Everything I Need, page 6
“How nice of you to throw that in my face.”
He smirked. “Well. I did notice.”
“Noticing is fine. I take issue with your mentioning it.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
Sure he was. He looked exactly as sorry as a raccoon who had knocked over a garbage can outside a restaurant and was enjoying a late supper.
They beamed at each other for a delicious moment or two.
Until his amusement slowly faded away.
“So, listen...” He paused to clear his throat. “I meant to ask if I needed to apologize when we spoke before. But you got me sidetracked with all your nonsense talk about a better face.”
She frowned. “First of all, I never talk nonsense. Every time I open my mouth, butterflies of wisdom flitter out. It’s a thrilling phenomenon.”
He laughed.
“And second, why would you need to apologize?”
His smile receded once again, leaving only naked intensity as he carefully gathered his words.
“I, ah...” He adjusted his pillow. Tugged on his earlobe. “I might have lost my head a bit before I left. In the, ah, bathroom.”
“Oh,” she said, startled. That.
She frowned, waiting.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.
The suggestion was so ridiculous (when Eagles fans screamed their fool heads off at their Super Bowl parade, no one ran through the crowd asking individual people if they were okay, did they?) that she couldn’t stop an incredulous laugh.
“No,” she said. “You didn’t hurt me. I thought I’d made that clear in the moment, but I’ll have to do better next time.”
His expression shifted to unmistakable satisfaction and sensual male knowledge.
“Just wanted to check. That’s never happened to me before. I wouldn’t want to go overboard and scare you off in the first month of our relationship. Not when it seems so promising.”
A couple of puzzle pieces clicked into place, giving her a new understanding of the intriguing Anthony Scott.
“Oh, I get it,” she said, nodding sagely. “As an upstanding military man, you’re kicking yourself for losing control. And you’re planning to keep a tighter grip on your emotions from now on. Hit me with that famous British stiff upper lip.”
Anthony tensed and stared at her with frozen disbelief, a faint frown wrinkling his forehead. “Where do you manage to hide your crystal ball? I’ve been wondering.”
She made a dismissive sound. “I’m not clairvoyant.”
“I’m not convinced,” he said flatly.
They watched each other without speaking for a beat or two and she did begin to discern a couple of his emotions. Admiration and respect were there on his face. Wariness. Maybe a little frustration. The slow smolder of his desire woven throughout everything else.
“Why can’t we just be who we are with each other?” she wondered aloud. “We had a moment together in the bathroom. You didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want you to leave. Those feelings rose to the surface. We enjoyed each other. No children or small animals were harmed. Why isn’t that okay? Why do we have to dissect it?”
“Ah. Now I see that you don’t understand me at all.”
“Enlighten me then.”
“I don’t get carried away. Well, not unless I’m having a panic attack in an elevator. I don’t lose control. My emotions don’t rise to the surface.”
That made sense. She’d seen enough of his patented look of cool-eyed disdain to believe him.
“So where do they go?”
Incredulous laugh from Anthony.
“I ignore them. I put them aside. What else? My whole life, I’ve been trained to soldier on. I do what’s expected of me by my higher-ups.” A new edge crept into his voice. “I don’t question authority and I don’t get tied up with American women I just met thirty seconds ago.”
A ringing silence followed this announcement. Melody tried to analyze the implications for their blossoming relationship, while Anthony blinked and looked vaguely appalled that he’d had so much to say on the topic.
Then Melody pressed a hand to her chest.
“Oh, no,” she cried on a fake sob. “So this is...so this is good-bye?”
Anthony burst into startled laughter, which was exactly what she’d hoped would happen. She could almost see the gathering storm clouds drift away from his head.
“No, this isn’t good-bye, you terrible woman. Though it should be after that performance.”
“I like it when you laugh,” she told him. “You should do it more often.”
He gave her a pointed look. “I seem to be doing it quite a bit lately.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Delighted.”
He treated her to another dimpled grin, the kind that made her heart thump and her blood sizzle. The urge to grab his face and pull him in for a kiss damn near took her out. She privately decided that it was a good thing they were on separate continents. Otherwise, they’d spend all their time in bed doing X-rated things rather than talking and getting to know each other.
“I think you should lighten up,” she said. “We don’t have to analyze and judge everything, do we?”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “Have we met? I don’t do light.”
“You’re going to start. We’re having fun together. Let’s leave it at that.”
Anthony frowned thoughtfully. “That all sounds very casual. We’re not casual.”
“There you go with another label. All I’m saying is, we have to pace ourselves. Just see what happens. You can’t freak out every time you show a little emotion and I can’t have a heart attack every time my phone rings.”
He leaned closer. “Are you telling me you look forward to my calls?”
Oh, shit. Unforced error.
“My lips are sealed on that topic,” she said, her face burning again.
“I repeat: you are a terrible woman.”
“So how did your library speech go?” she asked pointedly, laughing.
“It was perfectly adequate,” he said glumly, propping his head on his hand. “Only five or six people fell asleep, and only one of them snored outright. It could have been so much worse. They usually post clips of these things online, if you ever need something to put you out for the night.”
“I saw it.”
He perked up. “You did? What did you think?”
Melody, who had no problems with public speaking, decided not to mention the way he’d fidgeted with his cufflinks, kept his head ducked as he consulted with his notes or all but sprinted off the stage when the speech was over.
“I thought you seemed a little uncomfortable,” she said gently. “Don’t you like giving speeches?”
“Like?” He made a face. “I neither like nor dislike it. It’s what needs to be done, so I do it.”
“Right, but do you like it?”
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “What possible difference does it make?”
“Your personal happiness doesn’t matter?”
There was a long pause before his brows contracted.
“My grandmother is a hundred and ninety-two years old. She can’t handle these engagements like she used to. She’s trying to scale it back a bit, so it’s all hands on deck with me and my cousins. This business isn’t about personal happiness.”
Melody shrugged. “Maybe not for her and the heirs, but she’s the monarch. What about you?”
Anthony cocked his head and squinted at her with genuine puzzlement.
“Why are you planting seditious thoughts in my head? You Yanks just can’t help yourselves, can you?”
“Seditious? I just asked whether you enjoyed giving speeches or not. It’s a simple question.”
But the look on his face as his gaze slid out of focus and settled, unblinking, on something off in the distance, told her it wasn’t simple.
It wasn’t simple at all.
“Don’t get moody again,” she said, wishing they were in the same room so she could nudge his shoulder or smooth his forehead with a kiss to snap him out of it. “I have something to show you.”
He blinked and refocused, looking a little shaken.
“What is it? Sexy lingerie? Your naked body with melted chocolate smeared in strategic places? We did agree we’d be having phone sex.”
“No, and don’t get any bright ideas, either,” she said, laughing as she got up and carried the phone down the hall to the bathroom. “I have to wind down and get some sleep in a minute. Otherwise I tend to make nasty mistakes when I’m cutting on all the little children.”
“I know you do, darling. I didn’t mean to keep you. I just wanted to catch you before you went to bed. I’m off to christen a new ship today.”
She stopped walking to gape at him. “You get to christen a ship? Seriously? With a champagne bottle and everything?”
“Well, they rig the bottle on a rope so you can pull it and the bottle smashes against the ship, yes.”
“Is that as much fun as it sounds?”
“Not hardly. Though it is nice to meet people and talk to them.”
“And will there be a speech, too?” she asked innocently.
He shot her a quelling look. “You’re on very thin ice with me. You know that?”
“This’ll make up for it,” she said, gesturing to the sink with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
She held the phone over the counter so he could see that she’d placed his toothbrush and toothpaste in a place of honor. While hers sat in the best little plastic decorator cup that Target had to offer, she’d placed his in a sparkling crystal tumbler, which was part of a set she’d bought a couple years ago when she discovered the delights of bourbon. She’d also taken the time to make a sign that said Anthony’s Toothbrush and used her colored markers and shaky drawing ability to decorate it with a crown and several stars and arrows so there could be no question about placement or ownership.
“What did you do?” Anthony scrambled up to a seated position and laughed his head off as he leaned in for a closer look. “Hang on. Put the phone back again so I can see. Look at that crown! You didn’t tell me your art skills were so solidly at the primary school level—”
“Hey!”
“But why do I get the special glass? There’s room in your cup for my toothbrush.”
“I want to keep your toothbrush in the style to which it’s become accustomed,” she said solemnly.
“Thank God you fully appreciate my position. I’ll expect a curtsy next time I see you. Watch some online videos to make sure you do it properly.”
“Sorry,” she said in her sweetest voice. “I’m American. I don’t do royalty.”
“Ah, but you did this royal, didn’t you?” His eyes began a slow burn as he pointedly looked her up and down. “Multiple times. And very well.”
“Oh,” she said, heading for her bed so she could stretch out on her side and prop her head on her free hand. “You remember that?”
“Remember?” Humorless laugh as he slumped back against his headboard. “It’s all I think about.”
Much as she wanted to keep her feelings on lockdown, they kept turning sideways, slipping through the bars of their cage and running free.
“I know the feeling,” she said softly.
Sharp inhale from Anthony.
“I can’t decide whether video chatting with you is a good thing or not. I mean, it’s good to see you every day. But it’s torture to see you every day.”
Torture.
Good word for the way she felt. The thrill of seeing him versus the pain of not being able to touch him. For instance, he had a very fine chest, well-defined with ripples in all the right places and a dusting of golden hair that trailed south to parts she didn’t want to think about now. Not if she wanted to relax and get some sleep. He also had broad shoulders and sinewy arms that liked to hold her tight and not let go. A delicious morning scruff that scratched her in sensitive areas and drove her wild. Cornsilk hair. Satiny skin.
Desire tightened inside her, making her secret inner muscles clench for him.
“Sweet torture,” she said.
“Sweet torture.” He tipped his head. Considered. Nodded with unmistakable satisfaction. “Good term.”
“Glad you agree.”
He mirrored her posture, lying on his side and propping his head on his free hand. “I’ve been storing up, you know. All the things I want to say to you when we’re together again. All the things I want to do with you.”
“Yeah?” she murmured. “That sounds promising.”
His gaze smoldered as he looked at her.
“I’d planned to promise not to lose control again. But now...”
“But now?”
Wry smile. “I don’t believe in making promises I can’t keep.”
She couldn’t have stopped the delight from spreading across her face even if she’d wanted to.
“Good.”
They watched each other for a moment, the silence drowsy and peaceful. She kept telling herself to say good night and hang up, but she was so lost inside those bright blue eyes that she didn’t want to get herself out of there.
“Do me a favor,” she finally said.
He nodded. “Anything.”
“Think about what you’d like to do instead of making speeches. If you were a regular guy, I mean. I’d love to hear about it. Okay?”
A shadow flickered across his face, but he nodded again.
There was a pause.
“Do me a favor,” he said.
“Anything,” she said, reining in most of her smile.
“Keep my side of the bed warm for me.”
“I can do that.”
He opened his mouth again, looking miserable. Hesitated.
“I miss you,” he said, his voice husky.
Those three words shouldn’t have the power to make her so unreasonably happy, but they did. She felt her heart swell until, honest to God, it felt as though it bumped up against her ribcage.
If he ever said I love you, she’d probably spontaneously combust.
“I miss you, too,” she said.
6
That Friday night, Anthony laid onto Melody’s doorbell for a good long ring, impatience getting the best of him as he adjusted his grocery bags and reached for his phone to call her. She had, of course, just buzzed him up, but maybe she’d fallen back asleep and didn’t realize he was there.
She had the flu.
The ruddy fucking flu.
The news had hit him hard. Rarely had he felt such a sickening combination of disappointment and anxiety. He’d lived all week for the moment when he’d see her again on Friday, and now this?
“Don’t come,” she’d said last night when she called to tell him.
The sound of her hoarse voice, in between fits of a hacking cough, had shaken him. If she’d taken a cheese grater to her vocal cords and then dipped them a couple of times in battery acid, they couldn’t possibly sound any worse.
“I have the flu,” she’d continued, sniffling. “That’s what I get for hanging out at a hospital with sick children and all their nasty little germs.”
“But…”
He floundered, struggling to make sense of a God that could be this cruel. Melody sounded miserable, as though she’d marched up to death’s door and started pounding on it, demanding entry. And he’d lived to see her again. Touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. Never mind the sex, although that was certainly on his mind as well.
For the first time in his life, he was packed! Early! His overnight bag was by the door, waiting to be thrown into his car in the morning.
To make matters worse, if they didn’t connect this weekend, they wouldn’t see each other again until after Christmas due to their mutual work commitments. He hadn’t begun to grapple with what the holidays with his grandmother and the rest of the family at Sandringham would be like when Melody would be in Journey’s End with Baptiste and Samira, all of whom would probably have the time of their lives without him.
“But…all you hospital workers take the flu vaccination, surely,” he’d said, his disappointment demanding that he employ some magical thinking to rectify the situation. He raised his voice so she could hear him over another prolonged fit of coughing. If she kept on like this, she’d probably bring up one of her lungs in a moment, poor thing. “It’s probably not the flu at all.”
“The vaccine doesn’t work on every strain of the virus.”
He began to feel surly.
“Well, what about those antiviral medications that you take first thing when you turn up sick?”
“I took it this morning. It hasn’t kicked in yet.”
There it was. Just the sliver of hope he needed.
He brightened. “You’ll probably feel back to yourself on a good night’s sleep.”
“It’s going to take longer than that,” she said, coughing and then gasping as she tried to catch her breath. “My fever’s still a hundred and one. And I don’t want to risk it and make you sick.”
“But…” Honestly, he knew he was being an arse, but he needed to see her and bask in her presence for a little while. At this point, he’d settle for flying back to Journey’s End and standing outside her window so they could put their hands up to the glass the way visitors did with their family members in prison. “Who’s taking care of you? Samira?”
“I can’t expose her. She’s pregnant and she’s meeting Baptiste in Paris this weekend anyway. And I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m a grown woman and a medical professional. I’m fine.”
“Do you have juice? Some nice chicken broth? Are you forcing fluids?”
“I’m fine. But my head is killing me. I’ve got to lie down again, okay? I’ll call you later when I feel better.”
“But—”
“Bye.”
She’d hung up. She hadn’t called back, though there had been one sorry excuse for a text that consisted entirely of a little dead face with Xs for eyes.
That had done nothing to allay his fears. He’d struggled with indecision, remembering back to when he’d served overseas and spent time with some of his boys when they’d been injured. The flu couldn’t be any worse than some of those bedside scenes although it was, admittedly, a great deal more contagious.
