Three days after his injury, Jay felt infinitely better. There was still a throbbing at the back of his head, but the nausea had passed. It was the nausea that had made it impossible for him to stand upright for the past few days, making him feel like a wuss. But he had been cured overnight it seemed, for he was now able to stand without feeling like he was about to topple over and embarrass himself.
He knew Anita was at the market because it was a Friday and it was her habit. He had to admit, though, that he'd come to like her coddling. For the past twenty-eight years of his life, he couldn't remember ever being coddled. Even when he'd been injured during the war, he remembered treating his own wounds for there weren't enough doctors to tend to everyone. Yes, coddling was a new experience for him, and one he certainly didn't regret.
He hobbled into the bathroom and took a much-needed shower. Then, clothing himself in a pair of trousers and a thin white sweater, he headed downstairs to scour the kitchen for something to feed his growling stomach. He didn't have to look for long, because Anita had breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen table. There was a little note scribbled next to it.
I knew you wouldn't listen to me.
He grinned. Over the past few days, Anita had reminded him repeatedly not to leave the bed. How she knew that he wouldn't be able to be confined to it for much longer, he didn't know. Pocketing the note, he grabbed the plate of food and headed upstairs. He wanted to continue working on his novel as soon as possible. The past few days in confinement had given him too much time to think about the direction his novel was taking.
As he bit into a sandwich and made himself comfortable in his chair, the unopened letter on the table caught his eye. He flipped it over, noting that the handwriting wasn't familiar. Clasping the sandwich between his teeth, he ripped the envelope open and slid the letter out.
The address printed at the top told him that the letter was from Roger, his late father's friend. Intrigued, he scanned the letter. Then he frowned. Apparently, there was an unsolved clause between his father and Roger that required Jay's immediate attention. Roger hadn't stated what the clause was about, but from the way he wrote of it, it appeared that he assumed Jay knew about it. Jay was at a loss, for he'd made sure that everything relating to his father had been taken care of before leaving London. What new problem could have arisen now?
He didn't want to leave for London. It wasn't in his plans for the immediate future. Everything in his life was too perfect for him to leave, even for a month or so. Perhaps the problem could be solved by post? He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to pen a reply.
He was in the middle of writing the letter when there was a soft knock on the door to the library. He called for the person to enter.
Anita entered, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a small bowl with his medication. She smiled at him and he, almost immediately, felt his insides rearrange themselves.
"Good morning," she said, her voice bright.
He returned her smile. "'Morning. What have you been up to today?"
"Not much." She set the tray on the table and paused to pour him a glass of water. "Went to the market and conquered the world is all."
He laughed and pulled her roughly onto his lap. Surprised at his actions, she squealed, and a splash of water poured onto his sweater. He took the cup from her and set it on the table.
Dabbing at the wet spot on his sweater with her dress, she murmured, "You shouldn't be out of bed. The doctor said a week at least."
"I'm fine," he insisted, covering her hand where she was touching him. She paused in her ministrations and looked up.
"You took off your bandage too."
"I had to take a shower."
"What if it gets infected?"
"It won't."
"I'm going to get the cloth."
"No," he said, pulling her back to him when she would've slipped away. "Give me a kiss first at least."
She averted her eyes shyly before pecking him quickly on the lips. He laughed and covered her lips with his for a longer smooch.
"I've missed you," he said when he pulled back. A tiny thread of moisture stretched between their lips and Anita's eyes crossed as she tried to get a glimpse of it. He laughed and flicked his tongue out to catch it.
"I've missed you too," she confessed. Then, clearing her throat, she said, "Now, please stop trying to distract me. I'm really quite afraid you'll get an infection."
She slid off his lap and headed for the door. "Take your medication. I'll be right back."
*
He didn't tell her about the letter. It was intentional, really. He didn't want her to worry that he would leave her before he was ready to part with her. It was an additional emotional stress she didn't need since he didn't intend to leave the island anytime soon. Thus, when she slipped out of the room, he quickly stashed the letter and his reply in one of the desk drawers.
He ran his fingers over the keys to his typewriter idly, thoughts focused on the object of his desire. The fact that he didn't want to leave her weighed heavily on his mind. He'd never felt the need to be near anyone all the time before. The intensity of it shook him. But instead of scaring him, it made him feel whole. Alive. Powerful. It wouldn't matter if the whole world around him disintegrated, as long as he had her by his side.
She slipped back into the study, a basket of supplies in her hand. He watched her silently, a perilous thought entering his mind. Had he fallen in love with her?
Out of habit, he shook his head. Love – a much overused concept, in his opinion – was not for him. Love led to marriage, and he'd vowed never to subject himself to such a life sentence. He'd seen how disastrous a marriage could be. It was nothing but a sham, a façade for society's sake. Love and a perfect marriage between a man and a woman was something best left for poet's to write about. Companionship was what lasted.
He watched her as she snipped a roll of white cloth from the bundle. Her actions were smooth, efficient. Yes, he could imagine her as his companion. She could make him laugh. She was simple and transparent. She was independent. She was loving. What more could any man ask for?
"You'll have to take your sweater off," she murmured, rummaging through the basket for a pin to secure the cloth. He did as he was told, pulling the shirt over his head and laying it on the table.
Anita turned with the materials she needed clasped in her hand. She hesitated a second, watching the play of golden skin before her. The marks of ink on his skin seemed to call out to her, tempting her to put everything away and climb onto his lap for a moment of pleasure. How was it that he managed to seduce her without even batting an eyelid?
"What?" he questioned, eyeing her hesitance. She gave him a small smile and shook her head.
She began to wrap his wound, smearing a little of the anti-infection cream the doctor had given her over it before covering it with cloth. The wound seemed to be healing nicely and there wasn't a sign of pus or infection.
She was acutely aware of his skin under her fingertips. It was warm and solid and male. Familiar. She never thought she'd find male skin familiar in all her life.
As soon as she pinned the cloth down and stepped back to appreciate her handiwork, she found herself pulled down onto Jay's lap once again. This time, however, she ended up straddling him, with her knees encapsulating his legs. His fingers clasped her nape, pulling her down to him.
"What are you doing to me?" he growled against her lips before claiming them completely. He suspected that she didn't know exactly how she affected him. Her eyes, dear lord, her eyes, could disarm him in a second. All she had to do was look at him with innocent desire and he was undone. As he slanted his lips over hers, all he could think about was giving her pleasure and watching as she came apart because of him, for him, with him.
Her fingers clutched at his shirt as she tried to steady herself over him. Her head felt light, and her limbs were trembling. His tongue completely tore her inhibitions apart and she grasped him shamelessly, begging for more.
His fingers undid the long row of buttons on her dress until he was able to free her breasts. He didn't cease kissing her as his fingers found the hard tip of one breast and circled it. She jerked in his arms, moaning into his mouth, but never letting up on the kiss. Her knees settled on either side of him on the chair and she could feel the old wood creaking as it struggled to hold their combined weight. Then his teeth scraped against her other nipple and everything else save the fireworks in her blood was blocked out.
It was raw and hurried. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She fumbled with his trousers as he hiked her skirt up. They panted with exertion as their eager fingers entangled themselves in cloth, hair and zipper. Impatiently, she flipped her hair aside and fumbled with his zipper, freeing him.
He grasped her hips and pulled her closer to him. His lips caught hers in an unending kiss yet again as he pushed her petticoats aside and thrust up into her. A string of shudders wracked her frame and her fingers dug into her shoulders as she adjusted to the new position.
