Everything I Need, page 9
“Yes! With your experience overseas. Your contacts. Your perspectives. Because you’ve seen immense privilege and immense suffering, right? Why aren’t you doing that rather than christening ships?”
“Well, I…” His thoughts spun as he tried to get his words together. She made it sound so easy. As though he could just hop out there tomorrow and get some political prisoners freed from some dire incarceration in a third-world country. “I’m not licensed, for one thing. I’ve never taken the bar exam here, nor been called to the bar back home in London.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“My grandfather died round about the time I graduated from law school. Granny needed me. She needed all of us. So I went back home and sort of slid into taking up some of her appearances for her during her mourning period. That continued. Here I am.”
“Well, where would you have taken it?”
“Not sure. That was up in the air, which was why it was easy for me to start with the family business. I didn’t have firm plans to get back to.”
“Well, you can take the bar now.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Because…?”
Rising frustration made him snappish again. Why dabble in hope when he knew very well that his legal dreams were as unattainable as sex with Melody tonight?
“Because I have commitments to my grandmother, for one thing. Because it’s been ages since I got my degree, for another. I’ve probably forgotten everything I’ve learned. And what would I look like, turning up to some bar review class and studying with all the little twenty-six-year olds?”
“You’d look like a man pursuing his dreams,” she said without missing a beat. “A man who was making the most of his life even though it wasn’t easy.”
“And if, by some miracle of miracles, I managed to pass someone’s bar exam, what about a job? I’d need one of those, wouldn’t I? You think firms are going to beat down my door trying to recruit a man who’s been out of school for years and has never practiced a day in his life? Is that how things work in the fairy world you’ve concocted in your fever-addled brain?”
She shrugged, her smile tinged with equal parts exasperation and amusement. “I have every confidence in your ability to find a job when the time comes.”
“I can’t just—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she cried, the sudden exertion setting off another wave of violent hacking. She hastily covered her mouth and coughed it out, leaving him to feel terrible as he reached for both the water and the lozenges, not sure which to give her.
“So sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to—”
She smacked his hands away and glared up at him while she caught her breath.
“You see what you’re doing to me?” She coughed again, cleared her throat and accepted a lozenge this time. “You’re making me sicker. If I do die tonight, it really will be your fault.”
“I think that’s a bit much.”
“You’ve had every advantage in the world,” she said, her voice once again sounding as though it had been fed through a trash compactor. “You didn’t have to pay for school, did you? Or your expenses while you were in school? And you have an income, right? Even though it’s not what it would be if your father let you have your trust. You come from the royal family, for crying out loud. People will be dying to hire you. Do you think the average guy on the street out there has those advantages going for him?”
“Yes, but I don’t want the advantages!” His voice boomed off the walls. He took a deep breath and dialed it back as best he could. “I want to earn my place. The same as everyone else.”
“Then earn it,” she said quietly.
He gaped at her, his mind fried.
She didn’t really believe that, did she?
That it could be that simple for him? That a firm might want him because he was the best (or could be the best with some training), rather than because his grandmother was the Queen?
And if Melody did think that…and if she was one of the smartest people he knew…did that mean that he should also believe it? Did that mean that he really could do it?
“I think people who go after what they want, even when it’s tough, are incredibly sexy,” she said, burrowing a little deeper under the covers, her expression the picture of benign innocence, as long as you didn’t look too closely and notice the glimmer of a challenge in her eyes.
But Anthony noticed.
And he felt the distinctive thump of excitement—of sudden possibilities—at the base of his throat.
That was the thing about being with Melody. When they were together here in the cocooned safety of her apartment (he had to catch himself from thinking of it as home; a place he’d only been a few times could not be home even if he had shoehorned his toothbrush into a place of honor in the bathroom), it felt normal to talk about his hopes and dreams. To play at being a regular bloke who could go out in the world and do his own thing like everyone else.
But then he thought of Granny’s face if he waltzed back home and announced that he’d decided to take his life in a different direction. He thought of the logistical nightmares involved with rearranging his calendar and of his private secretary’s incipient conniption fit if he so much as canceled a luncheon appearance next week.
That was the problem with taking advice from Melody, an American woman who had never met Granny, knew nothing about how things worked in the family and had no real hope of ever understanding the duties and expectations that had been placed on his head since birth.
And yet…
An unexpected image tiptoed into his mind. He saw himself dressed in a suit, briefcase in hand, striding up the steps of some federal courthouse on his way to argue some case. He saw himself standing tall and strong before the UN, with unshakable confidence in himself and his mission. It was a heady feeling, the kind to which he could easily become addicted. He saw Melody there with him, cheering him on, her face beaming with pride, and he had a tough time thinking of anything he wouldn’t do—any mountain he wouldn’t move, any ocean he wouldn’t swim—to put that look on her face.
To be worthy of this woman? He’d damn well do whatever had to be done.
With some difficulty, he yanked himself back to the present and glanced down at her again.
Her smile was steady. Knowing. Inspiring.
He had the uncanny feeling that she’d just seen everything he had.
“Sexy, eh?” he asked.
“Sexy.”
A responsive smile tugged on the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, well, I know you become obsessed with sex whenever you think of me, even when you’re on your deathbed—”
She croaked out a laugh.
“But I’d like to encourage you to get a bit more sleep. See if we can’t get you to survive the night.”
“Works for me,” she said, closing her eyes again.
He slid down, put his head on the pillow and gathered her close. When he kissed her forehead, she didn’t feel so hot.
“Have you broken your fever?” he murmured against her skin.
“I’m working on it.”
“Work very hard. I want you at seventy or eighty percent before I have to leave again.”
She snuggled closer, her arms tightening around his waist as she rested her head on his chest.
“I will. I sleep better when you’re here.”
“You do?” he asked, feeling the sort of pride of accomplishment best reserved for curing diseases and landings on Mars.
But her deep breathing, smooth and even now, was his only answer.
Jet lag caught him around the ankles and tripped him up right about then, and they were still in each other’s arms when they woke Saturday morning.
8
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur.
“Well,” Melody said late Sunday afternoon as she sat on the end of the bed and watched Anthony pack for his flight. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, she wasn’t quite the picture of health yet (her skin was still far too pale, she’d lost a few pounds and her eyes remained a bit glassy), but she did seem a thousand percent better. “Here we are again.”
He zipped his overnight bag and looked up at her, straining hard to keep a lid on his surging emotions. They were all over the place, to be honest. Faint anxiety to be leaving her alone after she’d been so sick and her fever might surge again. The relentless ache of loss that settled into his bones every time he went back to London, made worse by the fact that their mutual commitments would keep them apart for two full weeks this time, until they met up in Tanzania at the new year. The glum prospect of Christmas without her.
Growing sexual frustration that had his skin so tight he was fairly certain he would split open like an overripe peach if he so much as sneezed.
“Here we are again,” he said quietly. “I know I keep repeating myself, but you seem so much better. It’s really amazing.”
“I feel so much better. The antiviral really helped. So did your skilled care. I’m wondering why you never mentioned you were a trained medical professional like me.”
That made him laugh.
“No one is more surprised by this turn of events than I am. But I had to come.” His heart crept out of his chest and settled on his sleeve again, but there was no stopping it. “You know I had to come.”
She nodded, a half-smile playing around her lips. And that, right there, was his reward for ignoring her orders and showing up here. The way she glowed when she looked at him, as though he had personally hung every star in the sky, discovered fluffy little puppies and introduced the world to warm chocolate chip cookies.
Honestly, when she looked at him like that, he had to fight the urge to pinch himself and make sure this wasn’t all a dream that had catapulted him into the slot of luckiest bloke on earth.
He stared at her, his heart thudding.
“Just make sure you don’t get sick,” she said. “I couldn’t live with the guilt.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
They watched each other, neither blinking. Everything he felt seemed to beam back at him from her steady gaze. He thought about how he’d have to find a way to remember that she’d only been in his life for a short while and he probably could, in fact, sleep without her if he set his mind to it. He thought about how he hadn’t touched her bare skin this go around. His fingers flexed with a wave of need. Nothing he could do about that. Nor could he contain the slow creep of heat up his neck and into his scalp as he thought about what he wouldn’t give to be inside her in that moment.
And there was nothing he wouldn’t give.
He exhaled, a long and shaky breath.
His attention dipped to her lush mouth.
Melody went very still.
“Anthony…”
He flicked his gaze back up to her eyes. Waited.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
Her voice was husky, yeah, but it sounded less like the huskiness of someone recovering from the flu and much more like the need of someone teetering on a sexual edge.
The sound of her voice did not help.
He took another shaky breath. Held out a hand.
“Come here,” he said.
“Anthony. I’m trying not to get you sick.”
“That’s my business,” he said in his most velvety tone. “Come here.”
She was already on her way, standing and hurrying into his waiting arms. She did a little hop at the end and he caught her just as her legs went around his waist and her arms round his neck.
She was warm and solid, surprisingly strong and insistent as she tightened her hold and tried to get closer. They clung together, swaying, and it was the sweetest torture imaginable.
“I’d give anything to kiss you right now,” he said, agonized. “You have no idea.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” she said wryly, running her hands over his hair and scraping his scalp with her fingernails.
He imprinted everything about her in those long seconds, greedily collecting details the way ants collect seeds for the winter. He cupped her head and caught handfuls of her curls, reveling in their silkiness and the faint lemony fragrance of her shampoo. Ran his hands up under the lower edge of her sweater for the pleasure of rubbing her back and sides, noting the smoothness of her skin. Reached lower, for her delicious arse, and thrust against her. It was supremely unsatisfying. No traction. So he backed her against the nearest wall, reveling in her breathless cry of encouragement, pressed his face to her neck and ground against her for several of the most thrilling seconds of his life.
He found himself running increasingly desperate scenarios in his mind.
Kissing was out, obviously, and she wasn’t up for full-on fucking, but a hand job wasn’t out of the question, was it? What about a blow job? She seemed perfectly willing. Maybe he could go down on her. That could work, couldn’t it? He could swing her around to the bed, help her off with her jeans and knickers, and kiss her there until she shouted out his name the way he loved.
Yes! He had a plan!
He started to sweep her sweater over her head, catching a glimpse of her smiling face, rosy now with passion, and that was when he caught himself.
Scott, you fucking wanker.
What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?
He stiffened. Pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and put her down on her unsteady feet. Backed up several steps, trying to reach the minimum safe distance outside her zone of influence, although he was beginning to suspect that even Saturn would not be far enough. Blew out a shaky breath and ran his hands across the top of his head as he watched her.
“I’m sorry, darling. Didn’t mean to lose my head again.”
To his astonishment, the little siren followed him. Reached for his belt buckle.
“I don’t want to leave you like this,” she said, staring him in the face. “And we’re not going to see each other again for two weeks.”
Whereupon his determination to be a good guy spun off the road and landed, upside down, in a ditch.
But he reached for his reserves of strength and dredged up enough to put his hand atop hers and stop her.
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.” His guttural voice sounded as though it belonged to someone else. “Kindly make it a bit easier for me.”
“I’m stronger now,” she said with a sultry woman’s smile that made him want to crawl out of his skin. “It’ll be fine as long as I don’t kiss you.”
“It really won’t,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand. “You know I can’t control myself around you. Why risk it? I don’t want to finish you off outright.”
A tense stare-off followed. He emerged the winner when she scrunched up her face, backed up a step or two and roughly rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands.
“Sorry,” she said, now crossing her arms and huddling inside her sweater. “Maybe I’m the one who can’t control herself.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said sharply. “We want each other. That’s a gift.”
Her lips twisted. She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something, then turned away at the last second, shaking her head and muttering something with dark humor.
The subtext?
That their passion for each other felt like more of a curse than a gift at times like this, when another good-bye loomed in front of them. No words necessary.
Meanwhile, his own unspeakable words collected in his mouth and backed down his tight throat. He wanted her to know how important she was becoming (had become?) to him. How determined he was to be with her even though the speed with which things were developing between them scared the shit out of him when he thought about it. How it shaved years off his life every time he walked out her door and started another countdown until he could see her again.
It was far too soon to lay all that on her.
Not to mention the reality that being with him would change her life forever. For-ev-er. Hell, if he cared anything about the poor woman, the best thing he could do for her might well be to turn her loose before their feelings grew any stronger and/or that first paparazzo snapped her picture and splashed it on a tabloid somewhere.
But then he thought of the way she’d glowed when she looked at him just now and the way his heart swelled when she was in the room. And holding back any of his emotions or thought processes felt as unnatural and impossible as trying to catch sunshine in a bottle and using it to light the night sky.
He opened his mouth. Hesitated, telling himself to give it more time. Then said it anyway because there was no way to keep it inside.
“This is untenable in the long term. You know that, don’t you?” he said quietly.
She tensed and tried to shutter her expression, which was caught somewhere between fear and excitement. “What are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath, fully aware of the magnitude of what he was about to say. Fear was there for him as well, but there was far more swelling happiness. Possibly even euphoria.
“I want you to come to London soon. See how you like it.”
She gasped, her eyes widening.
“Don’t go putting any carts before any horses, Anthony,” she said. “We’re just getting to know each other.”
Just getting to know each other.
How quaint. Just getting to know each other? What, like kids did these days when they texted back and forth for ages before they bothered to get together, shag and, more often than not, never saw each other again? He could almost laugh.
“Do you actually believe that?” he asked, incredulous.
She froze.
“I want you to come to London soon,” he said again. “See how you like it.”
“But…” She blinked and smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I can’t take time off again anytime soon. I’ve been sick, and we’ve got Tanzania coming up in a couple weeks.”
He shrugged. “You can come one weekend. That’ll give you a taste of it. For a start.”
“But…you don’t think it’s a little soon for that?”
“No,” he said levelly. “Do you?”
She stared at him, her gaze hard and searching, then looked across the room with unfocused eyes.
