by Julie Cannon
Victoria was so surprised when Tate opened her door and motioned her to the passenger seat that she complied. She slid over, hesitantly grateful as Tate shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the space.
“Buckle your seat belt,” Tate commanded. “Where are you staying?”
“I was at the Hyatt. I’ve already checked out,” Victoria managed to say. Her flight was at nine that evening and she had planned to go straight from Braxton’s to the airport. She flopped her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overtake her.
“Victoria?” Tate’s strong voice echoed in her head. “Victoria?”
“What?” she finally answered.
“We’re here.” Tate had taken her briefcase out of the backseat where she had tossed it.
“Where are we?”
“My hotel. I don’t check out until tomorrow. Come on.” Tate took her arm.
“Tate, I’m fine.”
“Shut up” was all Tate said as she pulled her into the elevator. She pushed the number eight button and the glass-enclosed car shot upward so fast Victoria’s ears popped.
Tate’s jaw was clenched as she led Victoria down the plush hall, then stopped in front of the door bearing a polished brass plate that read 811. Tate slid her keycard into the slot and the electronic lock clicked once and the green light appeared. She opened the door and Victoria wished it were her room where she could step inside, crawl under the covers, and put this awful day behind her. But it was Tate’s room and she was impatiently waiting for her to enter.
Tate closed the solid door behind her and Victoria looked around. The suite had two chairs, a love seat, and a small coffee table near the window. A modest desk complete with an open laptop, printer, fax machine, and comfortable-looking chair was nestled in the corner. Through open French doors Victoria could see the edge of a bed covered in a deep red comforter.
“The bathroom is through there. You look like hell. I’m not letting you leave until I know you’re okay. Now go in the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face. It’ll probably make you feel better.”
Victoria did as she was told and pressed a wet washcloth to the back of her neck. She washed her face, brushed her teeth with her finger and Tate’s toothpaste, and combed her hair. Shakily she opened the door.
Tate was sitting in the chair by the desk looking worried and intense.
“I feel better. I really need to go. I have to catch my flight tonight.” Victoria had to leave, and in order to do that she had to convince Tate she was okay. “Really, I’m fine now. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”
“There are other flights and you’re not going anywhere.”
Victoria looked at Tate, feeling as if she had just asked her to strip and run around Wrigley Field. “Tate,” she said, as the room began to swim.
Tate caught Victoria before she fell to the floor.
*
The pounding in her head would not go away and Victoria felt as if she were in a thick fog trying to swim out. Her toes and fingers moved, but anything more strenuous made stars sparkle behind her eyes.
“Here, drink this,” a soft voice said. A hand behind her neck helped her raise her head. She was so weak she could barely swallow.
“Come on, drink a little more. You’re dehydrated and we’ve got to get some fluids in you. You’ll feel better when you do.”
The cool liquid soothed her parched throat, and she forced herself to take several more swallows.
“Okay, that’s enough for now. We don’t want it coming right back up.”
Victoria fell back against the soft pillows and slept before waking again, this time more coherent than the last. She blinked several times, trying to focus. She must be dreaming, she thought. Tate was sitting in a chair beside her reading a book that Victoria recognized as the same one she had on her night table at home. Where am I? What happened? Tate must have sensed her stirring because she lowered the book and smiled.
“Hey, there. How are you feeling?”
Tate laid her palm on her forehead and then cupped her cheek. She had a worried expression. Victoria tried to respond but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Here, drink this. Can you sit up a little?”
Victoria tried, and a pair of strong arms immediately steadied and supported her.
“Take it easy. You’ve been out quite a while.”
Tate stuffed a pillow behind her and sat on the side of the bed. She handed her the glass and Victoria was grateful for the straw. This time she was able to voice her questions.
“What happened?”
“You fainted. You had food poisoning. At least that’s what the doctor thinks.”
“Doctor?”
“Yeah, you were pretty sick. When you didn’t come to I called the front desk and they phoned a doctor. He said you should be okay in a day or two, once it’s all out of your system.”
Tate’s words hit her like a blow to her achy stomach. Oh, my God, I threw up in front of this woman.
Tate smiled and encouraged her to drink some more. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first woman I’ve helped to the bathroom. Or the shower,” she added when Victoria glanced down at her lack of clothing. “Sorry, I thought it was for the best. I was running out of T-shirts to put on you. I saved one for when you were through it all.”
Victoria dropped her face in her hands and moaned. God, that made her head hurt.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just your body’s way of getting all the bad stuff out.”
“Yeah, but you’re not me.”
“I have been,” Tate replied calmly.
“You’ve puked and probably released other bodily things that I don’t even want to think about in front of the CEO of the company you’re trying to beat out for a deal? Please share that experience with me so I won’t feel humiliated alone.”
“Okay, maybe not exactly this situation. But I have been sick before and I appreciated someone taking care of me.”
“You could have left me.” Victoria sipped more Gatorade.
“I could have, but even though you may think I’m a callous bitch, I couldn’t just leave you. You were really sick.”
“Your mother would be proud,” Victoria stated seriously. A cloud passed over Tate’s face before it disappeared again.
“Actually my mother would have dumped you right inside the door, taken your wallet, displayed the Do Not Disturb sign, and left. Good for you I read somewhere those aren’t the best manners.”
Victoria thought about what Tate had just said. Was it true or was she just making conversation?
“No, really, she would have, and she would have tried to sell me your BlackBerry.” Tate nodded, emphasizing her point.
Victoria’s head hurt too much to say anything other than “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Tate stood and walked to the phone. “Do you feel up to eating something?”
“Maybe. What time is it?” Victoria looked around the room.
Tate turned the clock on the nightstand around to see the time. “Seven thirty.”
“At night?” Victoria asked.
“Yep, like I said, you were pretty sick.”
Victoria started to push the covers away but stopped when she realized she was totally naked. She felt her face flush. “Where are my clothes? I have to go.” She surveyed the area for the clothes.
“Hanging in the closet but you’re not going anywhere. The doctor said you need to rest and rehydrate, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“I have to get to Brussels.” Victoria spoke with very little determination.
“Yeah, well, so do I. You missed your flight, thank goodness. Can you imagine what would have happened if this hit when you were halfway across the ocean?”
Victoria looked around the room. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t stay, and she certainly couldn’t stay naked in front of Tate. Before she had a chance to thi
nk of anything else to say, Tate interrupted her thoughts.
“I found your itinerary in your briefcase. I changed your reservation to tomorrow evening.”
My briefcase? What else did she see?
“I didn’t snoop, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I thought of calling your office, but today is Saturday so there’s really no point. Your BlackBerry is locked so I couldn’t call anyone else.” Tate started to reach for the device. “Is there someone you should call?”
Victoria thought of Carole, but just as quickly dispelled the idea. Even though they had dinner the night before she left for Chicago, they hadn’t really connected in several weeks, each tacitly admitting that nothing held them together.
“No, no one.”
Tate appeared surprised, and Victoria wondered what she was thinking. That she was a loser, an orphan, an antisocial workaholic? And why all of a sudden did it matter what she thought?
“Okay, I’ll call room service and have them send you some soup. It’ll keep until you’re ready. Do you feel up to a shower?”
Victoria did feel sticky and clammy, and she probably smelled awful. “I could probably use one.” She looked around for something to put on.
Tate held up a robe. “Here. Let me help you. You’re probably a little weak.”
She was more weak than embarrassed by her nakedness. If what Tate said was true, she had already seen much more of her body than she wanted her to.
“Thanks,” she replied, and slipped into the soft robe. Tate’s arm around her gave her the support she needed until she felt more stable.
“I’ll start the water and help you in. The maid left a shower seat you can sit on once you’re inside. It’ll give you some privacy.”
Victoria was touched by Tate’s kindness. She had never been this humiliated. How could she ever look Tate in the eye across the conference room table? She had wiped her face and probably her ass for the past twenty-four hours. How much worse could it get?
Victoria groaned from the relief the hot water provided as well as her embarrassment. She sat unmoving for several minutes, letting the streaming water slide over her aching body. Her stomach still had the cramps she vaguely remembered and her muscles were sore from heaving. Though her hands were steady when she reached for the shampoo, she had to gently massage her scalp so as not to inflame her headache.
“Everything okay in there?” Tate asked from the other side of the opaque curtain.
Victoria hoped she didn’t peek inside to check on her, then chuckled at her shyness. “So far so good.” Victoria could see Tate hesitate as if she were debating whether or not to believe her. “You were right, the water feels great.”
“Okay. Take your time but don’t overdo. Your soup should be here in a few minutes.”
Tate started to leave the bathroom but Victoria stopped her. “Tate?”
“Yes?”
Victoria felt safe behind the flimsy curtain, but it gave her courage. “Thanks.” She paused. “Thanks for everything.” Victoria could hear the smile in Tate’s voice when she replied.
“You’re welcome.”
Victoria didn’t want Tate to leave the room. She had been leaning against the counter while Victoria was under the water, and her presence gave Victoria a sense of comfort that if she needed her again, she would be there for her. Who was this woman? She certainly wasn’t what she had appeared to be up to this point. The snide comments, the cocky attitude, and the air of superiority had disappeared. In their place were kindness and consideration, and she was doing everything she could to help Victoria feel at ease.
Victoria shut off the water and Tate immediately handed her a towel.
“Thanks.” Victoria dried off and wrapped the thick towel around her.
“Be careful standing up. The water was hot and you might be light-headed.” Tate extended her hand to help Victoria out.
She was holding the robe Victoria had discarded earlier. Victoria slid her arms in and Tate reached around her to tie the sash in a knot. Victoria’s stomach jumped. For a moment she thought she would be sick again, then realized that Tate’s warm breath tickling her ear was the cause. Their eyes met in the mirror and Victoria saw something more than simple concern in Tate’s. It flared for a moment before Tate broke contact and stepped away.
“Okay?” Tate asked, not reestablishing eye contact.
“Yeah, I’ll just be a minute.”
“Help yourself to whatever you need.” Tate closed the door behind her.
*
“For God’s sake, Monroe, pull yourself together. The woman is sick, not to mention the fact that she could keep you from getting Clayton’s job,” Tate said under her breath as she paced around the room. “Stop remembering how soft her skin is or how firm her breasts are and how she looked lying in that bed.”
At the time she’d been too concerned over Victoria’s condition to pay any attention to the bare butt cheek that was exposed when the doctor gave her the shot. Tate’s experience of ministering to the sick was limited to her date puking after too much alcohol. It surprised her that she felt the need to take care of Victoria. She wasn’t any good when her friends were sick, even though she knew them.
“Did you say something?”
Victoria’s voice coming from behind her startled her. How much had she heard? “Just talking to myself. Your soup is here,” she added, changing the subject. She held the chair out for Victoria and sat beside her as she tasted the warm broth.
The spoon rattled in the empty bowl. The color had returned to Victoria’s face and her eyes weren’t as glazed as before. She carried on a conversation between bites, and Tate was finally starting to believe that she was on the mend. The way Victoria looked had frightened her, almost to the point of panic. Usually she would gladly let her foe fall ill and swoop in to capture the prize, but she didn’t feel that way with Victoria and didn’t want to see her hurting. As Tate watched her, an unfamiliar warmth pulsed in her chest. Could this be nurturing, the desire to look after her, protect her from harm? If so, she had no idea why she felt this way. Victoria was the woman who stood between her and what she had dreamed of her entire life.
An only child, Tate grew up in the shadow of a worthless father and an uncaring mother, both of whom habitually told her she would never amount to anything. They said she was only good for having babies and that she needed to find a husband to take care of her before she got herself knocked up and saddled with a child like her mother had been. Her father often left his family to face the shame and embarrassment of his broken promises. She wouldn’t let Victoria down when she needed her.
Her head hurt from thinking about her uncharacteristic behavior and the stress of the day, and she was tired. Victoria needed her rest as well. “You need to go back to bed. Don’t argue,” Tate said, when Victoria started to speak. “You’re in no position to go anywhere other than right there.” Tate pointed to the king-size bed.
“Where do you intend to sleep?”
“Same place.” Tate nonchalantly pointed to the bed. Victoria’s expression was an amalgamation of shock, fear, and fatigue. “I nursed you for two days. You don’t expect me to sleep on the couch, do you?” Her tone was teasing but there was no real humor behind it.
“Since you put it that way. You have seen more of me and been more intimate with me than any woman I’ve been with in months, so there’s no point in arguing. Change your clothes and let’s get some sleep. You look like hell too.” Victoria slid between the sheets, effectively ending the conversation.
Tate finished up in the bathroom and strode nervously into the bedroom. Victoria was nestled under the covers, the light on the nightstand casting a soft glow over the room. Any other time, if she had a woman in this position, she would have been on her without thinking twice. But this was Victoria in her bed, and she stopped when she reminded herself of that fact.
She wanted Victoria—wanted to explore her body in a non-medical way. She wanted to car
ess, not soothe. Have her sweat from desire, not fever, the whimpering sounds coming from her beautiful lips the result of pleasure, not pain. Tate had never wanted another woman like she wanted Victoria. Her power and grace were intoxicating, and Tate was almost overcome.
“What is it?” Victoria asked.
“Nothing.” Tate continued to the bed. Pulling back the covers, she climbed onto the side opposite Victoria. “Everything okay?”
“Good for me. You?”
“I’m good. I left a light on in the front room in case you need to get some water or something from the minibar. Anything else you need, just ask. Mi casa, a su casa,” she said in very poor Spanish, trying to assure Victoria that her “house” was Victoria’s “house” as well.
Tate wanted to kiss Victoria but restrained herself. One kiss wouldn’t be enough. She could probably persuade Victoria to make love, but she didn’t want to have to convince her. She needed Victoria to want it as much as she did. Tate felt like a cad. The woman was still recovering from a serious illness and she was fantasizing about having sex with her.
Chapter Eleven
Victoria gathered her coat and scarf, made sure she had her room key, and closed the door behind her, too restless to stay in her room. She stopped at the concierge desk and asked for a local street map. She had never been to Brussels but knew that the city, like all cities in Europe, was filled with famous architecture, hundreds of shops to wander through, dozens of restaurants, and thousands of years of history. She had all day to explore, which would hopefully take her mind off Tate Monroe. They had flown here together, her seat next to Tate’s in first class. Tate had insisted she sit next to her so she could keep an eye on her. Victoria had to admit she did feel more comfortable with Tate close by if she were to have a relapse.
She studied the map in the busy hotel lobby. It was only ten in the morning but guests were in various stages of checking out, waiting for taxis to take them to a meeting or, like her, holding a map, planning their day.
Victoria had checked in last night, and when she climbed between the cool, crisp sheets she had not slept well. Jet lag and the unfamiliarity of the hotel room caused some of her restlessness, but mostly she missed the warmth of Tate’s body next to her. She had wakened several times during the night they shared a bed to find Tate curled behind her, an arm wrapped protectively around her. The soft, rhythmic breathing quickly lulled her back to sleep.
