Since it was Adrian’s night to cook, and other than grilling a steak, he rarely cooked on his nights, he held up a bag from our favorite Chinese restaurant. “I got your favorite but, per your request, I skipped the egg rolls.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I love them, but they’re so bad for me, and I have absolutely no self-control for things I like.”
Adrian grinned. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. I think you have amazing self-control.”
I snatched the bag out of his hand and darted off to the kitchen. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Adrian pulled out a barstool and sat. J’Austen popped up on the one beside him, and he absently scratched her between the ears. “You stopped taking Percocet, cold-turkey. Not a lot of people can do that with an injury as severe as yours, especially when you had to have surgery twice. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh …” I set two dishes on the counter and reached into the drawer for silverware. “I don’t know …” I didn’t want to say it, but hadn’t I already decided that enough was enough? “Umm … us.”
He pushed back from the bar and walked around the counter to where I stood clutching two forks. He took the forks out of my hand and set them on the dishes. “You have amazing self-control there, too. You haven’t pushed me for a commitment, and I appreciate that.”
Damn. But I wanted to push him. How could I do it now? I blew out a breath. “I don’t have amazing self-control, believe me. Since I’m not in a relationship with a certain someone I know, I can’t do other adult activities …”
Adrian pulled back to look at my face. “Other adult activities such as …”
I bit down on my lip. “I’ve been keeping myself busy at night by writing sex scenes.”
Adrian smiled. “Really? Can I read them? They might help keep my mind occupied too.”
“Oh, God, no!” I pulled away from him and busied myself with the food. “They’re only rough drafts. I wouldn’t let anyone read one of my first drafts.”
Adrian moved up behind me. He brushed my hair over my shoulder and proceeded to nuzzle my neck. “Are the scenes about me?”
A shiver ran through my body, but I couldn’t let him know how much he affected me. “Not really. Just faceless sexy scenes,” I lied.
“Hmm …” he said. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
I turned around and stared up at him. “How could I write sex scenes about you when we haven’t had sex?”
This time, Adrian narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve only had sex with one man. Does that mean all your sex scenes are about your ex-husband?”
Damn! Outmaneuvered by my physical therapist! “No,” I confessed. “I fibbed. The scenes are about you.”
Adrian dipped his head, his lips inches from my mouth. “I think about you all the time too, Jana.” He touched his lips to mine and, as always, I opened up to him, as though he held some power over me.
Not wanting to get lost in his kiss and forget about my mission to have the “next step” talk with him, I pulled away and exhaled a deep breath. “You know … I’m thinking my arm is completely healed. Maybe I don’t need physical therapy anymore.”
He turned me around, then gently pulled my arm around my side, as far as it would go, which sadly, wasn’t far. I’d yet to be able to reach my arm behind my back.
Turning on him, I grabbed his arm and tried the same move. He had less range than I did. “See. You can’t do it either.”
Adrian swung me around again, this time taking my left arm behind my back, lifting my hand so my thumb touched high between my shoulder blades. “But you can,” he said almost roughly. “I can’t reach behind my back because my shoulders are broad and my arms are almost twice the size of yours, but you can. Whatever you can do with your left arm, I need to make sure you can do with your right arm, or I fail at my job.”
“Adrian,” I said, coaxing my arm out of his grip and resting it on his chest. He was right. I could reach every spot on my back with my left hand. “You could never fail me. I couldn’t move my arm before I came to you. I had to have a second surgery because I’d failed with the other therapist. I owe you everything.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jana. I’m doing my job. But if something were to happen to us, you’d stop your treatments.”
I smiled at his comment. “What’s going to happen to us, Adrian? We haven’t done anything.”
A crinkle between his eyes made it clear he still wasn’t happy with me. He was so expressive. “Haven’t we? Just because we haven’t had sex doesn’t mean we’re not doing anything. What do you call what we’ve been doing every night? Hell, we’re practically living together.” Adrian pulled away and walked toward the front door. “I think I should go.”
“Adrian …” I followed him, but I’d be damned if I was going to beg him to stay. After all, he was the one who’d wanted to just be friends, to not put a stamp on our relationship. “I don’t understand. What did I say?”
He picked up his keys that he always dropped on the credenza by the front door. “Nothing, Jana. I’m just … Like I said, this is all …” He ran his hand through his hair.
“All, what?” I reached for his keys and set them back on the table. I refused to plead with him to stay, but I’d written enough novels that I knew not to let the hero walk out the door without the heroine trying to figure out what went wrong. Yes, tension was good in a story, but in real life, it was just plain stupid to let the man you love walk out the door. I gasped at my thoughts. The man you love. I was in love with Adrian. “What is so wrong with what we’re doing, Adrian?”
He touched his palm to my cheek. “Nothing is wrong with what we’re doing, Jana. It’s just the wrong time. Just give me a few more weeks. By then, you’ll be healed. And then, if we don’t work out, at least you’ll have the full use of your arm back.”
I sighed. “So you think if something happened to us — which is silly, by the way, since we get along so well — that I’d just drop my therapy appointments?”
He closed his eyes for just a second, then opened them. “You would.”
“Come on. Let’s forget this conversation and eat.” I tugged at his arm, but he didn’t budge.
He pulled my good arm to his chest, wrapped his hand behind my neck and took my mouth with his. His kiss was long and deep, passionate. It felt like goodbye.
A tear rolled down my cheek without warning.
“I’m sorry, Jana. I’m not upset, I swear, but I really should go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
I knew I couldn’t entreat him to stay when he was walking out the door, and I’d said my piece. Still … “I don’t understand.”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, and I really don’t think I have the self-control to resist you tonight.” He wiped away the second and third tear that had fallen without my consent. “Don’t cry, baby. I swear it’s not you.”
“Then why are you leaving?” I mumbled, trying my damnedest not to blubber, but clearly something had happened, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Adrian directed me to the sofa, but didn’t sit. Instead, he coaxed me down, then took my face between his two large hands. “Just give me a few more weeks, okay? Please.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.” Adrian pressed his lips to my forehead, my lips, and then he left.
I wouldn’t chase him. Couldn’t. I’d agreed to his stupid rules. Frustrated, I snatched my computer off the counter and trudged to my bedroom.
Propping myself up against the headboard, I got as comfortable as I could. I had more pillows than a Sheik’s bedroom, I was certain.
I fired up my computer and searched for the new story I’d been writing.
The door flung open and Adrian staggered in, “I’m sorry, Jana.” He made his way to the side of the bed, pulling me up in front of him. “I want you so much. Can’t you see how much I want you?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t been wanted … in that way … in so long, I really couldn’t see it. There had to be something wrong with me. But I couldn’t tell him that. “No …”
“How can you not see how much you mean to me, how much I struggle not to stay with you every night?” He ran his hand down my hair, down my back, resting his palm on the small of my back. “You’re so fun, wonderful, beautiful … I’ve wanted you — all of you — in my life from the first moment I saw you …”
My lips parted, but there was no reason to question why he’d never asked me to be his. Why he’d never told me he wanted me … loved me. I didn’t want to break the spell by asking why. I just wanted him to hold me … to make love to me. “Kiss me, Adrian. Please kiss me. And don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He tugged me against his body, his lips immediately closing over mine. His tongue darted inside my mouth with more forcefulness than he’d ever kissed me before.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting to be as close to him as possible. I stepped backward, pulling him with me.
For once, Adrian didn’t resist. His body moved with mine, his lips never breaking away. His tongue continued to probe, making my body heat up, coming alive with a fire to consume him.
I felt the bed behind me, so I shoved the pillows to the floor, clearing a path for him to take me. He pushed my laptop desk to the other side of my king-size bed, then hitched me up in front of him.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, then moved my hands to the front of his shirt, unbuttoning the white oxford to expose his beautiful chest.
Adrian lowered me to the bed, then reached for the hem of my top. I quickly raised my arms, allowing him to pull the T-shirt over my head. His hands found my breasts for the first time, cupping me gently.
He groaned. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hold you. To touch you every day, but never allowing myself to actually touch you has been agony.”
I arched my hips, releasing a soft groan as well. I wanted to feel his hands on every part of my body.
Adrian’s fingers found the waistband of my yoga pants. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I screamed.
Agh! I bolted upright as J’Austen jumped on my lap. “J’Austen, you did it again! Why do you keep startling me when I start to write the really good parts?”
She curled up on my lap, making it impossible for me to type. Within seconds she purred her contentment.
“Well, at least one of us is satisfied,” I growled.