Love with the Proper Stranger (15 page)

J
OHN WAS WAITING FOR
M
ARIAH
as she came out of X ray.

He looked sweaty and hot, and with that unshaved stubble and covered with the grime of a full morning’s worth of construction work, he looked dangerously sexy. He also looked as worried as hell.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Nothing’s broken. Not even cracked. Just bruised.”

He smiled then, one of his crooked half smiles. “Good.” He looked up at the nurse who was wheeling Mariah’s chair. “What’s next?”

“She’s got a cut on her back that’s going to need a stitch or two,” the nurse told him. “Unfortunately, she’s going to have to wait for the doctor.”

“May I sit with her?” John asked.

“Of course.”

“I mean, if she wants me to,” he added, glancing down at Mariah.

“Thanks,” Mariah said, feeling strangely shy as she briefly met his eyes. “I’d like that.”

The nurse brought them back into one of the emergency rooms. There were six beds in this one, each with a curtain on runners that could be pulled around to give them some privacy.

John helped Mariah up onto the bed. During her X ray, she’d taken off her athletic bra, and now she wore only a hospital gown over her shorts. It was tied loosely at her neck, and she could feel the coolness from the air conditioner blowing against her exposed back.

It was the front of the gown that made her self-conscious, though. The cotton was thin, and every time she moved, it seemed to cling provocatively to her breasts, outlining every detail, every curve. She pulled it up at her neck, wishing there was some way to ensure that it wouldn’t fall off.

Her movement made the short sleeves of the gown ride up, and John reached for one of her arms, pushing the sleeve even farther up. He turned her arm over, exposing the bruises she had there. There were five of them—little oval finger-and thumb-shaped bruises. She had a similar set on her other arm.

He looked into her eyes. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“I know.” She held his gaze. “What were you dreaming that night?”

He didn’t look away, but he didn’t speak for several long moments, as if he was deciding what to tell her. “Tony, my best friend, was… an officer of the law,” he finally said. “He was executed by a drug runner’s gang. Shot in the head.”

“Oh, my God.” Mariah couldn’t believe what he was telling her. “Were the people who killed him caught?” John nodded. “Yeah. They were caught. That doesn’t keep me from dreaming about them, though. I see their faces and…” He broke off, turning away. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I must be insane.”

“Did you know the men who did it?”

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“One of the guys working for the drug lord went to high school with Tony and me.” He shifted his weight, looking away from her. “I keep wondering if his bullet killed Tony. I keep thinking I should’ve beaten the hell out of him—and put the fear of God in him—in high school, when I had the chance.”

“That’s where you got Princess,” she guessed. “Tony was the friend that you inherited her from.”

He nodded. “Yeah. She still misses him.” He glanced back at her. “I do, too.”

“So you dream about him dying. Were you there when it happened? God, you didn’t see it, did you?” He shook his head, his voice bitter. “No. I got there too late.” He changed the subject. “Mariah, I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

He was talking about the bruises on her arms, but for a moment, she could have sworn he was talking about the way he’d treated her at Serena’s party.

“And I’m sorry about your friend.” She paused. “You knew him—Tony—since high school?”

Miller pulled a chair closer to her bed and sat down. God, why had he told her about Tony? Tony hadn’t been friends with high-class Jonathan Mills. At age sixteen,
Tony had befriended John Miller, the new kid in school—the poor kid, the
foster
kid, the troublemaker. Tony had accidentally broken a window, and Miller willingly took the fall. It hadn’t been hard to fool everyone—everyone expected that the troublemaker in foster care was the kid who’d broken the glass, anyway.

He’d been living with his current foster family long enough to know that he would be preached-at to death, but he wouldn’t be hit. Tony, on the other hand, had a brute of a stepfather who didn’t care enough even to keep his blows from marking the boy’s face.

Miller had stepped forward, confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed, and in return had won Tony’s undying loyalty. Not that Miller had wanted it. Not at first. But eventually, Tony had pushed his way past Miller’s hardened shell and the two boys became friends.

There was no way in hell he could tell Mariah any of this—foster families and stepfathers with iron fists didn’t fit in with Jonathan Mills’s world of yacht clubs and tennis lessons and stock dividends.

“How many stitches do you think I’m going to need?” Mariah asked, changing the subject after his silence had dragged on and on and on.

Miller shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Silence again. Miller could feel her watching him. “How are
you
?” she finally asked. “In all the excitement, I forgot that just a few days ago you were feeling ill enough to faint on the beach. And here you are, suddenly building a house and climbing up and down a tree…” She was still gazing at him, her eyes questioning now. Wondering. “Carrying Janey. Carrying me. If you’re this strong now, how strong did you
used
to be?”

“I’m feeling pretty tired,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t answered her question. He prayed that she wouldn’t think too long or too hard about the fact that he
had
moved up and down that tree with the balance and strength of a man who couldn’t possibly have just completed a crippling round of chemotherapy. He knew one way to get her mind off this topic and fast. “Mariah, about before… in the van…?”

She blushed, but she met his gaze steadily. “John, I’m really sorry about that. I know—you just want to be friends. It’s taking a while to sink in, but I’m finally starting to get it and—”

“I wanted to apologize to you.”

“To me? But—”

“I kissed you,” he told her. “You didn’t kiss me until after I kissed you, and I shouldn’t have, so I’m sorry.” She was gazing at him, wide-eyed. It was all he could do not to kiss her again. “It
wasn’t
me.”

Miller shook his head. “I couldn’t resist.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “If you can’t resist kissing me, and
I
can’t resist kissing
you
, then why aren’t we doing a whole heck of a lot more kissing?”

The doctor came in, saving Miller from even attempting to answer her. He stood up, grateful for the escape. “I’ll wait outside.”

“John.”

He stopped and looked back at her.

“Forget I ever said that, okay? We’re friends. That’s enough—it’s okay with me.”

Miller nodded and went out the door. He just wished he could close his eyes and fall asleep and wake up in a place where simply being friends with Mariah Robinson was okay with him, too.

* * *

H
E WAS SEEING HER, TOO
.

He was still seeing her. They were gone all day, and she realized he must have gone to that silly house-building.

She found it amusing, but nothing to worry about.

When it was time to make a choice, he would choose correctly. There was no doubt about it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
WO STITCHES
. T
WO TINY
little stitches, and she had to stay out of the water and away from Foundations for Families for another unknown quantity of days.

It wouldn’t be so bad if she knew precisely how long it was going to be before she could get back to her routine. Two days? Two weeks? Two
months?
Nobody would give her any definite answers, and meanwhile, her entire life was on hold.

All for two little stitches.

She was working hard to control her impatience. But Foundations for Families was counting on her. She’d already missed too many of her shifts. She needed to get back and…

Mariah did one of her breathing exercises. She sounded like Marie. This was not Mariah, with her no-worries, no-stress attitude. Mariah would take these imposed days off as a gift. A chance to lie on the beach and catch up on her reading. A chance to sleep late, to take the time to cook herself delicious, healthful dinners, to watch the sunset and see the stars come out at night.

The first few days actually had been fun. Jonathan Mills had dropped by once a day, bringing her things to eat and books to read, videotapes to watch and tacky little toys from the souvenir shop to amuse
her. A goofy-looking duck made from seashells glued together. A Garden Isle coloring book and a thirty-six-pack of crayons. A booklet of Mad-Libs.

Funny things. Silly things. The kind of things one friend would give another.

John’s visits were nothing but friendly. In fact, he seemed to take special care that they never touched—that they never got close enough even to brush against one another by accident.

Their conversations were safe, too. They talked about books and movies and newspaper headlines. They talked about Foundations for Families and the best place on the island to get an omelet.

Mariah wasn’t certain when John’s latest medical test results would be coming in, but she was more than ready for him to receive a clean bill of health. From things he’d said, little hints he’d dropped, she had to believe that he’d be getting word soon. Maybe then he’d let himself give in to the attraction she still saw simmering in his eyes whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

Of course, it was entirely possible that when he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Serena with the exact same heat in his eyes. Serena didn’t come to visit, not even once, and Mariah couldn’t bring herself to call her. She suspected, though, by John’s noticeable absence at dinnertime, that the two of them were together. She suspected, but she hoped it was only her too-vivid imagination, fueled by jealousy, rearing its ugly little head.

She tried to stomp it back into place, but it peered at her from dark corners. She tried to bring it out into the light. So what if John was seeing Serena? He’d made
it clear to Mariah that he and she were no more than friends. She could be happy with his friendship. She could be content to keep their relationship on that level.

And her Aunt Susan was the pope.

The truth was always there—a tiny voice that never failed to remind her of how she’d felt when John had kissed her. The voice reminded her of the way she’d been so ready to give herself to him in every way imaginable. The voice was always there to point out just how much she wanted this man, even despite his rejection.

She was a fool, yet every time he came to her door, she let him in. She knew damn well that in her case, being friends
wasn’t
better than nothing, but she couldn’t get past his illness.

What if she shut him out, what if she turned him away, refused his friendship, and he died?

He was comfortable with her. She could see him visibly relax as they sat and talked. How could she deny him that?

She was a sucker, too kind for her own good, but at least she knew it.

As of this morning, it had been nearly a day and a half since John had last stopped in.

Afraid to overstep the bounds of friendship, Mariah hadn’t even called. She’d picked up the phone more than once. She’d even dialed the resort. She’d gone as far as inquiring if Mr. Jonathan Mills was still staying there. He was. But she didn’t leave a message, fearful of her tendency to want too much where John was concerned.

She more than missed him. She worried about him. Was he feeling sick? Was he relapsing? Where the heck
was
he?

A dog was barking, down on the beach.

Mariah looked up from the book she was trying her best to concentrate on, hoping it was Princess. And John.

It was Princess all right, but John was nowhere in sight. The funny-looking little dog was dancing in and out of the water, barking at the seagulls. There was no one around her for quite some distance in either direction.

Mariah laid her book aside and went down onto the beach. She whistled and the little dog looked up, ears alert. “Princess!”

Princess seemed almost to grin as she trotted toward Mariah.

“Hey,” Mariah said to her, “what are you doing out here all by yourself? Where’s John? Where’s your master?”

The dog, of course, didn’t answer.

Mariah was under doctor’s orders to take it easy, but a nice, slow walk down the beach…? Now, that couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Come on, Princess,” Mariah said. “Let’s get you something to drink and let me grab some shoes and we’ll go find John.”

Returning his wandering dog was clearly a friendly gesture. It was neighborly—something even just a casual acquaintance would do.

It was also the best idea she’d had all day.

* * *

S
ERENA
W
ESTFORD WAS WAITING
for him in the most elegant of the resort’s lounges.

Miller went slowly inside, letting his eyes adjust. Even at this time of the morning, the room was barely
lit. In small bits and pieces, light filtered in through the heavy curtains that covered the windows, giving the room an odd, almost smoky feel.

Serena sat in the corner, sipping a cup of coffee, her perfect legs gracefully crossed, her dress an angelic shade of white.

Miller felt a sense of dread as he approached her. They’d met for dinner two nights ago. He’d gone directly from Mariah’s house to pick her up, and he’d been late. He hadn’t wanted to leave.

He’d been far too comfortable at Mariah’s, far too at home, and he’d cursed himself soundly even for going there in the first place. He’d visited her for several days running—well above and beyond the call of duty. The truth was, duty had nothing to do with his visits. They were for pure pleasure—his own pleasure as well as Mariah’s.

Mariah. She’d been unable to hide the flare of happiness in her eyes whenever he arrived. It was addictive, and he’d found himself visiting her more often than he should.