Foolish Notions Page 10

  “What was it like?” He had to know.

  She fingered a sprig of baby’s breath. “Boring. All I could do was sit there. I tried to read but I couldn’t focus. I just kept thinking about what they were putting into me.”

  “What they’re putting in you is what will save you.” He felt numb as he said the words.

  “That thought was what made me stay.” She looked down for a moment. “I wanted to run.”

  James moved closer when she took a deep breath. She looked powerless and vulnerable. Those were two things she had never looked in her life. How could a disease take away everything that defined who and what you are and leave nothing in its wake but an unrecognizable shell?

  “I can’t tell you how much I wanted to tear out that I.V. and run.” Her body shook as she spoke the words. Goose bumps formed on her arms. “I was terrified.”

  It killed him to see his mom having to go through this.

  Before his dad passed away, James had promised his father that he would take care of his mother. And he had, all these years. They had spoken every day and had seen each other at least twice a week. Their connection was one that ran deep. It went beyond just a mother-and-child relationship. It was so much more; they were friends. But right now he felt like he was letting his dad down. His dad would have handled this situation much better. He would have stood strong, letting nothing waver him or his family. James felt like he was going to crumble as he looked at his mom. “How do you feel?”

  “A little weak, but good considering they pumped me full of chemicals.” She grimaced. “I think I threw half of them up.”

  He bit back the sickening feeling. “I heard.”

  “I think most of the neighborhood heard, too. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  He shook his head.

  Marie lifted her shoulders. “Well, if this is as bad as it gets I’m not going to complain.” Her expression softened when she spoke the next words. “How was your day?”

  “It was just like every other day. I wake up too early, go to ten different meetings, make a lot of decisions, and come home too late.” He smiled. “Same old, same old.”

  She took his hand in hers and stroked it affectionately. “You work too hard, honey.”

  “I’m the boss—that’s what they pay me for.” He gave her a devilish grin. “Besides, all this work has made your son rich.”

  “I don’t care if you’re rich. I want you happy.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “Happy, rich. Rich, happy—”

  “They’re not the same,” she reprimanded firmly. “I raised you better than that. You know the difference.”

  “There is no difference. If you have one, you have the other.”

  “I hate to hear you talk like that.”

  “It’s the truth.” He’d given up on happiness after Samantha had walked out.

  “You don’t believe that.”

  He nodded and winked. “I know I’ll be both when you get better.”

  She eyed his damp hair and clothes. “Did you go for a run?”

  “You could say that.”

  She patted his hand in understanding. “I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to have Samantha there with me. I couldn’t have done it without her. She was so supportive and comforting.” She smiled. “You should have seen her take care of everything. She was amazing.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  “She has this remarkable ability to calm me with just the touch of her hand.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she does it.”

  James knew exactly what she meant. “Have you eaten?”

  “A little after I got home. Samantha fixed me some broth. It was the only thing I could tolerate. I don’t have much of an appetite anyway. What about you?”

  “I grabbed a bite on the way home. You must be exhausted; it’s very late.” He moved to the door. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “No, please stay,” she said quickly. “Let’s watch an old movie.” She flipped back the covers and fluffed the pillow next to her. “Like we used to.”

  James sensed that she didn’t want to be alone, and the truth be known, he didn’t want to leave her just yet. He kicked off his shoes. “I’m probably sweaty and stinky.”

  “Mothers are supposed to overlook that stuff.”

  “We haven’t done this since I was ten.” He slid into the bed next to her. The cool sheets smelled like her. They were reminiscent of days gone by. Bits and pieces of his childhood flashed before him. He shifted around, trying several positions.

  “You know this was much easier when I was half the size.”

  She aimed the remote at the television. “What sounds good?”

  “I don’t care. You pick.”

  Chapter Ten

  Once Marie had fallen asleep, James slipped out of bed to take a much-needed hot shower. The scalding water had relaxed him enough so he could work on a presentation that was due the following day. As he entered his office he unconsciously turned on his laptop, checked the faxes, and scanned through the numbers in his pager.

  Moving to his desk, he sat and viewed the room, which was slightly more disorganized than he would have liked. He had once made it a rule not to bring work home from the office, but that had changed when Samantha had left him. There was no longer a reason not to bring it home. Besides, he had to fill his evenings up with something. You could only drink and go out on meaningless dates for so long. He had tired of that quickly.

  Samantha was the only one he’d ever wanted. There was no point in trying to fill what could never be filled. He was a realistic man. Replacement could never be obtained, so why bother? During the first few months she’d been gone he had found that if he submerged himself in his work he became numb.

  When he was numb it didn’t hurt and that was a relief to him.

  Right now, he didn’t want to feel. So his intention for the next few hours was to immerse himself in work—that way perhaps he would forget the gruesome sounds of his mom being sick and forget the fact that Samantha living with him again made him want her more than he had ever wanted her before.

  For over an hour James squinted as he stared at the glowing screen of his laptop. Typing words at a proficient speed, he’d managed to get caught up on several reports and tie up loose ends that had been all but forgotten over the last few weeks. After transferring several reports to a CD, he placed the disk in its hard plastic case and then tossed it into his briefcase.

  He shook his head as he dove into another stack of folders piled on his desk. Thankfully, the pile dwindled quickly. The last file caused him trouble—it was missing several pages. He flipped through a mound of papers to his left. Not finding what he needed, he cursed and tried looking in another stack. He tossed that bunch aside, retrieved his briefcase from the floor, and rummaged around the narrow compartments. He blew out a long breath. What he really needed was Shelly to come and organize this dump.

  “Pulling an all-nighter?”

  James looked up and rubbed his hand over his face when he heard her voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You look deeply involved.”

  “I’m trying to catch up,” he said as he shuffled through more papers.

  “It looks like you’re trying to find something.” Samantha motioned to the papers on his desk. “Lose something?”

  “No, just misplaced it.”

  Her lips twitched, suppressing a smile at his serious statement. “Nothing is ever lost, only misplaced.”

  “Exactly.”

  She moved into the room. His spacious home office was awash in valuable piles of papers and projects. “You always did work too hard.”

  The papers in his hand went still as his eyes met hers. He held the beautiful blue for a moment before speaking. “Not always.”

  Samantha didn’t look away nor did she argue with his words. Instead she watched him closely, with her lips pursed thoughtfully.

  James lifted his hand. “See,
found it.” He swiveled in the chair and looked down at the computer screen. As his fingers skimmed over the keys, he spoke. “There was a time when something else came first. There was a time when work was the farthest thing from my mind when I got home.”

  “Things—”

  “Yes, I know. Things change. Even when we don’t want them to.” Contempt crept into his eyes as he glanced at her, then he looked back down at the screen and began to type.

  “Wearing glasses would help you with that squinting problem.”

  “I don’t have a squinting problem.”

  “You can barely see the words on the screen.”

  “I can see perfectly fine. I don’t need glasses,” he replied evenly.

  “That’s what you said a year ago, too,” she reminded him.

  Deliberately he allowed his eyes to relax. “I didn’t need them then, and I don’t need them now.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She leaned across the desk and peered down at him. She waited for him to look at her before she spoke. “You do know that wearing glasses doesn’t make you a nerd.”

  “That doesn’t concern me because I’m not getting glasses.”

  Samantha laughed. “Yes, heaven forbid James Taylor wear glasses. That might knock you off the top-ten list of CEOs.” She was quiet for a moment. “You know that’s what this is all about. You’re worried about what people would say.”

  Peering up he said, “You know I don’t give a damn what people say.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She cast him a serious glance. “Squinting damages nerves, which can lead to headaches—”

  “Did this little lecture work a year ago?” he challenged.

  She shook her head. “But I thought you might have come to your senses by now.”

  James reached for a paper coming out of the printer. Using a paperclip, he attached it to the front of a folder. “Did you come to give me a bad time about my working habits and my lack of vision or is there a reason why you’re here?”

  Raising her arm, she glanced at her watch and asked, “When was the last time you took a break?” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Long hours are the mainstay of my profession.”

  “Do you know that long hours are linked to heart attacks?” She thought for a moment. “I read a recent study that said people who work for more than sixty hours a week and miss out on sleep are far more likely to have a heart attack.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And the combination of the two could raise blood pressure and heart rate and trigger an attack.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  She smiled sweetly. “You do now.”

  “Trust me, it isn’t the long hours that are going to raise my heart rate and cause me to have a heart attack.” There was irritation in his tone.

  “An average night’s sleep—”

  “Samantha.” Her name came out in a growl.

  She raised her hands in the air. “You’re right. If you want to squint for the rest of your life and risk having a massive heart attack, then so be it.” She turned. “I went grocery shopping. Come help me unload the car.”

  * * * * *

  James stood back and looked at the trunk of her car, which was filled with brown paper bags. “Leave anything at the store?”

  “You had no food in the house. All I could find for lunch today was a can of broth.” She lifted two heavy bags and handed them to James. “To keep your mom’s strength up she’s going to need far more than that. Good nutrition is an important part of this battle.”

  James lifted the bags from her arms. “Yes, I know, mind over matter, positive thoughts, healthy food, spiritually strong.” He looked over his shoulder at her as he walked into the house. “Does the actual medicine the doctors are giving her play any type of role in making her better?”

  Samantha shook her head as she followed him. “You’re not that naïve, James. You know it’s a combination of everything.” They made several trips from the car to the kitchen and once the last bag was brought in, they started to put everything away. James took out numerous strange-looking vegetables that he didn’t recognize. “I forgot how much of a health nut you are.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She grabbed the plastic bags from his hand and tucked them into the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.

  “I’m not eating any of this stuff,” he said as he pulled out a container of unidentifiable grain.

  “You used to.”

  “Not this stuff.” He held the container high to examine the contents.

  She pulled a large bowl from the cupboard and set an assortment of fruit in it. “Actually, I fixed you a pilaf made with that stuff and you enjoyed it.” She set the bowl in the center of the counter and reached for another bag. “It was when you closed that big deal with the Japanese. Remember? We ate out on the deck.” She laughed. “It was so cold—”

  He laughed too as he cut in, remembering the long-ago dinner. “That we turned the heater on and opened the door so we could feel its warmth.”

  “So, you do remember. I don’t recall you complaining about the food.” She shot him a teasing glance as she pulled out a carton of eggs and several loaves of bread. “In fact, I think you liked it so much you asked me to make it again.”

  He hadn’t complained about anything that night—not even the pilaf made with strange grain, because the entire evening had been amazingly perfect. He had walked through the door and had been immediately met by Samantha in a little black dress, which had been sinfully short. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, placed a kiss against his lips, and congratulated him for several minutes before she had taken him by the hand and led him outside.

  She had fixed a tasty dinner, complete with appetizers, wine, dessert, and coffee. The deck had been transformed into a romantic haven with dozens of lit candles and flowers. Halfway through the meal the temperature had dropped and the breeze had turned cold. They had moved the table in the path of the door to obtain the maximum amount of heat. The candles, which had been lit to set the mood, were used for warmth.

  Samantha took the grain from him. “I think that must have been the coldest night in the history of Southern California.” She came out of the pantry wrinkling her nose. “Why didn’t we just come inside where it was warm? Dinner would have been just as good inside. I could have set something up in front of the fire.”

  James shook off the vision of Samantha shivering in warm candlelight before he spoke. “Because we were crazy.” His voice lowered. “Besides, it didn’t stay cold for long. Or at least you didn’t look cold wrapped in my goose-down comforter on the chaise lounge.” His eyes found her. “Now, that was crazy. Why were we on a three-foot-wide lounge, when we could have been making love on a six-foot bed?”

  Samantha fumbled with the three cans she held, before one of them fell to the floor. The loud noise caused her to jump.

  James watched her as she bent to retrieve the cans. He moved behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders as she stood. She became immobile. “Do you ever get crazy anymore?” He turned her and guided her to the window. Reaching over her and pulling back the curtain, he spoke softly against her ear. “It was that lounge, right there.” His finger tapped on the window. “I can tell by the broken strap. Amazing that we fit on it.”

  Samantha closed her eyes.

  “Open your eyes and look at it,” James whispered.

  Her eyes slowly opened.

  He knew the instant she looked at the lounge, because her body responded with a shiver as the episode flooded her memory. “Sometimes I look out this window and I see that broken strap and all I see is you. Do you remember which one of us broke it?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “Me either. But when we made love we never noticed anything other than each other.” He turned her around, took the cans from her hands, and set them on the counter. “Do you miss it?” Her cheeks were red, but not from embarrassment; rathe
r, from desire. He knew what she was experiencing. He had brought her there too many times not to recognize that she was almost there now.

  “Miss what?” she asked in a serious voice.

  His arm enclosed her small waist, pulling her closer to him.

  “Do you miss the type of desire that makes two people make love in freezing weather on a lounge chair?” He tucked her hair out of her eyes. “Do you miss the uncontrollable hunger that accompanies that type of desire?” He felt her quiver against his body.

  “What makes you so sure I don’t have that now?”

  She could pretend his touch wasn’t doing crazy things to her but he knew what she was feeling. His smile was solid conviction as he traced a thumb slowly across her lips. “Because you haven’t been with me lately.” He shook his head arrogantly. “Samantha, no one can make you feel the way I made you feel.”

  Her forehead creased as she glared at him. “How arrogant—”

  He stopped her words with his finger. “No one.”

  Lifting her chin slightly, she said, “You’re not the only man who knows how to have sex.”

  Need tore through him, hunger gnawed at every nerve, but he controlled it. “Having sex and making love are two completely different things.” His fingers continued to play with the full curves of her lips. “Sex is simple and uncomplicated.”

  He ran the length of her jaw line. “Satisfaction is an intricate pleasure that’s not always as easily obtained.”

  “You are absolutely absurd,” she bit out.

  He smiled with both his mouth and his eyes. “Perhaps, but I’m also right.”

  * * * * * *

  Why did his lips have to look so kissable? Samantha thought as she watched his mouth form the words that were causing her body to respond in ways it shouldn’t. His expression was gallant, and the flicker in his eyes did nothing to detour it. His voice was borderline hypnotic. She found herself hanging on his every word. It was true. Sex and satisfaction were two completely different things. But when she had been with him they had been one and the same. She shuddered at the thought.