15. Alyssa
15
ALYSSA
I felt better after dinner, and a little embarrassed that I’d confessed to being lonely to Spencer. It was ridiculous, any way that you looked at it. There were more people here than any house I’d ever lived in, yet they all left every day—I didn’t.
Throughout the meal, in between wiping my brow due to the fiery nature of Raphael’s cooking, I kept wondering what Spencer meant about me being an early riser. There had been a mischievous look on his face when he’d said that.
Later, when I sat between the twins on the sofa, there was fortunately no mention of my present from Sierra, though the pecan pralines were remembered with fondness. The book I was reading to them featured a group of children who run away and live in a treehouse. Between chapters, Lucas wanted to know more. “Was it a big treehouse?”
“I would imagine so,” I said. “All five of them slept in it, so it would have to be.”
“I bet they had hammocks, like out on the deck,” Charlotte said.
I nodded. “We can pretend the deck is a treehouse if you’d like. It’s high enough off the ground.”
Charlotte liked that idea, but Lucas didn’t. “It’s not a real treehouse. It’s got a sliding glass door.”
“And a whole house attached,” Charlotte added.
I closed the book. “What do you think a treehouse should be like?”
“Lots of windows so you can see the rest of the tree,” Lucas said promptly. “And a drawbridge.” He gave no explanation for that part.
“And a soft ice cream machine,” Charlotte said, and for some reason, I was reminded of the first day I’d met her, when she’d been too shy to even attempt speaking out loud in front of me. Things had changed.
“There wouldn’t be electricity for the ice cream machine,” Lucas said.
“But you got your drawbridge,” his sister protested.
Then I had an idea. “Lucas, can you go get my sketchpad? It’s in the drawer of my nightstand. Oh, and the pencils, too.”
Lucas was back in approximately twelve seconds. It made me wonder if I’d ever be able to move quickly again. I hoped so.
With Charlotte and Lucas watching, I sketched a tree with a thick trunk and low, sturdy branches. Then, as they called out ideas, I started to draw a treehouse.
“Put a chair in the corner,” Charlotte said.
“A beanbag chair,” Lucas added.
But I couldn’t really do that in this kind of drawing. Turning the page, I started again, this time drawing a floor plan of the inside of the treehouse. Once I explained that it was like looking at the room from above, they were on board.
“Can you put bunkbeds there?” Lucas asked, pointing.
“Make it three beds, not two, so Alyssa can sleep out there, too,” Charlotte instructed.
We still had our heads bent over the sketchbook when Raphael came out to tell the twins it was time to get ready for bed.
They protested, but he ignored them as he peered at the sketchpad. “What’s that?”
“Our treehouse.” Lucas launched into a marketing spiel on its highlights.
Raphael nodded and managed to get a few words in when Lucas paused for breath. “That’s really good,” he told me.
“Do you think it needs a drawbridge?” Charlotte asked him.
“Couldn’t hurt,” he said with a wink at me. “You know, we used to have a treehouse when we were kids.”
“You and Mom?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?” Lucas asked.
“Way back in the woods, a little past the property line—if it’s even still there.”
“Can we go see?” Lucas asked eagerly.
“It’s dark,” I said.
“Yeah, if we go tromping around out there right now, we’re likely to get eaten by an owl,” Raphael said solemnly.
Charlotte giggled. “No, we wouldn’t.”
“An owl would think you two are as tasty as chicken nuggets.”
Lucas thought that was hilarious. “Twin chicken nuggets.”
I smiled up at Raphael. “Please don’t tell me that’s another Louisiana delicacy.”
He grinned and then clapped his hands. “Okay, time for the twin chicken nuggets to get their teeth brushed. Think you can do that and get your jammies on before your dad comes down to tuck you in?”
The time pressure seemed to spur them on, and the twins hurried out of the room. Raphael sat down on the sofa next to me. “You’re good with them,” I told him.
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but I’m the new element. The novelty act. You’ve had to be good with them for years.”
“They keep me on my toes.” As if to emphasize that, he put his feet up on the coffee table next to my cast-covered leg. He followed my gaze. “We look like we’re in a three-legged race.”
I let out a short laugh. “I think it’ll be a while before I’m able to participate in field day activities.”
“You’ll get there. Speaking of that, are you up for some physical therapy tomorrow morning?”
“But I just went today.” And I wasn’t particularly looking forward to my next session on Friday.
“Yes, but you’re supposed to do exercises on the days in between. I can help with that.” His green eyes were clear and innocent, but I worried there could be a sadistic streak hiding there. Over the years, I hadn’t had the best experiences with coaches and gym teachers.
“Can I hear some testimonials from your students at the fitness center?”
He laughed. “I’ll get you some.”
Raised voices from the bathroom made us both turn our heads.
“I’d better go settle that. Let me know about tomorrow—and when you need help tonight.”
I sighed as I watched him go. I’d barely made it through physical therapy today, but the more I worked at it, the quicker I’d be able to get around without help.
Though something told me that someday, I’d miss being carried around by such strong, hot-as-sin men.
“Alyssa, are you awake?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“Come on, you said you were a morning person.”
I pulled the covers more tightly around my neck and tried to get back into the dream I’d been having. I couldn’t remember exactly what it was, but it had made my body feel so warm and tingly.
“Last chance,” Spencer’s deep voice said.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to ignore him, but fear of missing out was a very real thing. “What?”
“You said you wanted to spend less time alone.”
That made my eyes open. Was he offering to climb into bed with me? But then I saw a sight that made all other thoughts fly right out of my head.
Dear god, he was shirtless. Spencer was completely bare-chested. And lord, what a chest it was.
In an instant, I was as alert as if I’d been hooked up to a caffeine IV.
There was no way he was an elementary school principal. He had to be a gentleman spy, or a professional athlete, or a movie star. Maybe I could ask Sierra about that last one.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he stared down at me.
God, no. I wanted to splay my fingers over his eight-pack abs. I wanted to circle the flat brown nipples on his bulging pecs. I wanted to lick along the vein that ran the length of his sculpted bicep.
Absolutely none of those thoughts qualified me as being “all right.”
Spencer snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Are you always this out of it in the morning?”
“Yes,” I said, suppressing a moan. Wait. “I mean no.”
He shook his head. “I figured that since I can’t be here during the day, you and I can at least hang out in the morning before I leave for work—if you’d like.”
I nodded as enthusiastically as I could. A man who looked like that could invite me to swim with piranhas, and I would’ve given my blessing.
“Good.” He lifted me up as easily as if I were one of his kids. Being in his arms made me wish I had something nicer on than a t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts. Hopefully, the dresses I’d ordered would come today.
To my surprise, Spencer carried me into the hallway and then up the stairs. He had to turn sideways so that my unbending cast wouldn’t hit the wall. That made ascending the stairs a little awkward, but it also gave me an excuse to cling to him.
“I’ve never been up here.”
He grinned. “I’ll give you the tour later.” He carried me into his room. It was different than Raphael’s. There were windows on two walls, and a cross breeze flowed between them. The ceilings were vaulted, which made the room seem more spacious than the rooms downstairs. In the center of the room was a huge, king-sized bed.
Spencer set me down on the edge of it and stepped back. In the space of sixty seconds, an incredibly good-looking man had been right next to me and two beds.
“We can grab something for breakfast in a few minutes, but I figured there was no reason we couldn’t talk while I get ready.”
“S-sure.” I should probably start learning sign-language if I was going to get this tongue-tied around him. But god, he looked so hot, any woman would.
He walked into the attached bathroom, and for one heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to strip off and get into the shower. But he’d probably already done that, since he was wearing black dress pants. Instead, he peered into the mirror over the sink and then pulled out a bottle of shaving cream.
That worked too. He’d be focusing on not cutting himself, so I’d be able to stare at him without getting caught. I shook my head as he turned on the faucet and wet the razor. Yesterday I’d told him I was bored, and today he’d provided an experience that was anything but boring.
I didn’t know how well I kept up my side of the conversation, but after I finally stopped drooling, I had to admit it was nice being up here. First off, it was a change of setting, which was definitely welcome. But it also felt surprisingly intimate. Talking to a man while he was shaving—that was the kind of thing a wife or girlfriend did.
Spencer didn’t seem at all self-conscious at being shirtless. But after he’d finished shaving and dried his face, he got the rest of the way dressed. He faced me as he pulled on an undershirt and then buttoned up a dress shirt. I managed not to stare until he tied his tie. “I don’t know how you men do that.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that hard.” Then he chuckled. “Hard is pretending to like the pink and yellow tie your kids picked out for Father’s Day.”
That made me grin, even though with every passing second, he was covering up more and more of that gorgeous tan skin. He sat next to me as he put on his black shoes. “Ready for breakfast?”
All we ate was cereal, but it was nice to have something that didn’t burn like hellfire. And it was pleasant just to talk to him. Again, it felt… homey. And domestic. Like something couples who lived together did, which was quite foreign to me.
I’d never lived with a man. Well, actually, I was living with two now. But I’d never lived with a man I was in a relationship with.
An hour later, I sat on my bed waiting for Raphael. He was upstairs in the small office he and Spencer shared. I hadn’t actually gotten a tour of the top floor today, but I knew it only consisted of Spencer’s bedroom and bathroom, the office, and a closet. It wasn’t as big as the first floor.
Curious about Raphael’s other job, I looked him up online as I waited. He hadn’t talked much about his technical writing. To my surprise, I found a very professional website with information about his work, his clients, and his rates.
Had he made the website, or hired someone? Either way, it was impressive. There was a long list of articles he’d written, and they ranged from training manuals to information about health procedures to more obscure topics, like a certain type of parasite that was attacking local trees.
Then the man himself appeared. He had on gym shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, so he was definitely in training mode, not writing mode. He even had free weights with him, though they were small ones that were obviously not meant for someone with his strength.
He led me through a series of arm exercises first. They were ones that the physical therapist had mentioned yesterday, but Raphael knew what they were for, which muscles they worked, and exactly how to do them. “Inhale when you lower the weight,” he instructed. “Yes, like that. Do four more.”
He was awfully picky about the movements, but at least he only made me hold a weight with my good arm. I still had to move the one I’d sprained, though.
I did the arm exercises while sitting on the side of the bed, because otherwise I would’ve had to balance on one leg. When it was time for leg exercises, Raphael had me lie on my back on the bed.
He sat at the foot of the bed. “Now remember, don’t try to move your bad leg at all.” Pausing, he looked around. Then he folded up a quilt and covered my cast. “There. That’s to remind you not to move it.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” I asked him. “The exercises, I mean.”
“Sports medicine interests me.”
“Everything interests you,” I said, sounding slightly whiny. Exercise—especially when my leg and sometimes my ribs still ached—wasn’t my thing.
Raphael cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes steady on me. “What do you mean?”
“I looked at your website,” I said a bit sheepishly. “You’ve written about a very wide range of subjects.”
He grinned. “I like to learn. Okay, let’s give your good leg a workout.”
Ten minutes later, I was wondering if I could pay someone to toss Raphael out the window. Maybe Flynn would do it? He was at odds with the rest of the family anyway, so it was worth a shot.
“Come on, cher, you can stretch more than that.” He crouched on the bed as he lifted my good leg into the air.
“It’s not the legs, it’s the abs,” I said gruffly, trying not to wince. “Unfortunately, they’re attached to my ribs.”
“But you’re not supposed to be contracting your abs, not for this one. This is just a stretch. Don’t engage any muscles, just lay there and let me fold you up like a pretzel.”
Okay, that last part was pretty funny. I tried to do what he said, but I kept tensing up, afraid that something was suddenly going to start hurting. After what I’d been through, it didn’t seem unusual for me to worry about that.
“Focus on something pleasant,” he urged. “Close your eyes and go to your happy place.”
Did I even have a happy place? None that I could think of at the moment. I did love sitting in the sun on the back deck, looking at the gorgeous woods, but thinking about that wasn’t enough to keep me from tensing up.
Being in Spencer’s bedroom had made me pretty happy today. And so had seeing him shave. It was so sensual, the way he’d leaned forward and run his fingers along his jawline. And it had allowed me to see that the muscles of his back were just as impressive as his front.
So yeah, that was a pretty good memory. It helped me relax—but it also helped me notice how close Raphael was. His strong hands were firm on the bare skin of my good leg. Then he rested my heel on his shoulder. “Just take a few deep breaths, and then I’ll stretch it a little farther.”
Normally, I was more flexible than this, but my range of movement was hindered by the need to keep my bad leg still. And right now, it was also hindered by the fact that I was getting turned on again. A handsome man was touching me. He had my foot up by his head. God, if he were between my legs, this would be an actual sex position.
“Stop moving your hips,” Raphael said. “Just hold still.”
I’d been moving my hips? Jeesh, what was next, moaning his name?
“Ready for the next position?” he asked, and I nodded. He placed one hand on my calf and the other under my thigh. Then he bent my knee and pressed it toward my chest. “Let me know if you can’t go any farther without moving your bad leg.”
“Okay,” I managed to say. Somehow, this stretch was easier than the other one. Soon, I was clutching my knee to my chest. Raphael scooted in closer, and his knee brushed against my hip, making me jolt.
“What was that?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”
“Not exactly.” This was like torture. A few hours ago, a shirtless man had appeared next to my bed, and now Raphael was practically on top of me.
He frowned, staring down at me. “Why are you grinding your hips? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Is it a muscle spasm?” The concern in his eyes unexpectedly struck me as funny.
“No, not that.” I did my best to stay still.
“Come on, cher. Think of me as a personal trainer, and tell me what’s wrong.”
The absurdity of the situation was getting to me. “You had articles on everything under the sun on your website,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“So?”
“So, maybe you got one or two of them confused. Maybe these stretches aren’t sports medicine at all.”
His expression was baffled. “Then what would they be from?”
I couldn’t help it; I started laughing. “Have you ever written an article on sex positions?”
Raphael seemed to take in the way my knee pressed against my chest. And then the way his knee was touching my hip. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. His cheeks flushed, and then he let out a short laugh. “What am I going to do with you, cher?”
I was laughing harder now. “I was wondering the same thing a few minutes ago.”
Raphael shook his head again. To my surprise, he shifted around and lay on his back next to me. Carefully, I lowered my good leg to the mattress.
“Spencer said you were bored and needed some extra stimulation,” he said. “Is this how you’ve found it? Entertaining dirty thoughts?”
“It beats staring at the ceiling,” I said, which was exactly what I was doing now.
“Touché.” Surprising me again, he took my hand in his and squeezed gently. “But these exercises are important.”
“I know. I’ll be good next time. But maybe we could stick to the ones that aren’t in the Kama Sutra .”
The somewhat shocked look on his face got me giggling all over again. But I didn’t care. Yes, I was stuck in bed again. Yes, I was lying on my back, my most hated position.
But I wasn’t alone. I had a friend with me. Somehow, that made all the difference.