"You don't need me to answer that," Joe said gently. "You're the one who told me if nobody cares, nothing gets done and nothing ever gets better."
"And you said you didn't believe that."
"Maybe I didn't. Maybe I forgot." He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his hand brushing her shoulder. His fingers touched the ends of her hair. "Maybe I needed you to remind me."
"Damn it, Reilly." Her tears spilled over in defeat. "What do you want me to do?"
"You don't have to do anything on your own," he said. "Tell me who you think it is, and we'll figure it out from there."
You don't have to do anything on your own? Who was he kidding? Everything she'd ever accomplished in her life she'd done on her own.
Yeah, and look where that had gotten her.
She had a choice, she had a chance here, to do something differently.
If she trusted him.
She took a deep breath and, staring at the coffee table, said, "I'm afraid it's Melody."
He didn't say anything. Talk about your anticlimax.
Nell tried again. "Melody King? Our office manager. She—"
"I know who Melody is. I don't think she did it."
O-kay.
"The thing is, she knows where the pads are. And the patient lists. I know what you're going to say," Nell added, because she didn't, really, and he was sitting so strangely still. "Any staffer at the clinic could find or make an opportunity to steal a prescription pad. But Melody is the only one who has a drug habit. Had a drug habit."
"Do you have any reason to think she's using again?"
"I don't have any proof. But I can't prove she isn't using, either. It's not like she reports to me every time she goes to an AA meeting."
Joe turned his head and looked at her, and her heart lurched a little, because his mouth was so grim and his jaw was so tight. Without even knowing what was wrong, she ached for him.
"She goes to her meetings," he said.
Nell closed her mouth and tried to breathe normally. "How would you know?" she whispered.
"Because I've seen her there." His voice was flat. Detached. His eyes were miserable. "I'm an alcoholic, Nell. A narcotics addict. Just like your ex-husband."
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Nell stared at him, stunned, like the victim of a bar fight. Like he'd just cracked a bottle over her head.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Joe felt lousy. He deserved to feel lousy. He'd known he would feel lousy, and he'd opened his big mouth anyway.
"Melody's a good kid," he said. "I think you should trust her."
"Even if it means saying something you know will make me distrust you?"
He winced. Well, what did he expect? Oh, darling, I love you so much, I don't care what you've done? Fat chance.
He was a victim of his writer's imagination. He was concocting castles in the air, never-gonna-happen scenarios of Nell on his couch, in his bed, in his life…
She was still watching him, still waiting for his reply.
He grunted. "Yeah."
"So you would rather I blame you for something you did do than suspect her for something she didn't." Nell's voice was cool, her wording precise.
He eyed her warily. Where was she going with this?
"That's what I said."
She nodded, as if he'd confirmed something she had known all along.
"And you go to the meetings? AA?"
"Yeah. I told you, I saw Melody there."
"Then you are nothing at all like my ex-husband," Nell said.
He started breathing again. Hoping. Wishing. Total mistake.
Because the next words out of her mouth were, "Are you still using?"
"No." He didn't take offense at her question. She deserved to know. And it was one answer he could give her that he wasn't ashamed of.
"How long have you been…" She hesitated.
"In recovery? Seven months."
Two hundred and fourteen days, each and every one of them a victory.
"And before that?"
"How long was I an alcoholic junkie, do you mean?"
She flushed. He'd flustered her. "No, I… Well, um…" She met his gaze, and her mouth firmed. "Yes."
"I can't quantify it for you as exactly. I probably always drank too much. Reporters in a war zone, trapped in bad hotels at night, trying to out-Hemingway each other? We all drank. But I was holding it together, or thought I was, until Iraq."
"What happened in Iraq?" she asked quietly.
Joe pulled his leg down from the coffee table. He wasn't used to being on this side of an interview. "It's a long story."
"I'm a good listener."
Yeah, she was.
Joe stared at his hands, clasped together between his knees. "You have to understand I was really pumped just to be there. We all were. We were embedded with the troops, invaders or liberators, it didn't matter. There was so much testosterone swirling around the press corps you would have taken us for a sandstorm. We had unprecedented access to report on the action, and yet all the information was spun just enough to make every one of us determined to get the angle, the insight, the shot that would tell the folks back home what it was really like over there."
"You won an award, your brother said. For your piece on the looting of Baghdad."
"Yeah, I won an award. Although by the time they gave it to me, I can't say I really cared."
"Because you were injured."
He'd like her to think that.
Joe had spoken in the past to his sponsor, to his priest and to other addicts in recovery. But he had never taken Step Five outside the safe circle of AA, never talked about his experience to his colleagues or his family.
Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
"I didn't care because at the awards ceremony I was doped out of my mind," he corrected harshly. It was no satisfaction at all to see Nell flinch. Doggedly, Joe continued.
"The day I broke my ankle, going after that story… I wouldn't quit. Adrenaline, I guess. Or pride. Or sheer stupidity. I laced that sucker really tight and took pills for the pain and kept on reporting. When that didn't work anymore, I convinced the medics to slap on a walking cast and give me stronger pills. Compared to what I saw going on around me, the suffering, it didn't seem like that big a deal."
Joe exhaled. "Only I wasn't healing. And in a week or two, what had been a simple fracture was hamburger meat shot through with bone and held together from the outside. By then I was taking anything I could beg or find to get me through, narcotics for the pain and diet pills to kick me up enough to get out in the morning and booze to settle me down to sleep at night."
Beside him, Nell stirred.
She'd probably heard enough excuses from her ex to last a lifetime. She didn't need to hear more from him.
"I told you it was a long story," he said.
But she leaned forward and put her hand on his knee, a nurse's touch, warm and impersonal. He supposed he should be grateful she was willing to touch him at all.
"Go on."
"There's not much more to tell." And not much she would believe. People with drug and alcohol problems were notorious liars. They lied to themselves. They lied to their bosses and coworkers. They lied to the people who loved them.
"You came back to the States," Nell prompted.
"I crashed, and the paper brought me home." He went as quickly and lightly as he could, as if that would keep him from sinking. "I was admitted to the hospital for surgery, which didn't help my ankle or my drug problem. And after three months of feeling sorry for myself and making my family miserable, I figured out my life was a mess and my career was a wash and I needed help to get sober."
He risked a look at her, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic as he felt.
Her clear blue eyes gazed back, all that practical intelligence and soft compassion focused on him. His stomach twisted in an
xiety.
"That's why you never drink," Nell said.
He figured she'd notice that.
"Yeah."
"And why you won't get the surgery you need on your ankle."
Whoa. He hadn't expected her to make that connection.
"Yeah." He cleared his aching throat. "Pretty lame, huh?"
"I think it's remarkably disciplined," Nell said in her brisk, no-nonsense way. When he gaped at her, she added, "And also very brave. But are you sure it's necessary? There are nonnarcotic analgesics which—"
Joe recovered enough to interrupt her. "I won't take that chance."
Great. Like pathetic and lame weren't bad enough. He had to expose himself as a pathetic, lame coward.
"You should consider it," Nell said gently. "You have to think about your future."
"No, I don't. I can't. I'm living my life one day at a time now."
That was what AA taught you. To stay sober, one day at a time.
Nell watched him, her eyes troubled and her mouth tragic.
Regret lanced his heart.
He grinned at her, deliberately lightening the atmosphere between them. "I've got to work on my moves. A beautiful woman shows up on my doorstep with Chinese and congrats, and I top off the evening playing Truth or Dare."
He was relieved when she smiled back. "It does spoil the mood a little," she admitted.
There was the understatement of the year.
Joe got awkwardly to his feet. "Come on. I'll take you home."
Nell stayed where she was. "Unless the woman particularly admired honesty."
His heart slammed into his ribs.
She lifted her chin. "Unless she respected you for trying to protect someone else."
Unfolding her long legs from under her, she stood close enough to bring his body to sudden, tingling attention. She rested her palms lightly against his chest. Her hair brushed his jaw. He could smell her shampoo.
"Maybe we both should try to take things one day at a time," she said.
He gulped in air, certain he had misunderstood her. Praying he had not.
"What things?" he asked hoarsely.
"This." She stood on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. "Us."
They were an "us"? Hot damn.
But taking him on, his past, his problems, was an enormous risk. A step in the dark for a woman who liked to see her way. A leap of faith for a woman whose trust had been battered and betrayed. As much as Joe wanted her, he couldn't let her jump into this with her eyes closed.
"Are you sure?"
"No," Nell admitted with devastating honesty. "But I want to be. Why don't you try to convince me?"
His blood drummed in his head. "I don't want to talk you into anything you're not ready for."
She smiled. "So don't talk," she suggested.
That would work. She'd robbed him of speech anyway.
He spread his hands low over her round rear end and tugged her closer. He liked the way she fit against him, her strong bones and wide hips and soft breasts. He kissed her slowly, taking his time, enjoying the warmth of her body and the spicy heat of her mouth.
Convince me.
He took a sharp breath and moved his hands up, cupping the undersides of her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. They formed tight points beneath her shirt. He rubbed them through the fabric and then reached for the buttons on her blouse.
Her hands closed over his. "Where is your bedroom?"
He glanced over her shoulder at his wide, uncurtained living-room windows. "Down the hall." Hand in hand, they crossed his foyer—he was relieved when she didn't bolt for the door—to his room, Nell paused inside, her gaze traveling over the furniture he'd inherited from his grandmother, the icon from Kosovo, the art glass from Israel, the red-and-black kilim on his bed.
"Wow. I was kind of expecting black satin sheets and a water bed."
He leaned against the door frame. "Disappointed?"
"No, this is better." She turned and slid her arms around his waist, smiling up at him, making him dizzy. "More you."
"I can give you more me," he promised, and kissed her again.
This time she let him unbutton her blouse. Underneath she was all smooth curves and soft cotton. His breath hissed in appreciation. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders. They undressed each other, taking time to kiss, to touch, pausing to praise and admire.
Convince me.
He pulled her tight against him, making her feel his hot arousal, stroking her back, caressing the cool curves of her rear end. She was beautiful. Naked. His.
He grabbed a condom from the bathroom, leaving the light on over the sink, and then walked Nell backward until her legs bumped the side of his mattress. He pressed her down until her pale hair spread against the red tapestry of his bed. She watched him quietly, her eyes unshuttered, her lips curved. He laced his fingers with hers and slid home.
They both shuddered in relief.
She was wet, relaxed and ready for him. He was thankful this part of their relationship at least was easy when everything else was so hard.
One day at a time, he reminded himself, and put himself back into this night, into this moment, when her body clasped his tightly and her breath was warm in his ear. He worked her with long, slow strokes and short, deep thrusts. Her hips lifted. Her knees were around his waist.
He raised his head to see her face. She was watching him, her gaze focused. Intent. Unsatisfied.
Convince me.
He swore and pulled out.
Nell frowned, bewildered. "What are you…"
He kissed her throat. He kissed her breast, and then started to lick and suck his way down her squirming torso.
"Oh, no. Really. You don't have to—"
"Shut up," he said, and put his mouth on her. She moaned.
She tasted wonderful, hot and exotic. He held her down, using his tongue and his teeth, until he felt her shudder and give. Until he felt her gasp and yield. Until her hands clutched his hair and dragged him up to her.
He covered her, pushing inside her as she rocked and twisted under him. Her muscles tightened around him and he almost lost it. But he drove himself, drove them both, taking her harder, deeper, faster.
Her eyes widened. Her breath caught.
"That's it," he murmured. "Come on. Come with me now."
He trapped her hands and held them, held her, as she arched under him and shook apart.
Grateful, spent, he closed his eyes and tumbled with her over the edge of control.
Joe kissed Nell's forehead. "Are you okay?"
Nell quivered. Was she?
She was the one who took care of everyone else. Who took charge at the clinic. Who took responsibility for herself. She held herself accountable for her own sex life, good, bad, indifferent or nonexistent. If you never made demands, you were never disappointed.
But Joe had ignored all that.
He had taken care of her. He'd taken control. And instead of the sky falling, the earth had moved. Her body quaked with the hard, sweet aftershocks of really excellent sex. Joe's determined seduction had assaulted her senses and undermined her defenses. His concern now laid siege to her heart. She didn't know whether to fight or surrender.
Nell looked up into the hard, sharp face of her lover. He was still on top of her, still inside her, their bodies slick and close.
She reached for humor to distance and defend herself. "Ask me the name of the current president," she said.
"Oh, God." Joe raised his weight on his elbows. "Your head. Did I hurt your head?"
Her head was spinning, but not from concussion.
"I can't tell," she said. "Is it still attached to my shoulders?"
The panic faded from Joe's eyes as he smiled. "It appears to be."
"Then I'd say I'm fine."
"Sure? Can I get you anything?" He stroked the hair back from her forehead. The tenderness of his gesture clogged her throat. "A glass of water?"
His offer made her uncomfor
table. She was the nurturing one. Wasn't she? All through her childhood, she'd tried hard not to be any trouble. All through her marriage, she'd struggled to be the wife Richard needed. The wife who could keep him straight. The wife who could keep him faithful.
The woman who could earn his love.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'll get it."
Joe shook his head. "You don't have to."
He kissed her and rolled away.
And there it was. With Joe, she didn't have to do anything. Didn't have to be anything. She could be tired or hurt or cranky or unresponsive and he would cope.
His usurpation of her usual role made her feel cherished. Vulnerable. Inadequate.
He wanted to take care of her, but he wouldn't accept the same. He didn't need her. And she needed…
Nell watched Joe pad naked into the bathroom, his features edged with yellow light. Even his limp didn't disguise his natural male grace, his lean hips and broad shoulders, his smooth back and hairy thighs.
Her eyes swam with sudden, unexpected tears. Her chest tightened with sudden, unexpected fear.
Maybe she could live with losing her control.
But how would she survive losing her heart?
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
"What do you want to do for dinner tonight?" Joe asked as he dropped Nell off in front of the clinic two days later.
It was such a couples' question. Hi, honey, I'm home. What's for dinner?
Nell shivered with pleasure and misgiving. Did she really want to establish a domestic routine with Joe after only two days? She had been married before. She wasn't eager to repeat her mistakes.
On the other hand, Joe wasn't anything like Richard. She could trust him. She did.
One day at a time, she reminded herself, and leaned from her seat to kiss him. "Why don't you pick me up around seven? We'll figure it out from there."
He reached across her to open her door from the inside. He smelled like aftershave and, faintly, of tobacco. "It's Friday. I thought the clinic was only open late Mondays and Thursdays."
"It is. But I'm still catching up on paperwork from when I was out."
"How about catching up on some sleep?"
GUILTY SECRETS Page 15
