Читать книгу New York Doc to Blushing Bride - Janice Lynn, Janice Lynn - Страница 11

CARA CLUNG TO Sloan’s hand as if letting go would mean falling into an abyss she might never climb back out of.

She just might.

Goose bumps covered her skin. Her insides trembled. Her teeth fought chattering.

Which was crazy. The house wasn’t cold. Not really.

But she felt chilled all the way to her bones, had from the moment she’d lost contact with Sloan’s body heat when he’d laid her into her childhood bed. She’d suddenly felt more alone than she could recall ever feeling.

In his arms, and in the cocoon of her exhaustion, she’d felt warm, safe, not alone.

She’d not slept the night before, had tried, but the house haunted her, filling her mind with noises and memories of days gone past.

By the time she’d left for the funeral she’d been grateful for a reason to leave the ghostly haven.

She shivered again and grasped Sloan’s hand tighter as she felt his inner struggle on whether to go or stay. No wonder. She didn’t like him, hadn’t been receptive to any of his friendly overtures. Yet now she was begging him to stay as if he was the only thing protecting her from nighttime monsters.

He was.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded, grateful for the dim lights. She hated begging. She hated the thought of being alone in this house even more. “I need you.”

Still he wavered. “Are you sure, Cara? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Please. She rolled her eyes. Typical man. She just wanted him to ward off the ensuing nightmares and he thought she was offering sex.

Perhaps she couldn’t fault him for that because maybe her pleas had sounded as if she wanted more than what she’d meant.

“So long as you keep your clothes on, Casanova, and I keep on my clothes, you aren’t taking advantage. I just don’t want to be alone. Please, don’t make me.”

The dark shadows of the room didn’t hide him digesting her words. His expression confused, he looked down at where she held his hand. “Just so we’re clear, what is it you want from me, Cara?”

Her brain felt fuzzy and she almost said, “Everything.” But that was all wrong. All she wanted from him was the comfort of knowing another person was near, that she wasn’t really alone in this house, in the world. She needed human contact. Not him really. Just another human near to offer companionship, to ground her to reality.

“Just hold me and don’t let me go.”

He still looked torn. She wished she could read his mind to know his thoughts. But then his lips pursed and he gave one slight nod.

“I can do that.”

His answer seemed odd, but perhaps that was her fuzzy, fatigue and grief-laden brain talking. “I never thought you couldn’t.”

A small smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “I suspect you have a sharp tongue, Cara.”

If Cara weren’t so cold, feeling so emotionally bereft, if her eyelids weren’t so heavy, she might have smiled at his comment. Wasn’t that what her father had often said of her mother? That she’d had a tongue so sharp she could cut diamonds with a few well-chosen words? Odd. She hadn’t thought of that in years. Instead of acknowledging the memories flooding her, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered again. “I’m so cold.”

Sloan sucked in a deep breath and crawled into the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms and cradling her next to his long, lean, warm body. “You won’t be for long, Cara. I promise.”

She wasn’t.

Instead, she closed her eyes and, although being in bed with him should have kept her wide-awake, she slept, peaceful in the knowledge that he was there.

Not only there but stroking her hair, telling her how sorry he was at her loss, at how her father had been a good man and would be sorely missed. His low, gentle voice soothed aches deep inside her. She snuggled closer into him, knowing that if she wakened and needed him, he would still be there for the simple reason that he’d said he would be.

Funny how much that thought comforted her when he was essentially a stranger and she didn’t like him.

Still, her father had liked him, trusted him, which was partially the problem. But in a moment of crisis that had to count for something.

In his arms was the only place she’d found any comfort since her entire world had turned upside down with a phone call he’d been the one to make.

Sloan lay very still, listening to the even sounds of Cara breathing. She’d gone right back to sleep. That was probably a good thing because no matter how many times he reminded his mind that this was a good deed, his body responded to her closeness in an all-male way.

He inhaled a slow whiff of the scent of her hair. Clean with a soft cherry flavor. That’s what she smelled like. Cherry blossoms.

Unable to resist, he ran his fingers into her hair, stroking the sweet softness of her tresses between his fingers.

What was he doing?

Sighing, he let go of her hair and wrapped his arm back around her body, holding her close.

She wriggled against him, causing torturous awareness to zing to life.

“I don’t like you,” she mumbled under her breath, so low he barely could make out what she said.

“I noticed,” he whispered back in resigned acknowledgement of her feelings toward him.

“Even if you are scorching hot and wear sex appeal like a second skin.”

Sloan’s entire body went stiff. Her breathing was still even and her body hadn’t moved away from where she spooned with his. Was she awake?

“You think I’m sexy?” he asked, curious as to whether she’d respond and, if so, what she’d say.

“You are so hot you melt my insides just looking at you—but don’t think I’ll ever tell you that,” she answered, her body still relaxed against his. “I won’t, because I don’t like you.”

Asleep. She was talking to him in her sleep. No way would she have just said that and not gone all tense if she were awake.

Despite his current uncomfortable predicament, Sloan grinned. It no longer mattered that Cara didn’t like him, because apparently she was as physically aware of him as he was her. Somehow, at the moment, that seemed a lot more important in the grand scheme of life than merely being liked.

“Good night, Cara,” he whispered against her hair, brushing his lips against the silkiness in a soft kiss. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow but we’ll get through it. Then we’re going to have this conversation when you’re awake and not mentally and emotionally exhausted, because looking at you melts my insides, too, and I do like you. I like you way too much.”

Cara gradually became aware of her surroundings, drifting somewhere between sleep and an awareness of the world around her. The quietness was the first thing that struck her. No New York City noises in the background of her inner world, as she’d expected.

But her sleepy inner world definitely had noises.

Male noises.

Soft male breath sounds.

And warmth. She felt so absolutely warm that she hated to move and risk letting any coldness seep into her snuggly world.

John didn’t usually hold her like this. He wasn’t a snuggler and said he couldn’t breathe if she was in his personal space, that she made him sweat. Cara slept on her side of the bed and John slept on his. They met in the middle from time to time, but lately that had been less and less frequently.

Actually, Cara couldn’t recall the last time she and John had had sex or held each other. Way before her father’s last visit.

She couldn’t recall the last time he’d smelled so wonderfully manly, either. A light spicy musk that made her want to remember sex, to remember intimacy, that made her want to wiggle her body against his, and to have him want her, not just want her, but have to have her.

Which she must have done, because his arm tightened around her and his lower half woke up. Way up.

Good. Since her father’s visit she’d gone from thinking John was going to propose to wondering if he even wanted her anymore. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself or to anyone else, but something had definitely changed in their relationship. These days he certainly didn’t seem to care one way or the other if they maintained a physical relationship.

Sex wasn’t the most important aspect of a relationship to Cara, but the closeness of being intimate with one’s mate was important. Very important, and she missed that intimacy.

She missed being held and touched and loved.

Which was silly. Of course John loved her. He told her every morning and every night just like clockwork. Just as she told him.

She was being held and touched and loved right now in an mmmm, good kind of way and she craved the feelings rushing through her more than she’d realized or been willing to admit.

His lips brushed against her hair in a caress that could only be described as worshipful. She rolled over, wanting to feel them against her mouth, to have him kiss her, to make love to her with this newfound passion.

He must have been waiting for her, because he immediately covered her mouth with his. His lips toyed masterfully with hers, teasing, tasting, tantalizing.

Mmmm, she thought. So good. She didn’t recall John kissing so well, or with so much passion, but she wasn’t complaining. All her insides were coming alive at how he was kissing her so enthusiastically, at how his body moved against hers, making her all too aware of the clothes separating their bodies. She arched into him, ran her hands into his hair, held him close, kissed him back with an enthusiasm that matched his own, awed at the butterflies dancing in her belly. Lower. It had been so long since she’d felt this way, since she’d wanted, felt wanted, desirable, needed. Had she ever?

“Cara,” he moaned. “You feel so good.”

Only “he” hadn’t been the he she was expecting. He wasn’t John and all the feelings hastening through her came to a quick halt.

No longer sleepy, Cara’s eyes sprang open and her body jerked away from the man in her bed.

In horror, everything came rushing back.

The awful phone call she’d gotten, telling her that her father had died.

Making arrangements at work to be off for her father’s funeral.

John refusing to go with her.

Flying to Pensacola, renting a car, then driving across the Florida-Alabama state line to Bloomberg.

The bittersweetness of walking into her childhood home and it being empty of the man she associated with everything about the place.

Sitting at the funeral home, longing to be anywhere else but in Gloomberg.

Her fatigue, fear and utter loss.

Her begging a man she didn’t like to spend the night in her bed because she hadn’t wanted to be alone.

Oh, yeah, everything came rushing back in vivid color. No doubt her cheeks glowed in vivid color, as well.

“Good morning,” Sloan greeted her sheepishly, raking his fingers through his dark hair and smiling at her as if waking up in each other’s arms was no big deal. As if the kisses they’d just shared had been no big deal.

She didn’t do that. John was her one and only and they’d been together years. She was going to marry him, for goodness’ sake!

“What are you doing?” She ignored his greeting and how absolutely gorgeous he looked first thing in the morning with his tousled black hair and thickly fringed coppery-brown eyes. She went on the attack. Much better to be on the offensive than to have to defend her weakness, to have to explain those kisses. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? “I asked you to hold me, not molest me.”

The light in his molten eyes morphed into dark confusion. “Molest you?”

Not giving heed to the guilt that hit her, she pushed against his chest, needing him out of her bed, out of her room, her house, her life. She couldn’t breathe. She needed him gone. He epitomized everything wrong in her life. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Stay. Leave. You’re a bossy woman, Cara Conner. Then again, I’d heard that about you more than once. That you’re a leader, not a follower.” He was trying to make light of their situation, to defuse what had just happened between them. Under different circumstances, Cara might have appreciated his teasing, but she felt too raw to let go of the panic inside her. She’d been kissing him, a virtual stranger. She’d enjoyed kissing him! That had to be because of her crazy emotional state over losing her only living relative. Had to be.

“Don’t act as if you know me. You don’t.” His words were her father’s. She knew that. But these were horrible times. The worst of times. Times of which he’d been the bad-news bearer. She’d made them shoddier by inviting a man she didn’t know to spend the night in her childhood bed. Shame on her.

They were both still dressed and nothing physical had happened, not really, because that kiss and body grinding so didn’t mean anything. She felt emotionally violated all the same, as if something had passed between them during the long night hours when he’d held her, keeping her body safely tucked next to his and protecting her from whatever demons she’d feared. No one had ever held her that way. Not her father. Certainly not John.

That didn’t mean she suddenly liked Sloan.

To prove it to herself, she narrowed her gaze and practically growled at him.

“You are obviously not a morning person.” Sloan sat up on the side of the bed, raked his fingers through his hair again and shook his head. “For the record, you were the one doing the molesting just then. I was just an innocent victim of your early-morning assault and rather fervent kisses.”

Cara’s face flamed.

“Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not. I quite enjoyed what just happened between us. But I won’t take blame for something I didn’t do,” he continued, looking way too handsome to have just woken up. “Not even from someone who looks as beautiful as you.”

Flattery would get him nowhere. “Innocent victim, my—”

“Shame. Shame,” he interrupted, wagging his finger at her. “Watch your language. Preston still has his curse-word jar on the kitchen counter. Would hate for you to have to make a donation first thing out of bed.”

Immediately, all the oxygen left the room.

Or maybe it was just Cara’s lungs that had become deprived, because Sloan seemed to be breathing just fine.

How dared he remind her of her father’s curse-word jar?

What right did he have to tell her about her father’s habits? Did he think she didn’t know? That just because she’d chosen to live her life where she wanted rather than where he wanted her to be made her love her father less somehow? That her location made her forget growing up in this house and her father’s habits? Hardly. She remembered all too well.

Her anger toward Sloan grew tenfold.

“Get out of here,” she ordered, focusing all her hurt and frustrations toward him and wondering at how the cold blast didn’t slam him out of her bed and against the wall like a splattered bug against a windshield. “Now, before I call the law and have you forcibly removed.”

Looking way too calm for someone under attack, Sloan glanced at the wristwatch he still wore.

“I need to go home and shower,” he said calmly, as if she had just made a comment about the weather rather than demand he leave. “I’ll round at the hospital, and then will be back in a little over an hour with breakfast and coffee with all the fixings. Hopefully, you’ll have a better disposition at that time. Be ready to go.”

Hello. Was he daft? Or just deaf? “I don’t want breakfast or a better disposition.” Which sounded very childish, even to her own ears. But she had a lot to deal with today and that kiss wasn’t going to be added to the list. “I don’t want you to come back. I want you to leave my house and never come back.”

“Your car is at the funeral home. You need to eat.” Could he sound any more calm? Any more logical?

“You have a long day ahead of you,” he reminded her, not that she needed reminding of what the day held. “I will be back, will feed you and will drive you to the funeral home. I want to help you, Cara.”

“No, you’ve helped enough.” Lord, she didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. “Don’t come back. I can feed myself.” Not that she felt as if she’d ever be able to eat again with the nausea gripping her stomach. “I’ll find another ride to the funeral home.”

She’d walk if it meant not riding with him, not having to look at him and feel the total mortification that she felt because she’d asked him, no, begged him to stay with her because she’d been afraid to be alone. Her only excuse was that she’d been exhausted and full of grief. This morning, well, she’d thought she was kissing John. Surely. Otherwise she never would have… Oh! Why was she trying to justify her actions in her head where Sloan Trenton was concerned? She didn’t owe him anything.

“Just go.” She slumped forward, burying her face against her hugged-up knees.

“This is crazy, Cara,” he told her gently, obviously a man of great patience. He touched her shoulder, but she couldn’t bear his touch and jerked away.

“Today is going to be rough enough on both of us without you treating me like I’m your enemy,” he pointed out.

He probably thought her crazy. No wonder. She thought he was a little crazy, too, for remaining so calm when she felt so… so… agitated… and aware that he was in her bed beside her. Hadn’t that kiss frazzled him in the slightest?

“What is your problem with me, anyway?” He genuinely sounded confused.

“Who said I had a problem with you?” she countered, hugging her knees even tighter.

“Just a wild guess.”

“Then why are you still here?” For that matter, why was she still in bed with him? Was she really so stubborn that she refused to be the one to get out of the bed when she thought he was the one who should leave?

“You asked me to stay.”

Again, his calm and logic irritated her further. She glanced over at him. His expression said there was more to it and she didn’t like the knowing spark in his eyes, as if he knew something she didn’t.

“That was last night,” she responded in as matter-of-fact way as she could manage, scooting a bit farther away from him in the bed.

“And this is this morning?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll ask again, why don’t you like me, Cara?”

“I don’t have to have a reason, do I?”

He studied her so intently she found herself wanting to brush her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair and pinch her cheeks to give her face some color. “Most people have a reason when they dislike someone.”

“You took advantage of my vulnerability last night.”

“No, I didn’t, and we both know it. You asked me to stay and I stayed because it seemed like the decent thing to do. You were upset.”

“Staying makes me a charity case?”

“You aren’t a charity case. Far, far from it.” His patience seemed to wear momentarily thin. “Why are you trying to fight with me? I don’t want to fight with you.”

He was right. She was trying to fight with him. Because she didn’t like him. Because she was embarrassed by the weakness she’d shown. Because he was logical and she was totally illogical, which irritated her because really she was a logical person most of the time. Maybe.

Fighting with him was easier than addressing kissing him.

“Then leave so you won’t have to fight.”

He shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair. “I’d like to be beside you today.”

She rose up and frowned at him. “Can you not take a hint? I don’t want you beside me. Not now. Not ever. Just go.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that she’d wanted him beside her the night before. She had. She couldn’t deny it. The house that had been home for so many years had felt empty and creepy in the darkness when she’d known her father wasn’t there.

This time she interrupted him. “I have to bury my father today. I was emotionally weak last night and asked you to stay. I shouldn’t have. I admit I made a mistake. I have a boyfriend and am ashamed of my mistake, of what happened just a few minutes ago. Now I want you gone and am asking you to leave. Can you not just leave, please?”

No longer meeting her gaze, he shrugged his broad shoulders and got up from the bed on the opposite side of her. “You’ve made your point. I’m no longer needed or wanted.” He headed for the door, pausing just inside the frame to turn to face her. “Call if you change your mind about needing a ride to the funeral home. For Preston’s sake, I’ll do whatever I can to make this day as easy as possible for you.”

He left.

Cara burst into tears and sobbed until there were no more tears left.

When she finally got herself together enough to think about heading to the funeral home, her neighbor Gladys Jones stopped by with some homemade brownies that Cara had loved as a girl and a sympathy card. Cara requested a ride and Gladys was happy to oblige so she could question Cara on why Dr. Trenton’s car had been parked in her driveway all night.

“I was too upset to drive myself home from the funeral parlor. Dr. Trenton kindly brought me home” was all she told the woman, and changed the subject time and again when Gladys kept bringing up the subject of Sloan.

The drive to the funeral home seemed to take hours rather than mere minutes. Giving Gladys a grateful hug, because really, other than the Sloan questions, she truly appreciated the woman coming to her rescue, she made her way into the funeral home, knowing the roughest day of her life awaited.

Chin high, shoulders straight, she walked into the funeral home. She could do this. She had no choice.

Everything blurred.

People greeted her, hugged her, handed her tissues when she cried. She’d not meant to cry, had kept herself together the night before at visitation, but today she cried.

Brother Elrod from her grandfather’s church presented a moving message, as did the hospital’s current CEO. Several suited men served as pallbearers, Sloan included, lifting the casket and assisting as it was placed inside a hearse. Then Mr. Greenwood escorted Cara to a limousine and helped her inside the impersonal black car.

The graveside service passed in just as big a blur. The local sheriff’s office honored Preston’s many years of serving as coroner and medical examiner and they presented Cara with a folded flag.

The late-winter wind whipped at her clothes but she felt nothing, saw nothing. Standing from her seat with legs that threatened to wobble, she dropped a single rose and a handful of dirt onto the lowered casket.