Nothing But Trouble (35 page)

Then she'd remember how R.J. found her and
the state she'd been in, and all her erotic thoughts dissipated.
Not only that, but she felt like the worst person in the world. The
lowest of the low. Pond scum. Amoeba. The fungus that lives on the
pond scum and feeds off the amoeba.

A man was dead. His family torn apart, his
wife and children grieving, not understanding why he would take his
own life. So many questions unanswered and Dr. Gross had taken most
of those answers with him when he'd put a pistol to his head.
Rebecca had never understood what went through a person's mind in
the moments before they ended their lives. Were they sorry? Had
they any idea of the impact their death would have? Why had they
felt there was no other way out?

She supposed, now, all that was moot. Dr.
Gross was dead and nothing would change that. And even though she
knew it was irrational, she still felt responsible. As though she'd
been the one to place the gun in his hands. And an even worse
feeling, he'd been more than just a boss. He'd been a friend who'd
taken her under his wing and had promised her the thing dearest to
him: His practice.

Oh Lord, the practice. What would happen to
it now? All their employees and patients? What was to become of
her?

A fresh wave of grief and helplessness stole
what was left of her peaceful mind. She rolled over to face the
window as another tear leaked out and rolled to the pillow beneath
her. Funny, but she didn't think she had anything left inside her
to shed. So many tears already, and yet she still had it in her to
pour out. She used the edge of the sheet to dry her cheek, but more
tears came. They didn't stop for as much as she tried to hold them
back.

For several minutes she cried silently, the
moisture running down her cheeks mimicking the rain streaming down
the windows. One was supposed to have a calming effect and the
other… well, not calming. Just another metaphorical contradiction
like everything else in her life.

When she couldn't stand anymore and had
resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't sleep, she tossed
the sheet aside and got out of the bed. The only thing that had
held her there that long had been the seductive scent of R.J.
lingering on the linens.

Another ironic contradiction was the smell of
him driving her from the bed. Because every time she rolled over,
another memory of them fought for space in her mind. She couldn't
lie where the two of them had lain, making love, and expect to slip
into a restful sleep.

If she couldn't will herself to sleep, maybe
she could just tire herself the old-fashioned way.

The master bedroom was apart from the other
bedrooms in the house. She strolled through the dark living room,
dodging a pair of R.J.'s running shoes, and went to the kitchen.
The pitch dark was so absolute that it was a freakin' miracle she
hadn't tripped over something and twisted her ankle. She flipped
the kitchen light on and opened the fridge. Several bottles of
water sat on the middle shelf. She snagged one, twisted the cap and
took a long chug. The liquid was ice cold and felt like sweet honey
going down her throat. She hadn't realized how thirsty she'd been
until the cool water had touched her lips.

After draining half the bottle, she replaced
the cap and set it back on the shelf. R.J's fridge was surprisingly
full for just one man. Most of the contents were leftover
containers filled with food he'd cooked. A smile touched her lips
at the memory of him feeding her pulled pork. Who knew R.J. Devlin
turned into Emeril Lagasse in the kitchen?

Curiosity had her picking up one of the
containers and lifting the lid. Fried chicken with gravy. Another
container was full of mashed potatoes. A gallon sized plastic bag
held about a pound of sliced brisket.

The man sure liked his meat. He also liked
his leftovers. Why in the world did he cook so much?

Ketchup, mustard, BBQ sauce, and an
industrial-sized container of mayonnaise lined the shelves. All
manly food. Why had she expected any less?

The freezer was almost empty, holding nothing
more than a bag of ice and some frozen pizzas. No ice cream,
popsicles or anything sweet. Actually nothing that was found in her
freezer was anywhere in R.J.'s. Complete opposite. Kind of typical
given their relationship.

The door closed with a soft thump, and she
turned from the kitchen. On the coffee table were several issues of
Sports Illustrated
. She picked up the top issue and thumbed
through it. There was an article on some hot new rookie pitcher,
photos of football players tackling each other, and the editor's
picks on the wild card race in baseball. Honestly, who read this
stuff? How could anyone possibly find it interesting?

Obviously R.J. did, given his collection.
Meat and sports. Pretty much all man that pumped through his veins
like his life's blood.

But wasn't that why she was so crazy in love
with him? Why would she want to change any of that?

And, wasn't he just down the hall? Only about
twenty steps and she'd be in his room. Where he was in bed.
Probably naked. Because she knew he slept naked. The sheets were
most likely kicked to the floor, leaving nothing but all that
bronzed, perfect flesh that covered hard sinew and toned muscle.
His good genes afforded him a low percent of body fat. However low,
she had no idea, but it was, like, nonexistent. Her tongue and tips
of her fingers knew just how little fat obscured the chiseled
muscle.

R.J.'s bed was so big; too big, really, for
just one person. And the sheets were cold without him. Why would
she want to go back to that, alone? She knew what he was doing,
trying to give her space.

He thought she needed time, and she did. But
not by herself. She needed him, needed to feel his strong,
reassuring body pressed against hers. His unwavering presence and
constant strength were the only things proven to chase away her
gloom. And as much as she loved feeling him inside her, it wasn't
even about sex. She just needed to be near him. To know that no
matter how many things went awry in her life, R.J. Devlin was the
one thing she could count on to always be there. Because he'd
always been there. Even when he hadn't, he'd still been there.

As weird and backward as that was, it somehow
made sense to Rebecca. He was her lighthouse in the dark storm that
always tossed her against the rocks.

His words
I think it would be for the
best,
floated through her mind as Rebecca walked to the other
side of the living room and passed through the rounded archway that
led to a hall. There were three doors. One she knew was the bedroom
and the middle one was probably a bathroom. She had no idea what
the last one could be, nor did she care to contemplate it. The
first door, which she knew was the guest room, was closed. The
blasted thing squeaked when she opened it, which would no doubt
alert R.J. to her presence.

She knew him to be a light sleeper. Another
area where they were opposites, because she was a very deep
sleeper. His form on the bed was discernible, even in the pitch
dark. The drapes were pulled closed and the ceiling fan spun at
jet-propulsion speeds even though the air had to be set at an
uncomfortable seventy-three. Honestly, how could he stand to have
that much cold air blowing on him?

Not only that, one sheet was pulled up
halfway so the thing barely covered the goods in between his
thighs. Good Heavens, the man looked like he was doing a photo
shoot for some men's calendar. Nude, sculpted chest and wide
shoulders completely bare, taking up most of the bed. Arms spread
out at his sides with heavy biceps roughly the size of tree trunks.
And there. Right
there,
the edge of the dark patch of hair
just peeking above the top of the sheet. One tug and she'd get an
eye full of lean hips and all sorts of other goodies she could
not
think about.

On second thought, maybe this was a bad
idea.

"Come or go, just make up your mind."

His deep voice, rough from sleep, startled
her out of the silence of the bedroom. A second ago his eyes had
been closed and now he stared at her from beneath heavy lids.

"I couldn't sleep, and…"
And what?
"I
couldn't sleep," she said again, as if there was some other reason
she'd be prowling his house in the middle of the night.

Without saying a word, he used his left hand
to toss back the sheet on the empty side of the bed. She took that
as an invitation and crawled onto the plush mattress beside him.
The heat radiating off his body was already warming her in the way
she needed it to. As soon as she got next to him, all the tension
that had been humming through her body eased away by slow degrees.
Just his heavy weight on the mattress next to her was enough to
bring a blissful smile to her lips.

This was what she needed. No seduction or
kisses or softly spoken words. Just being next to him was
enough.

The both lay on their backs, staring at the
ceiling, neither talking nor moving. Then, she couldn't stand the
isolation or the silence anymore. She couldn't be this close to him
and not touch him. She rolled over, rested her head on his
outstretched arm and curled up against his side.

His warm skin smelled of soap, the same
familiar scent she always associated with him. It surrounded her in
a sensual masculinity that had always been the hook, line, and
sinker. Even though she hadn't come to his room to seduce him or be
seduced, her body still reacted. Heat gathered between her legs,
which she tried to ignore. All she wanted was a good night's
sleep.

Slowly, his arm came around her, as though he
were hesitant to have too much contact with her. His noble
intentions were still in the forefront but at the same time he
wanted to touch her. At least that's what she told herself and that
his contact with her wasn't out of pity.

His hand came to rest on her hip and he
gently nudged her even closer.

"Better?" he asked in a gruff voice.

He had no idea. "Yes," she replied. She bent
her knee and draped her leg across his. The movement had caused the
sheet to slip, uncovering the impressive package beneath.

"I'm naked," he announced.

An amused smile tugged at the corners of her
mouth. "I know."

He yanked the sheet back up, as though the
sight of him stark naked was inappropriate. Frankly, she'd never
minded looking at R.J. in the nude. However, this time she was
grateful for the discretion because seeing his stuff hanging out
there had been a major distraction.

Now she could focus on getting some shut eye
and not mounting him like a wild animal.

His free hand cupped her head and massaged
the back of her skull. She couldn't remember the last time someone
had taken care of her like this, or had simply known what to do.
The pressure of his fingers digging into her scalp was hypnotic and
had her eyelids growing heavy.

The rain outside picked up, beating against
the window even harder than before. A clap of thunder shook the
house, jerking her out of her relaxed state. R.J.'s fingers didn't
let up, but continued to knead the back of her head, as though he
sensed the growing tension in her body.

"Relax," he whispered. His fingers threaded
through her hair, dragging all the way to the ends and starting
over again. "Just try and go to sleep."

A flash of light illuminated the room for a
split second, followed by another crack of thunder. Instead of
allowing the jarring sound to suck away her euphoria, she focused
on R.J. and his hands. His voice. The thump of his heart beneath
her hand, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

After a moment, her eyes drifted shut and her
muscles relaxed, despite the storm warring outside. R.J.'s magic
had succeeded in making her feel human again. She loved him for
that and the words were on the tip of her tongue, dying to come out
and let him know just how she felt about him.

However, Rebecca wasn't one hundred percent
sure how he felt about her. One minute she was sure he returned her
love, and the next she was second guessing herself. Oh, she knew he
had some feelings for her. And she was pretty sure they resembled
some kind of love. But suspecting and hearing them for sure were
two different things.

Once bitten, twice shy. Years ago, she'd gone
out on a huge limb and told him she loved him. A stupid act that
had been part of the afterglow of their love-making. He'd rejected
her, flat out. Told her she needed to save her love for someone who
could give it in return. Yes, they'd been so young, but the
insecurity his denial had caused remained with her to this day.

There wasn't a part of her that wished to
revisit that. So, she kept her feelings to herself. And waited.
Just like always.

R.J.'s chest expanded when he pulled in a
deep breath. He was still wide awake because he wasn't allowing his
body to relax.

Was he not at ease lying next to her like
this? Was he sacrificing his own comfort to make her feel better?
That hadn't been her intention, but at the same time the idea
surrounded her heart with a warm feeling.

"What does R.J. stand for?" she asked him,
mostly because she needed to hear his voice.

Silence stretched between the two of them,
then he finally answered. "Roland James." His thumb slid over the
back of her neck. "I've never told anyone that before."

She was pretty sure she fell asleep with a
smile on her lips.

****

The storm had finally passed, leaving nothing
but faint rumbles of thunder in the distance. The sun had yet to
rise, but her body told her morning wasn't far. Years of getting up
before the sun had trained her mind to pull out of sleep at ungodly
hours. These early hours were no different than any other day,
except for one thing: