The Wish List (7 page)

“Oh, he’s about. In the shower,” Hannah said, cocking her head.

“Nathan? In the shower? Alone?” Faith asked.

“Alone? Well, I should think so,” Hannah told her with a bewildered look. “Might as well sit down. I ran out of liquid soap and he wouldn’t let me buy anymore. Wants to stop babying himself, he says, even though managing a bar of soap’s a little rough. It takes him a bit of time to get anywhere near clean. But he’s a very independent man. All male, you know. Doesn’t like having anyone make things easier for him. Likes to manage alone.”

Faith certainly did know. She remembered her first glimpse of the kitchen. Before Hannah had come. That’s how well he had managed alone.

So as Hannah bustled out to her car, Faith wondered just how Nathan was faring. He’d been so tense lately. He needed successes, not the frustration of handling a slippery bar of soap. She wanted his attempts at doing things for himself to offer encouragement and to give him a sense of accomplishment. The prospect of Nathan forcing himself to wrestle a slippery piece of soap across his body wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

Faith knew then that she
had
been lax, that she should have discussed such things with him and made sure that he didn’t need help beyond what Hannah could give him.

What kind of a therapist was she, she asked herself. The answer came back, fast and hard. She was a damned good therapist, one who was just a bit off-kilter at times with this particular patient.

Faith stood outside the door of the bathroom, shifting from foot to foot. Eight times she heard the bar drop, followed by Nathan’s low curse as she stood there, wrapping her arms tightly about herself, clenching her elbows.

She nearly called out his name, but forced herself to remain quiet. If he wanted help, he would say so.

Still, the whole process seemed interminable. What time had it been when he walked into that bathroom? How long had he been in there? Was that the soap dropping she heard again?

No, it had to be him putting it down for the final time. The water stopped. He must be getting dried off.

The thought of the whole length of Nathan naked and wet as he pushed the towel over his skin was too much for Faith. She couldn’t just stand here anymore. She especially didn’t want to be found hovering outside the door when he emerged.

Moving into the kitchen, she tried to prepare herself for his reaction to finding her there. He’d know that she’d heard his struggle with the shower. How was he going to feel about that? She could guess that he wouldn’t be pleased.

No matter. Her job was to be encouraging, to remind him that his strength was returning slowly and that things would get better.

But as she turned at the sound of him nearing the doorway, she couldn’t think of a single word of advice to offer. He was standing there in unbuttoned jeans, his shirt opened all the way. He was barefoot and still damp in places. His hair was wet and spiky, his eyes mirrored his frustration at the less than satisfying experience he’d just gone through.

Still, he wasn’t going to say anything. She could see it in the belligerent set of his chin, the way he was looking at her, daring her to offer any of those inadequate comments she’d been about to make.

Instead, she simply turned and took two glasses from the cabinet, pouring the tea she’d found in the fridge. At the last moment she remembered that she’d poured Nathan’s glass too full. He would have trouble handling it.

“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

With a movement that seemed like a slow-motion video, Nathan slid his hand to the glass, resting it there a moment. Then, slowly, he curled one finger around the curved surface. Then another, and another, until his hand was securely around the perimeter of the glass.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly raised the container to his mouth, his knuckles white, his brow furrowed.

After three deep swallows, Nathan clattered the glass to the counter, turning to her defiantly. “You look just like my mother used to when I climbed up to get the cat off the roof. I warn you, if you say ‘Very good, Nathan,’ I’ll smash this glass against the wall.”

She hadn’t been planning to say that, but the words she’d been going to utter sounded equally condescending to her now. And she wasn’t about to let him know that.

Instead, Faith looked him dead in the eye and filled his glass again. “You shatter that glass, and you’ll take the broom and sweep up every broken bit.”

They stood there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, their brows furrowed like two animals fighting for territory.

Then Nathan smiled, slow and lazy.

“You’re a real lion tamer, Faith. One tough lady.”

That’s exactly the way she felt, like a shaky lion tamer caged up with an unpredictable and exhilarating beast. He was wild, he was dangerous, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with him except try to keep him from getting too close to her—or hurting himself.

Faith needed to back away. She couldn’t think and look into Nathan’s eyes at the same time. Dropping her gaze, she found herself staring at his exposed chest, the light, silky hair that covered it.

“Buttons are still a problem,” he said, as if reading her mind.

It was a difficult admission to make, she was sure.

“I can handle a few buttons,” she offered. She’d spoken quickly, not wanting him to have to listen to the silence, wondering if she was pitying him. Now, seeing the sudden fire that came to life in Nathan’s eyes, Faith wondered who was actually to be pitied here.

“It’s all right, Faith. I’d say that dressing me goes beyond the bounds of duty.”

It was also beyond the bounds of what Faith felt she’d be comfortable doing right now, but she’d promised herself to become more involved in Nathan’s progress, to stop shying away from him like a fresh-faced teenager faced with her idol.

“I’ve dressed patients before,” she said. But those other patients had been nothing like Nathan.

At her words his look turned dark and intense.

She moved to him, lifted her hands to tug on the edges of his shirt—and instantly felt warm, hair-roughened skin. Damp flesh pulsing beneath her fingertips. She inhaled and breathed in his scent—soap...man. Beneath the pads of her fingertips, she could feel his heart beating, or it seemed that way. Her fingers stilled. She looked up at him, uncertain how to go on.

“Maybe it would be better to leave your shirt unfastened,” she faltered. “You’re still damp.” Swift heat flooded throughout her body. “And it
is
warm in here.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said thickly.

But as Faith stepped back, she wasn’t so sure. She could have had the buttons done up in a trice, and looking at the exposed muscles of Nathan’s chest was almost as unnerving as touching him.

“Hannah left your dinner,” she said quickly, looking for a change of subject.

Nathan let out a breath as if he, too, had been uncomfortable with their situation. He looked at the table, then turned back to Faith. “Care to join me? I’m starved. And frankly, I—I wouldn’t mind the company.”

What could she do when he asked so nicely? Nice for Nathan, at any rate. Managing a smile, Faith nodded. “Sounds good. Hannah left a meal big enough to feed the entire hospital.”

~ ~ ~

Nathan watched her as she walked across the room to where Hannah had left the food. He was relieved to have her move away from him, and yet he felt a vague sense of loss at her going.

Thank God she’d given up on helping him with his shirt. When her strong, capable fingers had rested on his chest seconds earlier, he’d been afraid that he’d give in to the urge to touch her, too; to slide one hand beneath all that long, honey brown hair he’d been staring at for so long and expose the vulnerable nape of her neck. To his eyes. His lips.

He watched Faith as she arranged food on the plates, slicing the too-thick pieces of ham that Hannah had left, rearranging dishes, swaying as she worked. She was so petite, and yet so graceful. Her hands were delicate, gentle, he knew. She slid one finger over the edge of a plate to push it deeper onto the table, and Nathan felt his mouth go dry. His mind made the leap.

Thoughts of that one slender finger sliding down his chest filled Nathan’s consciousness.

Angrily, he pushed the picture away, and tried to envision his Joanna.

He took four deep breaths, and felt himself relaxing a bit. Faith was helping him by getting his dinner, something that wasn’t in her job description. He should be helping her, and instead he was—no, he wasn’t going back down that path, not even to berate himself.

Pulling open a drawer, he clattered silverware about, biting down as he clutched up two forks, spoons and knives. He slammed the drawer shut, grasped the pull on a cabinet and grabbed two napkins, crushing them into his other hand.

“Nathan!”

Faith’s cry made the skin tingle all the way down his back. The damn knife. She must have cut herself while she was helping him.

Whirling, he turned to her. But she didn’t have a knife in her hand. She held nothing.

She was staring at him, a bright smile on her lips, a glistening teardrop rolling down her cheek.

“Faith? Faith, are you all right? What’s wrong?”

In a second he was at her side. He dropped the silverware and napkins on the table and caught up her hands, bringing them closer to see if she’d hurt herself in some way.

She shook her head urgently, another tear trekking down her cheek.

With one finger, he traced the wet trail down her skin.

“Nathan, your hands,” she whispered, staring at the hand that still held her own.

Instantly, he clutched her fingers tighter.

“You’re holding things, you’re gripping things. In fact, you’ve got my hand so tightly that I think my own fingers might break.”

She was smiling like a rainbow turned upside down, and he realized that she was right. He loosened his grip immediately, but he didn’t let go.

Instead he smiled back. “Did I hurt you?”

Faith shook her head. “Not really. Nathan, this is wonderful. I’ve been watching your progress for days now, and you
do
grip things, but only when you’re concentrating, only with great effort. This is different. You did this without thinking.”

She was right. He’d been doing his damnedest
not
to think, to get her out of his mind. And now she was staring at him as if he were a gladiator, or a knight. As if he’d held hostile armies at bay for her instead of picking up a fork.

For the first time in ages, Nathan felt like a man, one who was going to be whole, physically at least. He’d said he hadn’t wanted it, that he didn’t care, and he hadn’t. Not then. But now exhilaration poured through his body. It ran through his veins like warm, healing water.

“Thank you, Faith,” he said.

And without thought, he moved closer, slid his palms beneath her hair, and brought his lips to hers.

She was so small that he had to bend slightly to reach her lips, and that, too, was enough to make him feel large and powerful and protective.

Slowly he brushed his lips back and forth across her own, savoring the feel of her, this newborn sense of wholeness.

Faith moved closer. She placed her hands on his shoulders. Her mouth moved against his.

A groan escaped Nathan and he gathered her closer, lifting her off the ground and into his arms. The sensation of her breasts crushed against his chest made him want to sink into her, lay her down here and now and undress her, kissing his way down her throat, down her belly.

His head was spinning. Her lips were like damp rose petals, soft and pliant. Heady stuff. He wanted her now, her hips naked beneath him on crisp, tangled sheets. He wanted her willing and wanton, her long slender legs parting in invitation.

He nudged open her lips, raked her tongue with his own, sipping at her, losing himself in her. Sweet release.

“Faith, you’re so warm, so giving. The feel of you—I want to—” His own words sounded in his head.

Faith’s moan, her body moving against his stopped Nathan cold.

What in hell did he think he was doing? He had seen the tears on her face. He knew that this was an emotional moment for her, for both of them. They’d both worked too damn hard and had too much pent-up emotion.

He shouldn’t even be touching this woman, much less contemplating the things he’d been thinking of only seconds earlier.

“Faith,” he groaned, his arms iron bands that pushed her away from him. “God, I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back and turning away. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Long seconds of silence stretched out, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He couldn’t stand to see the disgust written on her face or to think of his own betrayal. He wanted her more than he could remember wanting, or needing in years. Many years, not just the last two. The thought made him sick. Joanna had deserved better. And Faith...

“Don’t worry,” she said faintly, at last.

Her words finally made him turn to her. She sounded so small, so lost.

Her hair was falling around her face in soft, wanton waves that kissed her cheeks as she shook her head.

Nathan closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Nathan. It’s gratitude. It happens all the time,” she assured him. “We were both carried away by the excitement of the moment. That’s all.”

It happens all the time
. My God, did she mean that? Did men maul her at every turn? Was that what she had to put up with? The thought of Faith fending off the advances of every grateful male she’d aided made Nathan’s vision blur with anger. And most of it was directed dead center at himself.

“As I said, I’m sorry, Faith. At least accept my apology.”

~ ~ ~

Faith looked at Nathan’s angered eyes, passionate, stormy and so dark they were nearly black.

She opened her mouth to speak, but at his grim expression, she simply nodded.

“You should eat,” she said, turning to the table.

“No.”

She looked over her shoulder. He’d held up his hand to halt her progress. Now he brought it to his side, curling his fingers into the beginnings of a fist.