sleep and waking up next to her. “Why don’t you read what I have of my manuscript while I work on finishing it?”

“Read your manuscript? Before it’s done?”

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She looked horrified and he rushed to relieve her. “I edit as I go so it shouldn’t be too torturous on your literary sensibilities.”

“I wasn’t criticizing. I was…” She paused, took a deep breath as he waited. She finally stared at him, eyes searching and questioning. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s your baby and I don’t know if you should be trusting me with it just yet.”

He laughed at her terminology, thought only a real creative person could understand the concept of producing something from nothing except a concept; understand how fragile was an artist’s ego. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather trust it to.”

She hesitated still and he decided to tease her. “Unless you’ve already read it?”

Tabitha gawked as if caught in the act, fiercely blushed. “Okay, I admit I read some of your stuff in the glove compartment of your Jeep once.”

“I know.”

“But I haven’t invaded your privacy since then.”

Her choice of words struck a cord and he flinched as if she’d struck him.

“Are you still achy?” she asked, staring at him with an anxious expression.

“I’m fine. Just a few twinges here and there.”

“So…” She stood up, clapped and rubbed her hands together. “Where’s the masterpiece?”

He laughed, hungry for her approval and heart pounding with the idea of ultimate exposure as she followed him to the living room.

Sure, if he believed his own press and went by the best-selling lists and his bookstore appearances, millions of people had read and loved his book. Tabitha said she’d loved it herself. But reading an unedited work, a raw manuscript like she was about to do, was like being one of the first ones entrusted to care for a treasured newborn baby before it had a chance to be shaped and molded and even cut down by so many other hands.

EJ retrieved the printout from his workstation and handed it over to Tabitha who eagerly grabbed it from his hands.

“I feel like Miss Stanford. This is a real treat.”

He laughed. “Remember, it’s a rough draft.”

She rolled her eyes, walked over to the sofa and curled up in a corner to read.

EJ stood and watched her dig in—the intent look on her face as she flipped pages, her grin and chuckle when she got to a humorous section—and smiled, as intent with her as she appeared to be with his book.

He lingered a moment more, admiring the soft glow of her skin beneath the halogen lamp adjacent the sofa and his heart stuttered then painfully sped when he realized an inescapable fact: he was in love with her.

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Oh, damn.

* * * *

She loved his twisted sense of humor and his fast-paced narrative. She loved the way he started each chapter with a personal anecdote from his life. She loved the simple richness of his prose.

So when she flipped over the last page to discover she’d gone through two-hundred-and- fifty pages in a few hours, she was disappointed bordering on pissed.

Tabitha glanced up at Eric diligently typing at his PC, glared at the back of his head. “Where’s the rest of it?”

He swiveled around in his seat to see her shaking the manuscript as if the missing pages would miraculously fall out of the stack. “You’re finished already?”

“You know darn well I’m finished. Where’s the rest?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d finish it that fast.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Tabitha got up and marched over to his workstation, stared at the page number in the bottom left-hand corner of the monitor and gawked. “You’re only up to two-hundred-and-eighty?”

“I did thirty pages!”

“And how many more do you have to go?”

“Estimating from my outline, about forty to fifty pages.”

“Grrr.”

He laughed. “What?”

“Do you realize you left me in the middle of a chapter?”

“I didn’t know I had given you the beginning of Chapter Twenty-Three.”

“I want the rest now.”

“You want me to print up what I have?”

“Only if you’ve finished it…and you haven’t.” She pouted, suddenly brightened.

“I could pull an Annie, hobble and chain you to your workstation until you finish.”

Eric laughed at her allusion to Stephen King’s
Misery
. “Every writer’s worst nightmare.”

She bent her head for a kiss, and he leaned up and angled his head to accept her lips. “Thanks for trusting me with your baby.”

“So? How’s it sound?”

“You know it’s great. I don’t even know why you’re asking me.”

“But I don’t know. You’re the first person to read it besides me.”

“Your editor hasn’t seen it yet?”

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He shook his head, and she felt more privileged than when he’d first asked her to read it. “In that case, I should leave you to your work so your editor and I both can benefit from the fruits of your labor.”

“Not so fast.” He caught her by a wrist as she tried to leave and pulled her down onto his lap, put one arm behind her back, the other one around her middle and clasped his fingers to lock her close to him. “I’m due a break.”

“Not when I’m waiting for those pages.”

“You really are a slave driver.” He bent his head to kiss her, smoothly slid his tongue into her mouth and drank long and slow from hers.

Tabitha felt his erection pressing against the seam of her butt, hard and insistent, liked his rebound time but vividly remembered his gaunt appearance over the last couple of days and pulled back.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of your weakened state.”

“Take all the advantage you want. I’m all better. Like I said, thanks to you.” He bent his head for another kiss, but she pulled back.

“We don’t want to move too fast.”

“Speak for yourself.” He moved in again but Tabitha pulled out of his grip to stand up and stare down at him.

She wanted nothing better than to spend the next couple of hours wrapped in his arms with him inside her hot and hard, and her wet and melting around him, but reality was beginning to sink in with the passing of the day and Eric’s recovery.

The last couple of days had been pure heaven, not the nursing a sick man part, but the nursing a sick man with whom she was in love part. Spending so much time with him unaware had affected her on so many levels she couldn’t even begin to name, given her a view of what it would mean to be with Eric at his best and worst. Doing what normal couples did. Nursing each other, feeding each other, teasing each other. In sickness and health. Through good times and bad. Till death do us part.

God, what was she thinking anyway? They weren’t like that, nowhere near it.

Tabitha glanced at him across the room, still sitting in his swivel chair and staring at her.

She couldn’t tell him. It was too soon. Too soon for her, too soon for him.

...You weren’t ready for each other.

Tabitha couldn’t help thinking that they still weren’t. She knew she wasn’t.

She turned suddenly and headed for the bedroom, not surprised when she heard Eric following behind her.

He stopped her at the threshold, catching her arm and turning her around to face him. “What happened back there?”

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“Nothing. I just need to go, like I told you. I need to get home and change into my own clothes, sleep in my own bed, pick up some mail. You know, stuff.”

“Stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, like my life.”

He stepped back as if she’d slapped him and Tabitha immediately regretted snapping, at least for the few seconds it took her to realize that only her bitchiest act was going to get him up off her so she could get the fastest thing smoking out of there. She needed the distance to clear her head.

Tabitha realized she couldn’t stay here another minute with him awake and staring at her with those all-seeing, all-knowing blue eyes and not spill her heart out to him…and that she could not do.

“You’ll come back right?”

“Of course. I still have forty or fifty pages to read.”

He grinned, but she could tell he was covering his disappointment.

And, Tabitha thought, if his disappointment was anywhere near as sharp and painful as her own, then he must be dying inside.

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EJ returned all his calls from the messages Tabitha had taken, scheduled some appearances and signings through Jodie for after the New Year, and took advantage of the next few days before Christmas working on his manuscript.

Rather than blocking him, Tabitha’s sudden departure and absence inspired him, knowing that she had read more than half of it and was waiting for the rest with bated breath, incentive for him to finish the book.

That is, unless she was blowing smoke up his ass and just trying to get out of telling him how lousy she thought his stuff really was.