Yeah, that had to be it. The wine. Because there was no way he’d let a sexy, exciting and wonderful woman like Mary Harris get hooked up with him.
She deserved far more than a guy stuck in a chair.
CHAPTER SIX
TWO DAYS LATER, Mary and Wesley worked side by side on the high parallel bars. He used the strength of his arms to move forward, and had just made it along the bar.
“Can you turn and go back?” Mary asked, dropping off the bars to watch. “I’ll spot you.”
Obviously unsure of this bright idea of hers, he passed her a warning look. “Like hell you will. If I let go and fall, I’ll be dead weight and bring you down with me.”
“You won’t let go.”
“And you know this how?”
“I know you, Wes. You’ve got this. You’re the strongest guy I know.” And the best looking and the smartest and the sexiest. Her encouragement must have given him the last bit of confidence he needed because he pressed upward in stiff arm gymnastics style, swung and switched hands to face in the opposite direction, then walked his hands back to the other side. When he got to the end he dropped to his armpits on the bars and let out a yelp.
“What’s wrong?”
“Cramp. Got a cramp.”
She rushed to his aid, and with her helping him balanced against her she eased him to the mat. He grimaced and grabbed his shoulder near his neck. She massaged the area, feeling the golfball-sized knot. It didn’t let up.
“Lie down. Wait right here.” She rushed to the pile of gym towels, ran one under water in the kitchenette in the corner of the gym, wrung it out and popped it into the microwave for a quick heat up. Once done she whirled it round and round to cool it off a bit, then placed it on Wesley’s shoulders. “Still tight?”
He clenched his teeth and continued to rub the area. “Yes.”
At the top of his head, she leaned over him and again massaged his neck and shoulder muscles with a deep and intentional touch, finding the unchanged knot, as tight as before. He groaned, but in a good way, so she continued until she felt the muscle on the right side loosen and finally let go. But she didn’t stop. She made fists and rolled her knuckles round and round on his trapezius muscles to keep the spasm from returning, then switched back to the deep massage. Finally, she slid her flattened hands beneath his upper back and pushed in and out, locating a nerve bundle on each side below his scapula and pressing her fingers upward. He moaned, sounding in ecstasy. She pressed and released several times until she felt him relax completely.
“I let you down, Harris.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“When I was up there, I pretended my legs still worked, and I got a little cocky trying to swing myself like a real gymnast. That dead weight put a quick stop to that fantasy.” He rubbed his forehead. “Never realized how strong those gymnast guys are.”
“Could have fooled me. You were the master of those bars from where I stood.”
He made a pained laugh. “Yeah. I won all right.”
She sat back on her heels, let her hands slip from his shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, then reached up and grasped a wrist, pulling her forward until her face was above his. She continued to gently massage both shoulders for several more silent moments.
“Come and lie down with me.”
The invitation was too deliciously inviting to resist. She scooted beside him and curled toward his torso, and now that his cramp was gone he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. Oh, how wonderful it felt to be skin to skin, finally getting to explore all of his hard work with the touch of her fingertips. “You looked incredibly sexy up there.”
“Yeah? How do you like me now?”
They laughed gently together and seeing him devoid of his usual defenses—vulnerable and open—turned out to be the most powerful aphrodisiac she’d ever experienced. Off and on she’d gotten peeks at this part of the formerly borderline arrogant and commanding man, and she definitely liked this side of his personality best.
A wicked thought popped into her mind. What she’d give to straddle him, then watch him contort from the feel of her, this time in a pleasurable way, not in pain.
Her thoughts worked like a bellows on the fire that always seemed to simmer between them. Surely he felt it too? She rose up and planted a full-on kiss on his welcoming mouth. He pulled her down on top of him, she stretched like a cat and deepened the kiss, showing him what she wished they could do with their bodies.
“This is highly unprofessional,” she said over his lips after a particularly mind-boggling make-out session.
“You don’t work for me,” he said quickly, pulling her mouth back on target.
After that she stopped thinking and went with the feeling whirling inside her, heating her, making her super sensitive to his every touch. Minutes and more minutes slipped by as they kissed and she squirmed over him. He scouted her tightened breasts with his fingertips, soon taking them into his hands. She fought the urge to throw off her gym top, but something held her back. She really shouldn’t be doing this, yet she could kiss him all day. She grew damp between her legs, and he must have sensed they were nearing a point of no return.
He broke off the heated kiss, the fire in his darkened eyes turning to anger. “What’s the point of getting all worked up when I can’t—?”
Damn, she’d crossed the line with him. “What we were doing felt great. What’s wrong with that?”
He thinned his lips, shutting down right before her eyes. “I’ve worked enough today. Shoulder’s still acting up. I’m ready for a break.”
The snub stung deep, making all the wonderful sensations she’d just enjoyed disappear. “Okay.” She rolled off him, grateful she hadn’t shed her top when she’d wanted to, thinking how exposed she would have felt sitting half-naked in front of him. He didn’t want her. That was clear. “Let me help you into your chair.”
“I can do it myself.” He sounded defensive, or tired of her not getting the point he was independent. He didn’t need her help. Every barrier they’d broken down quickly got put back in place.
She rolled his chair to him so he could do his thing and put himself in it from the floor. The stunt always amazed her, especially how easy he made it look. “So that’s it for today, then?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t make eye contact. “See you tomorrow.”
And he left.
At a loss for what to say or do, and especially how to feel, she stood there and watched him roll away. She needed to get out of that gym where just moments ago she had nearly been in heaven, kissing and loving the man she wanted with all her might to help. The man who’d have nothing to do with her beyond his comfort zone. He liked to call her the dominatrix, but he was the one in complete control. Over the past couple of weeks they’d ventured into showing their affection for each other with kisses. Each session got more daring than the next. Today they’d taken a huge leap forward—she’d straddled him!—and now several steps back. She’d pushed her desire too far. He obviously wasn’t ready for the next step.
Her stomach twisted and her hands fisted and opened several times while she stared at the closed door. She needed to get out of here now. It was time to pay the beach a visit. Maybe fighting with waves would help get her mind off Wesley, the guy who turned her on but wanted nothing to do with her.
What a mess.
*
Wes had showered and now dried himself, remembering the feel of Mary’s hands on his shoulders, massaging him, easing his tension. Then she’d taken his mouth and driven him mad with her insistence. He’d fought every thought, and the desire to have her, but had given in. She’d felt incredible, and her breasts had nearly done him in. She’d made him forget how he’d changed, and all he’d felt had been desire. With everything he had, he’d wanted to take her, to be inside her. Then he’d remembered who he was now, how he had no idea how to take a woman, and their sexy moment had vaporized.
Any woman would get
tired of that unfulfilled promise soon enough. She’d deny it until the day she died, too, because that was the way Mary Harris was. No way would he tie her—or her free spirit—down.
From the bathroom window he glanced out at the ocean. There she was, jogging toward the waves in a tiny bikini, her slender, toned legs displaying the muscles from all her hard work. With nothing but a towel across his lap, he rolled into his bedroom for a better view. She dove into the water, swimming past the first few waves, then, like the female warrior she was, fiercely swam to catch the next, successfully catching and riding it nearly to the sand.
Had she been as tied up in knots as he’d been when they’d wrapped their bodies together? He watched her stand up on the beach, turn and watch the waves, kick some sand, then head back in. He couldn’t help but notice how her swimsuit had tucked itself into her high and tight rear end. His hands had felt that fine curve the day they’d played their racy little game of quarter roll. Damn, she looked sexy. An odd flickering feeling circled low in his abdomen.
Enjoying the distant sensation somewhere below his belly—his groin?—he watched her swim out and take another wave, body surfing, getting lifted and dumped onto the sand. She laughed, standing covered in caked-on sand, wiping some away from her chest, skimming the tops of her breasts above that string called a top. The breasts he’d finally felt and longed to taste earlier. Unfazed by getting beat up by the water, she swam out again. It made him smile. After a few false starts she caught another swell that lifted her and carried her as she perfected her swimming strokes, all the way to shore until she stood and walked the rest of the way in. That was the woman he’d known since she was a teenager, she never gave up. Obviously satisfied with her accomplishment, she rolled out her towel and plopped on top.
Damn if he didn’t want her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. Beneath the towel he felt himself, surprised by what he found—a full erection.
He’d never admitted to anyone the real reason he’d broken his engagement with Giselle. Aside from her having a sexy name, she wasn’t the woman he’d hoped she’d be in bed. Once a week had never been enough for his voracious appetite, yet their schedules had dictated every facet of their lives. She’d seemed satisfied. He hadn’t been in the least.
He’d gone to his sister’s wedding and had had his overpriced socks knocked off, making out with Mary. Half-tipsy or not, they’d known what they were doing, and she’d turned him on like Giselle never had. How could he marry her after that?
Taking one last glance at Mary on her beach towel, Wes longed to be there beside her.
He rolled into his bedroom and opened his laptop, typing into the browser and searching. A list of websites came up. One in particular held his interest, and within minutes he placed an order for some things that would accommodate positions for sex and also enhance natural movements during intercourse for a paraplegic. A gliding chair and an extra bouncy cot. Who knew two such practical-looking items could turn a guy on? But they did. He was on fire. Not that he needed any help at the moment, with Mary’s bikini-clad image burning behind his eyes.
Still revved up, he explored the plethora of information out there on the web about paraplegics and sex, and spent the rest of the afternoon engrossed and admittedly titillated by the provocative reading.
*
The next morning, Mary wasn’t sure what she’d find when she showed up at Wes’s gym. Drawing on extra courage, she popped her head out the door to the hallway. “Wes! Are you there?” Nothing.
She ventured down the hall toward his room. “Wes?” It was a long hallway, huge like the rest of the house, so she kept walking, worry creeping its way under her skin. What if he’d gotten sick last night, or had injured himself? Surely he had emergency pull cords in strategic areas? Or maybe he’d just had it with her? Her nerves twisted at the thought.
“Wes?” Though her pace slowed, she continued cautiously onward, worry working its way through every cell. She thought she heard conversation coming from his room, so she stopped and listened harder. Not conversation. The television. She stepped up and knocked on his bedroom door. “Wes? Are you in there?”
“I’m busy,” he called out.
“You’re not sick or injured?”
“No.”
The conversation on the television seemed to have stopped. She listened harder. Heavy breathing and moans had taken its place. What the hell? Was someone in there with him?
Antonio! Antonio! Oh, ah, ah, ah.
Okay, wait minute. What was going on in there? A big fat wave of adrenaline coupled with jealousy washed over her as she knocked and pushed her way through the door. She had no clue what she’d find, but she needed to see.
Obvious sounds of a couple going at it emitted from the laptop he watched from his bed. He wasn’t sick or injured, there was that, so her nerves settled the tiniest bit. But he hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, and he was obviously watching… “Porn? You’re watching porn at this hour?”
His eyes never left the screen. “Didn’t realize there was a designated viewing time.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Look at this. Come look at the size of…”
“What are you doing, Wes?”
Finally, he broke away from the computer and cast her a defiant gaze. “You mean, what am I not doing, as in not going to work out.”
“Why not?”
“I’m taking the day off. Even you said I should do that once in a while.” The woman’s squeals of ecstasy made it impossible to follow his conversation. “Join me?”
He’d staged quite a dramatic way to tell her he’d had enough of their “friendship-workout partnership”, especially after yesterday when she’d tried to seduce him. Could she blame him? She certainly had some making up to do.
Against her better judgment, she took the last few steps toward his bed. “Holy Long John Silver, Batman, that is big!”
He slanted a sideways glance her way, the corner of his mouth twitching just the tiniest bit. Good, she’d gotten through to him. She wasn’t the enemy. She really was here to help him step back into the life he’d left behind. Why couldn’t she get that through his head?
Seriously, the guy was one thing, but how did a woman ever lie on her stomach with an enhanced chest like that?
“You did tell me I could still have sex.”
“No one can have sex like that! That’s impossible. Geez, I think that position has been computer generated or enhanced, or whatever it is they do these days.”
He laughed outright. “I used to do that all the time.”
It was her turn to laugh as she shifted toward him with a huge questioning gaze, and thank God it lightened the tense, for oh-so-many reasons moment. “You did?” She tried to mix deadpan with a hint of interest.
He cracked a genuine smile. “Maybe not exactly like that.” Yay, she’d won! What, exactly, she didn’t know, but he didn’t feel nearly as belligerent as when she’d first walked in. Progress. “I’m just saying you did promise me.”
“Absolutely, but within reason.”
“Oh, so now you’re backtracking.”
“No. No, I’m not. You can have sex.”
With those piercing coffee-tinted eyes he stared at her then shut down and closed the computer, all the while watching her. Once the soundtrack had gone quiet he reached for her wrist, lightly grasping her flesh. “Show me.”
Do not chicken out now. It was the second time he’d asked her to prove to him he could have sex. Gratifying sex. His dare had everything to do with a plea for help, and it was her one opportunity to help him cross that huge barrier keeping him from feeling part of the living. Or, more specifically, a complete man. Getting back to work would only solve half of the problem. This, the most personal of all issues, could possibly be more intimidating than performing neurosurgery again. She needed to tread lightly, and make sure she got right her one shot at proving him wrong.
She needed to buy herself time to gather he
r thoughts. “I don’t intend to prove a damn thing with you lying in bed in your pajamas. Once you’ve showered and dressed, meet me in the gym.” And off she trotted as though she knew exactly how to handle this most unusual request.
At the door, she turned to find Wes was the one with a dumbfounded gaze. Good. It gave her an idea. “While you’re getting ready, I want you to think about one important thing. Don’t ever forget the brain is by far the biggest sex organ.” She walked out the door. “Even bigger than those things on that woman’s chest.”
She hoped she’d left him smiling instead of scowling.
Twenty minutes later, Wes rolled into the gym where she’d done some quick research on top of her searches in the past and set up her own laptop.
He looked determined, with his computer on his lap. Good, he was here to do some serious work on a very serious issue. It gave her courage to bring up the new techniques she’d learned about from talking to her former patient, Sean, the other day. Fortunately Sean was a guy who had zero inhibitions about his personal life. After their long conversation, she felt well schooled on the subject of paraplegic sex.
“I’m ready if you are,” he said.
“You certainly look better.” And once he was closer she kept her next thought to herself—You smell great, too.
He smiled easily, and reached out to touch her hip, an intimate gesture that helped her realize they were both adults and she liked it when he touched her as much as she hoped he liked her to do so. Her free arm dropped around his shoulders. Hey, if they were about to get down and dirty, theoretically speaking, they may as well be comfortable with each other.
He opened his laptop and clicked, then turned it her way. “Read this.”
She opened the blog titled “Confessions of a Paraplegic’s Girlfriend”, and found the author had written in detail about the various ways she and her boyfriend pleased each other. She read silently, with obvious interest, how oral sex for both partners was a great start, how her partner was able to have an erection watching her give him oral sex, and how she was able to keep him firm with her hand and then mount him and bring herself to orgasm. How her pleasure turned her boyfriend on to the point of experiencing fluttering in his lower abdomen as she orgasmed and he swore he could feel her tightening around him, and how eventually her undivided attention to him brought about ejaculation.
Miracle for the Neurosurgeon Page 10
