Love, Come to Me(79)

Love was unvoiced and undenied. As they fitted together into one being, each movement was a new discovery, each second an eternity of emotion. Let it last, her heart beseeched the darkness silently. Let it last forever.

A soft voice broke through his cloud of slumber, persisting despite his best efforts to ignore it. “It’s seven o’clock, Heath . . . wake up . . . I won’t let you sleep any longer, so open your eyes. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Oh, God. At the thought of getting up, facing a day of complicated tasks, unappetizing decisions, raised voices, and the nauseating prospect of breakfast, something inside him shrank back in distaste. He felt Lucy’s gentle kiss on his cheek, and he rolled onto his stomach, making a grumpy noise. She snatched away the extra pillow before he could pull it over his tousled head, and just what she was saying he couldn’t make out, but it sounded sympathetic.

Lucy sat down by his side and traced a line down the length of his spine; she planted a kiss in the center of his back and began to massage his shoulders. “Don’t be difficult,” she coaxed, plying her hands to his taut muscles with deep, rhythmic movements. “You know how much worse it would be if I didn’t wake you up and you were off-schedule the whole day. You have to get to the Examiner early this morning. You have mountains to move, and many things to—”

“If you’re trying to get me out of bed,” Heath growled, the thought of the newspaper wrenching him awake in the space of two seconds, “you’d better use different tactics than telling me how much I’ve got to do.” He sighed as she found the aching muscles right between his shoulder blades. “Ahh . . . lower . . . mmmm.”

“I’ve drawn a hot bath for you. You’ll feel so much better after soaking in it for a few minutes. And I brought up some fresh coffee. It’s right on the bed table for you to—”

“Uggh.”

“Why don’t you try taking a few sips of it while you’re having your bath? I’ll bring it in to you.”

He nodded reluctantly, winced at the pain that shot through his skull, and sat up with a groan. Silently Lucy handed him a silk robe patterned with subdued burgundy and blue stripes. He pulled it on and stood up, looking down at her as she tied the belt around his lean waist. When she was done, he pulled her against his body, buried his face in the curve of her neck and thought that the greatest gift he could be given was to be allowed to fall asleep standing up, with his head resting on her soft shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he said in a muffled voice.

“Why not?”

He opened his eyes and squinted at the window. Lucy had pulled back the cream-colored velvet panels to let the morning light in. “It’s too sunny.”

She chuckled, letting go of him as he headed to the bathroom. Having already dressed and fixed her hair, she had nothing to do this morning except take care of Heath. Despite the troubles at the Examiner—which could surely be resolved in a way that would allow both Heath and Damon to keep their pride intact—she was wonderfully, deliriously happy. It was hard not to shower Heath with an overabundance of love. She wanted to burst through his defenses with it—she wanted to surround him with it. But even mentioning the word love would be making a demand that he was not ready for. She would rein in her feelings as much as she could, waiting patiently until he could bring himself to tell her what was in his heart. After all that he had said and done last night, she knew that he cared for her. He had told her he needed her. How incredibly good it had been to hear him say that!

She subdued her exuberant expression into something approaching normal and picked up the cup of steaming black coffee, being careful not to slosh the brew into the saucer. As she carried it into the bathroom, she saw Heath’s head resting on the rolled rim of the enameled bathtub, his eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep again. Gingerly she sat down on the lid of the water closet. Heath opened one eye and reached out for the coffee.

Silently she handed it to him, resisting the urge to reach out and sift her fingers through the damp, slightly curling strands of hair that had fallen on his forehead. Heath took an experimental swallow and then another before he gave the cup back to her. “It’s not bad,” he said grudgingly, taking hold of a cake of soap and working up a lather.

“Maybe in a few minutes you’ll feel like having breakfast—”

“I wouldn’t lay odds on it.”

Her smile was filled with sympathy as she looked at him.

He looked away from her, devoting his attention to the soap. “I . . . hope I didn’t talk too much last night,” he said casually. “I don’t remember much about it.”

Lucy pushed the nagging thoughts about Raine—whoever she was—right out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about her. And besides, it didn’t matter who Raine was, because she was part of Heath’s past, while Lucy was his wife. Lucy was his present and his future, and she would not allow anyone or anything to disrupt this satisfactory state of affairs.

“No,” she replied with equal casualness. “You didn’t say much of anything.”

“Oh.” His relief was poorly concealed as he proceeded with his bath. Discreetly Lucy enjoyed the sight of his lithe body as he lathered his chest with foamy white soap and rinsed off. After a few minutes, he paused for a swallow of coffee and smiled wryly.