A special thanks to Christine for being such a wonderful and insightful beta for the first half of this...I'm really grateful!
BATHING ON ROOFTOPS
And it came to pass in an evening-tide, that David arose from off his bed,
and walked upon the roof of the king’s house: and from the roof
he saw a woman washing herself; and the woman was very beautiful to look upon.
And David sent and enquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bath-sheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?
And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in
unto him, and he lay with her…
~ 2 Samuel 11: 2-4.
There had been an unspoken policy of no touching between us for a very long time. No holding hands, no hugs, no back massages and certainly no kissing. Nothing unduly personal or private beyond the slight hovering of his hand over the small of my back when we left rooms together.
Anything past that was too dangerous, too close to inviting something more. Once, before the Flood, things had been more carefree between us, less restrained; but that was ancient history.
For the past three years—ever since that night when we sat in the cold, waiting, while Cliff Calley read my diary—I have been afraid to touch the man dearer to me than all others.
Often, I have tried to figure out why I feel this way, why I am so terrified of touching him. Am I afraid that he would shrink away from the feeling of my skin on his, as if I was some deranged and desperate woman he had come to loathe? Or perhaps is it that I fear he would freak out and my spontaneous actions would ruin this thing that has lain between us, untested and avoided for so long?
Most of all, I think I am afraid that he wouldn’t do anything if I reached out and felt him, really felt him, in that most unprofessional of ways. I am almost absolutely certain that he would just look through me instead of at me and then walk away as though nothing had happened—maybe nothing would have happened for him. Then one of the best parts of me would shrivel up and die and I would never feel like me again.
We had had an understanding about touching. It was unwritten, unspoken and all-pervading.
Is it any wonder I reacted the way I did?
****
The announcement of his “master plan” came just before I was released from the hospital. When he first suggested it, I started to laugh—maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the demoral the nurse had just given me. In my defence, I have been on a lot of drugs ever since I first woke up in Germany. The pain medication regimen remained the same at GW once they flew me back States-side.
Still, a loud snort followed by somewhat hysterical giggling might not have been the most tactful response in my repertoire.
“What did you say?”
“You’re coming home—with me. You’re coming home with me.”
He had looked, well, rather rumpled. He still hadn’t shaven—at least, it didn’t look like he had. I’m sure he must have at one point or another, especially since we had arrived back in the States, but he must have forgotten that morning, and maybe the morning before that too. Plus, his clothes seemed too big for his body. Surely CJ hadn’t given him an entirely new wardrobe along with those big blue pyjamas, right?
I reached for him, suddenly desiring some kind of physical contact between us. It was a gamble as I tried not to jar the IV still stuck in my hand, but he wasn’t quite close enough for me to touch.
“Josh. Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“You can’t be. You don’t know what you are saying.”
“I’m saying that you’re coming home with me. You are moving into my apartment while your leg heals and I’m going to take care of you. End of sentence. End of discussion.”
“But, Josh!”
Really, he can be so infuriating at times. Make that all the time.
“Donna, don’t argue with me.”
“But I don’t know why you’re doing this!”
That stopped him in his tracks. He just looked at me like I’d socked him in the gut. At first his mouth opened and closed without any noise—I’ve always imagined that’s what landed fish do when they’re gasping for air. Not that I’ve ever seen a landed fish in real life, but you get the general idea.
Next, his eyes grew round in his head as he sputtered and tried to string together a coherent sentence. “You…you don’t know…why I…you don’t…? What?”
“Josh, it’s a reasonable question. You’re the Deputy Chief of Staff, not a stay-at-home nursemaid. You don’t know the first thing about recuperation—that’s why I had to move into your apartment after Rosslyn, remember? And I don’t want you to feel like just because I did that, you have to do the same for me. That’s not how this works.”
He shook his head and looked away. Something must have clicked in his brain, because his shoulders settled in that pig-headed, bull-crazed way that usually accompanied a long fight with congressional Republicans and lots of late nights and irate phone calls.
When he looked at me again, all I could see in his face was stubbornness.
“Nope. It’s already been decided.” He raised a finger to further his point and shush me simultaneously. “And I have your mother on my side, so don’t even try to say that you need to go home to Wisconsin. You’re moving into my apartment tomorrow morning as soon as your release papers are signed. Deal with it.”
He walked out of the room before I could think of an excuse—he had whisked my Wisconsin fallback right out from under me. Huffing, I flounced back on my pillows and tried not to think about how badly my leg was throbbing. Or how tired I was. Too tired to fight, most likely—for now at least.
One thing still irked me, though. Pity was the last thing I needed from my boss and that was exactly what I was: his pity patient.
Why else would he want me to move in?
********
GW released me late the next morning and Josh had been there to wheel me out the hospital doors, just as he had threatened.
The whole morning I had been thinking about my first hospital stay in Germany. Josh had been there, too. He had looked dreadful when I first woke up and I told him so. The truth was, I couldn’t understand why he was there—the bombing had been an international incident. Surely Leo needed his deputy with him in Washington. There were things that had to be done: meetings with ambassadors and emissaries and the UN Secretary-General probably; talk show circuits to satisfy the press and worried citizens; counsel to give to the President. So why was Josh there in that foreign hospital with me?
And yet—I had been quietly rejoicing he had come. I refused to admit to myself why I might have felt the way I did, but it was there all the same. I was so glad he was in that uncomfortable hospital chair, watching me, making bad jokes, driving me slightly crazy…But I couldn’t tell him that—not really. That’s not our thing.
And it really wasn’t our thing after Colin had shown up.
Colin had been amazing—especially if you consider that we hadn’t known each other for very long before all hell broke loose. Josh called him my Heathcliff; that’s not it. Sure, he’s English and I love that—I used to love to sit and listen to any Merchant Ivory film just to hear the accents. Why else do you think Lord John Marbury makes me weak at the knees?
Anyway, I didn’t think it was a good idea to talk too much about Colin after his first visit to the hospital. Josh had looked more than a little uncomfortable during the whole thing. But now we were back in the US and I hadn’t seen Colin since the surgery for my errant blood clot. Things had changed. I made my mind up while Josh was getting me into his car that it was time for a talk.
********
“Josh?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
He cast a quick look over at me while changing lanes. “You trust asking me something while I’m driving? I’m proud of you, Donna—that’s real progress.”
“What happened to Colin?—Josh!”
We swerved crazily out onto the shoulder of the road for three seconds before Josh got things under control again.
“Sorry, sorry!” he muttered, accelerating again. “Did you see the way that guy tried to cut me off? Pick a lane there, buddy. And could he turn that corner any slower? I mean, give me a break!”
I waited as long as I could, torn between wanting to smack him and valuing my life too much to bring the subject up again with him at the wheel. But in the end, curiosity killed my cat. “Josh—Colin?”
He nodded, his eyes trained on the road. “I remember Colin. Nice guy. Kind of frighteningly blue eyes, I thought. And you have to be into that whole Oxbridge, tea-time, Mr Rochester prowling around the house at night—hopefully without the crackpot wife in the attic…That’s the guy, right?”
I shook my head. “That’s twice you’ve done that now.”
“Done what?”
“Mentioned some Brontë heroine when you’re describing him.”
He waved a finger at me just before switching into fifth gear. “Yes, but this was Charlotte, not Emily. Bit of a difference, you know.” I just looked at him, amazed that he knew the difference. “What? I took an English class at Harvard.”
“You’re still not answering my question.”
“What was it again?”
“Have you heard about Colin since I saw him in Germany?”
He shrugged, his mouth turning into a thin line. “Yes,” he admitted.
“And?”
“He went back to Gaza after seeing you. He came by once while you were in surgery—the second time—but he didn’t want to stay.”
I couldn’t believe that and said as much. “Didn’t want to? Or wasn’t welcome?”
He turned and glared at me. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting—”
“Josh! Watch the road!” I waited for a few seconds, then sighed. “Never mind,” I muttered. “I just thought—I don’t know. He seemed like the kind of guy who would call, or send a note or a letter or…yeah.” Now it was getting embarrassing. Josh didn’t help things either by reaching out to pat my hand.
“You’ll hear from him,” he said. “You’re right—he did seem like that kind of guy. But he does have a job, Donna, one that happens to be very far away and very time consuming. My god, the man works in a war zone! Who knows what kind of stuff he’s dealing with day in, day out? Then again,” he added, pausing slightly, “you never really told me what actually happened between the two of you. I mean, I can kind of guess but if you care to…you know…fill in the blanks? A bit?”
I knew he was trying to lead me somewhere, so I just looked out the window, hoping he would stop.
“Donna? You going to tell me anything at all?”
“Have you heard from Amy?” I snapped.
“Okay, so it’s going to be that kind of thing. Right.”
“Fine.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw his fingers flexed as he gripped the steering wheel.
We drove in silence until we were nearly in Georgetown. I don’t know how it happened, but the light turned red when neither of us were paying attention.
“Shit!” Josh slammed on the brakes to keep us from rear-ending the red Honda Civic in front of us. My seatbelt locked in place, crushing my chest, and my cast-encased leg hit the firewall beneath the dashboard.
The pain was excruciating. All the bones below my waist were on fire—they felt so hot they were almost cold. My chest was imploding from too much weight. Waves of nausea flooded over me. I hissed and bit my lip, desperate not to scream. I couldn’t scream in front of Josh—that would be too much.
Then we were pulled over on the side of the road and Josh was cradling me in his arms, checking me over for something—maybe blood or some flashing light that would say ‘It Hurts Here’.
His lips were near my ear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—are you okay? Donna? Where does it hurt the most? I didn’t see—I wasn’t…I’m sorry!”
I didn’t notice that I was crying until I tasted salty tears on my lips. “It’s been a long day already,” I choked out.
“I know,” he said, grabbing my hand. For a second I thought he was going to kiss my knuckles, but he just pressed them against his mouth, as though he was thinking intensely. The only thing I could smell was his shirt. It smelled good—manly, clean, with a hint of sport stick. It grounded me while I got my bearings back.
After a few more seconds I looked up and wiped my face, breathing deeply. “Let’s go,” I said.
“Right.”
We drove the rest of the way to his house without speaking, but without the nasty tension either. I felt tired and tense and, for some reason, unspeakably sad. Most of all, I wanted to go to bed and sleep for days. Then it suddenly hit me—was I going to be sleeping in Josh’s bed?
Oh. My. God.
He pulled into his parking spot and I just sat there, waiting for something to happen that would make me stop staring at the grooves in the glove compartment.
“Let’s get you inside,” he said softly.
“Okay.”
I thought he was going to get out of the car, but he turned back at the last minute. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Looking at him, I thought he had never seemed quite as earnest as he did right then. I started talking before I had thought any of it through.
“Sorry about the other thing. Colin is—you hardly know him. I shouldn’t expect you to have any idea about what’s been going on. It’s just that you’ve been with me since I first woke up, so I thought you might have an idea, but just forget about it.”
“Maybe CJ can get you his number or something.”
I nodded. “That’s a good idea. But later—not now.”
“No,” he agreed. “Not now.” Then he got out of the car and came around to help me.
********
There had been a few hours there when, before leaving the hospital mid-morning, Donna had been on a mix of morphine, demoral and percaset. Percaset was a beautiful thing. Josh knew—he remembered it from his own recovery time after Rosslyn.
One of the nurses told him that the morphine had been for when Donna would wake up in pain at four in the morning. It didn’t really take away the pain so much as mask it, which explained why addictions to the drug were so absolute—people needed more morphine to hide the pain that had never really gone away.
Donna had listened to this and then had voiced her own ideas when they were left alone in her hospital room. “Morphine is more than a pain-masker,” she said. “It also makes you feel…I don’t know…It makes you feel so—”
“High?” he suggested.
“Totally.”
This was worthy of more than a smirking laugh. “You think you’re high right now?”
“Josh. I am high. I am the highest. Do you want to know how I feel? I’m so high, I’m a kite. I am kite-like. I could be an extra in “Mary Poppins”, I’m so high.”
“Do you want me to go fly a kite?”
“Do you think I could fly?” she asked.
“I think you’ve had enough morphine for a while. In fact, I liked you better on demoral. You didn’t talk as much—you just smiled. A lot.”
“Hmmph.” She crossed her arms, huffing loudly.
Josh thought he had a point with his preference for demoral—but it was not for the obvious reason. The night before he had been given a special little peepshow when the nurse had come in to give Donna a shower before bed—because she had been doped up on demoral, she had lost all of her inhibitions.
“I need to wash my hair,” she had sighed, plucking at the loose hospital gown.
“Why?” Josh had curled his fingers in toward his palms as soon as she mentioned sluicing herself in hot water, desperately trying to regain control of his body. From the angle of his chair, he could almost see the sloping rise of her breasts through the arm-hole. He thought he had never seen anything as beautiful as Donna with her eyes open—those cornflower blue eyes he had feared he might never see again—and her hair spilling onto the pillow case on the hospital bed.
His libido agreed with his mind’s assessment; wrong as he knew it was, he had already grown more than half-aroused while she groused at him about her supposedly dirty hair. Right then, he had felt so grateful that she was alive, he wouldn’t have cared if she never washed again—or maybe, his cock suggested, from now on they could do all their washing and bathing and scrubbing together, under the same jet of steamy hot water.
“Josh? Are you listening to me? I look like—I don’t know; I haven’t seen a mirror. I don’t want to see a mirror. Give me facial hair and I could be an extra in The Lord of the Rings.”
Just then a nurse came in, shuffling Josh out of the way while she administered a new dosage into Donna’s IV before leaving the room just as quickly as she had entered. It had given him a brief moment to grind his teeth and get a grip—no queasiness today, if you please. Even more disconcerting was the fact that none of his mental chidings were getting through to his cock: his crotch had been in semi-aroused hell the entire time Donna had prattled on—now he had to decide if he could even walk without embarrassing himself.
For the love of God, please behave yourself, if only this once, he silently scolded his privates. Listen to me just this once, and I won’t yell at you for…for a while, at least.
The anti-pep talk worked. He felt his cock soften and grow flaccid as he conjured up images of the lunch lady from his elementary school and Mrs. Bartlet reproaching him about shenanigans with Amy. Worked every time.
At least, it had worked until Donna leaned forward—very slowly—and pushed the bed sheets down around her ankles. Her hospital gown, loosely tied in the back, fell down to offer him more than a peak at her pristinely white cleavage—he could only imagine what the pink tips of her breasts might look like, but a glance was more than enough to whet his appetite. One leg was covered in a thick white cast; the other was bare and long and—Josh had to get out of there. Leg man that he was, enough was enough: he went down to the cafeteria for coffee while Donna prepared herself for a sponge bath.
He made sure he didn’t return until she was lying back in bed, covered up and dopey on meds. He had picked up a copy of Vanity Fair and sat next to her while she slept. It was kind of cute the way her mouth fell open—but she didn’t snore. Joshua Lyman was the kind of man who noticed those kinds of things.
Now they were home—his home and hers for the foreseeable future—and Donna had just taken her first dose of percaset since leaving the hospital. It didn’t make her groggy so much as amusingly incoherent.
“Josh? Are these bed sheets made out of silk?”
He snorted. “I wish. Nope, they’re just your standard cotton.”
“Oh.” She paused, mulling things over. “Am I wearing silk?”
“That too is a no.”
“Have you shaved yet?” Her hand reached out to touch his cheek. A lone finger ran down along the edge of his jaw.
“I shave everyday, Donna,” he muttered.
“For me?”
He grabbed her hand when it started to drift down to his throat. “You need to sleep. You feel very sleepy, right?”
“Wha—?”
He settled her back among the pillows and tucked the covers up to her chin. “Just listen to the dulcet tones of my voice. You’re tired and sleepy and dopey—”
“—And Bashful and Sneezy and Doc…”
“You’re a dork,” he laughed softly.
“A duck?”
“Nap-time, Donna.”
He had just shifted his hip off the bed when she reached for him with suddenly wide eyes. “Josh!”
“What is it?” he asked, concerned.
Biting her lip, she answered, “My cast itches.”
“I know it does—I mean, I’ve never had a cast, but I can only assume.” Prying her fingers away from the front of his t-shirt, he bent down and whispered in her ear. “If you’re good, I’ll see if I can smuggle a ruler in past the guards.”
“But, Josh—you’re the only guard.”
“Exactly,” he smiled, bringing out the dimples. Impulsively, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead before turning out the lamp on his bedside table.
Smiling at last, she eased herself down into the centre of the bed among his pillows, utterly victorious.
“You are a very sexy man when you want to be,” she grinned.
He didn’t know what to say. That was the problem with Percaset Donna—he could never tell when the drugs would make her drop a bombshell. Choking a bit more than slightly, he backed out of his bedroom and turned the lights off.
He leaned against the door once it was safely closed. Did Donna really just say that? Would she remember saying it? And, more importantly, would he let her?
********
I blame the sheets. That had to be what did it.
I was sleeping in his bed, so it made sense that everything touching my skin smelled of Josh.
To be honest, I really liked it when I was drifting off to sleep. I don’t know how to describe the scent he left on the sheets—some combination of his shampoo and deodorant and cologne, and whatever it was that made the skin around his collarbone absolutely delectable to sniff. Not that I did that very much; only when we hugged, really. But I remembered.
Trust Josh to be the kind of guy who forgets to change his bed-sheets when a guest is staying over. Trust him also to be the best smelling man I’ve ever sniffed in my life, providing he showers at least once every few days. He’s got other things on his mind nearly 100% of the time, so I don’t mind that much that personal grooming isn’t at the top of his list. At least it makes me sure that any other women have not been around lately—Josh always remembers to change his sheets after sex. I know, because his washer and dryer broke down while he was dating Amy near the beginning of their relationship. Guess whose house he came to, his arms piled high with sheets and covers and pillowcases? That’s right, mine.
I had nestled down after he left me—I admit, a little confused about his hasty exit—turned my face into the fabric of his hunter-green pillowcase, and given myself up to what I hoped would be delicious dreams.
I guess I didn’t take into account just how vivid percaset would make things.
At first, I didn’t think I was really dreaming; I was just reliving those few moments before Josh had turned the light off and left the room. Only this time, he didn’t leave.
I grinned at him. “You are a very sexy man when you want to be.”
He blinked and swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. I wondered what it would feel like if he did that with my hand pressed against the skin there—or maybe my mouth.
A grim determination settled among the lines around his mouth—a little thrill went up my spine as I waited for him to make the next move.
Next thing I knew he was coming towards me with the smooth prowl of a panther, sitting down on the bed with his hip touching my thigh. I couldn’t get enough of his eyes; I gazed at them, unabashedly hungry, as they came closer and closer.
Something pleasantly warm and intense prickled and pulsed between my legs, that warm, hitching itch that always accompanied my most erotic Josh-fantasies. Now it was here again and I could think of nothing else.
He never said a word as he lay me down among the pillows—he let his grin and deeply-grooved dimples do the talking. It felt so good to have his weight on top of me, pressing into the cradle of my hips. I could feel his hot length burning me, even through the unyielding fabric of his jeans and the top-sheet covering my t-shirt.
If I had ever had a compound fracture in my leg, I certainly didn’t now and showed him that by hooking my right leg around the backs of his thighs, pressing him even harder against me. I rocked slightly back and forth, needing friction against my clit like a dying man needs a drink of water.
He still had yet to kiss me, but I guess other things were on his mind first. Sitting me up, he let the sheets pool about my waist and focused on my t-shirt. My nipples rose hard and ready beneath the thin cotton fabric, standing out so that he could touch them. I whimpered when he overlooked them briefly, but I shouldn’t have worried. His hands got busy pretty quickly, teasing the pale pink crowns with the skilled fingers of a masterful lover. At first, his touch was so light, I didn’t think he was actually caressing me—then the fever embracing us grew and he rolled the tender nubbins between his thumb and forefinger, making me gasp and cry out.
I hungered for his cock—the feel of him entering me, filling me. I wanted it rough, elemental, passionate, needy, and all-consuming. That was what I had to have. It wasn’t what I got.
I woke suddenly, my body arched to receive his longed-for thrust. Reality crashed down around me and I remembered where I was. The cast was back on my leg; I could feel the bruises and cuts and scrapes that still marred my skin brush against the cotton sheets. Every nerve below my waist and above my thighs screamed in frustration as my dreamy desire was thwarted. I was so tempted to finish myself off but the pain in my leg—conveniently forgotten in my drug-induced carousing—came back with a vengeance. I thought I stifled a moan; I guess I really screamed.
Josh came crashing through the doorway, the light from his living room now spilling into the bedroom, silhouetting his quick-moving frame. His arms came around me—comforting, warm, and strong.
“Hush,” he soothed, stroking my hair as I snuffled into his shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, still reeling from the red hot pokers that had replaced the bones in my leg. The incision in my chest felt heavy and itchy, from the inside out. “I was…I was sleeping and…”
“And it just caught you?”
“Yeah.”
I felt about four years old. The last traces of my desire trickled away and now I just wanted to be held.
“I’ll stay till you fall asleep?” he asked. It was more of a statement than a question, but it was obvious he wanted my permission before staying in his own bedroom.
There were still so many walls between us—my percaset fantasy not withstanding—I knew it was going to be a long haul. Still, this was one step I knew I had to face. But I wasn’t going to start by holding him so tightly. That felt too—too intense.
Backing away slightly, I nodded again. “Please stay.”
He lay down on the floor and I dropped a pillow down to him. Even that much movement made my scars hitch and I bit my lip again.
“I don’t want to jostle your leg,” he muttered, when I peeked over the side and gave him a look about the martyr pose on the carpet.
“Thanks for staying.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m here, you know, if you need me.”
I smiled in the dark. “Thanks.”
Closing my eyes, I tried to drift back to sleep. Now I could hear him breathing as well as smell his scent on the sheets. But anything else had to be anathema to me. After all, some senses had to be more powerful than touch.
********
Things settled down somewhat between us over the next few weeks. Josh slept on the floor of his room for several days, making sure that I slept through the night—or as best I could—but he had moved out onto the couch by week’s end.
There were no more dreams for my part—or at least none that I chose to remember.
The incisions in my chest had healed rather quickly, leaving bright pink scars down the middle of my torso and another through my belly button. Good thing I never had been too taken with the idea of a belly-ring, because the scar tissue might make that a bit difficult now. My leg was a pain—there was no getting around it. What I HAD gotten around so far was taking a bath.
Ever since I had gotten out of the hospital, I had indulged in sponge baths every other day. It had posed for some awkward problems until I set down the rules and told Josh that he could just bring me the water and then leave me alone. At first, CJ came over to help me wash my hair. She said it was the least she could do, considering our fight right before I left for Gaza. That only happened about a half dozen times or so, until I could manage on my own with my head wedged under the bathroom sink’s faucet.
As far as washing my body, it could only be described as difficult in the extreme. Josh would come into the bathroom and wrap my cast in two green garbage bags, secured with duct tape. Then he would leave me standing on a pile of towels on the floor with a sponge and a basin of water set on the sink. I had done my best every time not to make too much of a mess, but a few times I did get carried away. There was something about the feeling of warm soapy water running in rivulets down my naked body that was absolutely delicious after so much time spent in bed or manoeuvring about on crutches.
Today, however, was different. Tonight I was going to have my first real bath—albeit sitting on a bath stool with my right leg hanging over the edge of the tub. But still, it was a bath. For the first time since my ill-fated trip, I was going to be able to submerge myself in water.
Call me kooky, but I was more than a little excited.
So it was somewhat of a surprise when Josh, kneeling in front of me on the bathroom floor, started talking about, well, rather intimate things—especially since it was getting close to ‘naked time’ and I was only wearing a peach-coloured towel. It didn’t fit with our whole platonic-no-touching-we’re-just-friends-thanks-very-much shtick that had been more or less perfected over the past three and a half years since Cliff and Amy—and I don’t count the second Inauguration. That was a night unto itself.
This time things started off innocently enough, I suppose.
“You know,” he smiled, “the last time a woman had a bath in here had to be during the Mandy Years.”
I flinched slightly—there was a name I didn’t need to hear again in this lifetime—and then settled for a cool, “Really? How…odd.”
He looked up from wrapping green plastic around my leg. “Odd, how?”
“I don’t know. I just figured that Mandy would have been more of a shower girl.” Lame response, but I thought I had more or less saved myself.
“I suppose she was.” He paused, looking away. Then I felt his fingers moving along my inner thigh, just beneath where the towel ended. Ack! Suddenly I was a bundle of nerve endings and they were all telling me to do extremely different things.
“What about Amy?” I asked hurriedly. “What was she?”
What did I just say?
His eyes met mine, but they were absolutely impossible to read. Trust Josh to perfect a poker face right now. “She liked baths,” he said. “For a while at least—then it got too rough.”
What?
“Too rough?”
“Water sloshed around too much. My neighbours downstairs said they had found moist patches on their ceiling. That was embarrassing, I can tell you.”
I looked away, doing my best to ignore the feeling of his fingertips trailing about on extremely sensitive skin near the top of my cast. “I can imagine.” My brain raced for something to say that would end this rather interesting conversation. “Well, they won’t have to worry about that anymore with me. I don’t plan on splashing anything anywhere! Not my style. Besides, sex of any sort—in water or otherwise—really isn’t going to be in my future for quite a while.”
Perfect, I winced mentally. You had to say ‘sex’, didn’t you?
Josh nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess.”
I exhaled deeply, hoping that we had steered the conversation back into safer waters. Josh reached for the duct tape on the counter and tore off a strip, ripping it with his teeth.
“Do you think people ever wondered?” he asked.
“Wondered what?”
“Wondered about—you know—things. If we had ever…” He gestured between us and raised his eyebrows.
My mouth fell open. “You’re asking me this when I’m about to get naked in your bathtub?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry in the least. He fixed the piece of tape against the bag, wrapping it twice over and then reached for another strip.
“What did Cliff think?”
“Excuse me?”
He bared his teeth briefly, ripping the tape before answering. “That night—you remember. We sat there and he went off and read your diary. Do you think he thought we were—” He gulped loudly. “If we were—being intimate, or something?”
I couldn’t help snorting. “Being intimate? Josh, are you feeling all right?” I limped forward towards the door, needing to get a bit of space between us now that he had finished taping me up. “What are you getting at?”
“Why did I go and talk to him all by myself? You could have come too, I guess. Or we could have brought Sam.”
“You didn’t want to get more people involved,” I reminded him.
“That’s true. But still—Cliff could have just assumed that, well, that things were happening between us and that’s why you lied. Maybe?”
I stared at him, kneeling there on the floor, one knee down and the other up near his chest, and shook my head. “Josh. Stop.”
“Right. Right.” His eyes met mine. They looked sherry-coloured in the bathroom light. Why had I never noticed that before? I was looking at him so earnestly, I could see the very second that the idea came into his head. “So, you think he didn’t think anything?”
This was getting to be too much. I had to say something, if only to shut him up. “I don’t know! You read the diary!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you read parts of it.”
He shook his head. “Not really. I—I didn’t think it was right.”
“Why ever not? What did you think was in it?”
“How was I to know? It was your diary, for Christ’s sake! I just thought that there might be private and personal stuff in there.”
“Like what I thought of you?”
His chin thrust out. “Maybe!” The wheels were so obviously turning in his head, I could have sworn I heard the gears moving. “Have you written about me?” he asked pointedly.
“I’m not going to tell you that!”
“Maybe I should have looked at the diary when I had the chance.”
“Well, I’m not about to hand it over to you now, you know!”
“That’s a damn shame.”
We glared at each other; I think I was the first one to start laughing. I knew we were safe once his dimples appeared, grooving into his cheeks.
“Never mind me, Donna,” he said, smiling. “I’m just all jumbled up these days. I—” He stopped again, mid-sentence. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but it’s good to have you back.”
“Thanks.” I reached out an arm and our fingertips laced together briefly; then he broke away and turned toward the tub.
“I’m going to run your bath.”
“Great.”
I stood by silently, leaning against one of the towel racks, while he bent over and turned on the faucets to just the right temperature. If I happened to take a few long looks at his taut behind, firmly encased in a pair of tight jeans, I wrote it off immediately; after all, I’m only human. And considering how close he’d just been to my nether regions, I thought it only fair to return the favour with gusto. He just didn’t have to know it.
When the water was ready, he led me to the side of the tub and then picked me up. I tensed, worried that the towel would gap and then fall off, but it managed to stay on, if only through sheer will-power. Tenderly, he lowered me to the bath seat and positioned my leg on the outer rim of the tub.
“Yell if you need me,” he said, walking backwards toward the door.
“I will.”
The moment the door clicked shut, I dropped the towel and threw it away onto the floor. It was only later I realised that I wouldn’t be able to reach it when I was ready to get out.
*********
Hot water is one of the most amazing things in this world.
Even perched on the bath chair, I revelled in the feel of steam rising up around me, caressing me with little plumes of liquid mist, and making the hair on the back of my neck curl into tight, wet ringlets.
I raised a big, thick sponge up to my neck and let hot rivulets of pure bliss run down my throat and across the tops of my breasts. Moving my neck from side to side, I let the water tease me the way a man might, dripping down one part of my jaw and then another. I basked in the heavenly feel of warmth and relaxation and burgeoning sensuality.
I even let myself think about Josh, but only for a moment. Butterflies flew in my stomach when I thought that he was only a few yards away, totally ignorant of the fact that I was naked and thinking about him in my bath. If this stupid cast hadn’t been on my leg, I might have thought about doing something to ease some of the heavy tension building south of my navel, but the angle was more than a little odd.
Instead, I closed my eyes and let myself think of Josh. He would open the door and stare at me—not touching, not coming any closer at first; only after he saw a certain flame spark in my eye would he near the tub. He would pick me up and let me slip down his body, still wet from my bath, and then he would do things to me that would make me even hotter than the steaming water had.
It was so peaceful in here—all alone with my thoughts. What was the harm of keeping my eyes closed and enjoying a few minutes of total relaxing surrender? After all, I was in no danger of drowning—not sitting on the bath-chair.
For some reason, I thought of T.S. Eliot and the end of one of his poems: “We have lingered in the chambers of the sea/ By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown/ Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”
But I was in no danger of drowning—and there were no voices to wake me.
Or so I thought.
********
Looking back, Josh would have sworn in front of a room full of special prosecutors that he had heard a noise.
Honestly.
After leaving Donna in the bath he had stretched out on the sofa to take a much-needed nap. When he awoke and saw that she still hadn’t called for him, he went into the kitchen to start dinner. He was just at the point of seeing if the spaghetti noodles were ready by throwing them against the wall when he felt the first tug in his gut. It was the same sensation as waking up a single minute before the alarm clock went off in the morning and lying in bed, aware that a new day had started, but not wanting to do anything about it quite yet.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the feeling as pure hunger and threw a few more strands of pasta against the wall. A few of the ones that stuck were just beginning to curl and slip down towards the floor when the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
Something wasn’t right.
He looked around, wondering what it could be. The water wasn’t boiling over on the stove; the front door was shut and locked; the power in the apartment was still on; the phone wasn’t off the hook…
Donna.
It had to be Donna.
Quickly pacing down the hall to the bathroom door, he leaned in, listening intently. Was that something, just now? Had she fallen? What if she was lying on the floor, in too much pain to cry out? He could remember that feeling well enough—the need to hold everything inside because letting any small part out might shatter the bounds of reality.
“Donna?” he called out softly. “Donna?”
He braced his palms against the door, as though the sense of touch might somehow heighten his hearing.
Suddenly, the door gave way, opening under the slight pressure he had put on it. Light from inside spilled out into the hallway, illuminating his face among the evening shadows.
Once he saw what lay inside, he could not look away. Pushing the door fully open, he crossed the threshold and did his best to remember how to breathe.
A vision of unparalleled loveliness and sensuality filled the room. All of the air was sucked out of his lungs as he gazed at an absolute beauty.
Donna was in the bath. She still sat on the bath-stool, surrounding by wispy columns of steam. The only difference from when he had left her was that she had thrown away her towel and, at some point while washing herself, had fallen fast asleep.
Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, but a few blond strands had fallen down the back of her neck and curled in moist heat. Her chin rested on her left shoulder; her eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
He was overthrown, pulverised, awed and overcome.
The need to fall to his knees and worship this small sampling of the divine was a heavy, demanding pressure on his shoulders.
His eyes darkened as he looked unabashedly at her absolute nakedness. Her skin wasn’t just alabaster: it was porcelain and marble and the living hue of fresh-water pearls. Her arms rested on the bath-chair, giving Josh a perfect view of her gently-rising breasts. They were just the right size to fill his hands. Their tips were a pale peach colour and looked wonderfully soft. She must have been very relaxed at that moment because their crests weren’t puckered; rather, her nipples resembled the smoothest silk in the world. He wanted to cup them and feel that rich, silken tautness in the centre of his palm and then make her rise and pebble beneath his touch.
There were still traces from where the water had run down in streams across her front. Droplets gathered on her upper arms and thighs and the tops of her breasts. One single bead slowly snaked its way down into her cleavage as he watched, rapt and unblinking in the doorway. He desperately wanted to lick it off and then bury his face in that gracious, scent-filled valley of flesh.
The bulky cast on her leg shielded most of the triangle of down leading to that most secret and sensual of all places, but there was just enough of a hint of what lay beyond to make his mouth go dry and his shaft fill and lengthen beneath his jeans. In an instant, he had become harder than he had ever been before in his life.
She was a queen; she was a goddess; above all, she was a woman with a mind and body made for endless rapture. In two broad strides he could have her in his arms, naked and pliant and his at last.
That was what it all came down to—in the end, he could no longer deny his desire for this delightful creature in his life; especially not now, with her so vulnerable and strong and beautiful right before his very eyes.
He had to have her.
But his feet wouldn’t move. He was an intruder—a stealthy interloper gazing at something he should not see. Everything about this was wrong. If she woke up, it would shatter her trust in him and then he would have nothing. It would be him who was naked before her, not the other way around, and then everything he had ever come to believe or know about himself would be lost. She defined him that much. He would be a shadow of his former self, and all because he could not control the animal within.
It was wrong—but, too, he couldn’t help himself. Any other time or place or person and he would have been out of that bathroom like a shot.
But this was Donna; he couldn’t just leave and pretend nothing had happened. He should not go on and he could not go back. All he could do was stand there—mute, worshiping, driven by every need and desire and ounce of love he had ever felt—and let fate have its way with him.
Like a pilgrim of old standing before a holy altar, he stared into this fragile inner sanctum, daring to approach the forbidden.
He might have been there for eternity, if only he had remembered that the floorboards squeaked.
********
I still felt sleepy and doe-eyed when I woke up. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the bath, but maybe it had done some good after all.
Moving very slowly, I opened my eyes and craned my neck from one side to the other, stretching the slightly cramped muscles. Every part of me felt full, warm, and deliciously lethargic.
Then I looked towards the door and all traces of relaxation vanished.
My dream was repeating itself. I had imagined that Josh might join me in here and here he was. He stood stock still, gazing at me. I felt pinned down to where I sat, as this prowling animal stalked out his territory before me.
His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide and dark. A shiver ran up my spine. He looked as though he was about to swallow me whole. His hair curled wildly about his head—the steam from the bath adding the finishing touches. His jeans seemed very blue and the faded white dress shirt clung to his shoulders. Several of the buttons were undone, so that I could just make out a small smattering of chest hair. My fingers itched from wanting to touch it.
I loved that he had come here. I loved that hot, intense look in his face, as if he wanted to tear off all of my clothes.
Then I remembered that I wasn’t wearing any.
A surge of power flared through me; I’ve never been ashamed of my body when I’m with a lover—and this felt as natural as anything I had ever done in the entire world. I turned to face him full on, showing him everything, denying him nothing. His eyes gobbled me up. I ached to feel him anchored deep within me. It must have shown on my face. Then I smiled and motioned for him to move even closer.
This was it—this was the moment.
But when I tried to swing my legs over the side of the tub so that I could pounce on him and slide down his front, my legs wouldn’t obey my mental commands. The achy, thick weight of my cast caught my attention—I stared at it, not understanding.
In all of my Josh dreams and fantasies I had come to him fully healed—the cast had always disappeared under direct orders from my overactive imagination.
So if it was here now, that meant that this was no dream.
I looked back at Josh.
Then I began to scream.
********
“Josh!”
He looked straight at her. “Yes?”
“What are you DOING in here?” she screeched.
Switching his weight from one leg to the other, he searched for anything that could come close to a coherent sentence. “Um…yeah. You see…well…um…”
“Well what?” she cried, her jaw hardening and her eyes narrowing dangerously.
His mouth was dry and he swallowed a few times, trying to get some moisture back on his tongue. How could he think when there was no blood left in his brain? It had all zoomed south a long time ago.
“I thought—I thought I heard something. Yeah…” His voice drifted off again as his eyes locked onto her pale, trembling breasts. As he stared, her nipples awakened to his nearness and hardened instantly, straining out towards him.
He had marvelled before at their tender peach colour when soft and silken—now he knew that, when aroused, the crowns were rosy pink.
Donna closed her eyes suddenly; her mouth fell open. Knowing that she was responding to him, he balled his hands tightly into fists at his sides—otherwise, he might lose that tiny bit of control he had left.
Then her eyes slammed open and she looked down at her breasts, stunned by her body’s reaction. “Ohmigod!” she whispered hotly, covering herself from his fiery gaze. Then again, considering that she had no other shield than her bare arms and couldn’t bring her legs up to curl into a ball, she wasn’t able to hide that much.
He smiled sinfully as she blushed a delicious shade of pink that matched the tips of her breasts. It was the way he had always imagined—her blushes didn’t just stop at her cheeks and the hollow of her throat.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed locked in the awkward ballet of needing to look at each other and needing to hide at the same time. Neither of them moved—he knew for sure he wasn’t breathing and wondered if she could.
Finally, the temptation to speak was too strong. “Donna?”
“Yes?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Slowly, she turned to look at him with wide eyes. Actually, she looked past his shoulder, fixating on some far away spot near the door. Why was she doing that?
“I’m what?” she gulped.
“You heard me,” he whispered. He wondered if his dimples were showing—it felt like they might be.
She ducked her head and turned an even deeper shade of red, but this time he didn’t think it was from embarrassment. Whatever happened next, he had to keep the moment going.
“You haven’t told me to get out yet.”
There was a long pause, heavy and silent.
“Haven’t I?”
She looked up at the ceiling above the bathtub while he waited on tenterhooks. Everything in him willed her to look at him, but his mental telepathy wasn’t working. At last, she shrugged the shoulder nearest to him and gave a little smile of her own.
“Oh,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
If it was possible, he wanted her even more on hearing that note in her voice. It made him dizzy. His balls tightened at the thought of moving close enough to touch all of that creamy white skin. Nevertheless, he needed to give her one last avenue of escape; if she still wanted him there after that, he’d turn the whole world upside down just to have her.
“Do you want me to go?”
Blue eyes slammed into his own brown ones, squeezing out every last bit of oxygen in his lungs. So this is what it felt like to have the wind knocked out of you—to be poleaxed—to *yearn*. Everything he had ever wanted to be was mirrored back at him in those crystal blue eyes. He was strong, he was proud, he was determined, he was fearless—and he was what she wanted. He saw it all.
His throat constricted and his legs were full of pins and needles.
Whatever she saw in his face must have had a similar effect on her, because she bit her lip. Josh knew from years of Donna-watching that she only did that when she wanted something quite desperately.
Moving a step closer, his body asked a question and she responded in kind.
“I can’t reach my towel,” she said softly.
“Okay.”
Blindly reaching for it so that he wouldn’t have to tear his eyes away from hers for even a second, he groped and found the thick terry-cloth over on the floor near the sink. When he neared the tub, he sank to his knees and edged as close as possible.
The first thing he noticed was the clean scent of her skin. She smelled like lilacs—a small part of his brain wondered when on earth she had stocked his bathroom with girly things. It must have been months ago, long before the accident. He had never known…
Kneeling before her, his eyes were level with the pert tips of her breasts. He was close enough to breathe on them and did so, watching her shiver from the heat of his mouth.
“Josh.”
It was a whisper—it was a prayer.
In one grand movement, he brought the towel around her back, in between her skin and the bath-chair. He was about to knot the material over her breasts, but temptation took hold of him and made him its slave.
Before he could stop to question anything, he pulled on either end of the peach-coloured towel, bringing her even closer to him. As soon as he was able, his lips latched onto her nipple, drawing her into his hot, wet mouth. His tongue played with the rouched tip, loving its texture, nibbling it tenderly with his teeth; her taste was even better than her scent. He nuzzled his chin along the underside of her breast, desperate for her to feel the differences between their two bodies so that she would crave him even more while the fever was still upon them.
Then her hands were cradling the back of his head, pulling him closer. The feeling made him soar and burn and nearly burst out of his skin. Her fingers tangled in the hair just above his ears; he was suddenly glad he was letting it grow out again, because it gave her something to hold on to.
She was sighing somewhere above him; he wanted to take that sound and bring it into himself so that he could keep a part of her with him, always.
Suddenly he needed more. He wanted to feel her writhe upon his hand so that he could learn every inch of her moist centre. It wasn’t just a desire—it was a compulsion.
His fingers drifted down, flirting with the blond curls at the apex of her thighs before sinking past them. He lost himself in the myriad of sensations such a tiny place offered; the movements of his tongue laving her breasts speeded up to match the pace of his questing fingers.
He could feel her moving forward, trying to get on top of his hand. His fingers curled upwards, lightly tracing her opening.
Then something about her sighs changed. Moving back so that her breast fell from between his lips, he saw her wince and poorly stifle a moan.
Her leg.
Damn.
She clutched at him as pain overtook pleasure for a few brief seconds; he held her, rubbing her back through the towel. When the worst had passed, he stood up and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply through his nostrils.
“This isn’t going to work,” he sighed.
“What?” She shook her head. “But I thought—”
“No!” he rushed to correct her. “No, not us.” He paused, gesturing between them with one finger. “I mean this…your leg. It’s hurting you.”
“Oh.”
She brought her head down—if her hair hadn’t been pulled back, it would have fallen down around her face, hiding her from his sight.
“Wait,” he said.
With one hand he tipped her chin back up so that she was forced to look at him. In one fell swoop his lips melded with hers. The kiss was long and hot, full of promise and the pledge of mutual delight; but, through it all, he didn’t let her move one muscle.
“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, breaking away at last. “I couldn’t not do that any longer.”
She touched his cheek, only scant inches away from her own and nodded. “I need help getting out.”
“Right. Sure.”
He bent down, suddenly back in care-taker mode, and took her in his arms. As he lifted her out of the bath, the towel fell across her middle, finally shielding her body from his hungry eyes.
That won’t last long, he thought triumphantly, and smiled down into her flushed face. She had one arm thrown about his shoulders—he liked the feel of it. He knew he would like it even more once his damn shirt wasn’t in the way. Tightening his arms about her, he gave her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose and then carried her out into the dark hallway.
********
It was pitch black in the hallway.
I should have expected the shadows; it had been well on into the evening when I first got ready for my bath. Still, the dark was still a bit of a shock compared to the warm glow of the bathroom lights. For several seconds I was completely blind. I needn’t have worried, though; Josh held me, safe and secure, in his arms.
There is nothing more intoxicating than being wanted by a man you desire.
My mind spun from all that had just happened—from all that was happening still. And I wasn’t about to get an immediate reprieve for hours of private contemplation about everything that had gone on in the bath, either.
Now could only be a time for gut-instinct, so I went with it.
“Josh. I’m dripping.”
He stopped mid-stride. “What?”
“On the carpet. I’m dripping on the carpet. I’m still wet.”
Tilting his head back, he groaned loudly and pulled me against him. It was a bit rough, and I liked it.
“Donna, you have got to stop saying these things or I’ll never make it to the bedroom.”
I was just about to swat him for letting his mind run straight into the gutter, but then I actually heard what he had said. I gulped. “The bedroom?”
“Of course.”
Now I was the one moaning and throwing my head back as he pressed on into the darkness.
Once inside his room, he lay me on the bed and then, very slowly, began to towel me off. The towel was equally soft and rough against my skin. The tiny lamp next to his bed was the only illumination—I was amazed he could see well enough to pick up every bead of moisture, but he managed easily.
When he got to my breasts, I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped from between my lips; I fell back gently against the pillows, craving more. Had my nipples ever been this hard and tight before? All I could think about was where the towel might rub next.
Just when I thought he was about to throw the towel aside and really begin to touch me, he paused and stood over me, not moving. I opened my eyes and looked up, wondering what was wrong. His mouth was pulled slightly to one side, as though he was puzzled by something and desperately trying to work it out in his mind. When he did move in, his touch came much lower down than I had expected—around my ankles!
With one telling rip, he got rid of a layer of tape from around my cast. The rest quickly followed and he tore aside the green garbage bags that had been my earlier protection from the bathwater. Then he picked up the towel again and called out my name.
“Donna,” he whispered and then smiled wickedly down into my eyes.
That look alone made my insides curl with delicious anticipation. My hips moved forward of their own volition and I think I actually began to purr.
When he pressed the thick terry-cloth between my legs I gasped and clenched my muscles, not sure what to expect. I mean, sure, I had dried myself before, but this had suddenly gone to an entirely different level.
I could feel each separate fold and fibre of the towel as it rubbed along my folds. It was rough and smooth and broad and warm from being wrapped around my body. Josh began to pull it one way and then the other, speeding up the movements in time with the tentative rocking of my hips. It felt good. Friction was a godsend.
Just when I had almost gotten used to the bulky texture between my thighs, it disappeared. So did Josh. I leaned up on my elbows, my forehead crinkling with incomprehension, when I suddenly felt his mouth down below.
He lapped at my centre as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. I arched up, desperate for him to be closer, as his lips and teeth and stubble tantalised already sensitive tissues.
I could hear my own breaths rise and fall, growing louder and louder with each pass of his mouth and each new area he discovered.
“Joooosh!”
My calling out his name only spurred him on to greater heights.
He began to switch from licking and sucking to rubbing me briskly with the edge of the towel he still held in his hands. I didn’t know what to expect from one moment to the next.
Finally, he threw the towel somewhere behind him—I could hear it land a fair distance away on the carpet—and his hands came below my hips to lift my ass and bring me even closer to his questing mouth.
It was impossible to deny him anything. I would have given him the world had he asked me. Instead, I gave him myself and hoped he would find it a valuable gift.
Always careful of my bad leg, he brought the other, cast-free one over his shoulder, locking me in position as his teeth closed in on my clitoris.
I felt like some kind of pagan goddess, lain across an altar, being loved and worshipped and adored—not from afar, but by a man who had dared to reach out and touch what he wanted. And what he wanted was me.
I was fire and ice, passion and despair, strength and weakness, all vying in one poor body for the finest possible expression.
At last, I felt my body change beneath his lips. Now I was wet in an entirely different way, and I revelled in my slippery arousal. This was *Josh* who had brought me to this point, *Josh* who was hunting down my orgasm with every breath in his body, *Josh* who had me tilted and raised in his arms so that nothing was left untouched or untamed.
I never wanted it to end…but as soon as I thought that, I could feel the flames in my blood begin to soar and break apart into a million separate blades of light.
My hands tightened in his hair as everything vanished except the exquisite pressure of his mouth lapping at my core and the feeling of his hands splayed out against the small of my back.
When, once again, I could sense the world about me, all I could hear were my own harsh pants echoing around the room. My body was covered in the fine, sweaty sheen of a well-loved woman.
More than anything else in that moment, I needed to see Josh’s eyes burning into mine. I let my one leg fall away from his shoulder and curled myself half-upwards to bring his sweet face back into sight.
And then my cast hit the floor.
Pain reached out and claimed me as its victim. The torture was so excruciating that the burning at first felt cold rather than hot.
“Shit!” he yelled as a silent scream held me captive.
His arms came around to pull me up onto the bed and I clutched at him, my jaw clenched against the waves of nausea and dizziness that threatened to engulf me with a power just as intense as his loving had been.
“Josh!” I cried, reaching out for his arms to ground myself.
In the end, I lay on my back with my eyes closed; he was curled on his side next to me, his arms around my shoulders and across my belly, as though he was shielding me from some stranger’s gaze. He only left me for a second, to grab a blanket to cover me, since there was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to try and get under the covers—not with this live red-hot poker throbbing where my leg used to be.
“You’d better take off your jeans too,” I muttered as an after-thought.
I could hear his smile rather than see it. “Ya think?”
“Josh. You don’t want to sleep in your jeans and then have an imprint of the button on your stomach for all of tomorrow.”
“No. That’s first-rate thinking, Donnatella.”
“Thanks.”
I heard him move about the room and then tuck the edges of the blanket down around my feet, so that my toes wouldn’t get cold.
“Do you mind if I take off my shirt as well?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly.
Now I *had* to look at him.
“I think that would be fine. Only fair, really, since I’m like this.” I gestured to my nude body, only partially covered by the blanket at this point. His eyes drifted down and locked on my breasts. I was more than a little tempted to press the globes together, if only to see what he’d do, but the memory of the pain in my leg stopped me. I think I had reached the limits of carnal pleasure for tonight.
“I like you like that,” he said. “I like you naked in my bed.”
“That sounds very territorial.”
He shrugged. “Do you mind?”
“Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you,” I smiled.
I watched as he peeled off his shirt; my eyes never left him as he came around to the side of the bed and got in next to me, very gingerly. He smelled good. This was much better than when he slept on the floor all that time.
“I like being in your bed,” I whispered.
His arms came around me again and I nestled into them, pillowing my head lightly against his naked chest. “Good,” he said. “Because I think I’m going to want to keep you here for a very long time.”
“Really?” This was getting interesting.
“Sleep, Donna. Sleep for now, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
I nodded, suddenly overcome with tiredness and the faint tingling aftershocks of a mind-blowing orgasm.
Sleep would be good for my body—and sleeping with Josh would be a thousand times better.
********
In the end, they both woke up well before dawn. Josh couldn’t stop staring at this woman next to him. Was this real? Had all of it really happened?
Had he *really* gone into the bathroom and…done…all of that? Who did he think he was? Guys didn’t get away with stuff like that—at least, not any he had ever met before.
But it felt right—and, thank God, Donna thought so too.
He had fought many battles to get to this position, a lot of them against himself. Now he was overthrown. He didn’t know if it was the moonlight, or her beauty, but he was a goner. Make that a gomer. All he could do now was to hold on and pray he didn’t screw up.
Was there some secret he needed in order to get this right? He thought he knew everything about Donna—at least, more than anyone else did. Still, he was baffled that any of this had come about, despite all of his deepest fantasies.
His faith in his fantasies had been strong, and now he had proof that they were meant for each other. That was all that mattered, right? The hows and whys of their journey to this point weren’t important anymore. They were here. They were together. It had to be enough.
Her eyes opened and they feasted on each other with heated looks, ravenous after only a few hours of sleep.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
He shrugged, which was slightly difficult because he was lying on his stomach with his arms up beneath his chin. “Everything. Nothing. You?”
“That I’m glad I’m here.”
“That’s good,” he chuckled. “It would be awful if you suddenly changed your mind.”
“I doubt that’s going to happen.”
“So.”
“So.”
They both smiled. Josh went back to staring at her, content to do just that for the rest of the day…this week…his life…
“About what happened earlier—” he began.
“I’m sorry,” she frowned. “My stupid leg.”
“Donna, don’t be ridiculous. Last night was amazing.”
“It was—but I couldn’t do anything for you…”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter—for now at least. I’m not about to force myself on the walking wounded. It’ll happen. Trust me.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, obviously taken aback by his generosity. Come to think of it, he was a bit too.
“Yeah,” she nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand among the pillows. “It’ll happen.”
Grunting, he stretched his back muscles and tried to get ready for moving out of the bed, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. She was a lodestone, drawing him continually to her side, making him say things he never would have dreamed of uttering to anyone else.
“I can’t believe I came in while you were bathing.”
“Neither can I,” she said, smiling to herself. “What made you do it?”
“I can honestly say I have no idea.”
She laughed then and he smiled back at her; the grooves of his dimples accentuated the light in his eyes.
“You know something?” she asked.
“What?”
“I’m beginning to be glad that all of this happened. Staying here—letting you look after me—even breaking my leg.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It was even worth telling Harlequin Heathcliff to take a hike.”
Silence.
Slowly, he played back what he had just said.
What had he just said?
Looking over quickly at Donna, he was just in time to see her body become absolutely rigid.
“What was that?” Her voice was cold as ice.
“Hmm?”
“Repeat what you just said.”
When in doubt, he thought, play dumb. “What—‘hmm’?”
“No, Josh. Not that. The part about Colin.”
“Colin? Did I mention Colin?”
“You know you did. Harlequin Heathcliff?”
“Ah. Right. You heard that, did you?”
“What did you tell him?”
Rolling slightly away, he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Now, Donna. Come on. He and I said lots of things to each other.”
“*What* did you tell him?” she repeated hotly.
He looked at her, thrusting his jaw out. “Well, we were in the hospital together in Germany, waiting for you to get out of surgery for a long time.” He stopped, hoping he could just end there.
“Yes. And?”
“Well,” he sighed, “we talked about all kinds of stuff. You…him…me…you…”
“AND?” She was almost shouting by this point.
Josh winced and decided to spit it out all at once. “And maybe I told him to go back to Gaza…for good?”
Ah hell. What had he done now?
FIN
**To Be Continued in the sequel, "Laying Siege to Tintagel"
feedback?? ballynihinch@hotmail.com