He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (11 page)

The oven dinged, which brought Dowser’s head up like someone had slapped him. Sounds must be starting to get to him. In the light from the kitchen she could see that his body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. It was still warm in here, but she didn’t think that was why he was sweating. It had probably been six hours since he’d had a drink.

She got up and took the quiche out of the oven, made a plate with some salad, and took it over to the bed. She set it on the low dresser, and switched on the little light that sat there.

“Ow!” Dowser said,
squinching
up his face against the glare.

“Sorry. Poor thing, you look awful.” He did. Scraped, his eye blackening, though the swelling was down from the ice. His lip was swollen and cracked and his body bruised.

“You’re not so hot yourself,” he muttered.

Probably true, even though she’d iced her cheek. She vowed not to look in the bathroom mirror anytime soon. “Can you eat?”

He shook his head.

“Sure you can,” she coaxed as she sat down on the bed and held his head up while she bunched up pillows under him. “I’ll feed you.” This close she was feeling things that she shouldn’t be feeling.
Just here to help him detox
, she reminded herself. That was it.

He pulled at the ropes and grunted in frustration. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

She realized there was no way she could actually force him to eat.
That made her chew
her lip. Her eyes strayed over his body, the way his ribs jutted out, the flat belly, the ... the really big bulge in his running shorts? She took in a little breath. Was he erect?

How ... interesting.

“Not used to not getting your way?” he sneered.

She gave him a wry smile. “Actually, I probably
would
get my way too much for my own good, except for my family. Nothing like a big family for keeping your ego in check.” She glanced again to his loins. Yes,
indeedy
. Maybe he liked stone-cold bitches.

She thought he might say something, but he clamped his mouth shut and turned his head.

“Your call. I’ll be glad to eat your share.”

She took the plate to the table, but sat where she could keep an eye on him while she ate.

“I have to piss,” he growled as she finished. He apparently wasn’t happy about that.

Drew swallowed. Here it was. She’d prepared, but still. “Okay, hold on.” She got the bedpan and took it over to him. This was going to be a trial.

He must have seen the look in her eyes. “In over your head?”

“Not at all,” she said with more assurance than she felt.

“Better get to it, or I’ll piss all over the bed.”

Drew bit her lip. She positioned the bedpan between his legs and pulled his shorts down. She meant to just be casual about it. But the touch of her knuckles on the flesh at his hips hit her like a baseball bat. His hips jerked like he’d been shocked. She looked away, knowing she’d stare if given the chance. She pulled them down over his butt in the back.

And then she ran into trouble. Spread-eagled like that, she couldn’t pull his shorts down far enough for him to use the bedpan. Panic set in. What would she do? She hopped up from the bed. And then she couldn’t help but stare. The man was well built all over, for sure. It was
so
wrong to enjoy the view. He started to get an erection again. Guiltily, she glanced up to his face, expecting to see some smirk. But the look on his face was so intense, so disconcerting, she didn’t know what to make of it.

She pulled her gaze away from him entirely so she could think. Pee into a towel or something? Aw, darn. She might as well lose the shorts. She went to her suitcase and pulled out her makeup kit. It would have to be nail scissors. She held them up triumphantly and turned back to him. His eyes got wider.

“Just going to cut these off,” she mumbled. “No other way.”

She tried hard for single-minded focus as she cut the stretched elastic over his thighs. Every touch of his flesh was driving her to distraction. But she got them off. “Lift your butt,” she said hoarsely, and shoved the bedpan under him.

“Better stand back if you don’t want to get sprayed,” he said. His voice was as hoarse as hers had been.

“Oh, hell,” she swore under her breath. She folded the ripped shorts into a pad and pressed it over his penis to hold it down while she averted her eyes. His urine hit the metal of the bedpan with a hollow thrumming. He sighed in relief. When the noise stopped, she pulled the bedpan out from under him and took it quickly into the bathroom. She found herself gasping for breath. How often did men have to pee? She might not survive much more of that. She dumped the contents of the pan into the toilet and rinsed it in the tub, taking her time until she’d regained a little of her composure.

By the time she got out he’d fallen asleep again, propped up in the bed. His snoring was a soft burr. His scarred chest rose and fell. His erection had mercifully eased. But that didn’t lessen the attraction of looking at him. Better do something about that. Plus, the evening had gotten cooler. He might catch a chill. She pulled out one of the thin blankets from the chest and drew it over him. Then she did the dishes and put the rest of the food in the fridge. Now she could curl up on the lumpy little love seat, wrapped in a blanket, with her book. She was reading a biography of Coco Chanel, a real treat. But tonight, she couldn’t seem to focus on it.

What the hell had she gotten herself into? Where was the cool sophisticate, always in control of every social situation? Here she was in a shack in the middle of nowhere in a place so hot and sticky it felt like she might be able to sweat to death, with a man she had
tied up.

Why? Because she wanted to see if her harebrained faith in her destiny could possibly have been so wrong it had led her across a continent to find a man who could not possibly be her destiny. Wasn’t it his prerogative to be an alcoholic if he wanted to be one?

She didn’t even
like
him, let alone love him like her mother loved her father at first sight. All she felt for Dowser was a very unsophisticated lust. Drew had lost
herself
somewhere, maybe when she realized Roger had duped her.

Her thoughts wandered....

She was wakened by coughing sounds
. She was up off the love seat instantly, before she had her senses fully about her. She was in a strange room and in the circle of light over by the
bed,
Dowser was heaving his guts out all over himself and the bed.

She grabbed one of the three-pack of dishtowels she’d bought and her salad bowl from the dish drainer and hurried over to the bed. No time to be squeamish. She held his head in the crook of one arm as he bent over the bowl she held in the other hand and started another round of vomiting.

When at last he lay back, exhausted, she wiped his mouth and blotted the cold sweat from his forehead and around his neck before she began cleaning him up. “Sorry, so sorry,” she soothed. “I should have given you the anti-nausea stuff earlier.” She did the best she could, then hopped up and left the water in the bathroom sink running over the dishtowel while she hurried back out with the medicine, grabbing a spoon along the way and peering to read the directions.

“Okay, two tablespoons,” she murmured to herself. He’d better not be stubborn about it. She held his head and he tried to turn away from her. “Please,” she said quietly. “Please?”
That got his attention and wonder of wonders
,
he opened his mouth
. She could feel him shaking now. Poor guy. He swallowed both tablespoons. That should help.

She got up again. “You’re not going to believe this, but a sip or two of vodka will help, they say.” She came back and held the pint to his lips, being careful not to tip it too much.

He lunged after it, his muscled arms straining. “No, no,” he muttered, as she tipped it back and took it away. “Need the whole thing.”

“Can’t,” she said, feeling miserable as she stepped back. “Can’t.”

“Bitch!” he shouted. And then he spat at her. It missed her. But she felt the gesture just as though she’d taken it right in the face. She held her lips between her teeth and her eyes filled.

“Yeah. You’re probably right about that.” If what she’d read was true, his nerves now felt like they were on fire. He was shaking his head back and forth and straining at the ropes.

Hope to God they hold.

She actually saw the sips of vodka she’d given him take effect. He quieted, and took a deep breath. He blinked at her, but the hatred in his eyes didn’t abate one bit.

Great.
She was looking for her one true love, and the only candidate she could find was a drunk who hated her. And why wouldn’t he?

*****

Damn her!
Dowser tried to swallow. His mouth was dry and the vodka hadn’t helped with that. The pain was a little less though, and he wasn’t shaking quite so much. She looked hurt. Good. He wished he could hurt her like he was hurting. His stomach started to cramp.
Fuck.
He was going to humiliate himself again.

*****

How long had he been shaking and vomiting? His body was screaming at him. He couldn’t think anymore. She kept giving him that stuff for nausea, and he was so desperate he kept drinking it, but it was a fucking waste of time. What he needed was about a quart of liquor. And she wouldn’t give it to him. Teased him with a couple of sips every few hours. He’d shouted at her. Called her every name in the book, just like he had those Taliban devils. He’d pulled at the ropes until his muscles trembled, just like back then. He thought he had made her cry. But she wouldn’t give him the Goddamned booze. Only that would stop the pain.

“Only thing....” he murmured. He wanted to curl into a ball and he couldn’t even do that. She just sat on the love seat with her arms hugged around her waist, her eyes big in the semidarkness. The Taliban had nearly broken him. He wouldn’t let a stupid girl do the same.

“Give me the fucking booze,” he screamed suddenly, making her flinch. He bunched his muscles and pulled at the ropes with everything he had,
then
backed up the few inches she’d allowed him and hit the limit again and again. Almost as good as pounding his head against the wall. After a while, he got weaker. He let his arms fall to the bed and the waves of pain wash through his body. Couldn’t fight it. Didn’t even want to fight it. That was what was different from Afghanistan. He deserved pain. All the pain there was. He had let Alice die.

“No, you didn’t.”

He gasped. There she was, looking like she floated just beyond a smoky glass. Her soft blond hair waved down past her shoulders. Peaceful eternity shone from her blue eyes.

“Alice,” he whispered. The smile felt strange on his lips. He hadn’t smiled in a long time. “It’s ... it’s so good to see you.” The longing that shot through him was pain of its own.

“You haven’t dreamed about me in a while,” she said softly, smiling.

“Too painful.” He felt his heart falter even now.

“Someday it won’t be. That’s why you drink, isn’t it? So you won’t dream about me?”

“No. No.” He couldn’t let her think that, even though it was true, in a way. “I ... I can’t live without you, Alice. I’m not strong enough.”

“You are the strongest man I’ve ever known, Michael.”

“Alice, I’m sorry.” He felt his eyes fill.

“For what, my love? For the years of love we shared?”

“No.” He hung his head. “No. Because I’m not who you think I am.” But that wasn’t all. He had to say the rest. “I’m sorry for killing you.”

“Cancer killed me, Michael. You just stopped the pain. I asked you to, remember?”

“I should have refused. I should have found a way....”

“To beat it?” The smile she gave
was so understanding
, so forgiving. Just what Alice had always been—
angelic.
“No one could prevent me from dying, Michael. You gave me peace.”

“I didn’t want to, Alice,” he whispered. “I just wanted to go back to the way we were.”

“The world doesn’t move backward. You have to go on.”

He shook his head. His throat was too full to speak.

“For me, Michael. Go on, for me, without the booze.” She seemed to be receding, though he couldn’t see her stepping back. But the smoky glass was thickening between them.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Alice….”

“And be nice to the girl, Michael. She’s trying to help.”

She was gone. The smoky glass obscured her entirely. He put his hand out, sobbing. But all he felt was the cold glass.

*****

Drew thought the four-by-four posts would give out before he did, in spite of the huge bolts that held them together, but somehow they held. Her nerves were a wreck. It was horrible to watch his suffering. It took all she had to keep from getting the vodka and letting him glug down the whole thing. He burned with fever, alternating with cold sweats. He shook and moaned, and went into rages unexpectedly. How much longer could this last? It was almost dawn. Already a faint gray light was seeping in through the trees.