Kiss and Tell

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Wildest dreams,” Leila mused. “Right. By that I assume you’re talking about this wonderful opportunity you have to embarrass me.”

  “Embarrass you,” Marsh repeated in disbelief, rinsing the soap from his arms and hands. “Get the water, will you please?”

  Leila reached over and shut off the faucet. “Yes. Embarrass me.”

  “But I’m the one standing here, definitely underdressed for this particular occasion,” Marsh said. He held up his hands so the water dripped down to his elbows. “I’m the one who’s embarrassed.”

  It was so typical of Marsh. He was standing there with his nearly perfectly sculpted body, looking better than a man had a right to, looking as if he could start a new career modeling men’s underwear if he ever tired of medicine. Yet, knowing Marsh, he’d probably never looked into a mirror. He probably had no idea how incredibly delicious-looking he was. All he probably knew was that it was awfully improper to hang out in a barn in his underwear while accompanied by his best friend’s sister. Leila had to laugh.

  “Perfect.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Most excellently perfect.” He looked at Leila through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I’m nearly naked, the mare is in obvious trouble, and young Tim has turned an everyday errand into the search for the Holy Grail. All right, go on. Laugh at me. Get it all out of your system, then.”

  He was embarrassed. There was a tinge of pink across his cheeks. He turned his back on her, crossing the barn to look into the mare’s stall. “After you’re done laughing,” he added tightly, “trot on out and see what’s keeping Tim.”

  He actually thought she was laughing at him. “Marshall, you colossal idiot.” Leila rolled her eyes. “I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I am laughing at you, but not at the way you look. At the risk of inadvertently giving you a compliment, I’ve got to tell you that there are few men who look as good in their underwear.”

  He faced her with an overdone sigh of weariness. “Just go get Tim.”

  “You don’t believe me. I can’t believe you don’t believe me—”

  “I do,” he said, clearly humoring her. “I believe you. I believe everything you say. Now, get Tim.”

  Timothy burst back into the barn, waving the plastic-wrapped packet that contained Marsh’s scrubs and gloves. “This it?” he called.

  “That’s it. Good boy. Give it to Leila.”

  Leila glared at him as she took the packet from Tim and pulled out a pale green V-necked shirt and a pair of green pants. It was maddening when Marsh patronized her like this.

  “Help me on with it, will you, please?” Marsh asked her. “My hands are clean.”

  Help him get dressed. Yes, that was a good idea. She could stand to have him look less like a Chippendale dancer and more like a medical doctor.

  Still, helping him get dressed meant she’d have to stand really close to him and breathe in his clean, masculine scent, and feel the heat that was radiating from his body.

  But she was annoyed with him, Leila reminded herself. They were arguing, as usual. As long as they were arguing, she wouldn’t have to worry about doing something foolish, like running the palms of her hands across the smooth expanse of his shoulders or…

  “Is it possible for you, at least once in your life, to talk to me without being pompous and condescending?” she asked almost desperately as she yanked the shirt over Marsh’s head. The backs of her knuckles ran all the way down the washboard muscles of his chest and stomach as she pulled the shirt down. She prayed that he wouldn’t notice how hard it was for her to breathe, and she clung to their argument as if it were a lifeline. “Is it possible for you to speak to me as if I weren’t some awful, spoiled child?”

  The pants. Dear God, now she had to help him on with the green drawstring-waisted pants. Leila’s mouth went dry as she knelt down in front of him and gazed at his strong legs.

  “Funny you should mention that,” Marsh retorted as Leila held one of the pants legs open for him to step into. He touched her bare shoulder lightly to keep his balance, and Leila nearly fell over. “Because I was wondering if it was possible for you, at least once in your life, to stop acting like a spoiled child.”

  Ooh, that comment stung, and for half a second, Leila forgot to feel flustered at pulling the pants up Marsh’s muscular thighs and over his perfect rear end.

  “You just hate it when I’m right,” she said. “And I’m always right, which drives you crazy.”

  She adjusted the waistband of the pants, her hands up underneath the oversized scrub shirt, her thumbs running along his waist, from back to front.

  “You definitely drive me crazy.” Marsh’s voice sounded oddly hoarse.

  Leila glanced up into his eyes, then quickly looked away, concentrating on tying the cloth drawstring around his waist. Dear God, was it possible that he was affected by their nearness, too?

  “You have absolutely no idea to the extent of how utterly crazy you drive me,” Marsh continued. “And it has nothing to do, whatsoever, with your being right, since you spend so much time being wrong.”

  Leila glared up at him, gasping at his words.

  “It also has nothing to do with your nasty habit of exaggeration,” Marsh added. “Gloves, please.”

  He held up first one hand and then the other as Leila helped him on with a pair of surgical gloves. They were nearly impossible to put on, adding the final touch of frustration to this entire bizarre experience.

  “You drive me crazy when your hair is in your eyes. Which it always is, and that’s not an exaggeration,” Leila practically exploded. With one hand, she raked his hair back, out of his face.

  He turned his head so her hand brushed against the late afternoon stubble of beard on his chin. Before she could pull her hand away, he kissed the inside of her wrist, dragging his lips up to the palm of her hand.

  Leila felt nearly burned, and she quickly snatched her hand back. My God, he’d kissed her.

  “I wear my hair this way,” Marsh said, pushing open the door to the mare’s stall with his elbow, “because I love driving you crazy.”

  He smiled at her, a triumphant, victorious grin.

  Leila scowled, trying to hide the flush that she felt heating her cheeks. He’d kissed her. “Is it possible for you, at least once in your life, not to act like a jerk?”

  “Shhh.” Marsh carefully approached the mare. “Only positive energy, please.”

  He spoke softly and soothingly as he moved from the mare’s head to her flank. Continuing to murmur quiet words, he crouched down and examined the horse.

  Leila watched Marsh’s face, and she knew from the sudden tightness of his mouth that the situation was not good.

  Then, without warning, the mare kicked. Her hoof connected with Marsh’s right shoulder with a solid thud, and the force was enough to push him backward. He hit the far wall of the stall with a muffled curse and went down onto the dirt floor.

  “Marsh!” Leila was next to him in a flash. She pushed his hair back, out of his face, more gently this time.

  Leila’s hands against his forehead felt so cool, so soothing. And the anxiety in her eyes was more gratifying than he would have believed possible. She cared, that much was clear. But this was not the time to see whether her concern was that of one human for another, or something more. He was going to have to work quickly if he was going to save the mare’s life.

  Marsh pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing as he first touched his shoulder, then rotated his arm. “Excellent. Glad to see the mare’s still got quite a bit of strength left.”

  “Are you all right?” Leila demanded.

  “Just bruised. No big deal. I’ll live.” He looked ruefully down at his gloved hands, now covered with muck and straw. “So much for being sanitary. Help me pull these off. Please?”

  Leila’s worry melted into anger. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders, in the set of her mouth, in the way her eyes seemed to flash.

  “No big deal,” she
repeated his words as she peeled the gloves off his hands. “If that horse had aimed a little higher, or if you’d been leaning down a little lower, you would’ve been kicked in the head. You know, Dr. Smartass, people have been killed from being kicked in the head by a horse.”

  “But I was kicked in the shoulder,” Marsh pointed out. “Not in the head.”

  He could very well have been badly hurt. She could’ve been sitting there, right now, with the island’s only medical doctor dying in her arms of a head injury. What would Marsh do, she wondered with horror, if he ever actually did get hurt? Who would take care of him? Who would have the knowledge to save his life?

  “You weren’t kicked in the head…this time.”

  Marsh pulled himself to his feet. Leila could see that he was favoring his right shoulder even though he was trying to hide it from her. “Is this particular argument going to take very long? Because I don’t have time for it right now.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time,” Leila shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. “An eternity, in fact, after this horse’s foot connects with your skull and permanently scrambles the few brains you have.”

  “Your point is taken.” Marsh looked back at the mare. “Love, do me a favor—”

  Leila laughed. Her eyes were bright with tears, Marsh realized.

  “What, help you get yourself killed?” She shook her head, her blond curls bouncing in emphasis. “No, thank you.”

  “Fine, then do Tim a favor and take him back up to the house.” He stepped closer to Leila and spoke swiftly and softly so only she could hear him. “The foal’s already dead, has been for quite some time. He’s tangled in the umbilical cord and twisted around backward. I can save the mare, but it’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

  They’d arrived too late. Leila could see compassion and regret in the warmth of Marsh’s eyes. Strange, she’d always thought of him as emotionless, but now, when she looked closely, rarely a moment passed when she didn’t see something stirring in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She encircled Marsh’s waist with her arms and held him tightly. She closed her eyes, burying her face in the warmth of his shoulder. “Be careful. You better be careful.”

  She felt him nod. “I will,” he whispered.

  It was unreal. Leila—lovely, vibrant, amazing Leila—was in his arms again, but he couldn’t kiss her. Not with young Tim looking on. Not with the mare’s life hanging in the balance. Damn his poor timing anyway.

  Leila lifted her head. Marsh’s hair was in his eyes again, so she pushed it off his face one last time, running her fingers down the back of his head to his neck. Briefly she squeezed his shoulder. “Promise?”

  The touch of her hand conveyed the warmth and strength of her feelings for him—feelings of friendship. Marsh turned away, suddenly and painfully aware that her earlier concern had been that of a friend, not a lover.

  “Absolutely,” he managed.

  Dear Lord, he was in love with a woman who saw him as nothing more than an unrelated sibling, someone to squabble and argue with, someone to offer care and support to in times of need.

  “Go on. Get Tim out of here.”

  He saw Leila as his hope, his future. It was true, the idea of a lasting relationship scared him to death, but without her, he knew that there’d be nothing but emptiness in his life.

  Yet she saw him only as a brother.

  Splendid.

  Perhaps he needed a good swift kick in the head.

  Marsh was quiet as he drove the jeep down the Beauchamps’ dirt driveway.

  “You did a good job,” Leila said.

  “Hmm.” Marsh’s eyes didn’t leave the pitted road. The jeep’s headlights bounced as the wheels hit a pothole he couldn’t avoid.

  “You told me yourself there was no way you could have helped that foal, that he’d died before his mother even went into labor. And Kevin Beauchamp sure seemed grateful that you managed to save the mare.”

  Timothy’s parents had arrived from the mainland as Marsh was cleaning up in the barn.

  “Kevin was counting on the money from the future sale of that foal.” Marsh pulled out onto the main road. “I don’t know what he’s going to do now.”

  “Speaking of money.” Leila turned toward him.

  He glanced warily at her, his face lit by the light from the dashboard.

  “How can Kevin Beauchamp afford to pay you?”

  “Ah, thank God,” Marsh said. “I was afraid you were going to ask a more difficult question.”

  “I’ll bet Kevin considers this one a pretty difficult question.” Leila watched him steadily.

  Her blond hair seemed almost unearthly in the darkness, gleaming in the light from the oncoming headlights. Marsh could still remember exactly how soft her hair had felt against his chin when she put her arms around him. The ache of longing that memory set off caught him by surprise. It stabbed him in the chest, sharp and hot. It took him a few seconds before he regained his breath.

  “Actually,” he replied, trying hard to make his voice calm and even, “it’s a simple question because it’s got a simple answer. He can’t afford to pay me.”

  “Can’t.”

  Marsh glanced at Leila again. She didn’t seem surprised or even upset. Just resigned.

  With no other cars approaching them, he could barely see her face in the soft glow from the dashboard. She looked mysterious and tantalizingly exotic. That fierce longing came back and he clenched his teeth, trying to fight it.

  He didn’t even know what this feeling meant, dammit. Well, okay, he knew what part of it meant. Part of it was sexual. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that. He’d wanted to make love to Leila since the summer she turned eighteen. Before that even, God help him. But there was more to this intense longing than sex.

  Possession. He felt possessive. He wanted to own this woman in a very basic, almost primitive way—although, good grief, he could just imagine Leila’s cries of outrage if he ever, ever tried to articulate that feeling.

  Protection. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to hold her close after their passion subsided and surround her with the warmth of his love.

  Perfection. He wanted to feel forever this odd sensation he felt when Leila smiled into his eyes. It was more than happiness and bigger than mere satisfaction. It was the feeling that finally, finally he was completely whole. And he wanted to wake up every morning whistling because he knew that Leila would be smiling at him today. Today and tomorrow and the next day and the next.

  “So he’ll just never pay you?” Leila asked. “You’ll just swallow the expenses of the medical supplies you used tonight, not to mention your time?”

  “After they slaughter their hogs, the Beauchamps will give me a year’s supply of pork,” Marsh explained. He couldn’t look at her again…he didn’t dare. This overpowering feeling just might run them both off the road. “In lieu of payment.”

  “Pork.”

  “And jam,” Marsh added. “Kelly Beauchamp makes the tastiest raspberry jam I’ve ever—”

  “You’re a vegetarian,” Leila said. “What could you possibly do with a year’s supply of pork?”

  “Well, obviously I don’t eat it.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. He wished she’d just yell at him and get it over with. He could handle that better than this strange quietness. At least if she yelled, he’d know how to respond. At least that way he could measure her anger. “I give the pork to the Hopkins family. They live out on the point, about a mile past my house—I mean, where my house was.”

  “The Hopkinses. Have they lived on Sunrise Key long?” Leila asked.

  “Since you were in high school. It’s a big family. Five kids, all boys? They were quite a bit younger than you.”

  “I don’t remember them,” Leila admitted.

  “They don’t exactly run with the yacht club set,” Marsh said dryly. “Ron’s on disability right now, and with five teenagers, they could always use a year’s supply of pork. Of
course, it won’t last them anywhere close to a year.”

  Leila was silent, looking at the darkness outside the jeep. “God, Marsh, I had no idea you were so…” She searched for the right word.

  Marsh couldn’t guess what she was going to say. So stupid? So financially lame? So utterly, hopelessly in love with her?

  “So incredibly perfect?” he suggested, pulling up to the stop sign at the intersection of Ocean Avenue and Main Street. “So dazzlingly handsome even when my clothes cover my underwear?”

  She looked at him. In the dim light from the streetlamp on the corner, her eyes looked the purplish-gray color of the sky before a thunderstorm—dark and mysterious with more than a hint of danger. It wouldn’t take much to lose himself in those eyes. Marsh pulled his gaze away, only to find himself staring at her lips. God, but he wanted to kiss her.

  “I had no idea you were so nice,” she said.

  It took a full three seconds for her words to register. Nice? Did she say nice?

  Wait a minute, if she hadn’t thought that he was nice before this, then what had she thought?

  “I didn’t realize you were so charitable.”

  “It’s not charity,” he said. If she didn’t think that he was nice, then did she used to think that he was not nice? “Ron Hopkins would have a heart attack if he thought I was giving him charity. We trade. They have a huge garden. They keep me in zucchini and watermelon all season long.”

  “Most people wouldn’t consider a year’s supply of pork a fair trade for some measly fruit and vegetables.”

  “Most people aren’t vegetarians, and therefore underrate the value of fruits and vegetables,” Marsh pointed out. There was no traffic on either Main Street or Ocean Avenue. He put the jeep into neutral, and turned slightly to face her. “Look, Leila, if you had no idea that I was nice—”

  “I had no idea you were so neighborly. What happened?”

  “It must be contagious.” Obviously she hadn’t thought of him as friendly before this, either. “The people on the key look out for each other. You know how it works, you used to live here. The Hopkins kids weed old Mrs. Milton’s garden. And Mrs. Milton always bakes an extra batch of cookies for the coffee hour after church on Sundays. Ben Sullivan uses his riding mower to cut the lawn in front of the town hall. Millie Waters always donates several cases of soda to the Little League to sell at their games.”