Forevermore

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Alek, Alek. Oh…Alek.”

  She sounded languid, satisfied, and he felt a fierce sense of possessive pride.

  He lowered her leg to the floor, laid his cheek on her belly, kissed it, gently now, as she came back from the high.

  When her trembling subsided—and his blood stopped ringing in his ears—he pushed himself up and pulled her in his arms.

  Ava though all her energy was gone, but somehow she crossed her legs around his waist and leaned to kiss him.

  At the large double reclining chair by the pool side, he broke the kiss and sat her down.

  Sated and yet lost in need, she reached for the button of his jeans, furiously working at it, shoving them down, with only one thought in her head: to feel his skin against hers.

  She couldn’t believe everything she’d dreamed of was suddenly there, in front of her, for the taking. He was more than she’d ever imagined; his chest lean and cut, with a smattering of dark chestnut hair over the perfectly sculpted pectorals. Every part of him looked as if it had been shaped by the hand of some master sculptor.

  With sure hands, she took the waist of his black underwear and pushed it down, his erection springing free. Yet, before she could taste him, he was pushing her up on the chair and leaning over her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, as he settled between her thighs. “So damn beautiful.”

  One of her legs wrapped around his, smooth and strong. Her fingers laced tight in his hair.

  She was holding him as though he belonged nowhere else. As though everything in his dark, needing, desperate soul was hers.

  And maybe that was the truth.

  This was everything he’d dreamed about since he had seen her.

  “Please,” she whimpered, fisting her hands in his hair. “I can’t wait.” Make me yours.

  It’s a damned good thing, because I also can’t wait. He took himself in hand and positioned at her entrance. She was so hot, so slick, so tight—he had to devote every last ounce of his considerable control to holding himself back. “Tell me you want this.”

  “I want this.” Her eyes opened, brilliant blue-greens, and locked with his. “I want you.”

  She gasped out when he thrust.

  He felt the resistance of unused muscles; a second later, it vanished and he surged deeper—and felt her instinctively rise.

  He felt like a god as he pushed into her.

  Omnipotent.

  Arrogant.

  Possessing the keys to Paradise.

  As he slid back and forth, he balanced on his arms above her, watching her every reaction. A new steady crescendo of her pleasure was like a captivating story. One written in soft-pink brushstrokes across her skin.

  “Alek, I—” She sensed the coming storm, the tightness, the desperation, the hum in the air. “Give me more.”

  “Hold on to me,” he said, feeling the tingle at the base of his spine that told him his crisis was close. Hold me tight. With everything you have.

  She tightened her arms around him and locked her legs at the small of his back, rocked against him, matching his desperate rhythm.

  And more came, faster and harder…a furious race through the looming thunderstorm…a lightning blast of rapture…the sweet pleasure waiting to be released.

  Knowing he was also close, she squeezed around him.

  “Yes,” he snarled. And then his groans evolved into fierce grunts, his plunges became shorter, harder, faster still. His grip on her hips tightened, feral.

  Taking, giving.

  Demanding, beseeching.

  Owning.

  He wanted to crawl inside her and live it all with her. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to worship her. Every single tremor and gasp, squeeze and spasm.

  His release boiled in his loins, rising tumultuously. Building, burning. With a strangled gasp, he let go and arched up. The pleasure rose and gathered so swiftly, his climax caught him before he knew it.

  And then it arrived, that storm.

  It arrived and washed over them like a tidal wave of pleasure.

  When he came inside her, it was bone-melting and brain-shattering.

  And heart-stopping.

  And sweet. So damned sweet.

  As he slowly came down from the height of pleasure, he pulled himself free of her, but he couldn’t wrench his gaze from her face. Long seconds passed before she opened her eyes, as though she were savoring the sensations. Stamping a memory.

  Staring deeply into her eyes, he stretched next to her and pushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

  Ava didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet.

  He didn’t seem to mind the silence as he slid an arm over her waist in possession and protection and pulled her to him.

  He closed his eyes and was content to listen to her breathe.

  And as much as he wanted to get inside her—soon, again—and spend all that long-frustrated lust, he wanted even more what could come afterward.

  Closeness.

  Affection.

  Perhaps even—devil take it!—perhaps even love.

  It didn’t matter that he was gentle at first, then too rough; he branded her, claimed her, delighted her.

  With a sigh, he left her briefly.

  When he returned, she’d regained enough wit to register his nakedness. Enthralled, she would have stopped him, held him back so she could admire the lean length of him, the heavy muscles banding his chest, the taut, ridged abdomen, narrow hips, and long, strong legs. And the flagrant maleness gilded in the soft blue light coming from the pool—fiercely strong, rampantly male, urgently possessive.

  She would have taken the time to absorb it all. “Kristus, you have a six-pack.”

  “I was in the football league since high school and I work out every day of my damn life.” He shrugged, not quite sure what else to say.

  “I’m sure you do.” Reaching up, she caressed his stomach with the lightest of touches, his muscles flinching beneath her fingers.

  Damn, her touch feels good. “It’s difficult to believe I’m the first man to touch you, to be inside you, in years,” he murmured. “Particularly when I find you have passion to match your looks. I’m going to enjoy watching that marvelous control of yours slip away layer by layer when I make love to you again.”

  Love? Is that what this was? The way he seemed to know what she was thinking was disconcerting.

  “I don’t think that it would be a very good idea, Aleksander,” she finally said, rising to get dressed. “To do this again.”

  He pressed his lips together, standing and pulling his underwear and jeans on. “Are you saying…”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t wonderful.” Already dressed, she looked at his over her shoulder. “But Olivia’s a bright child, and she picks up on things. After all, we aren’t dating or married, and we don’t want to confuse Olivia.”

  “How could we confuse her? She’s too small to understand about sex.”

  She climbed the stairs, combing her hair with her fingers, still feeling flushed and dizzy, trying to process what they’d just done. What it could mean, if anything.

  Ava shook her head. “Kids know something is going on, whether they understand what it is or not. They sense emotional undercurrents and I…I don’t want Liv to have any emotional distress now.”

  A flash of guilt registering inside him. His sick daughter was just upstairs, sleeping, and he and Ava had been going at it like irresponsible teenagers. Stop. This was good. This was a good thing. A damned good thing.

  She shivered when they reached the ground floor.

  “You’re cold.” His voice was abruptly brisk. “Small wonder. Let’s get you hot chocolate.”

  “No!” Ava’s protest was sharp and instantaneous. “I should go upstairs, to bed.”

  She knew she was vulnerable and she knew to be alone with him now was too great a risk. A risk she couldn’t take.

  “Dr. Larsen?”

  She was brought back to
reality by the sound of someone urgently calling her name from upstairs. When she blinked to get her eyes to adjust in the darkness, she saw Sydney climbing down the stairs quickly, her face drained of color.

  “Dr. Larsen, would you take a look at Olivia, please?”

  The false calm in Sydney’s tone sent a jolt of adrenaline shooting through her. “What is the problem?"

  Sydney whispered just for Ava’s ears. “Olivia’s bleeding.”

  Chapter 26

  Ava instantly shifted into doctor-mode, a sense of calm descending over her. She followed Sydney, with Aleksander suddenly trailing behind, peppering Sydney with anxious questions about what was going on.

  “Is she conscious?”

  “Yes, but she’s lethargic.”

  Entering the girl’s room, she immediately noticed the blood-smeared pillow had been tossed to the floor and Olivia lay on a fresh clean one, her eyes closed, her cheeks pale as chalk.

  Aleksander’s hand clamped down on Ava’s shoulder stopping her from reaching the little girl’s side. “Is that blood?”

  Certain that the fear in his voice would frighten Olivia, Ava turned and faced Aleksander. “I want you to stay calm. It could be just a nosebleed.”

  He pulled in a breath through clenched teeth and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, blinking. “Should I order the plane ready?”

  Much of Ava’s life involved not crying in front of people who were losing a loved one, so it was not difficult to understand what he was doing.

  “She had a lot of excitement the last two days.” As she talked to him, she tried to guide him toward the bedroom door. “This can be caused by overexertion. I’ll know more after I check her out.”

  He balked when he noticed what she was doing. “I’m not going nowhere.”

  “If you’re staying, be calm,” she ordered. “A hysterical father right now would only make things worse.”

  Her voice was authoritative and so different from the way she’d spoken to him just moments ago. His lips flattened into a straight line. “Don’t worry, doctor.”

  “Olivia?” It was second nature for Ava to lift the child’s wrist and check her pulse. It was weak.

  “My head…” The child opened her eyes and then she grimaced. “It hurts. I don’t feel so good.”

  She attempted to sit up and promptly heaved down the front of herself. Ava quickly grabbed a container from the night table, emptied its contents on the floor, and held it up for Olivia to use. As she vomited again, Ava rubbed her back and whispered gently, “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

  Aleksander closed his eyes and started to turn, just to stop. He clamped his hands at his sides, feeling helpless and lost.

  He watched Ava work, never losing her calm, never displaying a single emotion as she helped to clean Olivia up and administered her medication.

  Once the flurry of activity had died down, she finally made eye contact with Aleksander, giving him the hint of a smile. Her eyes seemed to say, This is nothing. You’ll see. Everything is going to be all right.

  A few minutes later, Olivia’s eyes drooped closed, and her chest began to rise and fall at a slower, calmer pace.

  Aleksander watched as her eyelids twitched in the midst of a dream.

  “She’ll sleep well now.” Ava straightened and told Sydney, “Call me if her temperature starts to go up again.”

  She smiled sadly as he watched him bend to kiss his daughter on the crown of her head. How she missed kissing and cuddling with Emma. Don’t go to that dark place. Focus on this moment.

  That had been her strategy. To focus on one moment, then on the next and the next. That was the only way to avoid the abyss.

  Before he stepped out of her room, he placed a hand on her shoulder. It was firm and yet unsure, as if he needed her for support. When their eyes locked, he gave her a grateful nod, and disappeared.

  A gust of frigid wind slammed into his face but he welcomed the stinging bite of winter pain. He stared out into the dark of night sky and, shaking his head, dragged a weary hand across his eyes.

  His gut tightened painfully, nearly doubling him over with the intensity of it. Life, love, and death had flirted with him in the space of an hour, sending him reeling.

  He banged his forehead over and over on the post, but it was of little use. The agony did not lessen.

  After a quick shower and checking again on Olivia, Ava had wandered down looking for Aleksander.

  The snow Aleksander had predicted was now falling thick and soft.

  Beyond the glowing lights of the tree, reflected in the glass, she could see his form on the patio, doubled over, as snowflakes gathered on the shoulders of his sweater.

  He’s probably crying. Although she doubted he would want anyone to know it. Men tended to think displays of sadness or grief somehow demeaned their manhood, so they hid these feelings and did everything they could to show the world a brave face. She’d seen it, time and again, in the parents of the children she cared for at the hospital. But the hearts of fathers were just as vulnerable, just as breakable, as those of mothers.

  “Aleksander.”

  Lost in his thoughts, Aleksander’s body stiffened at the unexpected interruption. He lifted his head from the post, dashed his hand over his eyes, and spun around to face Ava. “I’m taking her back to the hospital tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Ava shook her head. “I’ve contacted the hospital nearby and requested a pet SCAN for her which can be done in town tomorrow. Once we find that information out, we can decide the next steps, but taking her back to Manhattan is putting the cart before the horse.”

  He clenched his fists. “So I just sit and wait for the results of some test—”

  “Yes. I know it’s frustrating to wait, Aleksander. But rushing into action without careful thought can cause more harm than good. As Olivia’s doctor, the one you hired to look after Olivia, I am telling you what needs to be done. She will have very little time to benefit from anything the hospital has to offer…and more chemotherapy is highly unlikely to help her. It will just make her last days miserable. And she will feel better—”

  “I can’t lose her!” He roared into the night.

  She blinked and immediately bit her tongue.

  He calmed his voice to try to speak rationally, “There is no way to definitely say when she will die. Doctors are not gods, although I am sure you all think you are.”

  “We—”

  A mirthless laugh escaped him in the form of a puff of white air, interrupting whatever she was going to say.

  “I am not going to do nothing but wait for my baby to die. I am not going to stand at her side, impotent. I will do everything in my power to give her the best that modern medicine has to offer; stronger drugs, better machines, something…anything that can save her, add one more day to her despicably short life.”

  “I know it’s very frustrating, Alek, I know. But you should spare her from further aggressive treatment…even if it buys her time, it won’t be quality time. What she needs now is symptom control to allow you both to spend better time together, even if it’s less time,” she pleaded, and took a deep breath. “I have seen doctors give a spit of chemo just to placate the parents’ patients who wish to continue their kids’ lives. The parents would still think they were doing something. Aside from the obvious financial cost, they are depriving their kids time for closure, things they might need to do or say!”

  Ava had been trying to put her emotions back into some semblance of order. She was not succeeding. “She should be allowed to spend her last days feeling better without chemo, because no amount of medical attention would keep her failing organs from eventually shutting down completely.”

  “It’s easy for you to say this. It’s not your daughter in there!” he shouted. “You doctors and your doctoral expertise are so—”

  If I’d had the doctoral expertise I have now, I’d have spared my baby daughter from a lot of suffering! “You shoul
d have the gonads to stand up for your daughter’s quality of life. You should be selfless enough to let her go in peace.”

  A low roar filled his ears—the roar of red-hot fury. Aleksander staggered back a step, fearing that if he did not, he might actually do something to hurt her. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” Her hands were balled into fists, she carefully relaxed them. Channeling emotion was a skill she’d turned into an art over the past decade. If she could do it in her work, she could do it for herself. And she would not talk to him about this. Not now. “I should go and make sure everything is alright.”

  Then she turned and headed inside, leaving him alone on the veranda full of loved ghosts and evil doubts.

  Inside, it was so quiet, she could almost hear her own heart beating. With Olivia sleeping comfortably and Sydney having everything under control, she should have gone to sleep. But she knew she’d only toss and turn, so she gathered up Olivia’s soiled linen and headed to the laundry room, hoping that mindless chores would help get her mind off everything that had happened this evening.

  “What happened?” Sydney asked from behind her.

  “Nothing,” Ava snapped, scrubbing at the pillowcase harder in front of the utility sink, then hated herself for the short nastiness of the word.

  “Nothing is one of my favorite topics of conversation.” Sydney persisted, knowing her too well to be offended by her bad-tempered answer. “Let’s talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Sydney came up and rested her elbows on the washing machine, looking up at her. “Exactly.”

  “Oh, Sydney.” Her good-heartedness was irresistible. Sighing, Ava allowed herself to be soothed. “You’re an idiot.”

  Sydney gave out a low chuckle. “I’m not here to be flattered.”

  “I had an argument with Alek—Mr. Maximilian.” Ava let out a long breath and shut her eyes.

  “What’re you doing having arguments with the poor man?”

  “He wants to take her back to the hospital.” Ava whirled around. Her coat whipped and snapped with the movement. “Can’t he see…”

  “Hold it.” With a slight shake of her shoulders, Sydney halted Ava’s outburst. “You know better than to get yourself worked up like this. You can’t afford to have your mind on anything but what you’re doing.”