Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  It could be worse, he thought, as he rooted through the linen closet for a stack of fluffy white towels. She could have been the elderly woman he’d been expecting when he first showed up on her doorstep. Instead, she was a young, vibrant woman, who just happened to be confined to a wheelchair. He swallowed hard, unwilling to allow his thoughts to traipse down that path.

  “Are you ready for me?”

  Beau slammed the closet door on his fingers. “Sonofa—” he hissed, gritting his teeth as he breathed through the pain.

  “I brought my nightgown, but I’ll need help getting my clothes off. I’m sorry.” She looked away, wincing.

  “Let’s just get this over with, all right?” Beau set the towels down on the lid of the toilet, noting how much smaller the bathroom seemed now that Eva’s wheelchair filled most of it.

  She hesitated a moment before pulling her top off over her head, clutching it to her chest. Heat suffusing his cheeks, he turned to fuss with the water taps, offering her what little privacy he could, while he could. Without the sound of water filling the tub, the room was unnaturally quiet. Eva coughed delicately behind him.

  “Put your arms around my neck and hang on tight. I’ll pull you out of the chair and help you get the rest of your things off.”

  Her grip was surprisingly strong as she wrapped her trim arms around his neck. A light floral scent tickled his nostrils, tempting him to breathe deeply. He tried to pretend that the twin pricks of her nipples pressing against his chest had no effect on him. He was grateful her face was buried in his hair and she couldn’t see the embarrassingly evident bulge in his jeans.

  His fingers reached for the button fly on her jeans, and he bit his lip to keep from groaning. This wasn’t embarrassing. It was an exercise in sheer and utter frustration. The rasp of the zipper lowering scraped his nerves raw. Was she panting against his neck? He could swear her breathing had sped up.

  The denim encasing her legs was tight enough that it didn’t immediately slide down her legs when Beau unzipped them. He had to reach behind her to tug them off her bottom. This brought Eva’s mostly naked body flush against his. This time they both shuddered.

  Shucking her pants and underwear down her legs, Beau lifted her at the waist and shook her legs slightly, until everything had fallen to the floor. Hooking an arm behind her knees, he lifted her into his arms and immediately lowered her into the heated bathwater. With horror, he realized too late that he’d forgotten to add the bubble bath. Her pale skin glistened in the clear water.

  “I’m so sorry. Let me just—” He reached around her to locate the bottle of bubble bath and knocked all of the miscellaneous girlie products into the tub, splashing Eva in the face.

  “Go. I’ll call you when I’m finished.” She waved him away.

  He skirted the wheelchair, picking up Eva’s discarded clothing and dropping them into the chair before starting to leave. Keeping his back to the tub, he paused in the doorway and finally asked the question that he hadn’t quite had the nerve to bring up last night.

  “Is it permanent? I mean, did the doctors give you any indication that you might walk again?”

  The only sound for several moments was that of the water lapping in the tub. Beau bowed his head, cursing the curiosity that probably just cost him any headway he’d made in drawing Eva out of her bitter shell. He was forming an apology in his head when she finally spoke.

  “I’m luckier than some. But yes, it is considered complete paraplegia. Does that answer your question?”

  “I had no right. It’s none of my business. Holler when you’re ready to get out.” Embarrassed, he beat a hasty retreat for his bedroom.

  Half an hour later, they had reversed the process, Beau helping Eva out of the cooling water. He sat on the edge of the tub and toweled her dry. She tugged her cotton nightshirt from his grasp and pushed at his chest until he gave her enough room to pull it down over her head. Without a word he carried her past her chair and straight to her room, depositing her on the bed after a quick yank on the sheets.

  “I hope I didn’t embarrass you, asking about your injury.” As if helping her to undress and bathe wasn’t humiliating enough.

  She watched him thoughtfully, one hand absently stroking the top of the rose-colored counterpane. “Why did you want to know?”

  “I’m not sure. I just want to learn more about you, I guess.”

  He started to leave and felt his lungs momentarily freeze as she reached out to grip his fingers in hers. Turning his head slightly, he stared at their joined hands.

  “No one has ever asked me that before.” The tone of her voice suggested she was confused as to whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Taking a risk, Beau sat down on the edge of the bed. Nudging her shoulder with his, he twined his fingers with hers. “You were so busy pushing people away, you never gave them a chance.”

  She started to argue, and he placed a finger to her lips. She gasped, trying to tug her hand free. Slowly, trying not to spook her, he move his finger to her cheek, then reached up and swept her curtain of bangs away from her eyes.

  “Beau, you don’t have to—”

  “Shh … ”

  The woman was so damned beautiful, and she refused to believe it. The things she did to him. He didn’t care that she was in a wheelchair. She’d been through more tragedy than anyone he’d ever met, and she’d come out stronger for it. She was sexy and vulnerable, and he was sick of pretending that there was nothing between them.

  Her dark eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in close, and Beau wanted to shout in victory. His kiss was hard, forceful, showing her with actions what felt too uncomfortable to say. She surprised him then, twining her arms around his neck and weaving her fingers through his hair. His scalp tingled where she rasped her blunt fingernails.

  Lowering her to the pillow, he plundered her mouth. She tasted of coffee and the blueberry cobbler they’d sampled together after dinner. His hand brushed her breast, and she arched into the touch, crying out against his lips. The sound broke through the sexual haze clouding his brain, sending him upright, chest heaving as he tried to regain a little composure.

  Theirs was a new relationship, tentative and shaky. It deserved to be nurtured and developed. As much as he wanted to give in to the temptation to see this through to its natural conclusion, he couldn’t do that to Eva. He respected her too much.

  “Not tonight, my sweet rosebud.” Pressing a gentle kiss to her swollen red lips, he pulled the wrinkled covers up to her chin and left before her sexy pout could tempt him to join her for the rest of the night.

  • • •

  The steel gray of the sky and the curtain of fine drizzle matched Eva’s mood perfectly. Sitting at the long dining-room table, she’d left her eggs to grow cold, her bacon congealing on the abandoned plate. Her attention focused on the steady drip of water off a long-empty hummingbird feeder outside the window, she tried not to cry.

  “Not tonight?” What did that even mean? She wasn’t stupid. She understood rejection when she experienced it. Eva was furious that she’d let herself get so caught up in their kiss that she’d been blindsided when Beau had walked away. It was only a kiss. It wasn’t like it was her first.

  Bitterly, she shoved her breakfast across the table, disappointed when it stopped before crashing to the floor. No, it hadn’t been like her first kiss. It was the most amazing moment she’d ever shared with a man. Darren had been eager and inexperienced. His kisses sloppy, and his lovemaking selfish and hurried.

  Beau had made her feel cherished—for a time. She hadn’t felt trapped in a useless body. She’d felt alive, needy. Sex with him wouldn’t just be physical. She could give him everything. Except he didn’t want everything. He’d merely been curious about what it would be like to kiss a cripple. He got it out of his system. End of story.

  “Something wrong with your eggs?” He strolled into the dining room with a carafe of coffee, refilling her cup without being asked. He wore o
ne of Colby’s college sweatshirts, and Eva was forced to admit that he looked much better in it than her brother ever had.

  “I’m sick of eggs. And I didn’t ask for more coffee.”

  “I work with what we have in the house. You’re the one who does the shopping online, remember?” He eyed her curiously before adding, “I would be happy to go out and pick up some fresh pastries or something like that, but I’ve been forbidden to leave the house.”

  “You don’t have to go to the trouble of cooking every single day, you know. We have cold cereal and milk. Or toast.”

  “And I would wager you could reach just about everything you’d need to make your own breakfast every morning. If you asked nicely, I might even slide the toaster within reach.”

  “Now you’re just being cruel.” She narrowed her eyes, her fingers curling into claws on her lap.

  “And you’re acting like a shrew. What the hell’s the matter with you today?” He set down the coffee and pulled out a chair beside her, capturing one of her hands in both of his.

  “Maybe I just want my space. Is that too unreasonable to ask for?” He’d certainly been willing to give her plenty of space last night. She yanked on her hand and was startled when he let go just as quickly.

  “By all means, Your Highness. Wouldn’t want to crowd you.”

  The scrape of the wooden chair on the marble tile hurt her ears. She stared straight ahead, at the lonely bird feeder, as he started to walk away. She wanted to call him back, to apologize, but her voice stubbornly refused to work. He paused in the doorway, and she heard him slap a palm to the wooden frame.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I got carried away. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

  Eva nearly laughed. He was apologizing for giving her the best night of her life. How did she respond to that? That’s okay, accidents happen, or, See that it doesn’t happen again? The thing of it was, she wanted it to happen again. But it was clear he did not.

  Gritting her teeth to hold back the tears, she held her tongue and waited him out. A drawn-out sigh told her he realized he wasn’t going to get any more out of her. The room felt colder, darker, when he finally gave up and left. Ignoring the salty trail that had snuck past her defenses, she took a sip of the cooling coffee that Beau had poured for her and cursed herself for allowing him to burrow so deep beneath her skin.

  • • •

  Celtic harp music blared from the desktop speakers. After she’d given Beau the brush-off the other day, he’d taken the message to heart. He cooked her meals and continued to act the consummate care provider, but he no longer engaged her in conversation. It was like living in a mausoleum, the silence echoing in the vast space. Eva had begun to hide in her father’s office.

  She’d just finished paying the bills and was considering humbling herself to approach Beau, beg him to talk to her again. Rolling the kinks from her neck, she turned her chair to face the tall window and her mother’s tangled rose vines. Movement to her far right had her wheeling her chair closer, her nose to the glass.

  She nearly fell from her chair when she realized she was staring at Beau. He was in her rose garden, trimming down the bushes, beating back the creeping jungle that her prize beauties had become. Just yesterday, he had mown the wide expanse of lawn—a feat in itself. Now he was tackling a much harder and far more thankless task.

  His faded red T-shirt was soaked through with sweat. Scratches crisscrossed his arms where he’d been attacked by thorns. He wiped a heavy work glove across his brow. How long had he been at this? He looked exhausted.

  Pressing her fingertips to the sun-warmed windowpane, her heart swelled in gratitude and something else she just wasn’t ready to acknowledge. This was above and beyond anything he had signed on for. He knew how much those roses meant to her. He understood how it killed her to see them so wild and messy. And he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart. Even though she’d been a bitch to him … again.

  Heart swelling in her chest and tears pricking at her eyelids, Eva swung her wheelchair around and headed for the kitchen. He’d need a cold drink after all that hard work. Lemonade. She’d fix him a tall glass of lemonade and have it waiting for him when he came back inside.

  She wasn’t completely helpless in the kitchen. She could grab herself something from the fridge, as long as it wasn’t at the back of the top shelf. But when Eva yanked open the refrigerator, she found the plastic container missing. They must have finished it up in the last day or so. That was okay. She could make more.

  A search of the dishwasher for the lemonade carafe left her empty-handed. As did the sink. Discouraged, Eva turned her chair toward the pantry. She’d start with the powdered mix and then look for the carafe.

  The walk-in pantry was not designed for a wheelchair, and she spent the better part of ten minutes just maneuvering her chair through the narrow doorway and then past the obstacle course of assorted bags of potatoes and onions, twelve-packs of soda, and stacks of paper towels.

  Once inside, she swallowed, eyeing the way out. The rising bile in her throat tasted bitter. She started to pant. If she were prone to bouts of claustrophobia, she’d say this was one of those episodes. But she was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake! She wasn’t afraid of anything.

  As she was about to give in to the panic, Eva spotted the canister of lemonade mix. It was just out of reach. An angry sense of determination trumping the need to flee like a scared child, she positioned her chair as close to the shelf as possible. She wasn’t helpless. She could do this.

  Reaching up as high as she could, her fingertips just barely touched the can, pushing it further back on the shelf. Spitting out a few foul words, she braced her hands on the arms of her chair and lifted her upper body. Too late, she realized she hadn’t set the brake. One hand on the arm of her chair and one on the pantry shelf, Eva felt the chair slide out from behind her.

  In a jumble of flailing arms, she screeched as she headed for the floor. Thankfully, the only items she’d managed to knock off the shelf were a few boxes of pasta. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been bombarded by the myriad cans of soups and vegetables still sitting on the shelf above her head.

  “Eva! Are you all right? I heard a crash. Eva!”

  No, don’t let him see me like this. She bit her lip, twisting her torso in consternation. There was no way she was going to be able to haul herself back into the chair without his help, especially not in the scant few seconds she had before he discovered where her scream had originated.

  “I’m in the pantry. I’m all right.” She sighed, bracing herself for the embarrassment of having Beau discover her on the floor.

  He squeezed past the wheelchair, dropping to the floor to pull her into his arms. He hugged her so tightly she was forced to let the breath from her lungs in a whoosh. Then, just as quickly, he held her out at arms’ length, studying her limbs for signs of injury.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?” He rubbed a grimy thumb across her cheek.

  “No. It’s stupid. So stupid. I just wanted to make you lemonade for what you did for me. The roses.” And then she was crying into his grubby T-shirt. All her frustration, the helplessness, the claustrophobia and fear when she’d fallen. All of it came out in huge, gulping sobs, snorts, and honks. It wasn’t pretty, but she was too far gone to care. She clutched handfuls of his soft shirt and held on tight. He pulled her onto his lap, rocking her and whispering soothing words into the hair at her temple.

  After a while she turned her head into his neck. She was too embarrassed to look at him. This sweet man who had brought her rose garden back to life for no other reason than to make her happy.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you,” Beau mumbled against her hair.

  “You’d call 9-1-1, and they’d send someone out to get me.” She pushed against his chest as she shook her head, unsure what he was getting at.

  “No, I mean that I would have been devastated
if you’d been hurt.” He smiled slightly, as though he’d found her obvious misinterpretation amusing.

  “You—” She couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. His mouth was so close, his lips full and soft. Eva wanted to lick at the sweat that beaded just above his upper lip.

  He leaned in close and closer still. This wasn’t going to happen again. He’d told her as much already. Against her will, her eyelids drifted closed as she waited to feel the weight of his mouth on hers. When it came, she groaned with relief. It had been a lonely few days, and she was shamelessly eager for his touch.

  Never mind that they were sitting on the pantry floor, raw spaghetti crackling beneath them. It didn’t matter. Eva could hear a phantom clock ticking away the minutes until Beau took her grandfather’s books and went back to his father’s bookstore in Syracuse. If she didn’t grab this opportunity now, she’d never have another like it. So she gave everything to that kiss, memorizing every detail to hang on to once he was gone.

  “Need you,” Beau mumbled against her neck as he nuzzled his way toward her cleavage.

  Did he? Or did he feel like he owed her? Eva lay sprawled across his lap, suddenly feeling way more vulnerable and exposed than sexy and seductive. Her eyes wide, she pushed at his chest until he got the message. He helped her to a seated position, both of them looking down to see that one of his large hands still cupped her breast. He seemed reluctant to move it but finally did. She felt the loss keenly.

  Buying herself time, she buried her face in the wall of his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath her cheek. That couldn’t be faked, right? She wished she had the confidence to believe that his attraction was real. That he really could make love to a broken woman.

  “I scared you.” He cupped the back of her head in his hand and held her until she was ready to face him.

  “No. That’s not it.” She shook her head, unwilling to verbalize her doubts. What if he tried to convince her to let him take her to bed? Maybe that was just what she needed. She focused on his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.