I laughed at her humor. “I’ll try and resist.” Then I frowned. “Wait, what room was I in?”
Her grin widened and I knew who had driven her crazy. I grinned back, liking her teasing.
“Okay. My car is right there.” She pointed to a gray Honda parked at the curb. “Do you need help?”
“I can manage.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and pushed off the wall carefully. I didn’t want to embarrass myself any more than I already had by falling.
Slowly, I followed her, watching her hips sway as she walked.
She was a pretty girl to look at, but the view was damn awesome from the back, as well.
—
Ally faltered when we arrived at my building. Conversation had been limited in the car, aside from directions. I had slumped down, closing my eyes and fighting the pain as she drove. Her car smelled like her and I breathed in the scent, holding the air in my lungs, filling myself up with her essence. Now I could see she was torn, unsure of the next step.
I turned to her with an apologetic grin. “Can I ask another favor?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I’m starving.” I indicated a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant across the street. “That’s Alvin’s. They make the best breakfast sandwich in town. Would you come have breakfast with me?” When she hesitated, I said the one thing I already knew she couldn’t resist. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out how much of a caregiver this woman was, and I took advantage of her giving nature. “I don’t think I can get there and back on my own.”
She unclipped her seat belt. “Of course. I could use something to eat, too.”
She slipped an arm around my waist, and we walked across the street slowly. I hated feeling weak, but I liked how it felt having her close. It was early, so Alvin wasn’t busy yet and we grabbed a table at the back. I leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I recommend the sandwich, but I would stay clear of the coffee. You may be awake for days.”
“Good to know.”
She only ordered toast, nibbling on it while I devoured two thick bacon sandwiches and some hash browns. She lifted one eyebrow at my full plate. “It’s feed a cold, not a concussion.”
God, she was cute. And funny. I arched my eyebrow at her. “Bacon fixes everything. It’s a fact.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to consult some other medical professionals. I don’t think that’s a well-known fact around the hospital.”
I smiled, taking another large bite. After her playful remarks, we were mostly silent, but I found the quiet soothing. I didn’t feel the need to fill in the silence with inane chatter, and Ally didn’t seem to be the type to need it, either. It was a trait I found refreshing, and I enjoyed her peaceful companionship. Especially given the fact my brain felt sluggish.
After I paid the bill, we went back across the street to the door of my building. There was an awkward moment when she stopped, and I saw she was unsure of what to do.
“If you could just help me upstairs, I’d appreciate it.” I wanted to spend more time with her and talk. Not as caregiver and patient, but two people getting to know each other.
Once inside, she took in the expansive space I lived in. I looked around, knowing what she was seeing, and for the first time, I wished the space was different.
The loft was large and open; it was also utterly bleak. In one corner was my bed. The huge, plush mattress set was comfortable enough, but I had never bothered buying a bed frame, so it just sat on the floor, the sheets rumpled and messy. A makeshift cupboard was shoved against the wall, the door open, a towel draped over it, hardly any clothes inside. On the floor was my sizable duffle bag I used when traveling, which also served as a dresser for me.
A single chair sat in the middle of the room, an ottoman in front with a small table and lamp beside it.
The kitchen ran against the far wall, a tall polished cement counter separating the areas. There was one hard wooden stool tucked under the edge.
The opposite corner was my work area. A huge glass-topped desk with a variety of computer monitors sat along one wall. Large steel shelves held my equipment, and a fireproof safe kept my work protected. There was a tall display case that exhibited a few items and my older cameras—ones that held sentimental value to me. They had belonged to my mother, and were some of the few things I had that meant something to me.
The entire space was stark and empty. There was nothing personal in the loft—no pictures or knickknacks anywhere. There was a flat-screen TV, and an iPod dock for music—the one thing I was passionate about besides photography. The walls were either rough brick or plain concrete, the ceiling open with exposed beams and lots of light coming in from the skylights and the huge windows that graced two of the walls. It was a place to sleep, to work, and be alone. It never bothered me, but now I wished it was different.
She was quiet as we walked over to the lone chair and she gently nudged me down into the seat. “Did they give you some painkillers?”
“No. I told them I didn’t need any.”
“Of course you did,” she sarcastically replied.
“But I do have some in the cabinet, from my last, ah, accident. I didn’t use many, so I’ll use them if needed.”
She stood over me with a sigh of frustration. “Adam, using painkillers is not a sign of weakness. By staying ahead of your pain, it helps you to heal faster. Stop being so stubborn.”
She was rather sexy with her hand on her hip as she lectured me. I gave in, since her words did make sense.
“Okay.”
“I’ll get them.”
I pointed to the door. “They’re in the bathroom.”
She disappeared and I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. At least that room was decent. I had a large walk-in shower, and all new tiling and fixtures. The bathroom and the kitchen had been done after I moved in. The rest of the space had never mattered—at least until this moment.
“Here.”
She held out two pills and a glass of water. I swallowed them, watching her walk to the kitchen, opening the cupboards and the fridge, pulling a few things out.
“Hey—what are you doing?”
“Making sure you have a sandwich for later before I go.”
“You don’t—”
She interrupted me. “I am, so be quiet. Your head is going to be sore the rest of the day. You need to rest, and you’ll need something to eat later.”
I settled my head back on the chair. “You’re really bossy, Ally—has anyone ever told you that?”
She laughed as she bustled around. “You’re one to talk, mister.”
I listened to the sounds of her moving around the kitchen. It seemed odd to have another person in my space—I liked my privacy, and with all my traveling, I wasn’t around much to have company.
I was grateful I had been to the store and gotten some food in the place for a change. Usually I ate a lot of takeout. The sounds coming from my rarely used kitchen made me grin and I relaxed, letting the pills do their work. I drifted a little, my contentment lingering at the sound of her quiet humming as she puttered.
A touch to my face startled me, and I realized I had dozed off. My Nightingale, as I thought of her, was sitting on the ottoman, smiling.
“You need to get to bed, and rest,” she instructed affectionately. “I left a plate of sandwiches in the refrigerator for later.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and stood. “You said you wanted a shower. Why don’t you do that before I go home? I’ll wait and make sure you’re okay. I’ll tape some plastic to cover your dressing so it doesn’t get wet.”
I didn’t want her to go—I wanted some more time with her, but she looked weary after her long shift, and I knew she had to leave. I shuffled over to my cupboard, pulling out fresh clothes and disappearing into the bathroom.
I enjoyed the heat of the shower, and felt better after having washed off the antiseptic smell. After dressing, I walked into the main room, noticing t
hat my bed was straightened up, the covers pulled back, pillows fluffed and waiting for me. Ally was waiting, and I was so tired I didn’t argue, slipping between the sheets to my usual spot in the middle of the bed and sighing in relief at the ice pack she wrapped around my aching shoulder.
“You have a few of these,” she observed with a touch of humor, perching on the edge of the bed.
“I’m getting old. Holding a camera makes my arms ache sometimes.”
“Thirty-three is hardly old.”
I snorted. “Invasion of privacy again? Tsk-tsk. Only fair I get to know how old you are.”
“Twenty-five.”
I knew she was younger, although it was more due to appearance than to actions. Eight years younger than me didn’t seem like such a vast difference.
She ran her fingers through my hair. I had to stifle a groan. Like most men, I loved having my hair stroked.
“How’s the head?”
“Okay.” I reached out, touching her hand, wishing I could find an excuse to get her to stay. “How can I thank you?”
“No thanks are needed.”
“Dinner,” I said. “Please have dinner with me.”
She bit her lip, worrying the plump flesh as she hesitated. I knew it was fast, but I wanted to see her again.
“Please, Ally. It would mean a lot to me.” I grimaced as I tried to lift my head.
“Okay. But first you need to stay still and give yourself a chance to recover. You need to sleep.”
“I need your number,” I mumbled, trying to fight off the drowsiness pressing down on me.
“I’ll leave it,” she promised.
The mattress shifted as I rolled closer to her and entwined our fingers. “Just a few minutes. Stay for a few minutes.”
Something warm, light, and soft touched my head. “I’m right here, Adam.”
With those comforting words, I let the darkness claim me.
Chapter 3
Hours later I woke, the dull ache in my head persistent, although my eyes felt better. I stood slowly, feeling the pain from the fall in my shoulder and torso. I shuffled to the kitchen and grabbed the coffeepot. I was going to need caffeine today. Lots of it. On the counter was a slip of pink paper with a phone number and the letter A on it. Ally had left me her number, and I planned on using it later. I had to admit part of me wished she had been there when I woke up, but logically, I knew why she wasn’t. Still, I was surprised at the lingering thoughts.
I grabbed another shower, frowning at the sight of my face in the mirror. The bruises were dark and nasty looking. I popped some more painkillers, then I glanced at the clock, knowing I shouldn’t bother her until late afternoon since she had worked all evening. That gave me lots of time to work on the photographs I took from last night. I filled a mug and sat down at my desk.
I studied the laptop screen, flipping through the images. Sean was going to be pleased. The pictures were sharp, clear, and exactly what he had wanted. I rubbed my aching temples. He’d better like them. A night in the hospital had been a high price to pay for these pictures. Except, I couldn’t find it in me to be too upset. I had met Ally, and with any luck, I would see her again soon. I paused as the images I snapped of her came onto the screen. Not my best work, but I had been right. The camera loved her. The images showed how expressive her eyes were—in the few frames I had taken, she was irritated, amused, and frustrated.
And beautiful. She was so beautiful. My body tightened as I studied the image of her on my screen.
I looked forward to taking many more pictures of her. Getting to know her better. I wanted to know if the pull I felt with her was real, or simply a result of feeling vulnerable after my fall. I had never reacted to another person the way I did to her. I was certain she felt it, as well, and the only way to tell was to spend more time with her.
I waited until four o’clock to call. It took her a while to answer, and I was about to hang up when I heard a breathless, “Hello?”
“Ally, it’s Adam.”
“Oh—hi! How’s the head?”
“Pretty good.”
“Are you taking the meds?”
“Yes. You were right. I need them more than I thought.”
“Did you just say I was right?”
“Don’t push it, woman.”
She laughed lightly. “Did you eat your sandwiches?”
“Yes.”
“Did you rest—you didn’t overdo it today, did you?”
I chuckled at her tone. She was all nurse—in charge and bossy again.
“Yes, my Nightingale. I rested. I did some work, but not much.”
“Why do I have the feeling not much to you would be overdoing it to me?”
“No idea,” I stated dryly. “But I promise, I followed orders.”
“Okay,” came her skeptical reply.
“I think I deserve a reward for being such a model patient.”
“And this reward would be?”
“You having dinner with me. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“No.”
I frowned at her quick reply. Was she shutting me down? “No? Why not?”
“You shouldn’t be driving. If you’d listened to the instructions at the hospital when you checked yourself out, you’d know that.”
She was too fucking smart.
“Then we can meet. I’ll take a cab.”
“Six o’clock.”
“Why so early?”
“Because you need to rest. We can have dinner, and you can be home early.”
I agreed fast because it meant I got some time with her, and she was right. My head was still fuzzy. “Fine. How about Opa? Have you been there?”
“Yes, I love Mediterranean food.”
I glanced at my watch. “I’ll see you there in two hours.”
I arrived a few minutes early and waited in front of the restaurant, enjoying the cool air. When she rounded the corner, my breath caught in my throat. Dressed in leggings with a deep green sweater, and her hair long and loose, she was a vision. Our eyes met and locked as she approached. I held out my hand, smiling as she reached hers out to clasp it. I could see in her expression and the light in her eyes, she felt this, too.
Bending, I brushed my mouth along her cheek. “Hey, Ally.”
“Hi, Adam.” Her smile was amazing and made me feel better than I had all day.
“You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Her hand fluttered up, ghosting over my head. “Are you doing okay?”
“Well, I won’t be balancing on any more ledges anytime soon.”
“Good. That’s just asking for trouble.”
I chuckled, opening the door for her. She had no idea.
We settled at our table. We both ordered club soda with lime and looked over the menu. I kept glancing up, studying her as she perused the list. She met my frank gaze with a wry grin.
“You’re staring.”
I lifted one shoulder. “I can’t help it. You’re gorgeous. That green suits you so well.”
“Good thing you don’t have a camera with you.”
I aimed my phone at her and captured her exasperated expression. She was breathtaking.
“I am never without some way to take a picture.” I winked.
She tried to look annoyed but failed, the dimples in her face giving her away. “I’ll remember that.”
We ordered a platter to share, and I sat back. “You still look tired, and you’re not the patient.”
“It was a busy day.”
“I assumed you’d sleep since you worked all night?”
“I had a short nap. I had a luncheon to attend with my mother today, planning a charitable event. She does a lot of philanthropy and gets me to do most of the legwork.”
“I see. Do you attend a lot of those?”
“Yes. Far too many.”
From her tone, I gathered she didn’t want to discuss it, so I changed the subject. “What do you do when you’re not nursing people back
to health?”
She sipped her soda. “I like to read, and I go to a lot of movies.”
“On your own?” I asked, even though I knew it was none of my business.
“Usually, yes. Sometimes with a friend.”
I resisted asking if that friend was female.
“Ah. And any other interests?”
“I do some volunteer work, go to yoga, that sort of thing.” She shrugged. “I like to cook and bake, and I take things into work to share. I’m a bit of an introvert.”
“I can relate to that.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Does that surprise you?”
She pursed her lips. “It does, actually. You seem too energetic to sit at home much.”
I found that an interesting choice of words. I certainly felt energetic around her. “Energetic?”
“You’re larger than life.”
“Does that scare you?” I asked, curious.
“No, I find you fascinating.”
“I feel the same way about you.”
Our eyes locked, unspoken words passing between us. Our connection was palpable. It bubbled and swirled in the air around us.
I picked up my glass. “I’m often away, so when I’m here, I like to spend my time at home.” I ran my fingers over my head. “I’m grounded for the next while, though.” Sean had been adamant when I spoke with him earlier. He was taking me off rotation for a week.
“You should be. Concussions are serious—people tend to brush them off, and it’s not a good idea.”
“The nurse in you is never far away, is it?”
She grinned, her dimples deepening. “Nope. Just like the photographer in you.”
I tilted my head. “Quite a pair we are. So alike in so many ways.”
The food arrived, and she ducked her head, picking up her napkin. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I think you’re right.”
I draped my napkin over my lap. “I know I am.”
As we ate, I asked her more about her life. She was reluctant to talk about herself, but I did find out more about her work.
“Do you like working the night shift?”
“It’s the hardest to fill, and I don’t mind. It’s not forever. Like I said, I live a quiet life so it works for me.”
My Image of You Page 3
