I definitely didn’t want to stop what we were doing. I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d been. Just having him here to eat with every night, sip a glass of wine, and to talk for a few hours, was great. Even J’Austen had warmed up to him, and not just for treats; she accepted full belly rubs now, something that no one other than I could give her before Adrian had entered our lives.
And although I wasn’t writing much, I was writing more than I’d written in months. Mostly racy sex scenes about Adrian, but I was certain I could use them somewhere in one of my upcoming novels. A make-out scene in a truck or along a deserted stream could work in just about any romantic-suspense novel, especially if the characters were on the run, having to hide out in a cabin in the middle of a swamp.
Ooh … I like the sound of that. I grabbed my iPhone so I could jot down a note in my writing app.
Yes, Adrian was definitely the inspiration for my writing lately, but not because I was in less pain. I still couldn’t use my right arm for more than a few minutes without searing pain in my shoulder, but I wanted to write. I’d only been able to type out a few paragraphs here and there with my left hand, but still, I was writing again. And writing was writing. Any word count was better than no word count.
No. I had no plans to push Adrian. Even if I had to wait the entire three months — the timeframe Dr. Bellows thought it would take for me to heal — Adrian would be worth the wait, I was certain.
Chapter 24 – Me, Chipper?
I skipped to the wall phone, knowing it could only be one person. No one other than Connie, or the occasional salesperson, called me on the old-fashioned device. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even give people my home number, only my cell. I swear she called the landline just so I couldn’t lie to her and say that I was out on the town.
“Hello?” I chirped, knowing it would surprise her.
“Is this Jana Embers … The Jana Embers?” my agent asked. “’Cause it sure doesn’t sound like the hermit I’ve known for the last few months.”
I sighed loudly enough that she could hear me. “It’s me, Connie. And I’m not a hermit; I’m an author. I work out of my home, remember? What’s up?”
“What’s up with me?” she asked in some teenage-girl accent; I think she was going for Cali. “What’s up with you? I’ve emailed you almost every day for the last week, and you haven’t returned one. Where’ve you been?”
“Right here. You know me. PT and grocery shopping are the only reasons I leave the house.”
Connie let out a melodic hmm, then asked, “Why do you sound so chipper?”
“Chipper?” I repeated, a typical stall method that Connie was sure to catch. “Do I? I hadn’t noticed. I guess I’m just feeling a little better, especially since I stopped taking all the pain meds.”
“Come on, Jana, spill! Even before the injury you never sounded happy. What’s up with you —” She broke off, then started giggling. “Ahh … I get it. You hooked up with that hot doctor, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t … hook up. You know me better than that.” I made sure my tone held the appropriate amount of incredulity at her accusation that I would hook up.
“Then why haven’t you returned my emails? Have you been writing?”
A new book was the one excuse Connie would accept, and actually, I had been writing, though, not much. A few hot sex scenes in my online journal didn’t exactly constitute writing.
“Mm-hm,” I mumbled, as if muttering a half-lie quietly made it somehow less of a lie.
“Well, that’s wonderful. But you still need to check your email. I forwarded you a few emails from HELL Pictures. Apparently, Howard wants your input on the screenplay.”
Howard Edwards the Second had requested my input?
Stunned, I inched my rear onto a barstool. “I thought I didn’t have any say in the script.”
“You don’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hear your thoughts.”
I reached for a piece of dark chocolate. “If I hated something in the script, and couldn’t make any changes, that would just tick me off.”
Connie groaned. “Jana, you really need to learn to play the game, my friend. If you hate something and want it changed, use your wiles. You’re a beautiful woman. Stop acting like you’re an old lady.”
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. “I don’t act like — I’ll have you know I’ve been having plenty of fun lately using my womanly wiles.”
“I knew it.” A loud clap resounded through the phone. Connie always wore her headset when she spoke so she could march around her office hands-free. That way she could multi-task or, in this case, rupture my eardrums. “Do tell! You know how I love a good sex scene, Jana.”
Sighing, I reached for another piece of dark chocolate. “I so walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“That’s just because I have more experience negotiating than you do. That’s why you allowed me to represent your books, remember?” Connie laughed again. “Tell me about Dr. Adrian. He’s sizzling in the sack, isn’t he?”
Since I knew I wouldn’t be able to get off the phone until I gave her the entire story, I pretty much spilled all of what had happened over the last few weeks, including the fact that we hadn’t hooked up.
“Well, at least he’s motivating you to write,” Connie said. “But, damn, that’s too bad that you’re not getting to take advantage of those beautiful hands of his.”
I laughed. “Oh, I get plenty of massages.”
“I’m not talking about massages, Jana.”
“I know.”
Normally I stopped at two pieces of dark chocolate a day, but after I hung up with Connie, I grabbed one more piece, hoping I’d feel a boost in endorphins to replace the lack of sex in my life. Surprisingly, I hadn’t thought about sex that often before I’d been condemned to my house — and now being touched by Adrian almost every day. The idea of having sex with Adrian was starting to consume me. Of course, I was thirty-nine, in my sexual prime, according to Cosmo. No, I didn’t read Cosmo. Well, I didn’t buy Cosmo. But what woman could help but sneak a peek in the checkout lane or at the gym, the two places I always found a frayed copy, conveniently bent at the binding to pop open at the pages that detailed, How to have better sex tonight.
Of course, it wasn’t just the act of sex that I wanted to experience with Adrian. I longed for the intimacy when you gave a man all of yourself. He’d kiss me, of course, and hold me in his arms, especially on the nights we opted to watch a movie, but I wanted more. I wanted the next level. I wanted that rush again, the rush I’d craved with kayaking and all of the other high-adrenaline sports I was no longer able to do. Maybe my lack of sex is what pushed me into all of those sports in the first place. But Adrian was more …
Adrian was quickly becoming my closest confidant. I couldn’t wait until he got here every night so we could spend hours talking about our days. I’d never met a man who enjoyed reading and discussing books as much as I did. Of course, he seemed to like to talk about everything but my books, especially if the conversation started heading toward the subject of my most popular book. He’d always respond politely, then excuse himself to check on the grill or return a text to a doctor he’d forgotten to follow up with before he left the office.
Needing to get my mind off sex, I powered up my laptop and signed into my email account.
I scanned the email from HELL Pictures several times. Connie was correct. According to the email — which had apparently been written by the executive assistant to Howard Edwards — Howard personally requested that I go over the script and forward any notes to him directly.
My mouth dropped open when I saw the first part of the contact email the assistant had written at the bottom of the email was HEII@HELLPictures, along with a phone number. It couldn’t be. No way did I just receive the personal email address and phone number of one of the largest and most popular producers in the world. Certainly, his secretary answered his email account and phone messages.
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br /> Smiling, I clicked on the attached file with my original title, You Don’t Need a Man, and saved it to my computer, then opened the file. “At least he didn’t change the title of our story, J’Austen,” I said to my calico as she wound her way around my legs. Another smile overtook my face when I saw my name listed as the author. “This is really happening, baby. We’re going to be on the big screen.”
J’Austen stretched up on her hind legs and touched her tiny white paw to the leather barstool where I was sitting. I scooped her up as I scrolled down the page.
“See that?” I scratched her behind her right ear, as she always liked. “That’s our story.”
J’Austen purred her satisfaction, then curled up on my lap, something she rarely did unless she was feeling lonely. My guess was that with as much time as I’d been spending with Adrian, she must be feeling rejected.
I read and laughed, then laughed some more. Although the screenplay writer had left out some of my text — mainly inner turmoil and chats that my lead character had had with her cat — the majority of my story was intact. So far.
A glance at the clock had me jumping off the barstool. I’d completely lost track of the time. Adrian would be here in less than twenty minutes. I set J’Austen on the tile floor, then slapped the top down on my laptop. I apologized to my kitty via a couple of cat treats, then darted off to the shower.
The last thing I wanted was Adrian to find me in my old tattered T-shirt. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Tonight, I planned to have a sit-down with Adrian. It was time we took our relationship to the next level. It didn’t mean we had to flaunt our relationship at the office, but I wanted to know if Adrian was in the same place as I was.
Chapter 25 – Next Level
Since it was Adrian’s night to cook, and other than grilling a steak, he rarely cooked on his nights, he held up a bag from our favorite Chinese restaurant. “I got your favorite but, per your request, I skipped the egg rolls.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I love them, but they’re so bad for me, and I have absolutely no self-control for things I like.”
Adrian grinned. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. I think you have amazing self-control.”
I snatched the bag out of his hand and darted off to the kitchen. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Adrian pulled out a barstool and sat. J’Austen popped up on the one beside him, and he absently scratched her between the ears. “You stopped taking Percocet, cold-turkey. Not a lot of people can do that with an injury as severe as yours, especially when you had to have surgery twice. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh …” I set two dishes on the counter and reached into the drawer for silverware. “I don’t know …” I didn’t want to say it, but hadn’t I already decided that enough was enough? “Umm … us.”
He pushed back from the bar and walked around the counter to where I stood clutching two forks. He took the forks out of my hand and set them on the dishes. “You have amazing self-control there, too. You haven’t pushed me for a commitment, and I appreciate that.”
Damn. But I wanted to push him. How could I do it now? I blew out a breath. “I don’t have amazing self-control, believe me. Since I’m not in a relationship with a certain someone I know, I can’t do other adult activities …”
Adrian pulled back to look at my face. “Other adult activities such as …”
I bit down on my lip. “I’ve been keeping myself busy at night by writing sex scenes.”
Adrian smiled. “Really? Can I read them? They might help keep my mind occupied too.”
“Oh, God, no!” I pulled away from him and busied myself with the food. “They’re only rough drafts. I wouldn’t let anyone read one of my first drafts.”
Adrian moved up behind me. He brushed my hair over my shoulder and proceeded to nuzzle my neck. “Are the scenes about me?”
A shiver ran through my body, but I couldn’t let him know how much he affected me. “Not really. Just faceless sexy scenes,” I lied.
“Hmm …” he said. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
I turned around and stared up at him. “How could I write sex scenes about you when we haven’t had sex?”
This time, Adrian narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve only had sex with one man. Does that mean all your sex scenes are about your ex-husband?”
Damn! Outmaneuvered by my physical therapist! “No,” I confessed. “I fibbed. The scenes are about you.”
Adrian dipped his head, his lips inches from my mouth. “I think about you all the time too, Jana.” He touched his lips to mine and, as always, I opened up to him, as though he held some power over me.
Not wanting to get lost in his kiss and forget about my mission to have the “next step” talk with him, I pulled away and exhaled a deep breath. “You know … I’m thinking my arm is completely healed. Maybe I don’t need physical therapy anymore.”
He turned me around, then gently pulled my arm around my side, as far as it would go, which sadly, wasn’t far. I’d yet to be able to reach my arm behind my back.
Turning on him, I grabbed his arm and tried the same move. He had less range than I did. “See. You can’t do it either.”
Adrian swung me around again, this time taking my left arm behind my back, lifting my hand so my thumb touched high between my shoulder blades. “But you can,” he said almost roughly. “I can’t reach behind my back because my shoulders are broad and my arms are almost twice the size of yours, but you can. Whatever you can do with your left arm, I need to make sure you can do with your right arm, or I fail at my job.”
“Adrian,” I said, coaxing my arm out of his grip and resting it on his chest. He was right. I could reach every spot on my back with my left hand. “You could never fail me. I couldn’t move my arm before I came to you. I had to have a second surgery because I’d failed with the other therapist. I owe you everything.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jana. I’m doing my job. But if something were to happen to us, you’d stop your treatments.”
I smiled at his comment. “What’s going to happen to us, Adrian? We haven’t done anything.”
A crinkle between his eyes made it clear he still wasn’t happy with me. He was so expressive. “Haven’t we? Just because we haven’t had sex doesn’t mean we’re not doing anything. What do you call what we’ve been doing every night? Hell, we’re practically living together.” Adrian pulled away and walked toward the front door. “I think I should go.”
“Adrian …” I followed him, but I’d be damned if I was going to beg him to stay. After all, he was the one who’d wanted to just be friends, to not put a stamp on our relationship. “I don’t understand. What did I say?”
He picked up his keys that he always dropped on the credenza by the front door. “Nothing, Jana. I’m just … Like I said, this is all …” He ran his hand through his hair.
“All, what?” I reached for his keys and set them back on the table. I refused to plead with him to stay, but I’d written enough novels that I knew not to let the hero walk out the door without the heroine trying to figure out what went wrong. Yes, tension was good in a story, but in real life, it was just plain stupid to let the man you love walk out the door. I gasped at my thoughts. The man you love. I was in love with Adrian. “What is so wrong with what we’re doing, Adrian?”
He touched his palm to my cheek. “Nothing is wrong with what we’re doing, Jana. It’s just the wrong time. Just give me a few more weeks. By then, you’ll be healed. And then, if we don’t work out, at least you’ll have the full use of your arm back.”
I sighed. “So you think if something happened to us — which is silly, by the way, since we get along so well — that I’d just drop my therapy appointments?”
He closed his eyes for just a second, then opened them. “You would.”
“Come on. Let’s forget this conversation and eat.” I tugged at his arm, but he didn’t budge.
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nbsp; He pulled my good arm to his chest, wrapped his hand behind my neck and took my mouth with his. His kiss was long and deep, passionate. It felt like goodbye.
A tear rolled down my cheek without warning.
“I’m sorry, Jana. I’m not upset, I swear, but I really should go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
I knew I couldn’t entreat him to stay when he was walking out the door, and I’d said my piece. Still … “I don’t understand.”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, and I really don’t think I have the self-control to resist you tonight.” He wiped away the second and third tear that had fallen without my consent. “Don’t cry, baby. I swear it’s not you.”
“Then why are you leaving?” I mumbled, trying my damnedest not to blubber, but clearly something had happened, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Adrian directed me to the sofa, but didn’t sit. Instead, he coaxed me down, then took my face between his two large hands. “Just give me a few more weeks, okay? Please.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.” Adrian pressed his lips to my forehead, my lips, and then he left.
I wouldn’t chase him. Couldn’t. I’d agreed to his stupid rules. Frustrated, I snatched my computer off the counter and trudged to my bedroom.
Propping myself up against the headboard, I got as comfortable as I could. I had more pillows than a Sheik’s bedroom, I was certain.
Some Lucky Woman Page 17
