Unfinished Business(37)
An ulcer, she thought. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t a workaholic, a worrier, a power-mad executive. And yet, even as she denied it, the grinding ache dragged through her, mocking her.
She just wanted to go home to lie down, to will the pain away into sleep. Oblivion. It would all be gone tomorrow. Hadn’t she been telling herself that for months and months?
When he came back, he set the small white bag in her lap before he started the car. He said nothing as she sat back in the seat with her eyes closed. It gave him time to think.
It didn’t do any good to snap at her. It did even less good to be angry with her for being sick. But it hurt and infuriated him that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him she was in trouble. That she hadn’t trusted herself enough to admit it and get help.
He was going to see that she got that help now, whether she wanted it or not. As a doctor, he would do the same for a stranger. How much more would he do for the only woman he had ever loved?
Had loved, he reminded himself. In this case, the past tense was vital. And because he had once loved her with all the passion and purity of youth, he wouldn’t see her go through this alone.
At the curb in the front of her house, he parked, then walked around the car to open her door. Vanessa climbed out and began the speech she’d carefully planned on the drive.
“I’m sorry if I acted childishly before. And ungrateful. I know you and your father only want to help. I’ll take the medication.”
“Damn right you will.” He took her arm.
“You don’t have to come in.”
“I’m coming in,” he said as he pulled her up the walk. “I’m watching you take the first dose, and then I’m putting you to bed.”
“Brady, I’m not an invalid.”
“That’s right, and if I have anything to say about it, you won’t become one.”
He pushed open the door—it was never locked—and hauled her directly upstairs. He filled a glass in the bathroom, handed it to her, then opened the bottle of medication and shook out a pill himself.
“Swallow.”
She took a moment to scowl at him before she obeyed. “Are you going to charge me for a house call?”
“The first one’s for old times’ sake.” Gripping her arm again, he pulled her into the bedroom. “Now take off your clothes.”
Pain or no pain, she tossed back her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope when you say that?”
He didn’t even bother to swear. Turning, he yanked open a drawer and searched until he found a nightshirt. She would wear silk to bed, he thought, clenching his teeth. Of course she would. After tossing it on the bed, he pushed her around and dragged down her zipper.
“When I undress you for personal reasons, you’ll know it.”
“Cut it out.” Shocked, she caught the dress as it pooled at her waist. He merely tugged the nightshirt over her head.
“I can control my animal lust by thinking of your stomach lining.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Exactly.” He tugged the dress over her hips. The nightshirt drifted down to replace it. “Stockings?”
Unsure if she should be mortified or infuriated, she unrolled them down the length of her legs. Brady gritted his teeth again. No amount of hours in anatomy class could have prepared him for the sight of Vanessa slowly removing sheer stockings in lamplight.
He was a doctor, he reminded himself, and tried to recite the first line of the Hippocratic oath.
“Now get in bed.” He pulled down the quilt, then carefully tucked it up to her chin after she climbed in. Suddenly she looked sixteen again. He clung to his professionalism, setting the bottle of pills on her nightstand. “I want you to follow the directions.”
“I can read.”
“No drinking.” A doctor, he repeated to himself. He was a doctor, and she was a patient. A beautiful patient with sinfully soft skin and big green eyes. “We don’t use bland diets so much anymore, just common sense. Stay away from spicy foods. You’re going to get some relief fairly quickly. In all probability you won’t even remember you had an ulcer in a few days.”
“I don’t have one now.”
“Vanessa.” With a sigh, he brushed back her hair. “Do you want anything?”
“No.” Her hand groped for his before he could rise. “Can you—? Do you have to go?”
He kissed her fingers. “Not for a while.”
Satisfied, she settled back. “I was never supposed to let you come up here when we were teenagers.”
“Nope. Remember the night I climbed in the window?”