Chapter Five
"Aubrey," Reeve called after her, but Aubrey only increased her pace. Peter met her halfway to the house. He stuck out a hand and stopped her. "You okay?" His finger brushed a tear from her cheek.
"Fine," she lied. "I'm fine."
Bliss gave her a funny look as Aubrey came through the kitchen, but she didn't stop to explain.
Once in the privacy of her room, Aubrey slumped into a chair and covered her eyes with one hand. She'd been only sixteen at the time of the accident. A school cheerleader. But she would never be again. The scars were cleverly disguised with the proper clothing, so that no one need ever know. But their ugliness affected her more mentally than physically. She ran, she swam, she played tennis-could, in fact, do almost as much as she could before the accident. She had her father to thank for that, but even he couldn't force the look of shock and revulsion from people's eyes when they saw her misshapen thighs for the first time.
Aubrey changed back into her uniform and held a cool washcloth over her eyes, hoping the cold water would take away the redness. Tears were the last thing she wanted Reeve to see. He held enough aces in his hand as it was.
Bliss was stirring something at the stove when Aubrey entered the kitchen. "Mr. Whitson's been saying lots of things he doesn't mean lately," she commented, her back to Aubrey.
"Mr. Whitson didn't say anything to upset me, so don't blame him for something he didn't do. He's confused enough without all of us turning on him." It would be unfair to have the others think Reeve had caused her to cry.
"I still think Mr. Whitson had better take a good, long look at himself."
Aubrey pretended not to hear. "Do you mind if I take some of these leftovers to L.J.?"
"Isn't that bird well yet?"
"No. It'll be a long time before his wing heals completely."
"Go ahead, then."
"Thanks, Bliss." She took out bits and pieces of meat and fish she knew the gull would eat.
Aubrey spent a good portion of a half-hour with L.J. He allowed her to touch him freely now-a small victory, but one that encouraged her.
When she came back into the kitchen, Reeve's lunch tray was ready. "Take it in to him while it's hot."
Aubrey hesitated. She'd rather not see Reeve. He was sure to ask her questions she'd prefer not to answer.
"Go on," Bliss ordered.
The door was open, and Reeve appeared to watch her anxiously. Aubrey was sure a niggling uncertainty showed in her eyes.
"Set the tray outside today," Reeve ordered. "I feel like looking at the ocean."
Still and silent, Aubrey did as he asked. He joined her at the round, enameled table on the veranda. He examined his lunch, lifting the warming dome and unrolling his silverware from the linen napkin.
"Did Bliss forget the pepper?"
Briefly Aubrey's eyes scanned the tray. She was sure she'd seen it earlier. "Would you like me to bring it to you?"
"Please."
With obvious reluctance, Aubrey returned to the kitchen.
Reeve's eyes followed her as she came back onto the deck. "Will you have your lunch with me?"
She focused her gaze on the view of the sky and the sea. A light breeze ruffled her silky, soft curls. Absently, she smoothed the hair from her face. "Aubrey?" he prompted.
She blinked, forcing herself to look at him. "Not today."
"Tonight, then?"
Aubrey felt drained. "Why?"
"I think we should talk."
"About what?"
Reeve expelled an impatient sigh. "There's no need to be obtuse."
She turned around to face him then, hands clenched so tightly that her long nails cut into her palms. "Like everyone else who's seen my disfigurement, you're dying of curiosity. What happened? How long ago? Whose fault was it? I'm not a morbid sideshow."
"I wasn't thinking that," he said tautly.
"Don't lie to me. You're no different. Did you think you could hide the revulsion? Don't you realize I've seen abhorrence often enough to recognize it?" she accused, in a choked voice.
"That's not true."
"Oh for heaven's sake, spare me." Aubrey shook her head, not wanting to argue.
As she walked away, Aubrey could almost feel a dagger penetrate her back. Reeve was angry. She had watched as he'd struggled to control his temper. For the first time in her memory, he'd succeeded.
Aubrey waited until Peter came for Reeve after lunch before she returned his tray to the kitchen. He'd hardly touched his lunch. But then, neither had she.
Adjusting a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, she took a well-constructed straw basket and headed for the beach. On several occasions she'd wanted to go beach walking to look for seashells, but she had yet to bring back more than one or two. The need to explore, to escape, to get away, was stronger today than ever.
When she stopped to check L.J. she noted he was quickly finding his protective home a prison and she decided to bring him with her. Readily, the bird hobbled behind her when she opened the fence gate.
Her first find was an unbroken sand dollar, and she bent over to retrieve it from the wet shore. As she did, L.J. came to her side. He pecked away at grass, eating bugs and things she decided she'd prefer not to know. The two of them were content and happy. Two against the wind, two against the sea. Two cripples against the world. The day was perfect, as only a California springtime can be, and when Aubrey turned back to the house, she noticed the figure in a wheelchair coming toward her.
She paused, her feelings undecided. One half of her was demanding that she run the other way. Avoid him as much as possible, cast his curiosity and pity away. But the other half of her yearned for the comfort and understanding that could come only from another facing like circumstances.
There was irony here. None of her other patients had ever known. But she had never worked with anyone like Reeve Whitson. His effect on her was far more powerful than anyone else's, which made him dangerous in ways she still hadn't fully comprehended.
With L.J. hobbling behind her, Aubrey slowly sauntered toward Reeve.
"How'd you get out here?" she questioned, when they met. Her eyes refused to meet his.
"You're a smart girl. Figure it out."
Hoping to display a lack of concern, she lightly shrugged her shoulders.
"Is it so dark and horrible that you can't tell me?" The question was issued so softly that for a moment Aubrey wasn't sure he'd spoken.
"It happened a long time ago. Some things are best forgotten."
"What you mean is the painful memories."
"I'm not going to argue, if that's what you want."
"It's not."
She stood stiffly at his side.
"Show me what you found," he requested gently.
Aubrey didn't know how to deal with him when he was kind or tender. She felt far more comfortable dealing with his pride and anger.
When she didn't immediately respond, Reeve took the basket out of her hand and fingered the assortment of shells and rocks she'd collected. He lifted his eyes and his frowning gaze studied her. "You didn't want me to know, did you?"
"No," she said.
"You would never have told me if it hadn't been for my fight with my father." Aubrey's eyes met his. Was that pain she heard in his voice?
"Probably not."
"Why?"
"Why?" She angrily threw the word back at him. "You like perfection, especially in your women. I saw Chantelle. The china-doll face, with the figure a woman like me would die for. She's perfect, right down to the mascara on the tips of her lashes and the uniformly shaped fingernails." Her words seemed to anger him.
"You're not like Chantelle."
"That's just what I said," she concurred.
"Not in the ways that matter."
Her voice quivered as she struggled not to reveal the hurt his words inflicted. "I can't tell you how many times kindhearted people with good intentions told me that it didn't matter if I was scarred because it was what was on the inside that counted. I don't need to hear it from you."
"Now you're twisting my words."
She shook her head and pinched her lips together. "You are the most incredibly beautiful woman I know." Aubrey released a short, disgusted sound and stormed away. His rolling laughter stopped her.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, swiveling around, hands on her hips, feet spread in a defensive stance.
"You are!" he shouted, the wind carrying his words. "Don't you remember how you said it was a sad commentary on my life if I needed you to rescue me from beautiful women?"
"I remember." She didn't lessen the distance separating them.
"I tell you how beautiful you are and immediately you act like I've given you the biggest insult of your life."
"I am not beautiful," she shouted back.
"Then why do I have to struggle not to kiss you? Why do I lay awake at night and wish you were in bed with me?" The violence in his voice stunned her.
Aubrey flinched at his words. "You don't know what you're saying."
"You're right. Not only am I a cripple, but I'm weak in the head."
"You won't get an argument out of me about that." A gust of wind nearly lifted the hat from her head. Aubrey caught it just before it flew off. Long John squawked, diverting her attention, and when Aubrey looked at Reeve he had his back to her and was slowly progressing along the beach.
Unwilling to join him, but equally unwilling to leave him on his own, Aubrey sat and waited. She lay back in the sand and rested her eyes. Could it be possible that Reeve was attracted to her? The thought was heady enough to cause her heart to beat wildly. Reeve Whitson was more tempting than any man she had ever known. But she would never fit into his world. Reeve was best left in the hands of women like Chantelle. The two of them belonged together. She was a physical therapist who would pass in and out of his life in short order. A year from now he'd have trouble remembering her name. Aubrey couldn't afford to lose sight of that.
She must have drifted into sleep. The next thing Aubrey knew, Reeve let out an angry curse, and she sat up, surprised.
"You can call off your attack bird."
"Long John," she yelled. Reeve was sucking the side of his index finger.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"And you always suck your finger?"
"I do when it's bleeding."
"Let me see."
"No."
"My, my, aren't we brave," she murmured, coolly aloof.
"If you saw this cut, you'd think so in earnest."
"Reeve, please. Did L.J. hurt you?"
"Only my pride. It seems your feathered creature doesn't make friends easily."
Aubrey gave a frustrated sound and fell to her knees at his side. "For heaven's sake, quit acting like a child and let me have a look at it."
His hand cupped the side of her face, raising her eyes to meet his. A heavy sensual awareness rippled through her, and it was all Aubrey could do not to place her hand over his and close her eyes. She was tampering with fire, and she knew it.
"It ... it doesn't look bad."
"I told you it was only a scratch."
"I wouldn't want ..."
"What wouldn't you want?" His voice was low and seductive as his hand cupped the other side of her face. "I can't help this," he whispered huskily. "Hate me later." His mouth gently kissed her chin, her eyes, the end of her nose, and caressed her cheek before softly parting her lips.
She should have stopped him. It wasn't him she'd hate later, but herself. Her arms slid around his neck; her fingers stroked the hair that grew thick there.
Reeve's mouth sought hers, and she moved her face against his until finally, when their lips met, Aubrey was beyond coherent thought.
The kiss was hard and demanding and showed an expertise she had only rarely experienced. The tip of his tongue outlined her lips. Aubrey thought she would die from the pure pleasure as his mouth crashed down over hers.
His hand slid down her nape, his thumb moving in a slow, rhythmic circle against her sensitized skin. He pushed the neckline of her blouse off one smooth shoulder, his mouth blazing a trail of soft kisses that led to the scented hollow between her breasts. When Aubrey emitted a small protesting sound, Reeve tightened his hold and raised his mouth to the nape of her neck.
"Don't say it," he ground out in a fierce whisper. "I know what you're thinking."
"You couldn't possibly know."
"For once in your life, don't think. Feel." His mouth was on hers. The kisses became longer, more languorous, as he pressed their upper bodies as close together as possible.
"No ... no ..." She dragged her mouth from his. Stiffening, she pulled away. At first Reeve didn't want to let her go; Aubrey could sense as much as he tightened his grip. But after the first sign of struggle, he released her. Aubrey slumped on the sand beside him.
"Don't say it." The command was whispered harshly.
"I won't," she returned unsteadily. "I ... I think we should get back to the house."
"Not yet." His voice was softer. "Sit with me for a while."
Aubrey's first reaction was to refuse. Together, alone like this, was dangerous for both of them.
She brought her knees up and circled them with her arms. For a long time they sat in silence. When she felt Reeve's gaze on her, she turned to face him. Their eyes met. Hers, she was sure, were soft, lambent, the effect of his kisses evident; his tired, strained.
Aubrey looked away. "I was only sixteen." Her voice was barely above a weak whisper. "I was a cheerleader on the way home from a Friday-night game when the school bus was hit by a train. I ... I don't remember much of the accident. Only the sound of screams and realizing they belonged to my friends ... and to me. My father told me I was trapped inside. Everyone told me how lucky I was to be alive." She gave a sad laugh. "For a long time I didn't think so. At least if I was dead the pain would go away."
"I thought the same thing," Reeve added in a gruff whisper. His hand rested on her shoulder as if some contact with her, even the light touch of his hand against her bare skin, was necessary.
"The doctors assured my family I'd never walk again. The damage was too extensive, multiple. My father wouldn't accept that. He insisted on a therapist." She paused and bit into her bottom lip. "It hurt so much I thought I'd die."
"And I had the audacity to ask what you could possibly know about pain." His voice was filled with regret.
"You didn't know. My mother couldn't stand to see me suffer like that. I know it wasn't any easier on Dad, but he was there every session encouraging me, loving me, helping in any way he could. I'd be in a wheelchair today if it wasn't for my father."
"You told me once the only man you'd ever made cry was your father."
Aubrey nodded. "With the therapist's help, Dad learned the manipulations and assumed some of the exercises. I wanted to give up so many times. But Dad wouldn't let me. He prodded, pried, bribed, and when the pain was the worst he cried with me. But not once in the next two years would he let me quit."
"It took two years for you to walk again?"
"Two of the longest years of my life."
"I can imagine."
"If it weren't for the scars, I don't think anyone would guess."
"No. Have you ever considered plastic surgery?"
Aubrey stiffened defensively. "My medical bills were staggering. My family gave me back my life. The disfigurement can be hidden. No, the thought has never entered my mind."
"I've offended you, and I didn't mean to. I'd like to do that for you, Aubrey. My gift to you for everything you've done for me."
"I haven't done anything."
"How can you say that?"
"Easy. Want me to do it again?"
"Aubrey." He ground out her name in frustration. "Why is it every time I try with you it backfires? I think you're wonderful just the way you are. The scars don't bother me. Keep them, if you like."
"I like." She stood and brushed the sand from her clothes. "Peter and Bliss will be worried. We should head back. Do you want me to push you?"
"No."
Aubrey had gone several feet, but Reeve didn't follow. When she glanced back expectantly, she saw that he hadn't moved, his gaze resting on the rough ocean. "You coming?" she called.
He turned toward her and nodded, but it was several long moments before he did so.
By midnight the house was as quiet as a funeral parlor. Aubrey remained in her room reading, or at least made the pretense of involving herself with a bestselling mystery plot.
The light tap against the sliding glass door that led to the veranda startled her. She threw back the covers and quickly donned her housecoat.
"I couldn't sleep, either." Reeve sat outside the door. "Don't lie and tell me you weren't awake."
"I was up," Aubrey conceded.
"Why didn't you play tonight?"
Since their meeting on the beach, Aubrey had avoided Reeve as much as possible without arousing suspicions. "I didn't feel up to it."
"Don't kid yourself. You weren't up to facing me."
"All right," she stormed. "I didn't want to see you. But it didn't do me much good, did it?"
"I can be as stubborn as you. Come out here and sit awhile."
Aubrey doubted that. "It's late." She searched for an excuse.
"That's never stopped you before. I bet you didn't know I could see you out here with your flimsy silk nightgown pressed against you in the wind."
Aubrey decided the best thing to do was refuse to be drawn into his game. "I'm hungry," she said, on a falsely cheerful note. "I think I'll fix myself a sandwich. Do you want one?"
"You know what I want," he whispered, as he carried her hand to his lips.
"No!" She pulled her fingers free as if his touch were red hot. She didn't know what he wanted. Didn't want to guess, because whatever it was, her heart was willing. "I'm going to the kitchen."
"Then I'm coming, too."
Her heart seemed to plunge into her stomach. Was there no escape? "It's your house," she returned, with remarkable calm.
His laugh was short and mirthless. "At least we can agree on something."
Aubrey sliced a banana into thin pieces and laid them across a thick layer of peanut butter on bread. "Want half?"
Reeve's look was skeptical. "Peanut butter and banana?"
"It's good. Honest." She handed him half and poured them each a glass of milk.
Reeve joined her at the table. "I've been thinking all night of ways to thank you. But I never did have a way with words."
"Thank me?" She regarded him quizzically.
"I know what it cost for you to tell me about your accident. Even now, just talking about mine produces a cold sweat."
The bite of sandwich nearly stuck in her throat. She swallowed around it and reached for the milk. As she stood, the chair scraped against the floor. "I think I'll go see to L.J. before going back to my room."
"Running, Aubrey?" he taunted softly.
She was glad her back was to him so that he couldn't see the flame of color that heated her face. "You're being ridiculous."
"I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, Reeve."
The pause was only momentary before he whispered his own farewell. " 'Night, Aubrey."
★★★
Bliss was busy in the kitchen when Aubrey returned from her run early the next morning. "Yum, that smells good. What is it?" Aubrey peeked under the lid of something cooking on the stove.
"Food. Now scat."
With a laugh, Aubrey grabbed an apple off the table centerpiece and took a bite out of it. After a long run, she felt exhilarated.
"Here." Bliss stopped her. "Take Mr. Whitson his tray, will you?"
"Already?" Reeve wasn't normally up at this time of day.
"He's up. He called me soon after you left."
Clenching the apple with her teeth, Aubrey carried the tray down the long hallway. Her knock went unanswered. Resting the breakfast on one knee, she turned the knob and walked unheralded into Reeve's quarters.
Two steps into the room, she stopped cold. Reeve and his father were busy going over some papers. Both father and son were so intent, neither was aware she was there.
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Woah!!! Now you know her story... So sad but at least it gets Reeve to work with his Dad.
I'm expecting whatcha think about this chapter and please don't forget to vote,share and add to your library..!!!
Cioa!"""