Playing the Playboy (10 page)

“So what did you do?” she asked, her expression less hostile than it had been.

He shook his head, strangely ashamed to admit what his nine-year-old self had done. “Harrison wanted to do them all, no matter how much work they’d be, but I wasn’t about to spend my whole summer working.”

“You managed to get out of it?”

With a huff of laughter, he admitted, “I came up with a plausible sob-story about how I just couldn’t do it and begged our neighbors for forgiveness. They all believed me.”

“I guess, even as a kid, you could talk people into believing anything.”

He cut his eyes over to her, but she didn’t look cold or accusatory. Just ironic and faintly amused. “I guess. We all have some sort of talent.”

“You should have gone into sales.”

“And what? Become a used car salesman?” He didn’t intend for the question to sound bitter, but it did.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, her lowering her brows. “But there are a lot of things you could have done that used your gift. It’s something most of us aren’t any good at. I’ve always been clueless with people.”

Andrew felt uncomfortable by the conversation but didn’t really know why. While he was relieved she’d stopped acting like she hated him, he would rather not discuss something so personal with her, especially after the argument they’d had a few minutes earlier.

So he shifted the tenor of the conversation by drawling, “Well, if all else fails, I could always become a handyman.”

She chuckled as she hammered in a nail. “So when did you learn how to do this stuff?” she asked as she climbed down her stepladder.

Andrew climbed down too. He wished he wasn’t dripping with sweat. He found a dry edge of his t-shirt and pulled it up to wipe his face.

When he’d done so, he noticed that Laurel had turned away, staring down at the toolbox with a strangely stiff expression. Maybe she didn’t appreciate his rather crude attempt to rid himself of perspiration.

Shrugging it off, Andrew replied, “I helped my dad build us a tree house. I actually enjoyed it.”

Laurel had turned back to look at him, and her expression softened unexpectedly. “I guess you were sad to leave the tree house when you moved to your uncle’s.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was one of the worst things. I was a kid, and that tree house felt really important. I got it in my head that I had to build another one on my uncle’s estate. He would have had some of his staff do it for me, but that wouldn’t be the same. I wanted to do it myself. So he got me all the supplies, and I picked out the best tree. Harrison wanted to help, but I wouldn’t let him. It had to be mine.”

“So how long did it take?”

Andrew looked away from her, a weird pressure in his throat. “I never finished it. It was so hard, and I was just a kid. I worked on it for weeks and weeks, but then I just… quit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t sound disapproving or patronizing. She sounded sympathetic. Her understanding washed over him, like it was something he desperately needed.

He met her eyes, and then he couldn’t look away. She seemed to know him—for real, with all of his loose ends and broken commitments.

Instinctively, he leaned forward, raising a hand to cup her face. His body reacted to the wave of feeling, but it was a hunger far deeper than lust. He tilted his head down, wanting to kiss her, needing to kiss her.

She swayed toward him, her eyes focused up at him with an expression that matched his own feelings—as if she were surprised, almost awed, by the emotional connection they’d made.

But, before his mouth closed on hers, she jerked away.

She moved so quickly she stumbled, and he instinctively tried to catch her, his mind a blurry haze of jarring emotions. She jerked away from his touch as if he’d burned her.

It was like a slap in the face.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, obviously upset and confused. “Sorry. I’m just… I need to get inside.”

She’d dropped the nails sometime during her clumsy jerking away, and now she leaned down to pick them up.

She gave a sharp cry as she reached out for one. Then her body twitched, as if she were trying to straighten up but couldn’t. She choked out another cry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, shaking off his response to the interrupted kiss in automatic concern.

“Nothing,” she gritted out, trying to stand up, more slowly this time.

She managed, but her face twisted in pain, and her skin had gone dead white.

“Damn it, Laurel, what happened?” She looked unsteady, so he reached out to brace her with an arm around her waist.

“Nothing.” She looked almost angry now but was obviously in pain. “Just a catch in my back. It will be fine.”

“It doesn’t look fine. You need to lie down.”

“I will.” She pulled away from his arm but must have jarred herself again. She whimpered and had to grab his arm for support. “Damn it,” she muttered, her skin damp now with perspiration.

He put his arm around her. “I’ll help you inside so you can lie down.”

“I don’t need your help,” she insisted, trying to pull away.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You
do
need my help.” He was at his wit’s end, and the impatience was evident in his voice. “Stop being ridiculous and let me.”

She glared at him, but she was obviously not in the physical condition to resist. He braced her as they walked very slowly back into the main building of the inn.

“Has your back bothered you before?”

“Occasionally. If I work too hard.”

He rolled his eyes. She seemed to work too hard every day of her life. It was like she thought she was some invulnerable machine. He didn’t say anything, though, since it was obviously hard enough for her to keep walking.

“It will unclench if I can just lie down,” she rasped weakly.

“Okay.” They’d made it to the kitchen door, so he opened it and gently helped her in. “You can’t get up to your apartment. Isn’t there a guestroom on this floor?”

“Yeah. The key’s in my…”

She trailed off because he’d found the set of keys in her pocket and pulled them out. She told him which was the master key and he opened the door. It was a small room with a twin bed and one big window.

He helped her over and eased her down on the bed on top of the covers.

She lay panting, her face white and a glistening of tears in her eyes. She didn’t look at him.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Just find Agatha. She knows how to help me.”

“I can—”

“I don’t want your help,” she interrupted. “Just get Agatha.”

There was no reason to be offended or hurt by her rejection, but he was.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as if the words were ripped out of her. She turned her head away from him.

He stared down at her for another moment. Then left the room to find Agatha.

Laurel opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling.

It took her a minute to figure out where she was and then another minute to figure out why she’d slept in one of the guestrooms instead of her own bed.

Her head was fuzzy and, when she tried to roll over to look at the clock, her back caught painfully.

She let out a breath and remembered.

A few minutes of attempted movement proved that her back wasn’t much better this morning. Last night, she hadn’t been able to move at all. Agatha had brought her ibuprofen and loose clothes to change into, and then she’d helped Laurel wash up and brought in some dinner later in the evening.

This morning, if she moved very carefully, she could manage to turn over on her side and reach the bottle of water on the nightstand.

Nothing was more frustrating for Laurel than being forced to do nothing but lie still, and nothing made her mind spin more out of control. Last night, she’d been so stressed and in so much pain that she’d asked Agatha to get the prescription medication she kept for emergencies. She hated to take it, since it made her head spin sickeningly, but anything was better than being battered by physical pain and endless worries all night.

Andrew had stopped by once after dinner. Since he’d looked concerned about her and not obnoxious or gloating, she hadn’t bitten his head off the way she’d wanted. She’d told him she was fine, thanked him for his help, and said good-night.

It was bad enough to be helpless and unable to do basic tasks on her own. She couldn’t stand for Andrew to see her that way.

From the way she felt at the moment, she wouldn’t be able to walk today without help, and she wouldn’t be able to do any work for several more days.

It was like a nightmare—to be so utterly helpless when her whole future was on the line.

Very slowly, she eased her legs over the side of the bed and, after several minutes of breathing and fighting the dizziness, she managed to sit up.

She needed to go to the bathroom, but she wasn’t sure she could manage the walk to the adjoining bathroom.

She was thinking through her options when Agatha came in.

“What do you do?” the older woman demanded. “Back in bed. Rest, rest.”

“Can you help me to the bathroom?”

It was a very painful walk, and she let out a relieved sigh once she was lying down again, freed of the strain of holding her body very still lest she jar her back.

“How is everything?” she asked Agatha, hating the fact that she didn’t know even the most basic details about the household.

“Everything is well. Hector worked the garden this morning, and I made breakfast. I will bring you some.”

“What’s he doing?”

Obviously knowing who “he” was, Agatha replied, “He finished the shed yesterday.”

“He what?”

“He finished it. Then he moved all the supplies inside once more.”

Laurel was irrationally annoyed by this fact, but she didn’t have any real grounds for complaint, so she didn’t say anything.

“This morning, he’s out running.”

Evidently, Andrew had decided that he didn’t have to stay holed up in his room anymore. With her indisposed, he must feel safe enough to leave his stuff unattended in his room.

“Well, let me know if he gets in the way.”

Agatha shook his head. “He is not trouble.”

“I thought you said he was bad news and he needed to go.”

“The signs have changed. All is well. He is very kind.”

“What do you mean he’s kind? He’s trying to kick us out of our home!”

“Even so, he treats me like a person. And Hector. The signs have changed. He can stay. All is well.”

“He can’t stay! Agatha!” Laurel realized she was sputtering, so she forced herself to stop. She felt betrayed by one of her few allies.

“You rest,” Agatha said, patting Laurel’s arm. “I bring breakfast.”

Laurel didn’t want breakfast. She wanted her life to return to normal. She wanted her back to get miraculously better, and she wanted Andrew to be gone. How he’d managed to turn everything upside down—even Agatha’s doom-saying—she didn’t know. She didn’t like it, though. The sooner he disappeared, the better.

A few minutes later, the door swung open again. She was staring out the window, which she could see when she turned her head all the way toward the wall, and she didn’t have the energy to turn it back toward the door.

“Thanks, Agatha, but I’m not very hungry. If you can just leave it, maybe I’ll eat something later. Can you just get me some ibuprofen?”

She heard Agatha set down the tray on the side table. Then she heard the bottle of ibuprofen rattle from the other side of the room. She sensed more than heard Agatha come back toward the bed, and it was only then that she realized something was off.

It didn’t smell like Agatha—who always smelled like the menthol lotion she used daily. It smelled like…

“You shouldn’t take ibuprofen on an empty stomach.”

Laurel gasped at the sound of Andrew’s voice right next to the bed. She jerked around to look and in the process jarred her back. She gasped again in pain.

He’d obviously gotten back from running, since he wore his running shorts and a t-shirt that was sticking to his chest. He hadn’t shaved yet, and he looked obnoxiously attractive and scruffy. “Take it easy,” he said, his brows drawing together, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I did hurt myself,” she gritted out. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing your breakfast. Agatha asked me to. Do you want the ibuprofen?”

Laurel took the pills, since she needed the pain reliever, but once she’d swallowed them, she said, “Agatha wouldn’t have asked you to do that.’

His lip turned up slightly in that appealing way. “I was coming to see you anyway, so I told Agatha I’d bring it for you. She likes me now so she agreed.”

“What makes you think she likes you?”

“She’s stopped sprinkling salt everywhere I go. What was that for, anyway? I don’t think it was really for luck.”

Despite herself, Laurel couldn’t help but give a soft huff of laughter. “It’s for scaring away unwanted guests.”

Andrew laughed. “See? I told you she likes me now. How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m better.”

“You don’t look better.”

“Thanks a lot. I feel fine.”

“Then why did you need the ibuprofen?”

“Well, it still hurts, but it’s better than yesterday.” It was mostly a lie, but she didn’t care. She glared at him, hoping he would leave, since he was really getting on her nerves.

He didn’t leave. He went over to the tray. “There’s coffee, yogurt and honey, fresh bread and boiled eggs. What would you like first?”

“Just coffee. I told you I’m not hungry.”

He passed her the mug of coffee. She had a hard time sipping it, since she was lying flat on her back. She set the mug on the nightstand and tried to push herself up with both hands into more of a sitting position. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and after a minute she collapsed down, no more upright than she’d been originally.

Andrew reached over and started to help her, but she jerked away from him instinctively.

“For Christ’s sake, Laurel,” he muttered.

She swallowed hard and was relieved when she came up with a plausible explanation for her reluctance. “You’re all sweaty.”

He rolled his eyes. “And what would your excuse be if I’d showered first?”

There was no use pretending. He obviously knew how much she didn’t want his help—even in the smallest of ways. She finally said, “I don’t need your help.”

It occurred to her that his help could be strategic. He might somehow use it against her later. But it didn’t feel that way to her, which made it even harder to deal with.

“You have to let someone help you eventually.”

“Agatha helps me.”

“You pay Agatha,” Andrew murmured, his green eyes scrutinizing her face in that way he had, as if he could see into her soul. “So you don’t have to consider it help. Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

The question bothered her—a lot—so she didn’t answer it. The truth was that, other than her grandparents, she’d never had anyone to really help her until she’d gotten married. And then she’d relied on her husband too much and had suffered the consequences when she discovered how much he’d kept from her, all in a misguided attempt to protect her.

She fidgeted with her pillow, with much effort adding another pillow so she could lift her head higher. Then she tried to force herself into a reclining position. It hurt horribly, but she pushed through the pain and finally got adjusted enough to drink her coffee.

It wasn’t at all comfortable, but she was willing to deal with that.

Her back hurt. Andrew was still standing there staring at her. And she was out of breath just from trying to rearrange herself on the bed.

She sipped her coffee and tried not to cry.

“Laurel?” Andrew prompted eventually.

She looked back at him and snapped, “What do you want?”

“I’d asked you a question, and you didn’t answer it.”

She thought back. “I’ve always done fine on my own.”

“I know you have, but being invulnerable catches up to everyone eventually.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything.

Andrew reached over and readjusted her pillow, pulling it into a better position. Then he lifted her shoulders and helped raise her up higher so her back wasn’t at such a bad angle. She was much more comfortable when she leaned back again. “Thank you,” she mumbled, resenting the fact that she had to say it.

“You’re welcome,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You can leave now.”

“You haven’t had breakfast yet. What do you want?”

She didn’t want anything, but she could tell he was going to be stubborn. She might have become irrationally defiant lately—thanks to her uncharacteristic reactions to Andrew—but she still believed in efficiency. She’d get rid of him faster if she ate breakfast.

So she ate.

Then Andrew brought her laptop into the room, so she was able to do a little work.

Then she took a nap.

Then she ate lunch.

She was doing some stretches on the bed, trying to bring each of her knees up to her chest to stretch out her lower back but not getting very far, when Andrew came in again. He brought her the newspaper. He stayed to chat over the news, local columns, and eccentric advertisements.

Then she took another nap, mostly because she didn’t have anything else to do.

Then it was dinner, and Andrew came to eat with her. She was so bored at that point that she didn’t even complain. He told her about adventures he’d had—going skydiving, climbing Everest, spelunking. And she told him about the history of Santorini and the archeological sites on the other side of the island.

Later that night, she was actually a little disappointed that it was Hector who brought her a cup of herbal tea. She’d half been expecting Andrew.

Hector never said much, but at her question he told her Andrew was on the phone.

Business, she assumed. Unless he had a girlfriend. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

But, no. She didn’t think that was likely. He wouldn’t have had sex with her if he’d had a girlfriend. He wasn’t that kind of man. He might treat sex casually, but he wouldn’t cheat on a girlfriend. She didn’t think he would cheat anyone on purpose.

She was sure he genuinely believed that the inn belonged to his family and not to her.

“You feel better?” Hector asked.

“Yes,” she said, shaking herself out of her thoughts, “Thank you. I think tomorrow I’ll be able to walk a little.”

Hector nodded. “You feel better about him?”

Laurel blinked. It was impossible to misinterpret his meaning. “Why do you say that?”

“He likes you.”

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes. He does.” Hector nodded again, his grizzled face reflecting something like satisfaction. “I see. We are all good now.”

As if that answered all of their problems, he left, still nodding his approval.

Laurel was left with a lot of unanswered questions and a lot of rising excitement that made absolutely no sense. It took several hours to get her mind back under control.

***

The next morning, Laurel could get out of bed and make it to the bathroom on her own, but it was four days later before she really felt like she could move somewhat normally.

She was so relieved to get out of bed without needing to rest and prep herself first that she wanted to do a little jig. She didn’t, of course. She took it slowly, not wanting to move too fast and end up back in bed again. She ate the breakfast Agatha brought her. Andrew was evidently on the phone again—he’d been working a lot for the last four days, probably making plans about the inn while she was in bed helpless.

Then Laurel managed to take a shower in the adjoining bathroom and change into a clean t-shirt and yoga pants.