With a Little Help

by Valerie Parv

  Her cry as he moved inside her almost made him pause until he saw the wild-eyed pleasure in her expression. Her gaze went unfocused and she began to move with him, riding the peaks and valleys of desire like a surfer on a tumultuous ocean.

  Slowly, slowly, he cautioned himself. Might as well have tried to hold back a raging tiger with his bare hands. With an effort, he made himself ease back and look at the sheer beauty of her poised over him, her lushness open to him like the fulfillment of a dream.

  Her hair had come loose and flowed to her shoulders, over his hand like silk. He fisted his fingers through the mass, hearing her make a quiet sound of pleasure that echoed deep within him.

  “Yes, Nate, yes.”

  The plea shattered his fragile control and he began to move again, began to share everything he was with her, taking everything she was in return.

  The waves took them higher, roaring in his ears as he carried her with him, until, with a cry wrenched from deep inside, he brought them both crashing down. Panting, she lay across his chest, her skin sleek with heat. But he wasn’t done yet.

  Sliding his hand between them, he heard her catch her breath, then saw her eyes widen as his fingers went to work. The touch that could massage life back into a still heart worked its own kind of magic. He felt her heart drumming against his chest as the waves took her again, lifting her until she crested the last breaker on a mindless cry before collapsing into his embrace.

  His eyelids drooped but he kept hold of her, not ready to abandon a closeness he’d never known he needed before Emma. No promises, he’d said. Who was he fooling? Her, he hoped. Certainly not himself.

  He wanted and needed her, not only in his bed, but in his life. If she had the slightest clue, she’d be out of here in a heartbeat. And if he had any sense, he’d let her go.

  This, whatever it was between them, was a one-way ticket to impossible. He couldn’t give up medicine any more than he could willingly stop breathing. Like his mother, Emma wasn’t prepared to be married to a doctor and he couldn’t blame her. He’d seen how his mother suffered. How could he do that to a woman he…liked as much as Emma?

  Why wasn’t there some middle ground?

  “Nate?”

  Her soft voice punctured his thoughts. He found himself stroking her hair as she lay across his chest. “What?”

  “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  With an effort, he made his tone light. “We don’t want it to, do we?”

  Her sigh whispered against him. “No.”

  She sounded about as convinced as he felt. He almost made the mistake of asking if she’d changed her mind about them, about a future together. Then realized the gentle purr he could hear was her. She had drifted off to sleep.

  That was supposed to be his act. Yet he didn’t feel sleepy. Sex as hard, fast and satisfying as this usually put him out like a light. Instead, his mind reeled. Careful not to disturb her, he pulled the throw from the back of the sofa over them both, angling his splinted wrist against his body. She moved slightly, her hair spilling over his hand, more soothing than any medication.

  He looked down at her, wondering what the hell he was going to do about her.

  THE INSISTENT RING TONE of Blondie’s “Eat to the Beat” dragged Emma out of a delicious dream where she was entwined with a naked man, his arm clamped around her. Struggling to surface, she realized she was entwined…with Nate, and he was fast asleep. The memory of last night flooded back in mind-splintering detail.

  Before her cell phone could wake him, she levered herself off the couch—and him. She grabbed his shirt, draping it around her as she located the phone in the kitchen.

  It was Sophie and she sounded miserable. “I can’t come to work today, Em. I have the migraine from hell.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after six. Did I wake you?”

  Through the open door of the den, Emma could see Nate on the sofa, the throw rug barely covering his magnificent body. She gulped air, remembering how his hardness had felt against her softness. “It’s time I was awake.” Joanna would be arriving at eight. The thought of how she might have found them made heat surge into Emma’s face. “I’m sorry you’re not well.”

  “Luckily we don’t have much on today,” Sophie said.

  Emma pulled her thoughts together with an effort. “There’s only the charity afternoon tea. Most of the baking’s done and they’re providing their own tea and coffee. It’s an easy delivery, so I’ll be fine.” Professionally, anyway. Personally, she was a long way from certain. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “If you’re going by the office on your way, I’m pretty sure I left the prescription for my medication in the apron I forgot to take with me when we moved to Nate’s kitchen.”

  “If it’s there, I’ll find it, get it filled and bring it over.” Doug might be on site, but he’d told her he couldn’t start the removal process until his team was available tomorrow.

  “Thanks. I’m going to lie down again.”

  Emma smiled into the phone. “Confucius says Woman with headache sleeps alone.”

  She was gratified when Sophie laughed. “Ouch, even laughing hurts. I’ll gladly sleep alone today.”

  Emma closed the phone and buttoned Nate’s shirt, trying not to inhale the scent clinging to the expensive fabric. Trying not to relive her own foolishness. Before she drifted into sleep, he’d made it clear that last night would change nothing between them. Not that she expected it to. Wanting was another matter.

  Once his injury healed, his work would reclaim him and there would be little room for her in his life. She’d known the risk when she let him make love to her. If she felt changed and he didn’t, it was her own fault.

  She put croissants in the oven to heat and was setting up the coffee machine when she heard him stirring. Her heart stirred in response. Cool, calm, she ordered herself. She kept her back to the door and busied herself with her task.

  “That shirt looks a lot better on you than it does on me,” he said, his voice husky.

  Unable to stop herself, she looked around, almost blurting out her feelings at the sight of him framed in the doorway. His jeans were slung low over his hips, the belt undone and his broad chest was bare. Her fingers itched to touch, to taste, but look where that had gotten her. “Are you hungry? We didn’t get around to dinner last night,” she said, her throat infuriatingly dry.

  He slanted her a grin. “We had better things to do.”

  She willed herself not to blush, a futile attempt as she felt color rush into her cheeks. “Coffee and croissants will be ready in a few minutes. Then I’ll make an omelet.”

  He moved closer, dropping a kiss in the sensitive curve between her neck and shoulder. “I’ll have a quick shower first. You?”

  “In a little while,” she said. “Nate, last night…”

  “Was last night,” he said firmly. “No strings, right?”

  She could hardly argue with her own rules. “Of course not.”

  WHY DID NATE HAVE THE FEELING it wasn’t what she’d wanted him to say? He was usually pretty good at reading people. Part of skilled doctoring was being able to assess a patient’s general condition from their movements and demeanor as soon as they walked into the office. But Emma was a mass of contradictions. Impossible to read. One minute she wanted no part of his life, the next she erupted like a volcano in his arms. Which was the real Emma?

  Keeping his injured arm clear, he turned the shower on full blast, relishing the cleansing stream. For a man who’d slept on a couch, he felt rested, strong. Better than he had for days. His wrist was improving, he found, as he wiggled his fingers. Soon he could start squeezing a rubber ball and using a keyboard to increase flexibility.

  He grinned. He’d felt flexible enough last night. Seeing Emma in nothing but his shirt skimming her shapely thighs had him ready to test that flexibility again. But she’d looked conflicted. As if she couldn’t decide how she felt about last night.

/>   He’d tried to reassure her by saying that nothing had changed between them. Unless…he clicked off the shower and grabbed a towel, winding it around his hips. Unless she’d wanted things to change.

  Now there was a thought.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EMMA SHOULD FEEL PLEASED with her day. After adding the finishing touches to the menu, she’d delivered the order to the children’s charity hosting the afternoon tea for their committee. The response couldn’t have been more positive. Next stop was her place to look for Sophie’s prescription.

  Emma parked outside the house. No hazard warning signs yet, although most of the work would take place at the back. The building felt chilly as she let herself in the front door.

  Some of the chill was inside her. Yesterday she’d known who she was, and what she wanted. Last night Nate had awakened feelings and stirred needs she’d thought long banished. Apparently they were only on her side.

  Over breakfast he’d been so matter-of-fact she wanted to scream. But she’d made polite conversation as if last night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t possessed both her willing body and her less willing mind.

  He’d offered to write Sophie a prescription for her meds to save Emma the trip. “It’s on my way,” she’d said, not wanting favors from him. Not wanting anything, except possibly a repeat of the nirvana she’d found in his arms last night. Not going to happen, she assured herself. The foundations of her existence felt rocky enough as it was.

  Sophie’s apron hung on a hook in the hallway, the prescription still in the pocket. Tucking the piece of paper into her bag, Emma went into the shell of her kitchen. The contents were stacked in the front room and some of the floorboards were up.

  Placing her bag near the wall, Emma looked down, her eyes widening. Under her feet was a brick-lined room that might have been a cellar until access was sealed off. She hadn’t known the space existed.

  A pile of clothing and what looked like years of debris cluttered the cellar floor. A rickety set of steps led down into the gloom but started well below the kitchen floor level. She shuddered. Confined spaces made her anxious. Even if the steps could hold her, she didn’t plan on exploring.

  Then she heard the sound.

  Mice? Surely not rats? The building was treated regularly against pests. Sophie said she thought the place was haunted. Could she be right?

  Intending to get out as fast as possible, Emma hesitated. If someone was in trouble down there, could she walk away? She didn’t believe in ghosts. More likely someone’s pet was trapped under the cellar floor. Before she could change her mind, she groped with her feet for the steps, testing them before releasing her grip on the edge of the hole and climbing down.

  Actually, climbing was a stretch. The reality was more of a controlled fall. The cellar was deeper than it looked from above, and by the time her feet touched solid ground, her breath was pumping. She wiped her clammy hands on her shirt. From the look of the splintered steps, they weren’t good for a return climb.

  Panic threatened until she looked at the patch of light above. She was safe. She could pile up some of the junk to help her get out. And Nate knew where she was. If she didn’t show up at his home, he’d come looking. The thought of him calmed her.

  “Is anyone down here?” she called, hearing her voice tremble

  What she’d taken for a pile of rags in the corner moved slightly. She dropped to her knees. “Doug? Oh, God, what happened?”

  He must have fallen or collapsed into the cellar, landing on his back, the debris breaking his fall. She shook him gently then tapped his cheeks. “Doug, can you hear me?”

  No response. Damn. She couldn’t call for an ambulance because her phone was in the kitchen above, well out of reach. Helplessness gripped her. She fought it. She wasn’t four years old anymore.

  Focus. Doug needs help. Think about him, not yourself.

  How could she, when she was as trapped as he was? The urge to curl up into a shivering ball alarmed her. Blackness ringed her vision. She was spinning off into a nightmare she couldn’t make go away.

  A dream of being trapped underground had haunted her for years. Now she was living the fear. Reason threatened to desert her.

  No. She couldn’t give in. Doug’s life might depend on her ability to function. She had to keep a grip. What would Nate do?

  Slowly, the first-aid lessons she’d taken years ago started to come back to her. Doug was already lying on his back. When she checked, she could find no sign of broken bones. Had he fallen in or collapsed down here?

  Doesn’t matter. Make sure he can breathe.

  With two fingers she lifted his chin and pushed down on his forehead with her other hand. She couldn’t see his chest move, and when she placed her ear next to his mouth and nose, she felt no breath on her cheek.

  OhGodohGodohGod.

  “Emma!”

  Dazedly she looked up. Had she conjured Nate up out of fear and desperation? He couldn’t possibly be here. But he was, crouched at the edge of the hole above her head. Doug must have left the back door unlocked when he arrived, and been checking things out when he fell. None of that explained what Nate was doing here.

  “Nate, it’s Doug. He’s unconscious and not breathing.”

  He must have heard the panic in her voice. “It’s going to be all right. Did you see him collapse?”

  “No, but he moved slightly when I climbed down. His breathing must have only just stopped.”

  “Here’s what I want you to do.”

  “Can’t you help him?” Again, she cursed the childlike voice that had somehow replaced her own.

  “I can’t get down to you with only one hand. You can do this, sweetheart.”

  Wonderful, calm voice. Some of her panic ebbed. Sweetheart? Mustn’t think about that now. “We’re in good hands,” she said to the unconscious builder, then raised her voice. “What…what do I do?”

  “Keep Doug’s chin lifted and head tilted. Pinch his nose closed and cover his mouth with yours. Give him two slow, full breaths.”

  Her breaths gasped out, sounding loud to her own ears. “That’s good,” Nate said in the same steady tone. “Your breath is probably high in CO2. That’ll start his chemoreceptors working faster.”

  His tone suggested that was a positive thing. At his command, she gave two more breaths. “He’s still not breathing.”

  “Okay, peel back his eyelid and tell me what you see.”

  “His pupil…it’s contracted.”

  “Good, that’s good. Now find the sternum, the breastbone, right between the nipples. You need to be over the lower part of the sternum. You don’t want to bruise the liver or damage a rib.”

  OhGodohGod. “I’m there,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm.

  As Nate leaned down to check her position, his shadow darkened the space, making fear claw at her throat. Not now. There isn’t time. She made herself concentrate on Nate’s voice.

  “Perfect. Make a tightly clenched fist and thump as hard as you can on the sternum from about a hand span away, then pull your hand clear.”

  “I wish you were doing this.” With a quick prayer, she followed his orders and was stunned by the instant reaction. “He’s started breathing. I can’t believe it, he’s actually breathing.”

  Nate must have heard Doug cough. “We call that a precordial thump. Gets the heart going again six times out of ten.”

  The walls felt as if they were pressing in on her. Breathe. Breathe. Was she telling herself or Doug? “What next?”

  “I’ve called an ambulance. Keep an eye on Doug and tell me if he stops breathing again.”

  The contractor gave a low groan. “I think he’s coming around.”

  “That’s normal, too. He’ll be on his way to the hospital soon.”

  She relayed Nate’s comment. Doug nodded. He looked dazed and complained of being cold. “Better for your heart,” Nate said, picking up on the question.

  “Was…looking around…down here. F
elt…massive pain…” Doug lifted a shaky hand to indicate his heart. Hardly aware of what she was saying, she began to talk about his discovery of the cellar and what it might be used for. Anything to keep him calm.

  After what seemed like an age, Nate disappeared from sight. Panic assailed her again until she heard him talking to what must be the paramedics. The jargon was lost on her but it didn’t matter. A uniformed man was lowering a ladder and jumping into the space to take over Doug’s care. “You okay?” he asked as he passed her. “You’re very pale.”

  “I don’t like dark spaces. I’ll be fine.”

  As she started to climb, Nate reached out his good hand to her. “Can you manage the ladder?”

  “A lot easier than staying down here.” Nate’s grip felt strong as he helped her back into the light. When her legs threatened to give out, he hooked his arm around her. “You’re in the wrong profession.”

  When her shaken look met his, he added, “Don’t take that the wrong way. I simply meant you performed as well as any med student I’ve ever seen.”

  For a minute, she’d thought…had this encounter almost blinded her to the gulf between them? But…sweetheart? “I feel dizzy,” she said, putting a hand to her eyes.

  He steered her to a substantial steel toolbox she hadn’t noticed when she arrived. It must be Doug’s. Her legs folded and she sat, listening to the activity in the cellar. “Will Doug be all right?” she asked when she could trust her voice again.

  “In the hospital he’ll be checked for any arterial blockages, treated with blood thinners or beta blockers, whatever he needs. But yes, his prognosis is excellent, thanks to you.”

  He blurred in her gaze. “I just did what you told me.”

  “That precordial thump is only taught to medical professionals, not in first-aid courses,” he pointed out. “You performed like an expert.”

  “But I felt so helpless.”

  He went to cross his arms, remembered he couldn’t, and braced his left hand on his hip. “Now you know.”

  “Know what?” Realization flooded through her. “This is what it’s like for you, isn’t it? For my parents and my brother. Grace. All of you. Dealing with life and death on a daily basis.”