MoreThanWords (16 page)

Her toes slid up and down his shin, her warm thigh pressed
firmly against his quad. Soft skin on his scruff. Lots of it.

“I have a new appreciation for hospital gowns. Easy access
is my friend.” He undid the tie at the back of her neck with a lazy tug. Traced
her spine to the bottom, palmed the high curve of her sweet ass. “Is this
okay—do you have any sore spots I can’t see?”

“No, my face got the brunt of it. Thank god it’s kind of
dark in here…I’m not exactly easy on the eyes.”

“Hey…” He stifled a wince while reaching to tip her chin
with his right arm. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The only
one I want to see.”

“Those must be some good drugs they shot into your cute
butt.”

“Let’s find out.”

“What do you want me to do, poke you in the stitches, step
on your splint?”

Laughing hurt, but he did it anyway. “Not quite what I had
in mind.” He brought her hand to the tent pole holding up the flimsy hospital
bedding.

“Am I supposed to be checking for damage?” she asked,
sliding her fist up and down his length.

A week without Calli’s touch had been hell. Some kind of
answer gurgled in his throat, making her giggle. One of the best sounds he’d
ever heard.

The crisp shuffling of sheets seemed loud against the
silence. Calli’s “mmmm” as she licked his cock, base to tip, even louder. Only
his groan when her tongue teased the slit, lapping the pre-cum, topped it. Then
her lips closed over the head of his cock.

“Sweetheart, your mouth…” Had to hurt like a bitch with that
swollen lip.

“Is in heaven,” she said without fully releasing him.

“
Feels
like heaven.” He tried to be still so she
could take it slow. God, he tried. Until she reached up for his left hand and
moved it to her head. “Shit, I can’t. I’ll hurt you.” She answered by folding
his fingers around a chunk of her hair. A better man would’ve pulled his hand
away, not closed his grip. Not given in to his urges.

The sight of her hair wrapped around his fist sent a warning
swell to his groin. “Sweet Jesus, Calli, stop.” But she didn’t stop. Instead,
she looked up through the fringe of bangs, moaning around his cock as their
eyes locked. He knew that sound, that heavy-lidded look. Knew that her hand was
between her legs, that the second her eyes closed, she’d gone over.

Anything—he needed to think about anything other than how
good it would feel to come in her warm, welcoming mouth.

“You didn’t come…” Her voice held a pout that rivaled her
face. “Was it because I couldn’t suck as hard as usual?”

He used his good hand to pull her up to the pillow. “God no.
It took every ounce of willpower to hold back. I want to be inside you the next
time I come.”

“Now, here?”

“I was thinking after we went home, but now works for me. I
love smart women with good ideas.”

“Travis, we can’t…it’ll hurt you and…we don’t have
anything.”

She expected him to hold off after whispering his name—while
pulling on his cock? Not happening. And if she didn’t lay off the tugging,
about sixty seconds from now they weren’t going to need anything.

“Is my stuff here?” He breathed a sigh of relief at her nod.
“In my wallet.”

Calli tiptoed past the empty bed beside theirs to a closet.
Only she could make a hospital gown adorable and sexy. A minute later she
crawled back onto the bed, foil packet in hand.

“You’re going to have to do it,” he raised his injured hand,
“kind of out of commission here.”

Gingerly, she tore the package. She handled the condom as if
it were something precious, rolling it down over his shaft with a reverence
that stoked his possessive instinct.

“Lose the gown—I want to see all of you.”

Her hand toyed with the fabric on her shoulders. “Somebody
might walk in.”

“That’s not exactly a no,” he said, and she giggled. The
sweet sound echoed, and for the first time since he’d woken, he noticed the
silence surrounding them. He’d been unconscious for god knows how long. Knocked
out, drugged out, then sleeping it all off. “What time is it?”

“Around four.”

Four in the morning. Holy shit. “Wait…how’d you get here?”

“Ambulance, same as you.”

At night, in the dark. Anger readied in his gut at the
possibilities. “Did you tell them you couldn’t go out? Did somebody make you?”
He jerked forward to sit up—only to have a stab of pain in his side insist he
lie the fuck back down.

“Shh… The paramedics said I needed a full examination, maybe
x-rays or a CAT scan, but nobody had to put the white jacket on me. I came
willingly.”

“I like it when you come willingly.”

She crept up the bed, over his legs. “You’re pretty quick
for a man who’s been stabbed, beaten and heavily sedated.”

“Not that quick, I have to see you come willingly first.”

“I already did…guess you missed it.”

“I saw and I enjoyed. But I’m a greedy man—I want to see it
again.”

She straddled him, hovering above his cock, teasing him with
small passes. But the damn hospital gown blocked his view. Not good enough. He
pulled the material from her body and let it fall to the floor. Better. Even if
he couldn’t lean forward and nibble her nipples, he could appreciate them
visually. Touch them with his left hand, roll the hard points between his good
fingers.

He let his hand slide down, dragging his nails over her skin
the way she liked. The goose bumps popping up all over were reward enough. Her
smile, the shine in her eyes as she sank onto his cock—those were the erotic
jackpot.

“Is this okay?” she asked on a slow downstroke.

“You’re riding my cock, it’s a hell of a lot more than
okay.”

“And you’re talking, not even breathing heavy, so I know
it’s barely passing for okay.”

“You’re right, we can do better than this.” He fumbled
around until he located the remote some nurse must’ve clipped to his pillow.
“How do you raise this thing…?”

Calli leaned forward to work the controls, putting her tits
directly in line with his mouth. Not an invitation he’d pass up. He caught one
in his mouth. Circled the nipple with his tongue, then sucked at the peak.

Soft whirring from the bed’s motor drowned out the sound of Calli’s
pleasure. He didn’t need to hear it. Her back arched. Her hand clenched on his
shoulder, her fingers curling into his muscles. And her hips—Jesus—her hips
rocked and rolled over him, swallowing his cock again and again. Deeper,
harder.

A soft moan filtered down to his ears. Then skin smacking.
She ground against him, her whole body shaking. He slid his good hand between
them and found her clit.

“Oh god, Travis, I, oh god…”

Hearing his name in her sexy voice, her body bucking against
him, squeezing his cock as she went over—he was done for. He thrust up to meet
her writhing body. Pinned her hips in place and gave in. “Fuck, so good, you
feel so good.”

“Oh!” The single-word exclamation hadn’t come from Calli’s
perfect lips. A nurse stood in the now-open doorway.

“Oh my god.” Calli’s eyes flickered to the remote still
clenched in her fist. The bed and his cock weren’t the only things she’d
raised. “Oh shit.” She scrambled off him, yanking the sheet up as she went.
“I’m so sorry, I must’ve hit the—damn it, where’s my stupid gown?”

He was probably going to hell for laughing. If not that far,
definitely to Calli’s doghouse by the look she shot him.

“At least you didn’t call for a Code Blue team,” the nurse
said once Calli had restored her modesty with the flimsy gown. “Now
that
would’ve been embarrassing.”

Thank god for a nurse with a sense of humor.

“Bet you’ve seen it all.” Travis worked the condom free and
stuffed it under the pillow. Nurses didn’t fluff pillows, did they?

A smile ticked at the woman’s mouth. Hard to be sure in the
dim lighting, but she looked about fortyish, and not the hard-ass type. At
least, until she reached the bedside.

“I understand the need to physically connect after a
traumatic experience, but you two’ve made a real mess here.” She shot Calli a
pointed stare. “You’ll have to excuse us, please. Mr. Graham needs his wound
cleaned…and new stitches.”

* * * * *

Calli leaned over the bathroom sink for a closer look. Four
raised red dots decorated her eyebrow. They’d fade with time, she knew from
experience, but there’d always be four tiny scars. She let her bangs drop into
place. There, hidden. She turned her attention to the similar marks on her
collarbone. The cut on her forehead had come from her assailant’s fist. The one
near her neck was from his knife. A small slice, no more than an inch, it’d
required four stitches that’d left eight red spots. Good thing she liked polka
dots.

Aside from testifying in court, she was officially done with
the horror of the last two years. Jason Barros was in custody and destined to
remain there for a good long while. Unlawful entry, assault, assault with a
weapon, attempted rape. The police had even charged him with attempted murder.
And those were from the recent encounter. After searching Barros’ apartment,
police had added a string of charges for the mugging incident two years ago.
That explained the weird familiarity she’d experienced when he walked into
Romance U. He hadn’t had the beard or the baseball cap back then and it’d been
dark. Still, she should’ve recognized him, shouldn’t she?

Apparently, he hadn’t been satisfied with beating the shit
out of her and taking her money. The police told her Barros had likely traced
her from the bank deposit slip—it’d been pinned to a bulletin board in his bedroom,
along with photos he’d taken, ads for her store and handwritten lists of
information he’d gathered—somehow. Scary, the stuff he knew. He’d been behind
the progressively creepier emails she’d been getting too. All the pieces fit
together in one horrific puzzle.

For two years he’d been hanging back, waiting for the
opportunity to finish what he started before she’d lost consciousness in that
alley. Her fear, the thing that she’d hated for controlling her life the past
twenty-four months, had probably saved her. That, and Travis, her honest and
true hero.

Travis. She hadn’t seen him since the intense encounter
that’d blown out seven of his stitches. The nurse had commanded her out of the
room while they repaired him. Calli hadn’t gone back. God, she’d wanted to. So
much, the ache of it hurt worse than the cuts and bruises Barros had given her.

After pacing the gray linoleum for hours, waffling between
returning to Travis’ room and crying into her hospital-issue pillow, she’d just
signed out. Called Caitlyn for a lift and gone home. Hidden. Thrown herself
into scrubbing the apartment, the store, even the basement, scouring every
surface until anything Jason Barros might’ve touched was sanitized. Then she’d
focused on the impending Christmas rush at work. Anything to prevent
calling
Travis. Hearing his deep, sexy voice would’ve crushed her resolve to let him go
quietly. The last thing either of them needed was another ugly scene.

They’d had one amazing week, connected in ways she hadn’t
dreamed of. Not only had he given her a reason to chip away at the fear, he’d
literally saved her life, for god’s sake. And that night they’d shared in his
hospital bed…just, wow. He’d said he’d fallen in love with her. But. Yes, but.
None of those things would’ve mattered once reality set in. And it would have.
It might not’ve happened in the hospital, but once Travis was released, dealing
with a gimpy hand and
not
playing guitar, he’d have resented her. Maybe
hated her.

A musician unable to make music…might as well tell the man he
wasn’t allowed to breathe. Not to mention the hit to his bank account for all
the lost shows. The damage to his budding career. His band-mates had replaced
him—he’d told her that much in his texts. Temporarily, she’d assumed, until she
went to Black Box’s website. Travis’ pictures and bio…gone.
She’d
cost
him that. How could he
not
despise her?

She couldn’t bear another heartbreaking goodbye. Equally as
bad, the thought that he might come around out of pity or concern. She wouldn’t
put either of them through those options.

So she’d kept communication to safe subjects. His recovery.
His plans. He’d answered her texts, inquired about the case and her condition,
but it’d ended there. Not once had he asked to come over. Called. Stopped by
the store. Mentioned their last night together. The texts had gotten more
awkward than having sex in a hospital bed.

She’d sent her last yesterday. A few lines, simple. Letting
him know that she was okay, physically and mentally—her way of absolving him,
should he have any lingering tendencies toward duty—and telling him she planned
to live her life to the fullest, reclaim it now that Barros was behind bars.
This time, he hadn’t replied. No reason he should.

So it was over, again. Calmer this time. Sadder too. She was
ready to move forward, finally, make life an adventure instead of a sentencing.
Unfortunately, the man she wanted along for the trip wasn’t interested in
claiming his ticket.

Chapter Eleven

Calli rolled the last blown-glass ornament in tissue and
tucked it amongst the rest. She snapped the lid on the storage tote. Christmas,
officially packed away for another year. Some stores tore down their holiday
decorations before the New Year hit. She preferred to let hers linger until the
end of January—had never understood the desire to put such a happy season away
in a big hurry.

Four forty-five, according to the wall clock. Not closing
time for fifteen minutes yet, but the boom, such as it was, had long since
passed. If another person walked through the door she’d be shocked. More so if
she or Caitlyn made another sale. She really didn’t need Caitlyn’s help at this
time of year. Paying her to hang around ensured that her sister wouldn’t take a
job elsewhere, so it made sense, business-wise. The company was nice too. Helped
keep Calli’s mind off Travis. For a few hours, at least.

“I think it’s safe for us to call it a day.”

Caitlyn’s jaw dropped in true dramatic style. “My fiscally
motivated sister locking up early on a Saturday…am I on one of those
hidden-camera shows?”

“We haven’t had a customer since three o’clock.” She flipped
the door sign and turned the locks. “I’m sure you have better places to be on a
weekend.”

“Uh-huh.” Caitlyn’s patent-leather boot tapped on the floor.
She’d obviously scented a story. “And you—what plans do you have? Read a book,
watch a chick-flick…call an old boyfriend like you should’ve done weeks ago…”

More
gentle
encouragement about Travis. The only way
to get Caitlyn to give it up was to show her it was no longer necessary.
“Actually, I do have a date—with Joe.”

“The guy you met at the coffee shop?” Caitlyn threw her
hands up when Calli nodded. “That’s probably not even his real name, Cal. I
mean, really, what’re the odds you’d meet a guy named Joe at Cuppa Joe Coffee
House?”

“Joseph is a very common name. Tenth most common the year he
was born.” Okay, that kind of gave away the fact that she’d Googled him
backward and forward. Oops. “He’s nice. Average. Totally nonthreatening.”

“Sounds like an exciting guy,” Caitlyn said with a snort.

“Exciting guys aren’t my type.” Not a lie, since she’d used
the plural form of guys. One exciting guy was her type, but he was off the
menu.

“Where’re you going—do you have me programmed as your
emergency call number, in case you…have a setback?”

“You mean should I flip out and need to retreat to my
hidey-hole,” she said on a laugh. God, it felt good to be able to laugh about
it. So far, the nighttime outings she’d attempted had been successful. Short,
purposeful errands to familiar places. A social outing was next on her list,
but not with some guy she barely knew. She wasn’t that brave yet. “He’s coming
here. I have chicken in the Crock-Pot and James Bond queued-up for later.”

“No Scrabble?”

“Definitely no Scrabble.” Travis had ruined her for other
men when it came to Scrabble, even the innocent kind.

Caitlyn’s eyebrows pinched together. “Text me after he
leaves, so I know you’re safe.”

“I’m fine, honestly. Jason Barros is in jail. I’m taking the
Alprazolam and seeing a counselor once a week. And Joe’s a decent guy. He’s
aware of my issues and says he won’t pressure me.”

“Does he know about the issue where you’re in love with
somebody else but too stubborn to reach out to him?”

“It’s dinner and a DVD, not a marriage proposal. How I may
or may not feel about somebody else is irrelevant.” That’s the closest thing to
an admission she planned to give. They could discuss the Travis situation for
hours, and had, to no useful end. That story had ended. Just not with a happily
ever after.

“Okay.” Caitlyn pulled her into a full-body hug, complete
with extra squeeze, then let her go. “Look, I want you to be happy, hon. If
coffee-boy can do that for you, I’ll stop harassing you about T—your ex.”

* * * * *

Travis flexed his right hand, curling the fingertips tight
to his palm. A habit he’d developed since physiotherapy. He’d cursed in the
therapist’s face the first time she manipulated his fingers to this position.
Such a small, everyday movement—one he’d taken for granted until he lost it.
It’d been real work getting his newly knitted bones to bend the way he wanted
them to. Needed them to. But he’d done it.

And now he had another booking lined up. Small place, he’d
be playing for maybe seventy-five people, tops. Still felt great. A fresh
start, or some shit like that.

He shook the manager’s hand and walked out of the office.
Tonight’s act was settling in on the small stage. One guy with a guitar and a
microphone—like him, now that he was a solo act. Nowhere he had to be…might as
well grab a seat at the bar and listen to a set. Check out the new competition.

“Iced tea,” he told the bartender who wandered over. The
frosty glass numbed the ghost of an ache in his middle finger. Nothing he
couldn’t deal with, still, he’d be happy to have it gone, permanently.

Loud rumbling shot from the speakers when the on-stage guy
cleared his throat into the mic. More noise as he fumbled with the microphone
stand, bumped into the piano.

Travis gritted his teeth. The guy was either nervous or
oblivious. This wasn’t some club filled with hundreds of loud voices and
thumping background music—it was a bistro that featured live entertainment, not
headliner acts. Yeah. Quite a step down from the Black Box gigs. Step down was
too generous. Black Box was a signature away from a recording contract. Pretty
soon they’d be touring, opening for big-name rock bands. And he’d be a one-man
show, playing for restaurant patrons, half of whom probably wouldn’t notice him
sitting on the rinky-dink platform, pouring his heart into his music. He
snorted. Good thing he wasn’t bitter. But he’d made his decision, now it was
time to move on.

Dude with the guitar started playing. Didn’t bother to
introduce himself or address the patrons. No-name up there needed a few lessons
in marketing. Music was pretty good though. Instrumental. A little bit slow, a
little bit sexy, sort of a Spanish flavor. The kind of song a couple could
dance to, nice and close. And one did, in the small space bordering the stage.

Hard to judge their ages from this distance. Late thirties,
early forties maybe? Irrelevant. It was their body language that mattered, kept
his eyes glued to the spot where they swayed. Twenty-five feet away and he
could practically feel the chemistry. The woman had to tip her head back to
look at her partner. Like Calli did with him. The dancing woman’s smile
suggested whatever was coming from her partner’s moving lips was a very good
thing. The man held one of her hands in his, tucked between their chests. His
other hand rested near the top of her ass, palm flattened for maximum contact.
Holding her where he wanted her while simultaneously letting every man in the
place know that she belonged with him.

Which led his mind back to Calli. Not that it ever strayed
too far or for too long. That one week together that’d changed everything for
him—made him want the white picket fence, or whatever their version of that
fairytale might’ve been. His screw-up in the bar, the attack, what he’d thought
was them getting back together in the hospital. But then she’d disappeared.
Taken off without a goodbye. Sent him a handful of polite texts that never
touched on the topic of
them
, as a couple.

And that last text, fuck. He pulled out his phone and
brought it up on the screen. Ground his teeth while reading. Again.

Travis… Just wanted you to know that I’m okay. My
stitches come out tomorrow and the bruises are almost gone. I’m okay upstairs
too. Not just in my apartment, though I did have the locks changed and scrubbed
the place sterile, but upstairs meaning my head. It’s time I reclaimed my life,
lived it to the fullest, so that’s what I plan to do. I hope that somewhere
inside, you’ll be happy about this. I wouldn’t be here—literally or
figuratively—without you.

If that wasn’t a Dear John text, he didn’t know what the
hell was. He hadn’t bothered to reply. To say what? Have a nice life? He wanted
that for her, only with him along for the ride. To beg for yet another chance?
Yeah, she’d want to give him that…not.

It’d been two damn months since he’d seen her. Still
couldn’t shake her from his system. Every day was a battle
not
to do
something. Call her, text, check the Wordloverz site to see if she was logged
in. He found excuses to drive up and down her street, as if that’d do anything.
Yet he kept doing it. He’d traveled that stretch of asphalt more in the last
sixty days than he had in the five years beforehand. Lovesick idiot—that was
him.

Only an idiot would’ve screwed up a second time. Taking
advantage of her heightened emotional state in the hospital…what the hell had
he been thinking? He could try passing it off as the drugs they’d given him,
but that’d be bullshit, not to mention a cheap excuse.

He’d wanted her—needed her—and made it happen. Hadn’t taken
the time to talk things through, to grovel for his sins or make sure she was
okay, deep inside, after everything she’d been through. The mess he’d made
between them. Barely escaping a vicious attack.

Then that nurse had walked in.
He
could’ve shrugged
it off. He’d had an audience to a hell of a lot more compromising situations.
Sometimes by choice.

But Calli hadn’t. She was sensual and uninhibited, but that
didn’t make her an exhibitionist or a woman who took sex lightly. And it hadn’t
been a casual fuck. Not at all. To him, it’d been a new beginning. He certainly
hadn’t wanted to get caught, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, either. Caught making
love with the one woman he was crazy about—no shame in that. Hell, one of his
first thoughts had been that years from now, they’d look back on it and laugh.
Only there wouldn’t be a
years from now
for them.

If her mortified reaction hadn’t made it clear enough that a
dirty dog like him didn’t belong with a woman like her, her absence after the
fact made it crystal. She’d left the hospital without a word. Not even a note.

Sure, she’d texted in the days that followed. Each one came
with an apology and questions about his physical recovery. Guilt. He got that.
Could’ve used it to worm his way back into her life. Hadn’t. When that last
message had come, he’d done what needed to be done. The best thing for her was
to let her go.

So why was he standing in an alcove near the restrooms with
his cell to his ear? Because underneath his good intentions, he’d always be a
selfish bastard, that’s why.

“Hello?”

Damn. That voice, sexy as ever. “Hey. It’s Travis.”

“I know, I saw on the call display.”

“And you answered anyway.” Shit, he wasn’t off to a great
start here.

“Of course I did…I’ll always answer your call, Travis.”

He let the sound of his name in her throaty whisper wash
over him. One word. Still did things to his insides. And his outside, enough to
require he shift his thickening cock.

“How—how are you? Is everything okay?”

He should say yes, ask her the same, then end the call. “No.
I’m in a restaurant, alone, watching this couple dance to a slow song and
missing you so much it’s—” Crazy. Was he crazy, or had he heard a guy’s voice
in the background? “You have company.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Your dad?”

Silence. Too many seconds of it.

“No, a friend.”

He curled his right hand into a tight ball. “I shouldn’t
have called.”

“I want to talk to you, but now isn’t a good time.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Travis—”

He pounded his fist against the wall. Pain shot through his
fingers. “Fuck.
Fuck.
” He flexed his hand, wincing at the throbbing
pulse working its way up his arm.

“What happened—are you okay, do you need help?”

“What if I do…you going to jump in your car and come rescue
me this time?” Cruel, but he had to undo the mistake he’d made by calling,
spilling his guts. “I don’t need rescuing, sweetheart, just another Absolut on
the rocks.”

“You don’t drink…”

“Didn’t. Things change, right?” What difference did it make
if he lied now? “Have a good night with your friend.” He stuffed the phone in
his back pocket, ignoring it when it rang immediately.

She’d moved on. He should be happy for her. Nope, couldn’t
summon an ounce, only raw jealousy.

Feminine giggling jerked him out of his black cloud. Two
young women, a blonde and a brunette, both hotter than habaneros, eyeing him up
as they made their way to the restroom area. A couple lines of small talk and
he could probably take one home. Maybe both.

“Ladies,” he said with a nod, then walked away.

* * * * *

“Lock up, would you, I’m going to do a read on the till.”
Calli ran the daily sales report, eyes bugging at the numbers. “Holy crap,
Cait, we sold as much today as the Saturday before Christmas.”

“Love is in the air. That, and the promise of hot
Valentine’s Day smexing.” Caitlyn stood, hands on hips, surveying the
disastrous state of Romance U after their banner day. “It looks like the place
has been ransacked—by dozens of horny men and women.”

Calli laughed. That about summed it up. “Let’s leave it
until tomorrow.”

“Whoa. You feeling sick, boss? You never leave the store a
mess.
Never.
” A perfectly waxed and shaped eyebrow lifted in Calli’s
direction. “You’re planning on bailing. I’m onto you, Cal. You think you’re
going to wiggle out of our plans and spend Valentine’s night cleaning the
store.”

Busted. “Yeah, about that…” A handful of panties bounced off
her blouse.

“Start folding. You’re coming with me tonight. No bailing,
no wiggling. Not this time.”

“I’ll go next time, I swear.”