Heart's Paradise (20 page)

His gaze skimmed her blankets, and she felt a tactile pleasure dance over her skin. “It looks like you’ve dropped a lot of weight since the island,” he said. “It won’t hurt for you to gain a few pounds.”

True, she hadn’t been able to gain back the fifteen pounds she’d lost on the island, and she’d lost another five thanks to loss of muscle tone. The pain in her leg was only now getting manageable, before it’d been hard to eat or do much of anything except hide her discomfort from Sarah. She’d put on a brave face for her daughter when she’d felt like she was being broken in two every day. Addictive pain medication simply wasn’t an option. Perhaps as foolhardy as refusing an epidural during labor, but she didn’t want to deal with the withdrawals while weaning herself off of it.

“Where’s your food?” Phoebe asked.

“I’ll grab the rest of the soup and a sandwich.” He walked to the bedroom door then paused. He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you, Phoebe, for letting me stay.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to fully meet his eyes.
He thinks he’s won me over. Well, we’ll see about that.

She nibbled at her food until Jonathon returned with a plate. He took the chair which sat near the bed, crossed his ankle over his knee, and started watching TV. Her appetite fled her once more, his nearness stirring up memories she didn’t need. Riding him beneath the thick canopy of the island jungle. His taste, his touch, his masculine scent.

“You don’t have to stay in here, you can watch TV in the living room,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint.

“A good servant stays with his mistress in case she needs something else. Like more iced tea?” He lifted an eyebrow, eyeing her half-empty glass of tea on the nightstand.

“I’m fine. Really.”

He took a bite of his sandwich, and she watched as he chewed. He hadn’t shaved that day and the stubble of beard growth gave him a rakish look, as if he needed to look even more a rake. She remembered his beard on the island and almost wanted to see him in it again. Things had seemed so complicated back then, yet compared to now, it’d been incredibly simple. The needs of basic survival. The feel of his hands and his mouth… His hair had gotten a little long at the collar, curling at the nape of his neck. Perfect hair to run her fingers through as he took her with his mouth.

She clamped her teeth together, angry with her wandering thoughts. She shoveled food into her mouth as a distraction, barely tasting a bite, until she had the soup eaten and a good portion of the salad and sandwich finished. Finally she pushed the tray away, her belly stuffed. She hadn’t eaten that much in a while. Jonathon looked pleased as he finished off his meal and rose to take the tray away.

“Where’s your washing machine?” he asked. “I’ll do the laundry now.”

“In the garage. The dirty laundry should already be in there.” She fiddled with her blanket. Nature called, and without Barb there to help, the trip to the bathroom felt miles and miles away.
What’s taking her so long to get back with Jonathon’s car?
Her cellphone beeped on her nightstand. She grabbed it up, seeing a text message from Barb. She and her husband had business to take care of in town before towing Jonathon’s car to her place. Phoebe let out a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Should I get you some medicine or something?” Jonathon’s look of almost panic surprised her.

“No, I just have to, uh, use the restroom.” She looked beyond him to the open bathroom door across the hallway. “It’s an ordeal getting from here to there.”

“Oh. That’s no problem, I’ll carry you.”

He reached for her but she batted his hands away.

“No,” she said, appalled by the idea of him helping her do something quite so personal.
Damn iced tea.
“I can do it. I have to when Barb isn’t here.”

Well, not exactly true, she’d had to use a bedpan up until two weeks ago. But then she’d had a home healthcare nurse staying with her when Barb wasn’t around. Afterward it was a matter of holding it until her friend arrived to help her with the hobbling journey.

Jonathon looked between her and the bathroom, not appearing entirely convinced.

“Besides, if you pick me up, you could hurt my leg more,” she said, starting to feel desperate to get him going so she could be on her way before it was too late.

He eyed her then nodded his head. “Well, if you need me just yell.”

He left her alone, and she waited until she heard the door to the garage open then close. Afterward she reached for her crutches. The damn things were useless, she had no coordination with them. She slid from the bed, braced her weight on them, and forced herself up. Pain shot through her lower body, and she gasped, falling back on the bed. Cold sweat broke out on her brow, and she shook with muscle weakness.

She needed Barb, not Jonathon. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough having her longtime friend help her to the toilet, but Barb had been a nurse once upon a time. The idea of Jonathon doing the same felt humiliating.

Phoebe took a deep breath and tried again, this time sparing her useless right leg as much as she could. Her left leg shook as she shoved the crutches beneath her arms. She took a tiny hop forward, paused to catch her breath, then another hop. An inch-by-inch journey when once she would’ve been there in ten seconds flat. By the time she made it to her bedroom door she felt woozy, and she licked salty sweat from her top lip.

“I’m almost there,” she mumbled.

She took another hop forward, but her ankle twisted, lurching her sideways. The crutches shot from beneath her and she crashed to the floor. She screamed as jagged pain lanced through her leg.

“Phoebe?” Jonathon shouted, rushing toward her. “Oh my God, are you okay?” He knelt down.

She choked back sobs which pushed her toward hyperventilation. Jonathon stroked her hair back from her face.

“I’ll call an ambulance.” He dug inside his pocket, pulling out his cellphone.

“No,” she said through her teeth. “Just. Give me a minute. Catch my breath.”

He stayed with her, stroking her hair, until she finally had the worst of the pain under control. When she’d swallowed back the nausea she had no choice but to reach up to him. Jonathon took hold of her, carefully pulling her upright. She winced and he did too.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call an ambulance?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. The pain is subsiding now.”

It didn’t feel like she’d done further damage to her leg as he guided her to her feet. With no other choice she let him help her into the bathroom where he left her some privacy by standing outside the closed door. Afterward he stayed with her as she hobbled back to the bed.

“See, I’m useful after all,” he said once she was propped safely against her pillows.

She glared at her cast, thinking if he hadn’t shown up Barb would’ve been there to help her to the bathroom and she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. She grabbed some extra strength ibuprofen off her nightstand that her doctor had prescribed. Not that it did much, but it’d take the edge off.

Jonathon left her alone to finish the laundry, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of how awkward it was to have him in her home. After all, why should he care about her or Sarah? They were strangers to him, and what claim he had to her daughter lay in the genes he’d contributed. Not much to declare himself a father in her opinion. Then again, she had to recognize at least a bit of her biases after her ill-fated attempts to get to know her own father. Her world was skewed with his rejection.

The afternoon wore on into evening. Barb and her husband returned with Jonathon’s muddied car in tow. They spent some time with her and questioned Jonathon at length to make sure he had good intentions for intruding into Phoebe’s life. She appreciated their concern over her and Sarah’s welfare. Friends like them were hard to come by.

Once they’d left, the house seemed small with Jonathon there. He made them dinner—chicken breast, steamed veggies, and mac and cheese—and they ate together in silence while watching the evening news in her bedroom. It felt almost cozy with his companionship, a feeling she didn’t want to get attached to, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he took their plates and left the room.

She listened to him put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher then heard the soft hum of its motor.

He returned and said, “I’ll crash on the sofa. Do you have a pillow and blanket to spare?”

“The sofa folds out into a bed, and on the top shelf in my closet you’ll find what you need.”

He retrieved the items and left to make up his bed, only to return a few minutes later. He had no other excuses to leave her alone as he settled into his chair.

“Shall we watch TV or find another way to entertain ourselves?” he asked with his lazy smile and playful eyes.

Another way?
His innuendo wasn’t a door to open for her fickle hormones to peep through.

“I’ve always been a fan of board games myself, but I’m a poor loser,” he continued.

“Like I said, you can watch television in the living room,” she said, suddenly grouchy. She hated to admit the awkwardness had faded and a part of her liked his presence. He made the house less empty. Since her injury she’d let Sarah stay at her friend’s home quite a bit, she got bored at home while her mother recovered. Once Barb left in the evenings the place felt abandoned with her being stuck in bed.

“I’d rather stay in here. I like the company,” Jonathon told her.

She thought of the island, and of them huddled around the fire for warmth. She’d missed the intimacy, but now in her home, she didn’t know how to swallow it.

Phoebe flipped the television over to some old black-and-white flick, letting it play in the background of her thoughts. She watched Jonathon from the corner of her eye. He leaned back in the chair, an ankle crossed over his knee, his ever-present grin in place. Phoebe shifted and squirmed, feeling the butterflies of awareness tickle her insides. Even the constant irritating itch beneath her cast couldn’t squash those damned butterflies.

So she sat, with her hands balled on her blanket, staring at the TV but not seeing the action while she tried to force away memories of Jonathon naked. The way he’d made her come so easily. How amazing it’d felt in his arms. So many memories she didn’t want to deal with.

“Was I any good at least?”

His voice jolted her from her illicit wonderings.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“When we, er, made Sarah, was I any good?”

She shot him a hard look, but he stared at the television. She certainly didn’t want to have this conversation, considering she couldn’t get her mind off of sex.

“Why does it matter?” she asked. “It happened a long time ago.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Call it my ego.”

He seemed almost uncomfortable. He sat up straighter.

You were great.
“It was okay I guess,” she said. “I was a bit tipsy and you were pretty drunk.”

“I won’t admit to setting a high moral standard back in those days, but I wish I hadn’t woken up alone that morning.” He looked to her, and their gazes locked. “I would’ve loved the opportunity to know you better beyond some sloppy groping in the dark.”

We weren’t in the dark.
She fiddled with the blanket, her agitation funneling down into her fingertips. “You were graduating, I still had a year and a half left in college. There would have been no getting to know one another better, we both know that.”
Not after you learned of my pregnancy.

“I would’ve tried,” he insisted. “If I’d known about Sarah, I would’ve tried.”

That raised her ire. “Tried? There’s no trying when you become a parent. You do it, Jonathon, you do it because your child deserves it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He held her gaze a moment longer then looked away. He rose and walked toward the doorway. “Goodnight, Phoebe,” he said over his shoulder before leaving her alone.

Chapter 21

Jonathon tossed and turned on the lumpy sofa bed the rest of the night.
How will I make this work?
he asked himself over and over. He wanted to run away from Phoebe’s home, find some solace in his old lifestyle. Casual affairs, parties, and more parties. But he knew if he tried, he’d have the ghosts of what happened between them hanging over his head. Phoebe, and his daughter, would always be at the back of his thoughts. Regardless of how much he dated, no woman would ever compare to Phoebe.

He’d stick it out. He had to stay with Phoebe until she’d healed enough she could take care of herself. He’d learn about his daughter, and maybe even become friends with her. At least he hoped he could form a bond with the girl. And if at all possible, her suspicious mother.

He rolled onto his stomach, thinking about Phoebe in the next room. In bed. Jonathon groaned as he grew hard with the mental image. The woman was nearly an invalid, and certainly didn’t need him lusting after her. But his dick wouldn’t listen and his erection throbbed, driving sleep even farther away. He rolled onto his back and grasped his shaft, giving in to some light petting as he stared at the dark ceiling. The ceiling fan whirled, its hum meditative, making him think of the waves crashing on their island shore. Then of Phoebe’s willing body and lips.

Tired and frustrated, he rose and walked down the hall and into the bathroom. He felt guilty of his lewd behavior as he jerked off then cleaned up before returning to his bed. When the sun peeked through the blinds he went to his car and retrieved his suitcase. By the time he heard Phoebe stirring, he’d shaved and showered. He went to see if she needed help to the bathroom. She growled and complained, but accepted his assistance.

Once he had her settled back in bed, he made coffee and a couple of omelets for them. He burned the bacon, setting off the fire alarms in the house, and also Phoebe’s annoyance. She yelled at him for trying to burn her home down while he waved towels and opened windows to let the burnt smell and smoke out. To be fair, the skillet had actually flamed up, ruining it, so he couldn’t blame her for being mad.