The Kiss (25 page)

“We'll figure it out.” He hadn't told her yet that his legs were permanently compromised, and he wasn't sure he would ever walk again. He wanted to think about it. He wasn't sure she needed to know. Unless things had changed radically while she was comatose, he knew that she would go back to Gordon, to take care of her sick child. He could of course still call her, and see her from time to time, but he didn't want her pity, if he was in a wheelchair. All he wanted was her love. He was thinking now that if he could truly never walk again, perhaps he wouldn't see her after they left the hospital, and they would continue their relationship on the phone. He wasn't sure yet what he would do, or how often he could see her after she left. For the moment, she thought his situation was temporary, and he was inclined to keep it that way. She wouldn't worry about him, she couldn't pity him, and
he also hadn't told her about his divorce. He didn't want her to think he was putting pressure on her. He fully understood that she had to go home to her family eventually. All he wanted was to enjoy the time they had.

She was in her room that afternoon, and so was Bill, when Gordon called. He told her that he was very relieved to know that she was getting well. He made it sound as though she were recovering from a sprained ankle, or a bad fall. In fact, he felt as though she had returned from the dead. By the time she woke up, he hadn't expected her to live, or to come out of the coma. He had begun to think of himself as a widower, and he had to mentally turn the clock back again, to resume his marriage to her. He sounded very strange, and she correctly guessed that he was angry about Bill, and punishing her for it. He sounded awkward to her, but there was no awkwardness when she talked to Teddy and Sophie. Sophie cried when she heard her mother's voice, and all Teddy could do was gasp for air and sob. Isabelle thought he sounded terrible, and she asked Gordon about it when her children got off the phone. She was still crying from the overwhelming emotion of hearing them. She had been so worried about both of them.

“Teddy will be much better now,” Gordon said casually. Sophie had said she wanted to come to see her, but Gordon said her mother would be home soon enough. “How soon will they let you leave?” he asked matter-of-factly. There was no point in his going to see her, he said, if she was coming home.

“They said in about four weeks, depending on my liver, my head, and my heart.” They were hardly small things to contemplate, but Gordon didn't seem impressed. Now that she was out of the coma, he was dismissive of the rest.

“Four weeks sounds a bit long, doesn't it? I'm sure they'll let you go sooner if you ask.” He sounded faintly suspicious of her, and wondered if she was dragging her feet, because Bill was still there. Gordon was not going to tolerate that. “I'll talk to the doctor myself. You can get all the medical attention you need here.” She felt panicked when she got off the phone, and she told her doctor that Gordon was going to call to press him into sending her home.

“Is that what you want, Isabelle? We could probably transfer you to a hospital in Paris in a week or so. You're not ready to be at home yet.”

“I want to stay here,” she said, looking worried. They both knew why.

“I'll take care of it,” he said reassuringly. He was willing to do that for her and Bill, he liked them both. They'd been to hell and back, and her children could wait. But later, she admitted to Bill how worried she was about Teddy. He hadn't sounded well on the phone, and it was the one thing that made her feel she should try to go home sooner than planned. It drove her crazy knowing how badly he needed her and how long she'd been gone, although she knew he was in good hands. Bill was sympathetic, as always, when they spoke of it later on.

“I'm sure this has been terribly traumatic for him. God knows what Gordon said to him about the condition
you were in. But now that he's heard your voice, and knows you'll be home in a few weeks, I'm sure he'll improve every day.” She felt reassured by what Bill said.

“I hope so,” she said fervently. “Thank God Sophie is there. She wanted to come to see me, but I don't think she should. Teddy needs her there, more than I do here.” And she had Bill. She wanted this time with him before they left each other and she went back, but not at her children's expense. “What about Cindy? Do you think she'll come back to see you here?”

“No,” he said simply, without explaining why. And the girls would be busy all summer. “I told them I'd see them when I get back.” He had also told the doctor not to tell Isabelle how extensive the damage was to his spine, and that he wouldn't be able to walk. It was the one thing, other than the divorce, that he didn't want her to know. He wanted time to see how much better he could get. She thought it would take him a long time to heal, like six months or a year, so she wasn't surprised that he couldn't walk.

If she had been willing to leave Gordon, it could have been different for him. He might have told her the truth then about his legs. But since she was determined to go back to Gordon, Bill didn't want her worrying about him. She had enough on her plate with her sick child. And now that he'd seen Gordon at close range, he knew what she was up against, and it made him sick to think of her with him. Gordon seemed to have no regard for her, no love, no kindness, no respect, no warmth. As far as Gordon Forrester was concerned, his
entire world revolved around himself, and all Isabelle was was a convenience and a pawn, and a caretaker for their sick son. He had no appreciation whatsoever, as far as Bill was concerned, of the gem he had. And he was worried that she was going to have a hard life with him, perhaps even harder than before. Gordon was suspicious of her now, and angry about Bill, and Bill was worried that Gordon would punish her for the sins he thought she had committed behind his back. She was going to have to be careful of him now, and stand up for herself, or he would turn her life into a nightmare of torment and disrespect. He couldn't even be bothered to stay with her in London, when she appeared to be comatose and dying, for more than a few days, and he hadn't returned since. And now that she was awake, and she and Bill were together again, that was just as well.

When the doctor spoke to Gordon on the phone later that afternoon, he insisted again that Isabelle could not be moved for at least another four weeks. Her husband was not pleased. He thought they were being unreasonable and overly cautious about it, but in the end the doctor frightened him with hideous complications he claimed she could develop, and even suggested she might slip into a coma again. “I should lose my license over this,” he laughed as he told Isabelle and Bill later on. But he thought they deserved some small chance for happiness at least, and a reward for the agony they'd survived. And Bill's torments weren't over by any means. The doctor knew only too well how long and hard his rehabilitation
was going to be. He had already set it up for him to go to a hospital in New York, where they would help him regain as much use of his legs as he could. Neither Isabelle nor Bill had any real idea of what was in store for Bill there.

For now, they had four weeks, to sit together, and laugh and talk and revel in the love and comfort they derived from each other. The hospital was a safe haven for both of them, after the trauma they'd been through, and before they both went back to their own lives. Reality was going to hit them both soon enough.

They slept together cautiously in her room again that night, and they tried his after that. They were both free of monitors, and they spent long hours throughout the afternoon talking about their lives and hopes and dreams. The time they were sharing was a rare gift, and for both of them, it had been hard won.

They played cards, they read books, he taught her to play liar's dice. They sat and talked for hours, they took their meals in the same room. Her liver was getting better, and healing slowly on its own. Her heartbeat was still irregular, though less so than it had been. And she had ferocious headaches sometimes. She tired easily, and slept a great deal, most of the time lying in bed next to him. His neck was still locked in the terrible brace he had to wear, and as his spine healed, he had pains in his back sometimes, and she would gently rub his shoulders and his arms. She had noticed how little use of his legs he had, but Bill kept assuring her that he would be walking by the next time they met, and she believed him, because she wanted
to. It seemed reasonable to her that he still couldn't walk. It had only been a month since the accident, which wasn't very long. They talked very little of their assorted aches and pains. Most of the time, they shared confidences, talked endlessly, and made each other laugh.

She had been out of the coma for a full two weeks when they were lying on his bed on a sunny afternoon in July. The windows were open, and the day was warm, and they were telling stories about their childhoods, as she lay on his bed with him. She was careful not to bump into him, or touch anything that still hurt. She was particularly careful about his spine. And as she told him about her time with her grandparents in Hampshire, she was running her fingers lazily down his arm. She had scratched the back of his neck for him, and after his arm, she ran her fingers lazily across his shoulders and down his back where she knew they wouldn't do any harm, and as she did, he looked at her with an air of longing, and then smiled, looking like a mischievous little boy.

“Why are you looking like that?” she asked, wondering if he was laughing at her. “I was being serious about my grandfather. He was a very nice man.”

“I'm sure he was. I stopped listening to you about five minutes ago,” he said honestly. “Wanting you is driving me insane.”

“What did you have in mind? Liar's dice again?” He beat her constantly, and refused to tell her how he could tell when she lied. She was a terrible liar, which he liked. Unlike his former wife.

“Better than that,” he said, kissing her gently on the
lips. He had figured out how to lean forward just enough so that they could kiss, and they had done a lot of it, particularly at night, lying side by side. “Isabelle,” he said quietly, “I'm not sure how this is going to work, but I want to make love to you.” He had been having overpowering sensations for the past half hour. And he was so comfortable with her now, he was willing to try. They were both still pretty fragile, but he had wanted to make love to her for a long time. Since long before the accident, and he would never have asked her then, but there was a hopeful look in his eyes that went straight to her heart.

“It's all right, my love.” It was something she wanted to do for him, even if all they did was lie in each other's arms. She understood perfectly now what he had in mind. “What do you say we lock the door?” There were locks on their doors that no one ever used, but this seemed an excellent time to start.

“Do you suppose they'll throw us out of the hospital?” he asked with a grin, as she got up and locked the door. He could hardly move, but he had had an irresistible desire for her for the last half hour, and it was all he could think of now. He had been so worried about it for so long, and he was nervous about trying it out with her, but neither of them could resist. Their relationship was tender and passionate and solidified by mutual trust.

“I'm not sure this is what they had in mind when they let us sleep in the same room,” Isabelle said cautiously with a mischievous smile.

“That was silly of them,” he said, looking more
than a little nervous. “This is the best part.” Or at least he hoped it would be. But what if it was not? He quivered at the thought.

She stopped him for a moment then, looking serious, and she gently kissed him on the lips. “I just want to tell you that the best part is what we already have … loving each other, being together … holding each other … I love everything about you, Bill. Whatever comes now is just an added gift, but it's not the best part. You are.”

He had no idea if he could make love to her, but he wanted so badly to try. The doctor had told him it was possible, and Bill hoped he was right. And if it was, he wanted to share that with her. If not, he felt sure it would be a huge disappointment to both of them, and a failure on his part. But he did not voice his fears to Isabelle. He was afraid she'd worry or feel sorry for him. It was the latter he feared most.

She was infinitely gentle with him as she removed his hospital gown, he had a beautiful body, and he was aching for her. There was no shame between them, no modesty, they had been through so much, it was as though they had always been together, as she stroked and caressed him and he looked concerned. He felt everything she did emotionally, but he was not yet sure of the rest. She took her own nightgown off as he held her breasts in his hands. The bodies that had been so badly broken and abused suddenly forgot all their pain, and ever so gently, she began kissing him, first on the mouth, and then she worked her way artfully down. They knew how much they loved each
other, and this was the last secret garden where they hadn't been, they discovered it slowly together, and he was overwhelmed by his feelings for her. She was infinitely careful as she tried to arouse him, careful not to put any weight on him, just enough in the right places, and he felt the exquisite pleasure she intended for him, but the desired effect did not take place, much to his dismay.

Even as he felt it, Bill was aware that what he felt was muffled somehow. And although he felt overwhelming passion for her, at the same time he had a sense that he was not in control of himself. Something was disconnected in him, and he wasn't sure if it was his brain or his spinal cord. And in spite of the intensity with which he wanted to make love to her, he felt raw fear slowing him down. He began to realize as she lay poised over him that it wasn't going to work, and he felt not only foolish, but insane for having tried.

Isabelle was remotely aware of what was happening to him, but she was so in love with him that all she wanted was to make him happy and feel loved. She had been well aware herself that it might not work, ever, or certainly the first time. He had been severely traumatized, and it was reasonable to expect that it might take patience to bring his sexual abilities back to life again. She hadn't wanted to present a challenge to him, but to give him hope, and life. But instead of hope, she could see despair in his eyes, as his efforts to consummate their passion failed.