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Esme
I don’t know what it is with Dallas Summers. He doesn’t want to be around me, but he doesn’t want me to be talking to his friends without him, either. They’ve called every day to check in and offer advice about his taciturn nature. Apparently he wasn’t always this way, more the guy that kept everyone laughing with his dry humor (which I’ve yet to see) when things got tough. Then he got shot on a mission and the residual pain has tamped down some of his enthusiasm for life. But they love him and want him home soon. That’s so sweet. I wish I had a group of friends that close and the fact that they essentially invited me into the inner circle for a vacation feels special. Then Dallas had to go and ruin it.
He’s in with the doctor now, getting his one week check-up. If everything goes well, he’ll get the stitches out next week, and at least I get a reprieve tonight from changing his bandages. In fact, the nurse informed me, I can now switch to every other day. For some reason, that made Dallas frown, but I’d have thought he’d be thrilled.
“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you digging around in there again. I feel like I’ve got my life back,” Dallas says earnestly to the frankly gorgeous older man in the white coat standing at the door. Dr. McBride isn’t as good looking as Dallas, but the two of them together would make for a great calendar month. I’d probably never flip it. I stand, sensing we’re done. The surgeon touches Dallas briefly on the shoulder, well away from his incisions. “See you next week, Summers. Try to stay out of trouble.” He gives me a considering look before smiling kindly and heading down the corridor. What was that all about?
Dallas is quiet as I drive us back to the lodge, but this time it’s a relaxed silence. I glance over at him a few times just to make sure. He’s always staring out the window, observing the scenery.
This time when we pull into the entrance to the hotel, I find a spot close to the front in the regular lot and we walk in. It’s a small victory for Dallas and he’s visibly tired when we enter the lobby. Mrs. Donnelly bustles out from behind the reception desk. “Oh good, you’re back. Chef was just worrying that you must be getting hungry. I’ll have someone send dinner right up.”
I hold back the giggle at the thought of being hungry ever again. We’ve been so spoiled with good food. But Dallas smiles at her, a real smile, before saying. “Bless you, Mrs. Donnelly. I’m famished.”
He is? Why didn’t he say so? We could have stopped for something. I shake my head in bewilderment. I don’t even know why I try to figure him out. Dallas makes it back to the room on his own two feet without assistance, but when we get there, he sinks onto the couch with a groan and closes his eyes.
Dallas
I can feel Esme’s thoughts pinging off of me like hail. I hate that she’s confused and hurt, but at the same time, if I fix that, there won’t be any fences up. I need those to keep me from scooping her up and pinning her under me for a week. That, and being so close to her all day, I was breathing in her scent, which is something resembling flowers and pine needles. It suits her and gets my cock all interested. Very interested.
For once, I’m groaning for a reason other than my incisions when I lever myself upright again. Then the food arrives. Esme is biting her lip and not meeting my eyes. I still the hand that wants to tip her pointy little chin up.
“Why you so glum, Esmerelda?”
She glowers. “It’s Esme.”
I shake my head. “You need a nickname now that we know each other better. You’re clearly an Esmerelda. One of your parents just got lazy filling out the form and stopped early.”
She glares, but I see her lips twitch involuntarily. Instead of answering my question, she points at my plate. “If you’re so ravenous, eat.”
Huh, teasing Esme is rather fun. May have to explore this more tomorrow. I’m not honestly all that hungry, although the cherry pie still on the cart is looking tempting. Mostly I’m exhausted. Getting poked and prodded, followed by the relief that they really did get all the shrapnel shards out this time. No wonder I’m feeling better than I have in years — at least underneath the healing bits.
I’m waiting for Esme to fetch herself some pie so I don’t have to get up, but she’s studying her plate of roast beef and vegetables like it holds the key to world peace.
“Esmerelda? Can I trouble you for some pie?” She looks up, startled and ready to object. But something stops her and instead she slowly rises and plops a generous slice on a small plate. She holds it though in front of my nose instead of putting it down. “Nicknames are supposed to be shorter.”
I shrug and take the plate from her. If I can’t kiss her, Chef’s cherry pie is a close second. “You’re not an Es, so Esmerelda will have to do. Plus, I like the way it gets you all riled up.”
She gapes at me and I want to laugh, so I stuff more pie in my face. I’ve got about five minutes of energy left before I collapse completely, so I carefully push myself to my feet and stumble to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’m going to dream of Esme and cherry pie and I’m not sure whether to look forward to that or dread it with every fiber of my being.
5
Esme
Dallas keeps running hot and cold and it’s hurting my head trying to keep up. My heart is already a bit bruised because, other than his orneriness, Dallas is the personification of sexy and perfect for me. Except for the part where he doesn’t want to talk to me, or apparently see me again. Which is silly of me to even care about because he didn’t go into this expecting more than a young able-bodied person to drive him to appointments.
I clean up our dinner mess, which mostly involves putting all the untouched food in the refrigerator, which is full to bursting with similar offerings. There’s no noise from Dallas’s room at all, so I’m assuming he’s crashed. I’ll check on him before I turn in, but I’m a lot less concerned now that he’s been checked over by the professionals. In reality, once he gets the stitches out and is cleared to drive for a few hours, there won’t be a reason for me to stay. I ponder that, whether I should suggest making an earlier departure than agreed once he’s given the okay.
I know I should go if it’s safe and give him his independence back. But I’m not so sure I’ve got the willpower to pull myself away. There’s something about his energy that I find captivating, even if he’s calling me silly names on the few occasions he bothers to speak. I sigh as I sit down on the couch to read. There’s nothing on TV despite the hundreds of channels offered and besides, I don’t want to wake Dallas up. If he went to the effort to actually ask me for pie, it meant he was already past his physical limit. Damn stubborn man.
The book is a romance I was previously excited to dive into. Except that the middle bit is slightly muddled. I confess to skimming over a few chapters and suddenly I’m landing on a scene where the hero is jerking off to dirty thoughts of the heroine. I shift my position restlessly, my pussy feeling lonely as I read. But it’s still getting sympathetically wet, as if the fictional character’s cock is coming for me any minute. Ugh. I don’t need this right now. I close the book and switch my device off. I’ll just check on Dallas and turn in.
Except when I gently turn the doorknob and push his door open slightly, trying not to make a sound so I won’t wake him up, it’s like that dirty scene from the novel has come to life. Dallas is on his side, his back to the door, stroking his erect cock, the heavy tip just visible over his hip. And he’s talking — a lot.
“Damn, Esme. Too damn young with those sweet little hands. Touching me like you’ve never touched a man before.”
I glance down at my splayed fingers and then move out of the doorway. But I confess I flatten myself to the wall just outside because this counts as a shocking revelation. And I need it all.
“Going to feed you my cock one inch at a time until you’re begging for it,” he grunts, and I find myself crossing my legs against the sudden ache.
