Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4)

by Gemma Brocato

  Dad was going to be difficult to move if he was unconscious. “Is he passed out?” she asked.

  “Nah. He’s just sleeping.” Gunnar stood, pocketed the phone, and opened his arms wide.

  It seemed natural to step into his embrace and let him wrap his muscular arms around her. An offer of comfort from one friend to another. That’s what she told herself.

  “Is Gaby okay?” he asked.

  Mal sighed and pulled away to look up at him. “I don’t know. Her dad died in a drunk-driving accident. Just like Harriet.”

  “That bites.”

  “Seeing my father completely polluted was hard on both of us.”

  Nothing was going to be easy. She wasn’t sure why she held back from telling Gunnar that Burton Jansen, Gaby’s dad, was as much of a drunk as Ben. It would have felt disloyal to Gaby. Sharing that information would help her to feel less lonely in dealing with her own father’s addiction, but she wasn’t alone. She had his AA sponsor and the people at the rehab clinic she planned to contact tomorrow to see if they had space for him. And she had Gunnar.

  A man she could rely on.

  “While you were with Gaby, I did a circuit of the workroom. You know, for contraband. I found a bottle hidden behind the stack of planters in the corner. I poured it down the drain.”

  “Dammit!” She clenched her fist as helpless anger surged in her chest. She knew he’d hidden bottles from her in his home, but she didn’t know he’d started drinking at work. How often had he driven the delivery van while intoxicated? One accident could have ruined her business, not to mention the possibility of injuring, or worse killing, an innocent bystander. Battling the anger and anxiety that threatened to choke her, Malin rested her head on Gunnar’s sturdy chest.

  His heart thudded strongly under her cheek. She tightened her arms around his waist and snuggled closer when he lifted his hand and cradled the back of her head. He rubbed soothing circles at the base of her neck easing some of the tension there. The press of his body left her drowning in a sea of longing. Desire for something she shouldn’t want rose within her.

  She shifted in his arms, leaning back to gaze at him. The small space between their bodies became infinitesimal when her belly connected with his hips. Gunnar’s eyes were silvery blue and filled with hunger. The knot in her belly loosened at the promise in them. As he lowered his mouth to hers, she lifted her chin, meeting him halfway.

  His lips were impossibly soft, a stark contrast to his hard, hard body. Tightening his arm around her back, he drew her closer and increased the pressure against her mouth. He broke the kiss with a slight popping sound and returned immediately and touched his tongue to her lips, as if begging her to let him in.

  She let her lips drift apart. As soon as she lifted her arms around his neck, he angled his head and pulled her lower lip between his teeth, nibbling and licking. He created a fire in her she had no interest in extinguishing. He lowered his hand to her backside, the warmth of his palm seeping through the heavy denim of her jeans. He hugged her close, lifting her against his chest so her toes left the ground.

  Just as his kiss turned frenzied, Dad snored, and the sound hit Mal like a snowball between the eyes. She struggled in Gunnar’s arms. He slowly released her, lowering her down his eager body, maintaining contact for every erotic inch of the slide.

  Breathing hard, resisting her attempt to step away from his embrace, Gunnar rested his cheek on her head, each pant of his breath stirring her hair. Her knees quaked like a gelatin mold. Mal was grateful for the strength of his arms supporting her. If not, she’d collapse like a drunk at last call. His heart galloped against her cheek.

  Sucking in a deep lungful of air, she put her hands on his chest and applied pressure. “I need to get Dad home.”

  “I know.” The words rumbled in his chest. “How can I help?”

  “Oh, Gunnar. This isn’t your problem.”

  “It might not be, Malin, but you need help. He’s pretty out of it. You’ll need a little muscle to wrestle him into a car then into his house.” He dipped his gaze to her lips then brought it back to her eyes. “I want to help. It’s what friends do.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Of course. But I would like us to be more.”

  God help her, so did she. She’d been attracted by his looks, but had discovered a warm, funny, utterly captivating man. Then he kissed her in Gaby’s bedroom, and all bets were off. She wanted more, too. With her heart in charge, it no longer seemed to matter that he’d sent flowers to a lot of different women. She could justify her capitulation no one woman had received more than one arrangement. He always moved on to the next affair in short order. Could she abandon her resistance to his charm and still walk away with an intact heart? Was she content to have a quick fling with this fickle man?

  “Why’d you come here today?” she asked, rubbing a finger over the logo on his shirt pocket.

  “To get that accountant’s number.”

  “Oh.” At least he hadn’t come to buy flowers for another woman. It might have been nice to hear him say he didn’t need an excuse to come to see her.

  “You could have called.”

  “I wanted to get out of the gym for a little while. I’ve stared at the books until my eyes rolled back. Plus, it’s an opportunity to see you.”

  And there it was. What her heart had been seeking. Oh, her emotions were adrift in a deep ocean with no life preserver. The rapid shifting of her feelings from he’s just a friend to he could be my boyfriend left her dizzy and out of sorts.

  She moved out of his arms and took a step away. The loss of heat from his body was immediate. She didn’t like the cold, bereft sensation one bit. Crossing her arms over her chest, she grasped her elbows. Gunnar let his arms fall to his side and didn’t try to pull her back to his chest. The expression on his face was filled with longing. She glanced at her dad to avoid meeting Gunnar’s gaze.

  Aw, jeez, Dad’s drooling. And he was ready to slide off the stool. She needed to get him home fast and into bed to sleep it off. A nice, flat space he couldn’t fall off of.

  “Still can’t decipher the books, huh? Let me get Eileen’s card.”

  She moved to the desk in the corner, pulled open the center drawer, and rifled through the chaos to locate her accountant’s business card. Biting pain sliced across the pad of her thumb.

  “Ouch!”

  She withdrew her hand from the drawer and inspected the thin line of blood welling from a paper cut. Grabbing a tissue from the dispenser on the desk, she dabbed at the red wound that had sliced through the whorls and swirls of her fingerprint.

  Gunnar crowded in next to her and took her hand, turning it palm up. “Let me,” he said, squinting at the miniscule cut. He grinned. “I think you’ll live. Do you have a first aid kit?”

  His breath, blowing softly across her fingers distracted her. “Um...yes, in the cabinet over the sink.”

  He wrapped his fingers around hers then squeezed before striding to the opposite side of the room and opening a cupboard door. Her gaze tracked his butt as he moved away from her. Dad wasn’t the only Eckert drooling. She tucked her injured thumb into her fist, hoping the small sting of the paper cut would distract her.

  He whistled. “That’s quite an assortment of bandages you have there.”

  “Occupational hazard. Working with sharp scissors, floral wire, and thorny roses can be dangerous, you know.” Mal laughed. Even though she craved his kisses the way a flower craves the sun, she liked the easy friendly camaraderie they shared. When she wasn’t in his embrace or with his lips devouring hers.

  His eyes lit with humor. “I feel you. I kick a weight bar some member hasn’t put away every day. My toes are always black and blue.”

  “Not sure which would be worse, cuts on your hands when you work in water all day or bruised toes in tennis shoes.”

  Gunnar paused from pulling a Band-Aid from the box and laughed. “A desk job would be ten times worse.”

 
; Mal touched her index finger to her nose, the same gesture Gaby had employed a short time ago. Gunnar stepped back to her side, ripped open the paper strip, and pulled it from the packaging. After stripping back the white covers, he wrapped the sticky sides around her thumb. He brought her thumb to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. Her breath caught, her gaze glued to his face. She ran her tongue over her suddenly parched lips, drawing his eyes down.

  It was impossible not to notice the incendiary heat in his gaze. Arrows of desire arced through her. Lowering his head, he caught her lips with his. It only took an instant for his mouth to turn greedy and open against hers. As his tongue swept into her mouth, her resolve melted, landing between her thighs with in irrepressible throb. Mal braced her palms on his broad shoulders and strained upward, pressing her breasts against his rock solid chest.

  Gunnar speared his fingers into her hair and held her steady against the onslaught of his insistent lips and seeking tongue. The issues that had plagued her for the past hour receded, leaving only want and yearning in its place.

  “Hey, I thought you were leaving... Oh!”

  A sharp banging jolted Mal back to reality. She jumped out of Gunnar’s arms, wincing at the tug on her hair when he didn’t release his grip fast enough. Dad snorted, then reared upright. Gaby had skidded to a halt two steps into the room, mouth hanging open, cheeks cherry red. Without another word, the teen spun on her heel and raced back out of the room. As the door swung shut again, Gaby’s whoop of “Oh. My. God!” rang, followed by girlish laughter.

  “Damn, we can’t get a break,” Gunnar growled.

  Mal buried her face in her hands and shook her head. He reached for her again but stopped when Dad groaned.

  “It’s a sign. This isn’t meant to be,” she moaned.

  “That’s a crock. This is meant to be. We’ll just have to overcome some obstacles.”

  “It’s like I’m a goal you won’t stop chasing until you attain. Gunnar, I don’t—” She stopped talking when he pressed his fingers against her lips.

  He leaned forward and whispered. “Not a goal, Malin. An obsession.” He nibbled her earlobe.

  The nip of his teeth was delicious, electric, but the sensation was immediately doused when Dad harrumphed from his seat at the worktable.

  “Here now,” he barked. “Who are you and what are you doing to my daughter?”

  Never taking his earnest blue eyes off her face, Gunnar replied. “I’m Gunnar Sims, Mr. Eckert. And I’m trying to convince your daughter that we’d make a better pair than Jack Daniels and Coke.”

  Mal tipped her head to the side, fixing her gaze on him. “That’s a bit cheesy, isn’t it?”

  Surprise flashed through his expression. “I like sappy. I’m looking for corny in my life. What do you say we get your dad home and have dinner to discuss how corny I can be?”

  Chapter 13

  Gunnar helped pour her father into the car, then followed her to Dad’s house. Gunnar pulled him from the vehicle and marched him up the front steps. An unhealthy shade of green tinged Dad’s skin. He looked small and wizened as he lurched with each step. He grumbled when Gunnar held him upright as Mal dug in her purse for the key to the front door.

  As soon as they wrangled Dad into the living room, he plopped onto the sofa, softly singing the Heart song, “Dreamboat Annie.” Harriet used to love that song. Without a doubt, Mal knew what Dad’s little ship of dreams would look like. At least it wasn’t another Eagles song. Mal skirted around the couch and turned on the floor lamp. Dad squinted against the bright light and fell sideways onto the couch, burying his face in the cushions.

  “Dad!” she barked sharply. “Don’t fall asleep there. We need to get you into a shower, then to bed. Dad!”

  Dad twisted his face enough to expose one bloodshot eye. “No need to shout, girlie. I jus’ need to catch my wind. Then I’ll go.” The seat cushions muffled his words.

  She rubbed her neck and looked helplessly toward Gunnar. He left his spot in the doorway and moved to her side.

  “I’ve got this.” Squatting down, he gently shook Dad’s shoulder. “Hey, Ben. Nap time’s over. What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

  Dad mumbled something about giving him another damned minute and burped. Oh no, please don’t let him vomit. Gunnar shot to his feet and took a rapid step backward. Malin held her breath, waiting to see what would happen. Dad settled back into his original position and was silent.

  “That was close.” Gunnar heaved a relieved sigh and turned to face her, a grim smile on his face.

  “I’m so sorry. He rarely hurls, but I’m not really sure how long he’s been like this. From the looks of him, it could be days.”

  Gunnar ran his warm palm over her shoulder, then down her arm. He wrapped her chilled fingers in his hand. “Let’s divide and conquer. I’ll get Ben into the shower and put him to bed. You have bottle detail. We’ll get rid of any temptation while he’s not looking. Sound like a plan?”

  “I can’t ask you to help bathe my dad. It’s too much.”

  His gaze was earnest. “I offered. Come on, Mal. Let me help. It doesn’t embarrass me, and I doubt Ben will notice.”

  Mal nodded. The division of labor was practical. Too small to manhandle her dad long enough to bathe him, leaving the task to Gunnar made sense. Plus, she had a better idea of where Dad liked to hide his booze. Years of experience in ferreting out every single bottle would pay off.

  Curiosity got the better of her. “Do you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?”

  “I had a roommate in college with a problem. We did this dance every week. Damn shame, too, because the kid was smart. He’d have been something if he’d finished school.” Gunnar’s tone rang with disgust. “Flunked out, thanks to regular binge drinking. When alcohol consumes your life, there isn’t room for much else.”

  “I hear that. Including raising a teenager.” Mal shook away her sour thoughts. She had more important things to deal with right now. Like getting her dad situated. And hunting up his AA sponsor’s phone number. And making a call to a rehab facility to reserve a spot for Dad. She picked up a blanket from the arm of the sofa and began folding it. “I appreciate your help tonight. I owe you.”

  Gunnar’s grin was instant and wicked. “I’m sure I can find a way to collect.”

  “Gunnar...” She trailed off and looked away. She laid the folded afghan over the arm of the couch.

  “Aw, dammit. That was inappropriate. What I should have said was teamwork will make the dream work, Daisy Mae.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “I’d never pressure you. It’s not my style. We’re friends, and that’s great. I hope for more. But not until you are ready.”

  “That’s the thing, Gunnar. I like you a lot. I’m ready.” Her heart sped up when his eyes turned molten, a look designed to melt the firmest resolve. “But, I’m not sure you’re ready. I don’t play well with others. I definitely don’t share.”

  Confusion flared in his eyes, and he drew his brows together. “Neither do I.”

  He took a step closer, heat from his chest radiating to hers. Lowering his mouth, he caressed her lips, a gentle promise from him to her. “For now, let’s take care of your dad. Then we’ll work on us.”

  His tender kiss had more impact than any of the fevered kisses they’d share before. Her insides jumped like water drops on a hot skillet. She remained rooted to the spot as he turned toward the couch. When he didn’t get much help from Dad in sitting up, he pulled her father’s arm over his shoulder and lifted. Powerful muscles shifted under his navy blue shirt with the motion.

  “Which way to the bathroom?” he asked as he duck-walked Dad to the door.

  “Down the hall, second door on the right. There are towels in the cabinet behind the door. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do. Go find some bottles and pour them down the drain. I think you got the better deal. Ben’s a little ripe.” He laughed, his voice fa
ding as he moved away from her.

  The banging of the bathroom door brought her to her senses. The deep timbre of Gunnar’s voice talking to dad rumbled through the hall. She did her best to ignore the tingly zings rising from between her legs and strode into the kitchen.

  She fantasized about Gunnar and how he’d look moving over her, what he’d feel like when he filled her while drugging her with his intoxicating kisses. A great fantasy, but was she really ready? Her body reacted with a resounding yes.

  Dragging a chair to the pantry, she stood on it and began a search that had become routine over the years. All fantasies of Gunnar faded as she found the first bottle. It had totally evaporated by the time she unearthed the fourth bottle from the clothes hamper in Dad’s bedroom. Frustration and sadness replaced any remaining tingles by the time she discovered the last one behind an antiquated set of encyclopedias in Dad’s study.

  She carried every bottle to the kitchen and poured the whiskey down the drain. Gunnar joined her as she emptied the last one.

  “Ben’s out. I got him to bed, put a trashcan by his head, and a glass of water on the nightstand. He’s down for the evening.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  Glass clanked against glass as she dumped the last fifth into the black plastic bag she’d pulled from under the sink. She walked over to Dad’s desk and pulled a tattered piece of paper from under a thumbtack. Dad’s AA sponsor, Ike. She debated calling him immediately, but decided it could wait until tomorrow. She tucked the paper in her back pocket.

  Gunnar picked up the bag of bottles, emptied the rest of Dad’s trash into it, and stepped out the back door. Cold air gusted in as he dropped the entire mess into the receptacle.

  After he shut the door and flipped the lock, he turned to face her, dusting his hands over his flat belly. “Is our work here done?”

  She doubted her work with Dad would ever be done. She nodded.