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She earned a bruised elbow for that one and a near heart attack. Once she got him steady, she tried again…and again. Each time, she had to deal with the same results.
“I know you’re beat,” she gasped, wearying herself, “but we have to get done.”
“Feel… sick.”
“Now, is that any way to talk to the woman who’s considering having your baby?” She peered at him, hoping that little shocker might have the desired effect. It didn’t. “Okay, then let’s try this. Brace your forearms on your knees and your forehead here.” She patted her tummy to show him.
At first the solution worked perfectly. He stayed steady, and she made good progress as she attended to the nasty bump on the back of his head.
Then she grew aware of how much hotter his breath was
than the water—against her tummy… her thighs…. And
as if that wasn’t enough, when he tilted off-balance again, he recovered by grabbing her legs!
Frankie froze, the feel of his big, strong hands moving on the backs of her thighs just a teensy bit more than she’d bargained for. “Um… mister.”
Could he be toying with her, after all? When he shifted his hold higher and almost cupped her bottom, she was nearly convinced. Then, just as she aimed the washcloth to slap his hands away, he uttered a deep, miserable moan.
“Can’t do this much longer.”
That makes two of us. But she forgave him. “Hold on. We’re almost through.”
“Too much trouble.”
“No, you’re a good sport.” Better than me.
“You. And you have… hands.”
She smiled. “There’s something else we have in common.”
“Great. Meant great hands.”
The fragmented compliment was another throwaway. He was grateful, that’s all; and yet a sharp little thrill raced through her. She was beginning to enjoy this a bit too much.
She tried to be discreet as she put some distance between them and concentrated on washing his neck and shoulders, his chest and arms. It didn’t help. How was she supposed to ignore that although he was on the pale side, his body had the well-developed tone of an athlete?
“Do you run, maybe on an indoor track? Work out at a gym?”
He was slow to answer. “Wish I knew.”
There it was again—that hesitant, anxious tone, As she dealt with yet another wave of sympathy for him, she forced a cheery note into her own voice. “I hate exercise myself. It’s crazy, because I’m going all the time. But tell me that I have to do some formal physical training and I turn into an amoeba. Almost failed gym in school.”
The stranger merely sighed.
It didn’t matter. They were finished anyway. Or finished enough. “Why don’t we get you to your feet.”
She instructed him how to stand, like before, and once again she tried to steady him. He had been a handful earlier; however, it took all her strength this time. As a result, there was no avoiding absolute intimacy—her breasts being crushed against his muscular torso, her cheek against the heavy thud of his heart, and lower…
Omigosh!
No longer was the stranger in a daze. At least one part of him was wide awake! He sucked in a sharp breath, as if only now realizing the problem himself.
“Here.” Once she had him out of the stall, she leaned him against the damp tile wall and reached for the towel. She needed to think, and she would do that better if they put something between them.
He seemed as eager to get the thick length of material around his waist as she was. But he also tried to catch her eye. “Frankie—”
“Careful where you step. We’ve made quite a puddle leaving the door open like we did.”
“Frankie.”
Blast him, but the man was persistent. “What?”
“Why won’t you let me…? I apologize.”
Yes, she was a wuss. She had only to hear his anguish, see the concern in his poor battered face, and she instantly turned into mush inside. And all this time she’d thought only animals could do that to her.
“Apologize for what? Being human?” She looked up at him and accepted another truth about his condition. “You’re not going to be able to endure another move tonight, are you?”
“Just want to… rest.”
“I know. Stay put.”
She’d been right about the hunch of letting him he down on her bed. She knew what to do now.
In the bedroom she flipped on only the small reading lamp, out of concern for his eyes. Then she folded back the coverlet from her queen-size bed and tugged down the sheet. Without trying, her imagination pictured him there, naked between her fresh sheets.
Get over it, Jonesy.
“I know you’re not quite dry,” she said upon her return to the bathroom. “But you won’t hurt anything. The important thing is to get you off your feet. You look ready to drop.”
She helped him to her room and into her bed, where as soon as she made him comfortable, she realized his forehead was bleeding again. Rushing back to the bathroom, she got her first-aid kit. Luckily she kept it well stocked for her animals.
Once she had him patched up, all the while chatting away like a computer phone recording, she thought of something else to do. “Aspirin. Your head has to be throbbing by now.”
She was gone and back in a flash. After feeding him the pill, she set the cup of water on the table beside the bed in case he got thirsty later.
“Can you think of anything else you might need?”
“No. Yes. Frankie, I didn’t want—”
Here they went again. “Try to get some rest now,” she said, not wanting to let him finish. She knew what he was going to say, and it was better left alone. She began to rise. “Don’t hesitate to call if you start feeling worse. I usually stay up for a while after I get home. I don’t need much sleep.”
“Francesca, stop.”
Who had a choice? Despite his condition, he’d moved faster than Samson when the little oinklet spotted anything edible, and now he had firm hold of her wrist. Wary but resigned, Frankie sat down on the edge of the bed. “What?”
“God, you make me dizzy.”
If only he knew his effect on her.
“You have to let me speak,” he continued.
“You don’t need to be speaking, you need to be resting.”
“But you’re still not—Don’t be afraid of me.”
He was too sharp for his own good. “May I remind you that you’re the one with the busted head and the Vacant sign flashing on and off in your eyes?”
“Frankie…” He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, but the effort was clearly more than he had to give. “You’re a very sweet and… sexy lady.”
This was what she’d really been afraid of; that he would say something considerate and tender when she was already reacting way too strongly to him. What’s more, the man not only had amnesia, he was blind as a bat! She’d caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. She looked about as appealing as Callie the time Maury had inadvertently pushed the cat off the dock and into the pond. She’d had no time to brush out her hair, and what little makeup she’d been wearing had either washed off or smeared.
“I’d better go,” she said, attempting to gently pry his fingers from around her wrist. She might as well have tried to reshape tungsten steel with a feather.
“I may not know who I am, but I don’t think—I know I would never hurt you.”
Frankie went still, and reluctantly met his troubled gaze. She knew that he told her the truth. At least, as he understood it. But he couldn’t know how that only served to add to her sense of wonder about him, about what was happening between them.
“I believe you,” she said, able to do nothing but accept the soft and achy feelings churning inside her. “Now will you please try to get some rest?”
He did ease his grip, but he didn’t release her completely.
A helpless laugh bubbled up her throat. “What’s wrong now?”
“You’re really going to leave me?”
“I’ll be in the next room.”
“Not yet.”
“You have to sleep.”
“I know. But… you make it bearable.”
‘It’?”
“Not knowing who… what I am.”
That had to be terrifying. She couldn’t imagine such a predicament herself, and she only had to look at him to see how it was tearing him up inside. That made chopped meat of the rest of her determination to put some distance between them.
“Keep telling yourself that this is only temporary,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “Tomorrow you’ll probably open your eyes and, except for one humdinger of a headache, be as good as new. They do say the mind can do the most amazing things when it comes to healing and survival.”
“What if I’m not that lucky?”
“Wrong attitude. My gramps used to say, ‘Never let the negative gremlins get hold of you. Think of the possibilities and that’s half the battle.’ “ Frankie grinned at his dubious look. “It’s true. He had the best outlook on life, and I rarely saw him depressed or angry.”
“That explains you.”
“Oh, I’m a grouch in comparison.”
“Doubt it.” The stranger let his eyes drift shut. “You… lived with him?”
“Sometimes. As much as I could. My parents didn’t always approve. They didn’t understand the wanderlust that drove him, especially after my grandmother died. I had to settle for brief summer visits as a kid, until I got out of school and moved in with him. We had a wonderful time for a while. He passed away five years ago.”
“Parents?”
“They’re still back east in Pittsburgh, in the brownstone they bought shortly after they were married. My father is with a big insurance company. My mother is… Well, she buys things at garage and estate sales, polishes them up and sells them at a profit to her friends.”
“Your grandfather… whose?”
“Whose…oh! Whose parent? Mother’s. And she’s never stopped apologizing to my father and brothers.”
“How many brothers?”
Goodness, he was tenacious. What besides two knocks on the head did it take to put him out of action? “Four. Carson, Blake, Jason and Pierce. I’m the runt of the litter. An accident, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Jones had a little too much sparkling wine on their twelfth wedding anniversary, and nine months later, there I was. The bane of everyone’s existence.”
“Exaggeration.”
“Oh, it’s true. I played better bridge than Mom, better poker than Dad. You could never catch me to spank me, and I deserved more than a few. I got better grades in school, even while maintaining the largest paper route in our county, and just when my father had himself convinced that I was going to get through college and become something traditional like a teacher or nurse, I dropped out and began traveling with Gramps. My father wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”
The story went over well. The stranger almost smiled. His breathing also was growing slower, deeper. Frankie began to inch off the bed.
He opened his eyes. “What do you do?”
“I’m an unapologetic underachiever now. I work at The Two-Step.” At his frown, she explained that it was a bar and grill on the other side of the interstate. “Far enough so that we don’t get any of its traffic, which makes it difficult for Benny, my boss, to keep a cook, so the ‘grill’ part isn’t always accurate.”
“Wonder what I do.”
Frankie didn’t like the tense note that had reentered his voice and endeavored to keep things light. “Well, you sure don’t mess with dirt-loving critters the way I do.” To prove it, she placed her hand next to his. Besides the obvious differences in size, hers displayed the short, sometimes-chipped nails and scratches that came from loving her pets too much.
The stranger stared at his hand. “He even took my ring.”
“What ring?” Frankie gasped.
“I don’t know. It just feels so… naked.”
A ring. The possibility that he had a wife, children waiting somewhere grew stronger. What were they going through tonight?
She would have liked pursuing the subject, but she could see it was having a debilitating effect on her patient. “That does it. Enough talking,” she told him, and rose. “Now you try to sleep.”
“You’ll stay close?”
At the rate he was tying knots in her emotions, he would be lucky if she let him go tomorrow. She always had time in her day and room in her heart to take in another lost or injured soul.
“Right on the couch, but sometimes not even that far, because I am going to have to wake you every once in a while to make sure you don’t slip into a coma.”
“Thanks.”
