Stormy Passion Page 30

  “Brenna,” he said her name like an impatient father. “Let me worry about my vacation. You need to cooperate.”

  Placing his hands under her arms, he helped her up, being careful not to bump her foot. He watched her face for signs of pain as she stood. She winced when the blood surged to her wounded foot. He didn't like seeing her in pain and unable to help her. “Hang on to me with one hand, and I'll slip your arm in the robe.”

  If her foot didn't hurt so bad, she would have laughed at the picture the two of them made. She was standing on one foot with her left arm around Taylor's neck while he awkwardly tried to slip her right arm in the bathrobe's sleeve. And he was much too close. He had his right arm around her waist so she wouldn't fall, and she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Finally, with a little struggling, he successfully placed her other arm in the robe. Then he methodically wrapped the garment around her and tied it at the waist. He was so serious about his task that Brenna started giggling.

  Taylor's right eyebrow rose a fraction. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” She wanted to say, you do everything right. But she realized his hands were still on her waist and she really had to fight the urge to kiss him. “It's just that I feel like a baby with you dressing me.”

  He evidently saw the humor and started laughing, causing his expression soften. “Now that you mentioned it. It's the first time I can remember putting clothes on you.”

  Brenna's face flushed at his intimate referral. If only the man knew what he did to her. “Taylor! Shame on you.” But silently she said, And shame on me for wanting you so bad it hurts. Her face flushed with embarrassment and she stared straight at his shirt, careful not to let him see her desire. “I think I'm ready to go.”

  “Good. Sit back down and I'll wheel you out.”

  Just then a nurse stepped in and announced, “That's my job young man. Why don't you make yourself useful and get the car.”

  “Yes, sir, General.” Taylor saluted the head nurse, then proceeded out the door, chuckling to himself. “Yep, she has to be a relative of General Patton,” Brenna heard him add over his shoulder.

  The nurse chatted with Brenna on the way to the front door.

  A phone rang just as they reached the reception area, and the nurse excused herself so she could answer the call.

  Brenna had mixed emotions. She was glad Taylor cared enough to stay and pick her up. But now she'd have to say goodbye when they got back home, and she had hoped to avoid that situation. If she cried, she would never forgive herself.

  Cool air swept across her face when Taylor pulled open the door. “Your carriage awaits.” He reached for the crutches and placed them in the Jeep.

  “Wait. I can't walk without them,” she shouted. Then it dawned on her he'd driven the Jeep instead of his car, and she wondered why. Probably for the crutches, she decided.

  “You're not going to walk,” Taylor informed her as he bent over and swept her up in his arms.

  “T--this really isn't necessary,” she protested while grabbing his neck. “I can walk.”

  “Really? I thought you just said you couldn't walk.”

  “I meant without crutches.”

  “Well, I'm not going to let you take a step on this icy ground,” he whispered close to her ear. “Do you want to fall and break the other foot?”

  “No--but.”

  “Precisely.” He opened the Jeep door and placed her on the seat.

  She waited for him to walk around the car and get in. “I really do appreciate you picking me up.”

  “No problem.”

  “You probably wanted to get an early start back home and I've prevented that. I'm sorry.”

  Checking traffic both ways, Taylor pulled out of the parking lot. “Look. Quit apologizing. I'm not going home.”

  She stared wordlessly at him, her heart pounding, then she turned back to stare out the windshield. Had she heard him correctly? “You're not? Watch that light, its short!”

  “I see it.” He put his foot on the brake. “You sound disappointed.”

  “I--I,” she stumbled. “No. I'm not disappointed, just surprised. You can go now.” Brenna pointed out the obvious. “What does Carol say about all this?”

  “What a back seat driver you are.” He chuckled then answered her question. “She doesn't mind.”

  “She doesn't?”

  “No. Carol understood you needed some help, so she drove my car home, and I'll go back later.”

  “She's gone?”

  He glanced at her. “Why are you getting so flustered?”

  “Well . . . I . . .” Brenna could feel her face heating up, and she turned her head away. Her emotions ran ahead full charge. “I can't explain. I—I don’t want to screw up your life.”

  Reaching over, he placed a hand on hers. “You're safe from me. I won't attack you.”

  That wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. Or maybe it was. She wanted him--but she didn't. He was hers--but he wasn't. She was so confused. Staring down at her cast, she said without thinking. “I guess I'm not very attractive with this lump of plaster on my foot.”

  Taylor chuckled. “I hadn't even noticed.” He said as he swung the Jeep into the driveway. “Did you really break your foot?”

  “You're not a very good liar.”

  He didn't bother to comment. Instead, he unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car, then moved around to open the door. Again, he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the house. Brenna really loved this special attention he was lavishing on her. She'd never been pampered in her life.

  “You do know I'm going to have to learn to walk on my own?”

  “Well, Miss Independence.” He looked down at her and Brenna thought she'd melt. His mouth was much too close to hers. “You can start practicing as soon as I get you inside.”

  He released her legs letting her body slide down his. An action he immediately regretted as his pulse jumped then pounded in his throat.

  He handed her the crutches, placing one under each arm. When she reached out and grabbed his arm, he had to hide his smile. So she did need him after all. She might not admit it, but for once Brenna Fox was going to have to rely on someone else. He smiled as he said, “You're on your own.”

  “I don't think I'm going to like this,” Brenna complained as she placed her weight on the bulky rubber pads.

  “Welcome home,” Geraldine announced when Brenna came into the room. “How do ya feel?”

  “My foot hurts and my head is pounding,” Brenna said realizing she sounded like a disgruntled child. “But, I'll live.”

  “However, today you will stay in bed,” Taylor ordered from behind her. “That was a nasty lump you had on your head.”

  “Yes, doctor.” Brenna awkwardly moved the crutches, finding the process harder than she'd ever imagined. And she wondered how she was going to handle Taylor being her caretaker. She would be dependent on a man who only felt sorry for her.

  Geraldine held the door open for Brenna to pass slowly through. “I don't want ya to worry none. We got everything' under control, so ya just rest. Lisa will be up when she gets home from school.”

  Brenna finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at the obstacle in front of her, wishing she hadn't declared her independence so soon. “I am a little tired.”

  Taylor had watched the emotions playing across Brenna's face. How she hated to ask for help. He admired how proud she pretended to be, and then he realized with a stab of pain, she'd never had anybody to lean on . . . until now.

  He moved around Geraldine and took the crutches from Brenna before picking her up and carrying her upstairs. She didn't protest this time, but merely rested her head on his chest. He knew the morning's ordeal had finally zapped her strength. Besides, he kind of liked her snuggling close to him.

  When they entered her room, he noticed the bed had already been turned back, so he placed her on the edge of the mattress.

  “Thank you,” she murmured
sleepily. “Will you look in the bottom of the dresser and bring me a nightgown.”

  Pulling open the drawer, he gazed at the sexy lingerie and the flannel gowns, but there was no decision. He chose an aquamarine lace gown. It wasn't as warm as the flannel, but he'd turned up the gas logs to keep her warm. This would be pretty with her black satin hair, he thought as he handed it to her. “Need some help?” he asked with a roguish grin.

  Because I'd just love to help you.

  She cut her eyes up at him. “If you'll give me a minute, I think I'll need your assistance with my cast. But I'm quite sure I can manage a simple gown.”

  “You change. I'll get some extra pillows.”

  When Taylor returned he found he'd been right about his choice of garments. Brenna looked fetching. No--beautiful. On the other hand, cuddly. He should have chosen the flannel.

  But she isn't yours. That little voice was a damn nagging intrusion as it continued; you should have chosen the flannel gown. “Oh, shut up,” Taylor said before he caught himself.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Just mumbling. That's all. He helped her swing her foot up on the high bed, then placed it upon a soft pillow. “How does that feel?”

  “Like somebody hit my foot with a sledge hammer.”

  “I know it hurts,” Taylor awkwardly cleared his throat. He went and got a glass of water, and when he returned he handed her the glass. “Here, take one of your pain pills. Maybe this will help. All you need is some rest.”

  When she had obeyed, he pulled a comforter over her and tucked it under her chin. “In a few days you'll be laughing at all of this.”

  I can't believe I'm pulling a blanket over you when I'd rather be removing your clothes.

  She looked up at him with half-closed eyes. “You really think so?”

  “Trust me.” He murmured as he pushed her hair away from her face.

  But can you be trusted? His conscious was getting to be a pain in the ass.

  Brenna reached and placed her hand over his, then looked at him with sleepy eyes. Her voice was just above a whisper when she said, “I do.”

  Chapter Eight

  The week had passed quickly, Taylor thought as he sat behind Brenna's desk staring at the contract he'd pulled out of his briefcase.

  He reached for his cup of coffee. Brenna had proven difficult yesterday, insisting it was time to get out of bed, but he wanted to give her another day of rest

  At least the bump on her head had finally gone down, though the skin was still a purplish hue, and the color had returned to her cheeks. Taylor had a hunch it had been awhile since Brenna had taken time out to relax.

  What a fuss she'd made when he took her crutches. “Doctor’s orders,” he’d told her. Today he would get her up and back to a limited routine.

  Glancing at the contract again, he made his final decision; feeling deep down it was the right choice. Taylor quickly scanned the mumbo jumbo legal jargon he'd seen so often before. After signing his name, he folded the paper and placed it in an envelope, then transferred the document to his coat pocket.

  He picked up the phone and called his office. Big mistake. He spent the next hour answering questions, giving his approval and taking care of general business. Finally, he put the receiver down and turned his attention to Brenna's mail. That's when an envelope sticking out from under the desk pad caught his eye.

  He slid it out and noticed it was from Blue Ridge Bank. That was the second time he had heard the name. He stared at the legal envelope, wondering.

  His conscience said, You shouldn't open it. It's none of your business.

  He knew he shouldn't, but his instincts told him otherwise.

  Pulling out the letter, he frowned. A late notice from the bank greeted his eyes. Brenna had missed last month's payment, and worse, she was paying an ungodly interest rate of twenty percent. It was just plain highway robbery, he raged. She should know better.

  Then he sat back and gave her situation some thought. He remembered there had been no insurance when her parents died. He recalled how upset Brenna had been not knowing how she would take care of her sister. Brenna's parents had always been a little backward. She had even struggled to pay her way through school, and he had to admit that it was one of the things he'd admired most about her ... that inner-strength of hers. But how had she managed to survive these past few years?

  Lisa's surgery had to have cost a small fortune, not to mention this bed and breakfast. He rubbed his chin. Brenna had probably gotten a little money from the sale of her parents' house. But, not nearly enough. So she had borrowed to buy this place. But something didn't add up. A piece of the puzzle had escaped him, and he couldn't figure it out, but he would before he left.

  One thing he could do for Brenna, though she'd protest if she knew, was to make a couple of payments, so she'd be paid ahead. He opened his checkbook and started to write. Brenna really needed to change banks. His job would be to convince her.

  He pushed the armchair back and stood. Yes, he had made the right decision. He was certain. Now it was time to rescue Brenna from her confinement. Picking up the crutches, he went to the kitchen to get her a drink as a peace offering.

  “I’m damned sick of this room!” Brenna fumed and leaned back against the fluffy white pillows with a novel in her hand, Diamond In The Rough, by her favorite author.

  She tried once again to read, but in a few minutes she pushed the book aside, unable to concentrate. “Who does he think he is, telling me what I can and can't do?”

  Of course, she was grateful. And she enjoyed being pampered. But enough. Brenna looked at her four-poster bed with its lace canopy, and instead of seeing a beautiful antique, she saw a prison.

  Well she'd had enough. Throwing back the comforter, she sat up and looked for her crutches. They were missing from their usual spot.

  That snake.

  “Damned man,” Brenna mumbled. She knew who had taken the crutches. Well, that wouldn't stop her this time. Carefully, she lifted her injured limb and draped it over the side of the bed and followed it by her other foot.

  She was grateful her foot didn't throb anymore, and she'd be very careful not to bump it. Slowly, she eased herself off the bed and landed on her good foot. She hobbled to the end bedpost and from there she hopped to the rose-colored, winged-backed chair that flanked the fireplace.

  The heat from the gas logs bathed her skin in warmth. When she glanced down at the coffee table, she smiled at a fresh bouquet of flowers. Their delightful fragrance filled the room. At least, someone had been thoughtful.

  She had to get to the bathroom. Brenna had always been thankful for the large rooms in this house. Until now. Her bedroom had its own sitting area complete with couch and chairs. Now she'd have to cross this expanse to get to the bathroom. It was a good distance on one foot. But she was determined and reached for the mantel for support. She had just about made it to the end of the fireplace when the door swung open, and the object of her wrath stood with crutches in hand.

  Taylor's eyes focused on Brenna's body, which was well defined by the flames of the fire. Her gown, in see-through batiste, provided a lovely shimmering veil for her breasts. Breasts that stood firm and straight. His mouth watered. He could even see the pink of her nipples as she turned to the side to face him. His tongue ran over dry lips as the memories of her lovely body surfaced uninvited. Then, ever so slowly, his vision moved lower until he spotted the darkness between her thighs. His body responded, and with great effort, he resisted the temptation to go and pull her to him. It had always been good between them and had bonded their love solidly, or so he thought.

  “Are you through undressing me?” Brenna snapped. Didn't the man see she was at his mercy and couldn't reach her robe? More than that, she had felt her traitorous body respond to the boldness in his gaze. Her nipples had hardened and throbbed the minute he looked at her with those drowsy half-lidded eyes.

  “Huh?” Taylor mumbled before he pulled out of h
is stupor, telling himself he was reacting much like a teenager. “I've brought you something to drink. I thought you might like to go downstairs today, but I see you've decided that for yourself.” He moved into her room with the crutches in his hand. “Do I need to point out that you could have injured yourself?”

  “No, you don't,” Brenna snapped. “Should I point out you swiped my crutches, and I need them to go to the bathroom?” He did have the grace to blush as he handed them over. “If you'll excuse me,” she mumbled and hobbled off.

  He heard the water running and imagined Brenna sponging cool water over her magnificent body. He could picture drops of water dripping off the ends of her nipples and that made him horny as hell. He shook himself, knowing he couldn't let his thoughts continue this way, or he'd have a perpetual hard-on all day.

  When Brenna emerged with freshly-cleansed skin, a bathrobe, and little else under the robe, Taylor moved near her. Her French Lavender scent seemed to fill every pore of his body. He brushed her creamy cheek with this thumb. “Your perfume reminds me of other times,” he murmured, pushing Brenna's hair behind her shoulders. He felt her tremble, and his desire blazed as he lowered his head, preparing to capture her lush lips.

  “This isn't other times,” she stated. “Should I remind you you're engaged?”

  Taylor stiffened at the cold reminder. In fact, he had forgotten Carol. His eyes locked with Brenna's. Her words didn't match what he saw in her eyes, and he knew she was putting on a front for him.

  But you know she's right, Taylor. You've promised to marry another.

  This traitorous conscience of his had to go. It was proving to be a nuisance, reminding him of things he tried hard to forget. “What would you like to wear?” He moved back away from her. “I'll get it for you.”

  He heard Brenna's sigh of relief before she said, “There's a pair of slacks--no forget that. They will never go over this foot.”

  “How about some sweatpants?” he suggested.