Finished (19 page)

For some reason, the awkward offer struck her as incredibly sweet. But instead of agreeing, she shook her head. “No. I’m all right. You’re injured and need to sleep. But thank you.”

She knew he was relieved by her response, and it hurt just a little bit. But she didn’t let it upset her. She just lay on her side and kept studying the nuances of his face, even after he relaxed and closed his eyes again.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “I can’t sleep when I know you’re still staring at me. Tell me what you’re worried about.”

“Well, everything has changed.”

His eyes opened. “Yes, it has.”

“And you’re acting prickly and kind of weird. I know it’s taken me a long time to figure things out and break ties with Drayton.”

He was watching her now with intense scrutiny, even weak and groggy from medication as he was.

“And I hope you haven’t decided that I took too long. Or that I didn’t treat your feelings, your…your heart the way it deserves.” He made a sound of protest that she spoke over. “Because I didn’t. I know I didn’t. There were reasons. Maybe good reasons. But I’m not sure I did right by you.”

Mike’s face softened even more, to the point where he smiled at her tenderly. “You did fine, baby. Really. I was angry before, and I’ll probably be angry again. But what happened with Drayton just now can’t help but put things in perspective. And I wouldn’t love you the way I do if your heart weren’t so faithful—to everyone you care about. You did fine.”

Something hard and guilty loosened in her chest, and she returned his smile for a minute. But then she returned to the topic at hand. “So why does it feel like you’re withdrawing?” When he opened his mouth, she added, “Don’t try to deny it. Ever since we left that house, you’ve been withdrawing.”

He didn’t attempt to argue this time. He just lay and stared at the ceiling for a minute before he worked himself up to explaining. “I’m not sure I can put it into words. And I’m not sure you’ll understand.”

“Try me.”

It was hard for him. She could see the effort in the twisting of his mouth and hear it in the thickness of his voice. “It’s about me. I don’t like who I was—back there at the house. It makes me cringe just thinking about it. And I hate that you saw me that way.”

She did understand. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Mike was a normal, healthy, intelligent man whose emotions were normally kept in check under a demeanor of casual composure.

And he’d turned into an animal, a raging beast, for a few minutes earlier that evening. Unleashing that part of his nature had to have taken its toll on his psyche.

“I thought it was perfectly natural,” she said lightly, hiding her nervousness about saying something wrong when it mattered so much. “He was baiting you. And he’d taken a lot from you. Anyone would have reacted violently, given the circumstances.”

Mike looked away from her. “I should have done better.”

Julia’s stomach roiled with anxiety and emotion. He was hurting—not just physically—and she wanted so much to make him feel better. Embracing him now wouldn’t help. He’d simply pull away. And any trite cliché about human behavior would only sugar-coat over the reality of what he was feeling.

Suddenly, she knew what to say.

She propped her head up on her hand so she could look down at him. “You did fine, baby.”

He adjusted his head, staring at her with obvious surprise.

Smiling with just a touch of irony, she continued, “Really. I loved you before, but I think I love you even more now. I love that part of you as much as all the others. You stopped when you saw it wasn’t a fair fight. And you apologized when he’d done nothing to deserve it. You’re a better, stronger man than anyone I’ve ever known. Really. You did fine.”

Her words meant something to him. She could see the softening in his face. But, after smiling at her fondly, he just cleared his throat and closed his eyes again. “Well, at least you don’t think I’m some kind of freak.”

Julia almost giggled. Mike looked more relaxed now, and he didn’t seem so withdrawn. She supposed he had some more to deal with on his own, but at least he wasn’t so unbearably prickly.

It was hard to believe she’d been kidnapped not long ago. She’d been tied half-naked to a bed.

She’d been completely vulnerable. But not, as it happened, completely helpless. She’d gotten herself out before either Drayton or Mike could come and save her.

She was kind of proud of that.

Mike’s breathing was slowing down, and she hoped he was falling asleep. But she smiled to herself in the silence.

“What are you smiling at?”

She had no idea how he’d known she was smiling. He hadn’t opened his eyes. But she answered him simply, “I don’t know. I’ve just always kind of thought I was a little bit of a wimp, but I think I did okay in the crisis. I didn’t know I had it in me.

Mike finally opened his eyes again and met hers. “I did.”

It was all he needed to say. Melting inside, she reached out and took his good hand. They wove their fingers together in a tight grip.

Unable to resist anymore, Julia hugged his forearm to her chest, without releasing their clasped hands. He was injured. She really shouldn’t drape herself all over him.

But she had to hold him. At least one part of him.

Cuddling his arm and squeezing his hand, she whispered, “Get some rest. We’ll talk more later.”

With a long exhale, like he was releasing more than just his breath, he closed his eyes one last time.

Before he fell asleep, however, he murmured in the dark room, “In the cabin, earlier, you weren’t ready to make any decisions. About us, I mean.”

“I know. I wasn’t.”

“Are you now?”

She hugged his arm tightly to her chest. “I am.”

Something flickered across his face. She saw it, recognized it, even though he hadn’t opened his eyes.

She’d made him happy. Incredibly happy. And she knew—whatever mistakes she’d made in the past and whatever mistakes she would make in the future—that at this moment she’d done something right.

***

When she woke up, it was lighter in the room, and she felt that eerie disorientation of waking up in the middle of the day with no sense of time or context. She stared at the clock on the bedside table she recognized as Mike’s and blinked at 10:08 until she decided it was 10:08 in the morning rather than night.

When she turned over and saw Mike sleeping beside her—grizzled and battered with the covers pushed down to his waist—she remembered why she was here and what had happened to lead up to it.

She felt terrible. Exhausted and sore and absolutely ravenous. She rolled off the bed with an involuntary groan and stumbled into the bathroom. After she’d used it, she returned to find Mike awake too.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled, trying to stretch his arms but breaking off with a bitten off exclamation.

“How do you feel?” Her face twisted with pity since she could tell pretty clearly how he felt. “Terrible?”

“Pretty much like shit.” His attempt to speak lightly was mostly unsuccessful as he hauled himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He took several deep breaths, and Julia was alarmed by the pallor of his face beneath his growth of beard.

She helped him as he stood up, but he pulled away as soon as he’d gained his feet. She didn’t push it. He was probably just weak, in pain, and maybe dizzy from the pain medication. She wasn’t afraid it was anything serious. She just didn’t like seeing him this way.

“I’ve got to eat something,” she said to the closed bathroom door. “Shall I make something for you? What about soup?”

“I don’t have a cold,” he grumbled. “I don’t need chicken soup.”

She ignored the bad mood and took his response for a yes. So she padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing only Mike’s big t-shirt, and warmed up a can of chicken noodle soup, which was all they had in the pantry.

It wasn’t the best soup in the world—Drayton would definitely not approve—but it was warm and comforting and didn’t taste bad with some crusty bread, and she was too hungry to make anything more elaborate.

She brought a bowl and couple of pieces of bread to Mike, who ate it as quickly as he could with only one arm. Then she took the dishes away and brought Mike another pain pill and a fresh glass of water.

He took the pill and lay back down against his pillow with a groan. “Just kill me now.”

“You’ll feel better after you sleep some more,” she told him, hopeful without any good reason.

Mike just grunted. Since Julia wasn’t feeling too good herself and she had nothing else essential to do, she lay down next to him and fell asleep again a few minutes after he did.

The next time she woke, several hours later, she finally felt rested. She was still stiff and sore, but the food had helped restore her and she was feeling like she wasn’t going to fall over.

Now, however, she felt absolutely disgusting—grimy and smelly and covered with invisible remnants of her traumatic night.

So, careful not to make any noise, she got up and headed for her bathroom. She brushed her teeth and then got into the shower, shampooing her hair and shaving thoroughly.

The hot water helped. As did the familiar acts of cleansing. Her experience tied up on the bed was starting to feel like a vague nightmare. It had ended as well as it possibly could. There were things she’d have to deal with. Drayton couldn’t be torn out of her life so abruptly without some significant emotional adjustment.

But she felt all right. Almost hopeful.

She was with Mike, and things could be good.

When she got out of the shower, she put on her favorite short silk robe, feeling a pang at the knowledge that Drayton had brought it back for her from a trip to Japan. She brushed and towel-dried her hair, but she didn’t bother to blow it dry. Instead, she went into Mike’s room and was startled to find the bed empty.

“Mike?” she called.

“In here. No need to panic.”

The dry tone relieved her instinctive worry, and she walked into Mike’s taupe and beige tiled bathroom to find him standing in just his boxers in front of the sink.

His hand was braced on the granite surface, and he’d gotten out his shaving stuff.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m feeling better, and I’m sick of looking like a caveman.”

He did sort of look like a caveman—albeit a rather sexy one with his broad chest, muscular back, and flat belly with its tantalizing trail of hair leading down into his boxers.

“All right,” she said, arching her eyebrows at him skeptically.

He met her eyes in the mirror, looking surprised at her acquiescence. And then he clumsily lathered up his jaw and started to shave.

Mike did look like he was feeling better. He had more color and he didn’t appear weak and dizzy as he had before. But he was rather uncoordinated with one bad arm, and he wasn’t inclined to be patient with himself.

The third time he cursed and slammed down the razor, Julia laughed and walked over to pick it up.

Without a word, she took over shaving duties, sliding the razor slowly down the line of his jaw, being extra careful since shaving his face wasn’t anything like shaving her legs or underarms.

He stood still and let her tend to him, his eyes following her every move and often lingering on her face.

It was a sensual act—although not a sexual one—and Julia felt particularly soft and tender as she rinsed off the blade for the final time.

She rubbed her palm against his jaw, to see how well she’d done. “Pretty good,” she said, pleased with success. “And you almost look civilized again.”

Mike snorted. “Right.” He scowled at himself in the mirror. “I need a shower.”

This kind of grouchiness neither surprised nor worried her. Men like Mike never accepted incapacitation easily. “Well, you can’t have one. Not with that bandage.”

He turned his scowl onto her. “You don’t have to look so pleased about it. You’re the one who has to smell me.”

She laughed out loud and reached for a wash cloth. “Stop being grumpy. Didn’t we just declare our endless love in a romantic interlude?”

“Is that what it was?” His voice was dry rather than bad-tempered now, and she caught the glint of affection in his gaze through the mirror.

Wetting the wash cloth until it was sopping, she rubbed it over his face and hair.

“Hey!” he objected, when he was sloshed in the eyes and rivulets of water streamed down his cheeks and the back of his neck.

“You said you wanted a shower. And you haven’t even thanked me for shaving you so expertly.” She dried up the streams of water before they reached his bandage, and she wrung out the washcloth before she started on his neck and shoulders.

“Thank you.”

He meant it, and the warmth in his voice caused her belly to clench with affection.

She rewetted the wash cloth and worked on his chest and back. And then she got on her knees to wipe the cloth over his legs, although his thighs and ankles didn’t need much work.

She actually enjoyed cleaning him up this way. Wouldn’t want to do it all the time, of course, but it was an intimate act of service, and it brought her close to him in such a palpable way.

When she finished, he was halfway erect. She could see the outline of his cock through the cotton of his boxers.

She didn’t comment on his state of half-arousal, however. She dropped the wash cloth into the sink and picked up his comb to tidy up his damp hair.

“There,” she said. “Now you look almost presentable.”

“Thank you.” His voice was low and textured, and the nuance of his tone wasn’t anything like he’d said the words before.

The sound made her pussy clench, and she realized that washing him had half-aroused her as well.

“You’re welcome.” She pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “You should go and lie down now. You’re still not at full capacity.”

His good hand slid down her slippery robe to curve around her bottom. “I don’t want to lie down. I want to—”

“I know what you want to do. But in your condition, I think it would be safer if we do it lying down.”