Against Doctor's Orders Page 24

  Presley swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Come on. You need some sleep.”

  “If I said I needed you—”

  Presley pressed her fingers to Harper’s mouth. “Shh. Not now.”

  Carefully, Presley unbuttoned Harper’s shirt, helped her shrug it off, and tugged at the white tank underneath. She opened Harper’s trousers and dragged down the zipper. “Get these off and climb into bed.”

  Harper braced one hand on Presley’s shoulder, pushed her pants down, and kicked them off along with her shoes. She stood naked, unself-conscious. Harper was beautiful, her throat and arms tanned golden all over, her chest and breasts and belly a creamy beige.

  Presley cast desperately about for something to take her focus off Harper’s body. She trembled to touch her. “Should I get you something for your jaw?”

  “You could kiss it and make it better.”

  “You’re half-dead on your feet, but”—Presley leaned forward, careful not to brush against Harper’s nudity, and kissed the bruise on her cheek—“there. Now, bed.”

  Harper dropped onto the bed. Presley pulled the sheet over her and smoothed back her hair. Harper’s eyes were already closing.

  “Get some sleep. Sweet dreams.”

  Harper’s eyes opened, startlingly clear. “I hope I dream of you.”

  Presley’s heart clutched painfully. Leaving her was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Presley’s cell rang a little before six that evening. The readout said private caller, and half expecting a wrong number, she answered absently. “Presley Worth.”

  “Presley, it’s Harper.”

  Presley rose from the top step where she’d been sitting with a glass of wine, as if standing would somehow give her more control over the excitement surging through her. “You’re awake, although I have no idea how or why. Feeling better?”

  “Enormously. I owe you—”

  “No, you don’t.” Presley leaned against the porch rail, warmed by the sound of Harper’s voice. Rooster stopped scratching in the dirt where she’d thrown some fruit scraps and eyed her with his small black bead of an eye, as if sensing something important had just happened. Could he tell her blood was racing? “What can I do for you?”

  Harper laughed and Presley flushed. Even over the phone Harper’s voice woke something hungry inside her, a delicious hunger she hadn’t known before.

  “Ah—” Presley hadn’t been so tongue-tied since the first time a girl in high school had asked her for a date. Come to think of it, not even then. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

  “I was wondering if we could meet in the morning. There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Later in the day, then—”

  “Harper, I’m flying to Phoenix tomorrow.”

  “Phoenix…” Harper was silent. “Are you leaving?”

  “Not just yet,” Presley said, sadness softening her voice.

  “Tonight? Can I stop by? I know it’s unorthodox and probably an inconvenience—”

  Presley half laughed, half sighed. “Harper, really. I think at this point we can dispense with the formality. If you want to talk, by all means come by. Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then come over now. Lila left cornbread and stew that smells delicious. I was just about to eat.”

  “That’s hardly necessary, considering I’m barging in on your evening.”

  “It’s fine. Please.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

  Presley disconnected. Fifteen minutes. She looked at the shapeless jeans and plain gray T-shirt she’d thrown on to feed the barn kittens and clean up their corner of the barn. Well, that would never do. She sprinted inside, left her wineglass on the kitchen table, and hurried to the stairs. Carrie was just coming down dressed in her softball gear.

  “Coming to the game after all?” Carrie asked.

  “Harper’s coming over. Impromptu meeting.”

  Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “Here? Must be important. Do you need me?”

  “No. You go ahead.”

  “I guess Harper won’t be at the game.” Carrie sighed. “There goes my night.”

  Presley stopped in the middle of the stairs and stared. “Harper?” she said carefully, fighting the strangest urge to growl. “I didn’t realize you—”

  “Teasing, Presley. Teasing.” Carrie laughed. “I don’t have designs on her, and if I had given it a thought—well, I suppose when I first saw her, the thought crossed my mind, I’m sure it crosses every eligible woman’s mind for a few seconds—I certainly wouldn’t be thinking it now. Not when she’s got your scent all over her.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Just a figure of speech, but she’s a marked woman. She just doesn’t know it yet. And neither, apparently, do you.”

  “You do realize you’re not making any sense.”

  Carrie continued downstairs. “I’m making perfect sense, and you’d understand what I’m talking about if you’d stop trying to talk yourself out of it.”

  Presley held up a hand. “I don’t have time for cryptic conversation. Have a good game. Be careful.”

  “I will.” Carrie paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, Presley?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve never had any trouble leaving your mark at SunView. Maybe you should try that here.”

  Presley nodded as if she understood and hurried to her room. In her bedroom, she quickly pulled on black pants and a short-sleeved cobalt-blue shirt, slipped into loafers, and gave her hair a quick brush. After a glance in the mirror, she threw on enough makeup to make her look like she’d been sleeping far better than she had been. She was downstairs in the kitchen when Harper’s truck came down the drive. A few minutes later footsteps on the back porch announced her presence. Presley tried valiantly to ignore the rapid pounding of her heart, but it was hard when the knock came on the screen door and she saw her there, backlit by the setting sun. Something that had been swirling around inside her, uneasy and unsettled, floated into place. For the first time in days, her world brightened.

  “Hi,” Presley said, unable to hide the eagerness in her tone. And why should she? She was glad to see her and pretending otherwise was akin to lying. She wouldn’t do that—not after what they had shared. “Come in.”

  Harper wore dark jeans and a red polo shirt. Some of the fatigue had disappeared from her face, and even with faint smudges beneath her eyes, she was sexier than most women who’d just walked out of a high-end spa. The purple welt on the left side of her jaw wasn’t sexy, though. Presley winced inwardly and imagined how much that must have hurt when it was fresh. She stifled the urge to stroke the spot. “Sleep all right?”

  “Yes.” Harper grinned and set a folder on the counter. “Would have been better if you’d stayed.”

  Presley’s face warmed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Memory problems? I seem to remember the night went pretty well the last time we shared a bed.”

  “Are you channeling your charmer of a sister now?” Presley said, trying to sound stern, secretly pleased Harper hadn’t forgotten that night.

  Harper’s eyes took on an interesting shade of blue-gray, rather like the storm clouds that blew in on a hot afternoon. “What has Flann been up to? Because if she’s been charming you—”

  “She hasn’t,” Presley said, stirred by the heat in Harper’s gaze. When had any woman ever looked at her like that? As if she were desirable—more than desirable, essential. She tried to steady her breathing so her voice wouldn’t shake. “I’m just not used to you flirting quite so—”

  “No? I’ll have to remedy that.” Harper took a step, gripped her arms, and tugged her close.

  The kiss came out of nowhere—a bolt of lightning that set Presley’s nerves on fire. She gasped and clutched Harper’s shoulders. Harper’s eyes flashed and Presley parted her lips w
hen Harper demanded entrance. The kiss went on and on, stealing her breath, making her thighs weak. She leaned into Harper, her breasts crushed to Harper’s chest. Wanting simmered deep inside, and she moaned.

  Harper drew back a fraction, still holding her. “How am I doing?”

  “What?” Presley asked numbly. She slipped her fingers beneath Harper’s collar and caressed her neck. “I’ve lost track of what—”

  “Good,” Harper murmured against her mouth. “I want you to stop thinking of anything except me when I kiss you.”

  “That’s the trouble.” Presley nibbled at Harper’s lower lip, teased along the inner edge with her tongue. She tasted so good, felt so right. God, she wanted her. She tried to make her mind work. “I don’t think when you’re around. And you’re not making sense.”

  “Yes, I am,” Harper said, “finally. And you should be flirted with, regularly. By me.”

  Presley kissed Harper’s throat, pressed her mouth to the bounding pulse. “Yes. I think I’d like that.”

  Harper slipped her hand under the back of Presley’s shirt and stroked the hollow just above her ass. “Are we alone?”

  “Yes.” Presley swayed, pushed her pelvis into Harper’s. “No.”

  “We’re not alone?” Harper flicked the top of Presley’s shirt aside and kissed her chest. “I passed Carrie coming in. Who else is here?”

  “No one.” Presley closed her eyes. Harper’s mouth was all she knew—everywhere, inside her, turning her flesh to fire. She was losing her mind. Pressing both palms to Harper’s chest she leaned back. “You said you wanted to talk.”

  “Did,” Harper muttered, fingertips tracing Presley’s spine lightly. “Do. Later. Let’s go to bed.”

  She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. And then where would they be—another morning when she’d have to leave, and everything still unsettled between them. “I have to go to Phoenix in the morning.”

  “You said that already.” Harper stilled, her mouth against Presley’s throat. “Why?”

  “I present the finding on the Rive…ACH.” Presley’s heart broke a little feeling Harper pull away. Somehow she’d ended up with her back against the counter and Harper’s weight pinning her there. She couldn’t escape. She should want to, but she didn’t.

  “Before you go anywhere,” Harper said, “there’s something I need to say.”

  “I know,” Presley said. “You said on the phone—”

  “Not business. Personal.” Harper cupped her chin, captured her gaze. “We have something special between us—something I don’t want to lose.”

  Presley tensed. No, no, no. This was not a good idea. The words caught in her throat. Part of her, a very large part of her, waited, wanting Harper to say it again.

  “I wasn’t thinking very far ahead—” Harper grimaced wryly. “I wasn’t thinking at all, really, when we tumbled into bed together, but I knew I wanted to. Wanted you, more than I ever wanted any woman before—”

  “God, Harper, this is crazy.”

  Harper went on as if she hadn’t heard. “Not just because you’re quite possibly, no, absolutely, the most beautiful and desirable woman I’ve ever seen—”

  “Harper—”

  “I wanted you, I think, from the first second I saw you in the hall outside the emergency room. You looked so damn cool and composed and above it all. I like that about you. Nothing is ever going to get you rattled.”

  “You rattle me,” Presley whispered, running her fingers through Harper’s hair. “You have from the first.”

  “Good.” Harper’s eye’s glinted. “I know you’re not unshakeable, but I know nothing is going to make you break and run either. This morning you were there when I needed you. I need that, knowing I can lean when I need to, and it will be all right.”

  Presley trembled and fought the urge to run out the back door. “Oh God, Harper, I’m not who you think—”

  Harper swept her thumb over Presley’s lips. “You know what? I think you might not be who you think you are.”

  Presley frowned. Harper still held her close, and she’d forgotten to try to get free. “I know exactly who I am. I’ve always known exactly who I am and what I wanted. I know that’s hard to believe, because it’s so different than what you want—”

  “Is it? I’ve always wanted to do the work that gave me pleasure and made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile. I wanted to make my parents proud. I wanted to take care of the people I loved. That’s not that much different than you.”

  Presley shook her head. “That’s a million light-years away from me. I do what I do because it gives me satisfaction, yes. I also do it because it’s expected of me, and it’s the only thing that the people I care about respect. I want that respect and the love—” She bit her lip. “Not love perhaps, but what passes for love anyway. Success is the key to getting those things in my world. As to taking care of the people I love? I wouldn’t know where to begin, and I doubt they would either.”

  “You know. You’ve been taking care of me. Emmy told me how you took care of her.”

  “Emmy? How…”

  “This afternoon when I checked in on Jimmy.”

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  Harper kissed her chin. “Yes, and don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re trying.” Harper kissed her again, leaning into her—her body hot and hard and possessive.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Presley murmured.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t think.”

  “Good. I don’t want you to go to Phoenix.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Presley ordered her brain to focus. “Because I have to finish this. I’m sorry.”

  “What happens to us when it’s done?” Harper asked, finally stepping back and letting her breathe.

  I’ll come back, but will you still want me, after what I have to do? Presley shook her head, her soul bleeding. “I don’t know.”

  “Read the proposal,” Harper said, gesturing to the folder.

  “I will, but I can’t promise—”

  “I don’t want you to promise.” Harper stepped back. “Not about that.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk,” Presley said quickly as Harper headed for the door. She was seconds from begging her not to leave. She clenched her jaw, afraid if the need came pouring out, she’d drown.

  “You can discuss what’s going to happen to the Rivers with my father when you come back.” Harper pushed the door open, her expression so intense Presley shuddered. “Come find me if you want to talk about us.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “I saw your truck in the drive,” Flann said as she poked her head through the hatch in the tree house. “Are you hiding out or is company allowed?”

  Harper turned her head and regarded her sister. She’d been lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling, she wasn’t sure how long. She might’ve slept a little but she wasn’t positive about that either. The hollow ache in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t had breakfast, and from the angle of the sun coming through the window, it must be going on nine a.m. Presley was probably in the air already, well on her way to Phoenix.

  “Come in if you want to,” Harper said.

  Flann climbed up and sat on the crate in front of Harper. “I heard you had a tough one with Jimmy again last night.”

  “Yeah—he spiked a temp again. But if nothing changes, I think we might have turned the corner this morning.” She’d just left Presley’s when she’d gotten the call that Jimmy was looking worse. She’d driven straight to the hospital and spent the rest of the night conferring with the hematologists and infectious disease specialists about the best antibiotic regimen. “We’re about out of options if the drugs don’t work this time.”

  “Bone marrow transplant?” Flann asked.

  “We’ve been holding off making the call, hoping the chemo would’ve cleared his mar
row and he’d start regenerating. Then last night, it looked like he was gonna go the other way.”

  “You’ve been there most of the weekend, haven’t you?”

  “The last few nights.” Harper rubbed her face. “Why is it nights are always the hardest? No wonder all those myths always have the Grim Reaper showing up in the middle of the night to collect souls. Are we just more vulnerable then?”

  Flann sighed. “Jesus, Harp—don’t go all metaphysical on me.” She paused, her expression distant and dark, a rare glimpse beneath her mask of casual indifference. “Maybe it’s just that we’re all afraid of the dark—too many ghosts.”

  “Maybe,” Harper said quietly.

  “What else happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re winning with Jimmy, or at least holding the line, there’s got to be some other reason you look like your dog died.”

  “Me, my dogs, and all the other animals are just fine.”

  “Woman problems, then. What’s happened now?”

  “Nothing. Let it go.”

  “Last night at the game, Carrie mentioned Presley was headed to Phoenix today.”

  Harper contemplated throttling her. “Did you come down here just to annoy me?”

  “I’ll go and let you sulk as soon as you tell me what put the burr in your saddle.”

  “Presley.”

  “Well, yeah. I got that part.”

  “Every time I think I’m getting closer, she gets further away.” Harper’s skin still burned from the memory of Presley pressed against her. Every time she wasn’t totally absorbed in making a medical decision, her entire being was consumed with wanting Presley—and her absence left her starving. She shuddered. God damn it.

  Flann snorted. “That’s appropriately vague, and considering the subject, probably accurate. Try small sentences with simple words. What. Happened?”

  Harper sighed. “Presley seems to think we don’t have anything in common.”

  “Probably because you don’t.”

  Harper shot up straight on the sofa. “That’s bullshit. We’re part of the same world, we’re just coming at it from slightly different directions. She understands what I do. And even though I don’t always like it, I understand what she does.”