Against Doctor's Orders Page 20

  Presley’s spine snapped back and she shattered with a cry.

  Harper’s arms came around her, and in one swift movement, Presley was beneath her, still coming when Harper entered her, forcing her back to the peak. She came again. Lost her breath, lost her mind.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered when Harper would have withdrawn. She wrapped her arms around Harper’s shoulders. “I love to feel you inside me.”

  “I want to make you come again.” Harper kissed Presley’s throat. “I love the way you come.”

  Presley laughed shakily. “I need a few minutes…or maybe a few hours. I’m not used to—” She broke off, for some reason not wanting the past to intrude on this moment. This moment, the last hour, maybe the last day, weren’t part of her normal life. She’d stepped beyond the known, and soon, in an hour or a few more, she’d have to return to the life she knew. These moments with Harper would remain apart, as separate as everything about this place—these people, this life, this painful beauty. She had been right all along—she was a time traveler, and as long as she was, she had to keep her secrets.

  “Neither am I…used to this,” Harper said, unafraid it seemed, to expose her secrets. “And I—”

  “I was wrong.” Presley kissed Harper, silencing her before either of them could reveal any more. “I’m ready for you again now.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Presley woke to the sensation of pleasure. Every muscle was relaxed, her body humming in the aftermath of being incredibly well used and thoroughly satisfied. She stretched with a sigh, and her fingertips grazed Harper’s hip. Harper lay curled beside her, one arm encircling her waist. Pleasure gave way to panic.

  What in God’s name had she done? She knew the answer. She’d lost her mind. She’d followed her instincts and fallen into bed with a woman who couldn’t be more wrong for her on any level she could possibly define. Professionally, at least, the worst she could be accused of was bad judgment, but for her that was the worst indictment possible. Success in the take-no-prisoners world of corporate supremacy demanded she always be on top of every situation and ten steps ahead of her competition. Some would see her involvement with Presley as a smart strategic move—bringing every weapon to bear against one of her strongest foes. But she knew better. She was in greater danger of being swayed by Harper than she was of influencing her. A weakness she must keep to herself.

  Already she’d exposed too much—physically and emotionally—allowing Harper in a near-suicidal gesture to draw her into the Rivers’s world of community and family, to put faces to the numbers she must see dispassionately, to create a sense of responsibility and empathy that could only cloud her judgment. Harper was dangerous. She made Presley do things—worse, made her want to do things—that she knew were ill-advised. How many more Jimmy Reynoldses would she see before she too disregarded the bottom line and started making exceptions that would end in disaster?

  She saw these dangers clearly, had seen them from the first moment Harper caught her attention, yet here she was, naked, body and soul, and the thing utmost in her mind was more. More of what Harper made her feel. Singularly special. Infinitely desirable. Uniquely essential.

  When she was with Harper, when Harper’s hands were on her, inside her, she knew what she had never known before—that she mattered not for what she had done or could do, but for what Harper saw inside her. She mattered for those parts of herself she’d held back for so long, knowing they were not wanted. She should not be here, but she wanted nothing else, at least for a little while longer. She turned on her side and kissed Harper.

  “That’s a nice way to wake up.” Harper pulled Presley tighter until their bodies touched. She played her fingers down Presley’s stomach, feathering lower, over and over, until Presley’s thighs tensed and her belly hummed.

  “We can’t,” Presley said.

  Harper partially opened one eye. “Why not?”

  “I don’t have the strength. I need food. You must too.”

  “Food before sex. Hmm.” Harper grinned. “Obviously not a country girl.”

  Presley delicately bit Harper’s lower lip. “City girls have other virtues.”

  Harper rolled over on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed, a hand around each wrist. She slid one thigh between Presley’s and kissed her. “Virtues? I certainly hope not.”

  Presley felt herself melting again, a wanting so sharp the pleasure was nearly pain. She lifted her hips and when Harper pressed down against her, she moaned. “You’ll have trouble explaining the dead body in your bed.”

  “Nah. I’ll hide you in the barn. No one will ever know.” Harper shifted lower on the bed and settled her shoulders between Presley’s thighs.

  Presley watched her, a pulse beating in her center, anticipating, needing. She tilted her hips. “Then let me die happy.”

  “I won’t let you die.” Harper kissed her.

  “Oh,” Presley sighed. “I don’t care as long as you do that.”

  Harper kissed her again, her lips a soft circle of power and pleasure.

  Presley whimpered and closed her eyes. “So good.”

  “Mmm. Yes.” Harper raised up, kissed Presley’s belly, and rolled over her and out of bed.

  Presley’s eyes flew open. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Naked, Harper strode across the room to a big chestnut armoire by the window. She opened it, pulled out a pair of faded jeans, and yanked them up her long, lean legs. “I promised to fix you breakfast, remember? I keep my promises.”

  “Now?” Presley heard the edge in her voice and didn’t care if she sounded petulant or demanding or both. She wanted. Needed. God, she had to come.

  Harper’s gaze swept over her and her eyes darkened. “You’re not going anywhere right away, are you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere at all until you get back over here and finish.”

  “Is that right?” Harper’s voice held a dangerous edge, one Presley liked very much.

  Presley slowly stroked the inside of her thigh, letting her fingers brush as near as she dared to where she wanted Harper’s mouth. She was afraid if she got too close she might explode. “That’s right. Unless you want me to do it myse—”

  Harper strode to the bed, gripped Presley’s hips, and swung her around until her legs drooped over the side. She knelt on the floor, lifted Presley’s thighs to her shoulders, and took Presley into her mouth in one swift motion.

  “Damn you.” Presley arched off the bed, gripping the sheet with one hand and Harper’s head with the other. She was close to fracturing into a thousand brilliant shards. Harper’s mouth was hot and wet, fierce, demanding. “I’m going to…oh!”

  Presley came hard, faster than she wanted, unable to stop a cry. Shaken, she could only struggle for breath.

  Harper leaned back, shirtless, her neck flushed and her eyes triumphant. “Are you good for now?”

  “For now,” Presley gasped. “Go away…for now.”

  Laughing, Harper rose and gently eased Presley’s legs back onto the bed. “I’ll get to work on that breakfast.”

  Presley watched her pull on a T-shirt, captivated by the way the muscles in her shoulders and chest shimmered beneath her smooth skin. She loved the arch of her rib cage, the indentation of her navel, the hollow above her hipbone. Unbelievably, desire stirred. “You are dangerously sexy.”

  Harper regarded her solemnly. “If I am, it’s because you do things to me. Make me a little crazy.”

  “I’m glad I’m not alone, then.”

  The dark brooding look was back in Harper’s eyes again. She leaned over the bed, stroked Presley’s hair away from her face with one hand, and kissed her so softly Presley felt tears come to her eyes. “You’re not alone.”

  Presley caught her hand. “Do I need to say last night was amazing?”

  “No,” Harper said softly. “For me too.”

  Presley shivered, hid it with a smile. “I need a shower.”

  Harper straighten
ed. “Go ahead. My pants won’t fit you, but I’ve got some cut-off sweats and a T-shirt that will. Not your usual style, but it’ll do for now.”

  “It’ll do just fine,” Presley said, ridiculously pleased by the idea of wearing Harper’s clothes.

  She waited until Harper put the clothes on the bottom of the bed and left the room before rising. She didn’t trust herself anywhere near her for a few minutes. How was it possible she could still want her so fiercely? And how was she possibly going to hide that from her?

  *

  The phone rang while Harper was rummaging in the refrigerator for food. She grabbed her cell off the table, swiped answer, and automatically tapped speaker. “Dr. Rivers,” she said as she pulled eggs and spinach from the fridge.

  “I’m making breakfast,” her mother said. “Why don’t you come on over. Flann is here and says you’ve been up all night.”

  “I…” Harper listened and couldn’t hear the shower running upstairs any longer. She turned off the speaker and lowered her voice. “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  Her mother was silent for what felt like half a lifetime. “You’re welcome to bring company.”

  Harper groaned. “Mama, please.”

  Ida laughed. “Harper, darlin’, I know you’re an adult. You think I don’t know what adults get up to on a Saturday night? In fact, your father and I—”

  “Come on, give me a break here.”

  “I promise Flannery will not embarrass you.”

  “Yes, I will,” Flann yelled from the background.

  “Flannery O’Connor Rivers. Hush, now,” Ida said sternly. “The invitation stands. You do what you think best, but I expect to see you to dinner later today.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.” Harper hung up, smiling, and walked upstairs. Presley was pulling on one of her old T-shirts as she walked into the bedroom. “My mother invited us to breakfast.”

  Presley stopped, sheer horror freezing her blood. “Your mother? Oh my God. How does your mother know I’m here?”

  “She didn’t exactly invite us, just me and my guest.”

  “Then she doesn’t know it was me?”

  “No,” Harper said slowly. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Harper, think of the situation.” Presley put her hands on her hips. She hadn’t wanted to have this conversation now, not yet. She’d wanted to sit with Harper in the big kitchen in the sunlight for a few more minutes and pretend that none of this had to end. She should know by now that the things she wished for were almost always the things she could never have. “I’m not the woman to take home to your family on Sunday morning, for God’s sake.”

  “Are you ashamed or embarrassed that you slept with me?”

  “What? No, of course not. But—”

  “But what? Which one is it? Embarrassed or ashamed?”

  “Neither, damn it.” To give herself time to formulate some kind of rational response, Presley gathered up her underwear and the pants and shirt she’d shed in her haste to get Harper’s hands on her the night before. “But it wasn’t very wise.”

  “Why not?”

  Presley clutched the bundle of clothes to keep from tearing her hair out. “You know why not. You know why I’m here. I have to make some hard decisions that are going to make a lot of people unhappy. It won’t do your reputation or mine any good for people to think—” She broke off in exasperation. “Damn it.”

  “To think what, Presley? Our personal life is our own business.”

  “We do not have a personal life. Not together. We just slept together.”

  The muscles along Harper’s jaw might have been made of stone, they moved so little as she said in a low ominous tone, “We just slept together. Just a little sex—seven or was it eight times? Is that what you think it was?”

  “I wasn’t counting,” Presley said archly. “I wasn’t aware you were.”

  “Don’t try turning this around. I’m not some flunky in the boardroom. Just sex—is that what you think it was?”

  “What else could it be?” Presley gestured to the ridiculously beautiful scene outside the bedroom window. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, birds singing, for goodness’ sake. “You live in this fairy-tale world, but you can’t possibly believe in fairy tales. You know why I’m here. The hospital is dead, Harper. It’s been dying for years. Everything is going to change, some people are going to be very unhappy, and the last thing either of us needs is rumor about collusion or special favors.”

  “You’ve already decided, haven’t you,” Harper said. “All this vague talk about analyzing usage and patient referral patterns and all the rest of the doublespeak was just smoke and mirrors to placate the simple country folk.”

  “The simple country folk who thought they could seduce me or charm me or appeal to my sense of personal responsibility in order to change my mind?” Presley shot back. Damn her for refusing to see reason. Why did this have to be so hard?

  Harper cursed under her breath. “You’re wrong about me and you’re wrong about the Rivers.”

  “You can’t see it,” Presley said softly, “because you’re built to fight death.”

  “I don’t give up, if that’s what you mean,” Harper said slowly. “Not everything changes. Not me. Not who I am, what I care about, what I feel.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, I am.” Presley meant it. She was sorry she would likely destroy a part of Harper’s world, sorry their goals were so opposed, sorry she couldn’t go back a few months, a few years, and change the future of the Rivers.

  “For what? For not being able to see beyond the cold, empty numbers you fill your life with? Sorry for touching me, for letting me touch you? Sorry for feeling something—anything?” Harper shook her head. “No, I don’t need you to feel sorry for me about anything at all.”

  Presley’s chin lifted, and she kept her voice steady despite the pain. She had lots of practice at that. “I think it would be better if I go.”

  Harper stepped aside. “You’ve already left.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Harper didn’t look up from the book she’d been staring at for the last hour when she felt the tree house sway and someone enter.

  “I saw your truck.” Flann, wearing her usual weekend uniform of T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, dropped onto the sofa next to Harper and put her feet on the crate that served as a coffee table. “You missed a good breakfast.”

  Harper lifted the book without looking at Flann. “Reading here.”

  Flannery craned her neck. “The Case of the Missing Girlfriend.”

  “I should have put up the no-visitors sign,” Harper said.

  “I came to see why you’re brooding. Night didn’t turn out the way you thought?”

  With a sigh, Harper closed the book, The Secret of the Old Clock, and set it aside. “What exactly did you tell Mama this morning?”

  “Not a thing. Except that I’d seen you at the hospital and figured you’d been up all night. Were you?”

  “Almost.”

  “I heard about Jimmy Reynolds.”

  “How?”

  “I ran into Presley in the cafeteria last night. She said you thought he had leukemia.”

  “AML—confirmed. Frank Cisco did the bone marrow biopsy a few hours ago.”

  “Hell. That sucks.”

  “Yeah. I just came from seeing him. He got his first dose of chemo already.”

  “How are Emmy and Don?”

  “Don broke down, but Emmy is a rock. Jimmy takes after her that way.”

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Flann said.

  “Thanks. For now we wait and see how he responds after a round or two.”

  Flann nodded. “So getting back to last night. Was your missing breakfast a good sign or bad?”

  Harper scrubbed her face with her palms, put her head back, and laced her fingers behind her neck. Her back ached faintly—pleasantly sore from propping her body up over Presley, from Presley’s fingers digging into her when she came
. “Goddamn it.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  Harper stared at the ceiling, tracing the grain in the wood, fascinated as she always was by the thoughts of where the wood had been before it became part of this sanctuary. Part of a barn, most likely, felled on some farm a couple hundred years ago. The wood had survived long after the lives of those who had hewn it had ended, would continue on long after her too, unless someone came along and knocked the tree house down and used the wood for kindling or left it in the underbrush to rot. “The night—or what was left of it after I got Jimmy squared away—was fine. The morning was the problem.”

  Flann laughed wryly. “Aren’t they always? Of course, knowing you, you’d want to talk, and that always leads to trouble.”

  “What do you do? Sneak away in the dead of night?”

  “Of course not. I don’t sneak away until dawn. Most women like a repeat first thing in the morning after a night of great sex.”

  Harper clenched her jaw. Presley had wanted her again in the morning too. She wished she could think of the night with Presley as just great sex, but she couldn’t. The sex had been wonderful, to be sure, but it was the hitch in her heart every time she thought about Presley that kept her tethered to the memory, that kept alive the longing to touch her again, to hear her sounds of pleasure again, to lose herself in the beauty of her coming and the annihilation of coming with her. “Fuck.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Have you ever been with a woman who makes you forget everything except her?”

  Flann’s face closed the way it always did when something cut too close to the bone. “No. And I hope you haven’t either.”

  “Do you think that’s something you can control?”

  “I think it’s something you can avoid with a little bit of thought.” Flann raked a hand through her thick sandy hair. “Jesus, Harper. Didn’t we talk about this? You had to know it was a bad idea.”

  A bad idea. Presley had said something very much the same. Harper’s temper frayed. “You can’t really be naïve enough to think you can dictate something like that.”