Three minutes was a hell of a long time when a man held a woman in a dark bedroom and knew every one of the reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t let himself be drawn in again. He counted off the seconds in his head, trying to ignore the fact that she trembled.
After an eternity, he cleared his throat. “Other hand,” he said.
He hoped this was going to help, because it was tearing him apart. Her hair fanned out across the pillow. The thin, silky nightgown she wore was cut low in the front. Though at first she clutched the sheet in a death grip, when she shifted slightly and gave him her right arm, he could see the shadow of her cleavage and the outline of her breasts.
God help him. He kept the pressure firm, resisting the urge to stroke upward to the crease of her elbow. Kissing her there had been a game he played in the past, a teasing caress she always swore tickled. But it also made her sigh and melt into his embrace.
“Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Simone’s timid question snapped him out of his reverie. He’d lost count of the seconds. “I think so,” he muttered. He released her and sat back. “How do you feel?”
She rubbed her wrists together and flexed her fingers. “Better. I think. Is this honestly a valid treatment?”
“Been around for thousands of years.”
“I hesitate to tempt fate, but I think I could eat something.”
“Good. That’s usually the case. The effects aren’t permanent, of course, but you can take advantage in the interim. What can I get for you?”
“Let’s start small. Dry toast with a tiny bit of apple jelly? Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
In the kitchen, he rested his forehead against the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator door. This wasn’t going to work. He’d find someone else to help out, but it couldn’t be him.
Desire was a steady ache in his gut. And it wasn’t even entirely about sex. He wanted to crawl into that bed and hold her. Too many nights in the last few years he had summoned Simone’s image to get through the hot, lonely hours. He’d missed home. He had missed his friends and colleagues. He had even missed the unpredictable Texas weather.
Now he had returned home, and almost everything was back to normal. Almost, but not quite.
On autopilot, he retrieved the bread and prepared a single piece of toast. Simone had to start slow. Her stomach had suffered significant trauma in the past few days.
In the end, he was gone maybe twenty minutes. When he returned, she was sitting up. He frowned. “You should have let me help you.”
Simone’s smile was sunny. “I think I can eat,” she said. “You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Hutchinson.”
“Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned. “The nausea will likely come back.”
“I can handle that,” she said. “At least if I can have some normalcy in between.”
He offered her the small plate. “One bite at a time. We’re in no rush.”
She nodded. Carefully, she took one dainty bite. Clearly, she was so excited about eating that she had forgotten her state of dress. He tried not to stare. Instead, he prowled her bedroom, studying the things with which she had surrounded herself.
Between two large windows, a tall set of antique barrister bookshelves held a collection of travel books, popular novels and childhood favorites. In another corner, an overstuffed armchair and matching ottoman provided a cozy reading spot. Books were only one of many passions he and Simone had shared.
He remembered a summer picnic in the country long ago when they had laughed and enjoyed playful sex and finally rested in the shade of a giant oak. While he had drowsed with his head in Simone’s lap, she had read aloud to him from a book of poetry. That might have been the moment he knew he was in love with her. She was so much more than a beautiful woman or a wealthy debutante or a Texas Cattleman’s Club darling.
Simone Parker was a free spirit, a lover of life. She was warm and intelligent and effortlessly charming. Other men had looked at him with envious eyes when he and Simone were out together in public. She was the kind of woman some guys considered a trophy girlfriend.
To Hutch, she had simply been his life. When they met, he’d been twenty-eight. Plenty old enough to have sown his proverbial wild oats. About the time he’d been rethinking his plans to head off to Africa, Simone had cut him loose. She’d insisted that he was a gifted doctor and that she wouldn’t stand in his way.
“Hutch!”
Pushing the painful thoughts away, he spun around, alarmed. “What is it?”
Simone beamed. “I ate it. And I think it’s going to stay down. Will you pour me some water?”
He did so immediately and handed her the glass. “Tiny sips,” he cautioned.